Crashed, p.13
Crashed, page 13
“Excellent. You have the laptop I got you for school. Go get to work. Prove me wrong. I want five authentic sources and a couple of paragraphs summarizing your findings. Go on inside and get to work. I can find sources for everything I just told you. If you’re so certain I’m wrong, though, prove it.”
He blinked.
She smiled. “What are you waiting for? Research. But ... ” She let her smile widen. “The information has to come from legitimate websites—medical websites. Scientific journals with verified sources. You think you can handle that?”
“I ... ” He snapped his jaw shut, still glaring at her. “What’s the point? You’ll argue nothing I show you is real anyway.”
“Why don’t you just give it a shot? I expect the data to come from colleges and schools of medicine, research studies ... but if you don’t think you can...”
“Did I say I couldn’t?” He jerked a shoulder. “I know how to research shit. I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t figure you were. When you fail to prove me wrong, you will apologize to Aaron. And regardless, you’re on kitchen duty for the next three nights on your own—you don’t get cause people hurt in my house and get away with it.”
His mouth folded into mutinous lines.
She had a feeling he wouldn’t be doing those chores.
It wouldn’t be the first time one of the kids in the house refused.
That was fine.
She’d waged these wars before.
“Go on inside.” She held his hard, angry glare. “Into your room. You should get to work—you’ve got to prove me wrong, right?”
He curled his lip and stormed off, not saying another word.
Travis waited until the door slammed shut before he spoke. “When did you develop such an interest in genetics?”
“Not long after Aaron moved in,” she said, sliding a look at him from the corner of her eyes. “His mom had supervised visits for a little while. Nothing shuts up a religious fanatic quicker than calmly pointing out the scientific flaws in their arguments. She kept trying to argue he was acting against God’s design and I pointed out that only God knows Aaron’s design, and only God and Aaron know what’s going on in Aaron’s head and body so maybe she should shut up and mind her own, then I went on to tell her about some of the info I just laid on before Jacob. I think her brain was melting by the time I was done.”
He prowled a little closer, all long, lazy movements that had her heart fluttering in a rhythm she recognized all too well. He’d done this to her before, back when they were teenagers. Only he’d become more potent.
That deep brown hair, so dark it was nearly black, fell into his eyes and he absently brushed it back as he stopped just a foot away, so close she could smell the warm, masculine scent of him, the salt of the sea, something woodsy and fresh ... either his soap or shampoo, and under that, the musky scent that was him.
Her mouth was watering, and her hands itched to touch.
She shoved them into her pockets. “I’m sorry about Brooklyn ... earlier. She’s too damn smart for her own good.”
“It’s okay. She’s a cute kid.” He reached up.
She stiffened.
He hesitated, then, slowly, as if giving her a chance to back up, he brushed his thumb over her cheek, gently, a soothing touch. “Something’s made you sad, Iz. Is it me?”
Her throat went tight and she thought about telling him yes, telling him she’d changed her mind, that she wanted him to go.
But her heart raged in refusal. No. He couldn’t go.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“We’ve never lied to each other,” he murmured.
“Didn’t we?” She caught his wrist, clinging to it. She’d meant to push him away—at least, that was what she’d told herself. But she didn’t do anything of the sort. She held on, staring into eyes of a blue-green so intense, it was hard to believe they were real. “There were a hundred little things I never told you. There are things you’re not telling me now ... things I haven’t told you.”
“Lies of omission.” He shrugged. “Not exactly the same thing.”
With a ragged sigh, she broke away and turned her back. Putting a few feet between them, she said, “Okay, yeah. But I’m not ready to talk about it. Not with you. I don’t know if I ever will be.”
“Okay.”
She swallowed her apology when she heard him turn to go.
She’d hurt him. She knew she had.
But some of her wounds were still raw and tender, even after all this time.
Rubbing the heel of her hand over the ache in her chest, she wondered what in the hell she was doing, staying in such close proximity to the man who’d devastated her so thoroughly years ago.
But she already knew the answer.
She still loved him. She’d never stopped.
Somewhere deep inside, she must have always been hoping they’d have a chance, even though she’d pushed him away the one time they’d seen each other after everything fell apart.
Maybe she was a fool.
Chapter 13
At just a little before eleven, Isabel stood in the doorway of the kitchen and studied the dishes still piled in the sink.
“Want me to help?”
She looked over at Storm, shook her head with a smile. “I’ll take care of them.”
“I don’t mind.”
“You helped cook. I’ll get this.” She wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulders, hugged. “Go on. I’m sure you’ve got a book you’re trying to finish reading before you get too tired to see straight.”
The pretty girl made a face at Isabel. “Like you can talk.”
“Yeah, but I’m not starting school in another week.”
“You still get up with us.” Storm kissed her on the cheek. “But since I don’t love dishes, I won’t argue with you.”
Isabel hated dishes herself, but for the most part, the kids in the house were pretty decent about cleaning up after dinner, scraping off the excess food, rinsing the plates off and loading the dishes up. It only left Isabel with the dishes used to cook, and those dirtied up by Jacob, Brooklyn and Mariah. Brooklyn was trying to get better, but she was only five—and she couldn’t see inside the sink to rinse her dishes off.
Jacob had no excuses, and Isabel knew he’d done it just to try and push her.
He hadn’t had much in the way of proof when she’d asked him—away from Aaron, because while she wanted Jacob to realize he didn’t know as much as he thought, she wasn’t teaching him a lesson at Aaron’s expense.
He’d mumbled under his breath something too low for her to hear but he hadn’t tried to argue his case any further. And she had seen him reading a site she was well acquainted with—it had several articles she’d first read when she’d been trying to learn more about the science and information available on transgender youth and identity.
She already knew Jacob was into science and tech—he’d been tearing through some of the books she kept in her library for kids, so he was smart.
He just needed to ... open his mind.
If he spent some time educating himself instead of listening to hateful rhetoric, then that was as much as she could ask for.
So she’d worry about the dishes and other stuff tomorrow.
She had just finished loading up the dishwasher when the phone rang.
Frowning, she rushed over and grabbed it just as it rang a second time.
“Hello?”
Only silence answered.
Annoyed, she waited a few seconds, then said, “Hello?”
This time, she thought she heard breathing.
Disgusted, she slammed the phone back down on the cradle and returned to the dishwasher.
“Ms. Bella?”
She looked up as she finished loading the dishwasher. Aaron loitered in the doorway, pale face strained. “Come on in, sweetheart.”
She closed the dishwasher and started it, then went to the table, waiting for Aaron.
“Jacob give you any more trouble?” Bella asked softly.
“He’s not even looking at me now.” A ghost of a smile danced on his lips and Aaron hitched up a shoulder. Thick, dark brown hair tumbled into his eyes and he impatiently shoved it back. “I was wondering ... ” He paused, biting his lip.
“Wondering about what, Aaron?”
“Can I get my hair cut shorter?” He blurted it out, like he was afraid to ask. “I was thinking about buzzing it on the sides, leaving it longer on the top. I want to be able to spike it up on top, so I don’t want it too short, but the way it is ... ” Face twisting in a scowl, he grabbed the wavy locks and jerked. “This, my face, how short I am ... ”
As he fumbled for words, Bella listened. Several seconds passed though and Aaron lapsed into silence.
“It’s aggravating your dysphoria, huh?”
Aaron’s eyes dipped away and he nodded.
In the months since he’d come to live with her, he’d started opening up more and more about the misery he felt, living inside a body he didn’t belong in and although Isabel couldn’t truly understand, she could listen. And this was a small thing. “Find a couple of styles you like,” she told him with a smile. “And we’ll try to work it in this weekend, okay?”
“Thanks!” He came to her and with a wide grin, he hugged her.
A minute later, she was alone. Going through the kitchen, she turned off all the lights. As she passed by the window, she glanced outside.
Her heart hitched, then skipped a beat when she saw Travis out there, firelight flickering over his face.
She didn’t let herself think it as she grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and headed outside.
Travis didn’t want to brood.
He had no reason to expect Isabel’s secrets, her trust or her confidence. Not now, not ever again. Just because she didn’t want him leaving just yet didn’t mean she was ready to resume some sort of relationship with him again. For all he knew she just wanted to sleep with him a couple of times—or even just once—the one that got away and all that shit. Even as he thought, he told himself he was letting his dick think for him, although to sleep with Isabel and never have her heart again would kill the rest of his soul, and he knew it.
Hell, maybe she just wanted to jab at him, make him bleed.
That he’d never stopped loving her didn’t matter.
He’d lost faith in her during the time she needed him the most; that mattered.
He didn’t know but whatever she wanted from him, be it jabbing at him, extracting a pound of flesh, he owed her that much, and more, so he’d stay.
He needed to find a way to get past the instinctive hurt that kept trying to well up inside when she’d refused to trust him earlier.
Why should she trust him?
She’d done so once and look at what he’d done with that precious gift.
“Get over it, man,” he told himself.
A quiet rustle had him looking up and as the silhouette appeared around the house, his breath caught in his chest. Get over it and get a grip.
He’d wined and dined heiresses and models, seduced beautiful women, all to get close enough to steal secrets and if he’d been caught, it could have ended with him dying, buried in an unmarked grave while his family never knew what became of him. The legend Miles had built for him, in case of discovery, was solid, complete with a family history, falsified dental records, a credit history and more, enough to fool pretty much anybody ... except his family. It would have led a person trying to track his history to a down-end street, regardless of what happened to Travis.
Doing what he’d done over the past decade and change had taken nerves of steel, a will of iron and determination.
When Isabel sank down onto the seat next to him, a beer extended, he tried to find some shred of that will, those nerves, tried to steel himself against her ... and he failed.
“Nice night,” she said softly.
The night was fucking perfect, all because she was here, close enough for him to breathe in the soft, sweet scent of her skin and see the paler glints of gold in the rich brown of her hair, to see the scattering of freckles over the slope of her shoulder as her lightweight sweater dipped low.
She scooped it up and lifted her beer to her lips, gaze skimming over the surface of the water before moving to his. “You ever been in the area during the fall?”
“No.” Damn, was that rusty, creaking rasp his voice? He took a deep pull of the beer she’d offered, wetting his throat. “Don’t usually have much time for travel.”
As soon as he said the words, he wanted to pull them back.
Her gaze came to his, full of frustration and worry. “How long until you’re back at a job that’s going to end up killing you?”
“I told Miles I’m done,” he said softly.
Isabel’s eyes widened and a soft breath of surprise escaped her. She drew another breath, let it out slowly. “I’m surprised you’re telling me that much.”
“I never was able to hide shit from you,” he murmured.
“Tell me why you got into it then.”
Jaw set, he looked away. “I can’t talk about the work, Iz. It’s dangerous for you to have guessed what you have.”
“I’m not asking for details,” she said. “I’m asking to know why.”
Shoving up, he paced a few feet away. The healing wound on his side protested the abrupt movement but nowhere as much as it would have a day or two earlier. Dr. Qing might have been pushing experimental treatments on him, but she knew her shit.
And he was trying to sidestep Isabel’s question, even in his own mind.
Dragging a hand down his face, he focused on some lights bobbing out on the water, far, far away from land. “Think about it, Iz. It’s not that hard.”
“I’ve done nothing but think about it,” she said sourly. “If I’m not refereeing a potential world war, feeding a teething infant or coaxing Brooklyn into a bath, I’m brooding over it, Travis. I’m tired of it. I want to understand.”
He tossed her a dark look over his shoulder. “What does it matter, Isabel? I’m not going to be here for long and once I leave, you won’t see me again.”
The thought all but tore bloody ribbons into his heart.
A rough sound came from her and he turned around, any hint of her suffering anathema to him.
She was on her feet, glaring at him, one fist all but bloodless as she gripped the beer bottle, her green eyes nearly black in the night.
“Stop saying that,” she said furiously. “Stop throwing that in my face.”
“I’m not. I’m just telling it like it is.” He took another sip of beer, more out of a need to cover his confusion and need than thirst this time. Damn but he couldn’t understand her. Didn’t she want him gone? She sure as hell should. “I’d figure you couldn’t wait to see the back of me.”
“I already told you, I don’t know what I want.” Her chest heaved raggedly, drawing his attention to a fact he hadn’t noticed until that very moment—whatever she had on under that thin sweater ... it wasn’t a bra. Her nipples pressed hard and stiff against the sweater.
His tongue suddenly felt awkward in his mouth, his hands too big and clumsy, aching to feel the weight of her breasts in them, to toy with those plump buds and feel them against his palms, his chest.
Her breathing hitched and he dragged his gaze back up to meet a gaze gone foggy with want.
“Why don’t you want me gone?” he asked. His voice wasn’t steady.
But neither was he.
“I’m still figuring that out.” She licked her lips.
He groaned and closed his eyes. “Stop looking at me like that, Isabel. I’m already teetering on the brink as it is.”
There was a soft thud, then the whisper of bare feet on soft, sandy soil. He opened his eyes, expecting to see her walking away from him. But she was coming toward him, then stopping, now only a few bare inches away.
“I want your hands on me,” she told him, the words so quiet, the sound of the waves crashing into the beach threatened to steal them away.
“If I put them on you, I’m going to want a lot more than just a couple of kisses, Isabel.”
Her lids dipped low, then lifted and her lips curved in a smile. “Maybe I’ll give you more than a few kisses ... or at least let you take more than a few.”
Then she closed the distance and pressed her mouth to his.
And the control he’d cultivated over the years collapsed, like a sandcastle under the waves.
The intensity that had lived just under his skin as a teenager had only grown.
Isabel had caught glimpses of it in the days since she’d found out her temporary neighbor was none other than the boy she’d once loved—a boy who’d grown into a devastatingly handsome man with eyes so full of secrets and pain, it stole her breath.
Now, all that intensity was focused on her and she thought she might be terrified ... if he’d left any room for anything else to exist inside her head.
But he took over with that kiss, pushing his hands into her hair and craning her head back, adjusting the angle until he had her exactly as he wanted her.
And then he took.
He sampled.
He savored.
He devoured.
She didn’t know how he’d done it, but she was sprawled on his lap on the steps of the deck, lost in the shadows cast by the house. When she tore her mouth from his to gasp for breath, she shoved her hands to his shoulders. “Your side ... your wound.”
“I can’t even feel it,” he said, pushing his hands back into her hair and pulling her mouth back to his.
She couldn’t resist him. With a moan, she sank back into his kiss.
He cupped her breast, his hand sliding under her sweater and tank to find her flesh, his touch sure and confident, and her breath stuttered out of her in a gasp as he teased her nipple until it was pulsing in time with her heart.
“Travis ... ”
“Iz ... ” His lips painted a path down her neck, found the sensitive spot just above her pulse.
When he bit her there, she arched and cried out.
The hand on her breast traveled lower and she went still as he toyed with the waistband of the ankle-length skirt she wore paired with the summer-weight sweater and tank top.
