Foolish Games (An Out of Bounds Novel) Page 12

  This was why Will hated getting involved with women. He never understood what they were saying. Hadn’t she said she didn’t want to design Brody’s sister’s dress not two minutes ago? He crouched down on his haunches in front of her.

  “Help me out here. You said downstairs that you wouldn’t make the gown.”

  Julianne sprang to her feet, nearly knocking him over in the process. “No! I said I couldn’t make the gown.”

  He counted to ten before realizing he wasn’t any further along understanding the minds of women. Maybe Brody was right and she did have postpartum depression. His teammate had older sisters, after all, so he might recognize the signs. Julianne had her back to him, sorting Owen’s socks into a pile. Will gently turned her to face him.

  “I’m not following here, Princess. Can you maybe explain it to me?”

  She bit her lip and looked wistfully out the window. “I haven’t been able to design since I got pregnant.”

  He was even more confused now. What did one thing have to do with the other?

  “Why not?”

  Definitely not the brightest question. She turned to him, her eyes all squinty and peevish now. “Well, Dr. Phil, if I knew the answer to that, don’t you think I’d fix it?”

  Maybe it was hormones? He didn’t know he’d asked the question aloud until she pushed away from him.

  “Ohmigosh, that’s all your super-sized brain can come up with? Maybe it’s hormones?”

  Will put his hands up. “Okay, it’s probably not hormones, but I’m sure it’s only temporary. A gift like that just doesn’t disappear when you have a baby. It’ll come back. You’ll see.”

  Julianne had that vulnerable look about her again, and Will had to stop himself from gathering her in his arms. That move always got them in trouble.

  “It’s been nearly a year.” Julianne’s voice was soft and sad. “What if it doesn’t?”

  “It will,” he reassured her. “In the meantime, you have other designers on your staff who can carry your company along, right?”

  She slowly shook her head. “No, I am . . . was . . . the only designer at JV Designs.”

  The word was hung ominously in the air. Julianne wouldn’t look at him, so he bent his head in front of her face. “Was?”

  Julianne blinked slowly before nodding. “I sold my company.”

  “Why?” he asked, although he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

  “To pay Owen’s medical bills,” she whispered.

  “Ahhh, for the love of . . .” Will couldn’t finish the sentence, he was so angry. He’d wondered why there wasn’t a bill when Owen was discharged from the hospital, but he figured it went through insurance first. Did she not have medical insurance? Somehow, he wasn’t surprised.

  “And before you start accusing me of being bat crazy again, I had to do it. It wouldn’t have been fair making you pay for Owen when you didn’t want him in the first place.”

  “It’s bat-shit crazy, and I don’t think even the bats are as crazy as you!” He backed her against the wall. “I told you I was going to pay for half of Owen’s care. But do you listen? No! This is why smart people like me plan ahead instead of that whole seat-of-the-pants thing you’ve got going. I was right that first day, you need a keeper. Obviously the senator and your business manager can’t keep you under control. I guess it’s up to me.”

  Julianne’s eyes were slits again. “As if you can!”

  Her challenge hung in the air for a moment before he descended on her. “Stop telling me I don’t want my son.” He wanted to strangle her, but only a psychopath would do that to his child’s mother with their kid in the room. So he opted for kissing her instead. And it was an incredible kiss. Like a man who’d gone without food or water for days, he devoured her.

  Best of all, she was kissing him back. With a sigh, her lips parted right away, giving him access to her soft mouth. Their tongues played as her hands slipped under his T-shirt and her nails stroked down his back. Will groaned as his fingers kneaded her hips, pulling them closer to meet with his hard body. His mouth left hers to explore her jaw, raining kisses there before visiting the sweet spot on her neck.

  “I swear, you’ve cast a spell on me,” he whispered in her ear before finding her lips once again.

  His tongue explored her sweet, hot mouth in a soul-searching kiss. The sensation of tasting her again blazed into something raw and needy inside him. Small sounds of pleasure bubbled from her throat as she kissed him with a matching urgent need. Will stepped between her thighs, backing her toward the wall, one hand grazing a breast as the other cupped her bottom. He felt her gasp as her body became aware of his arousal.

  “Will,” she breathed. “Please!”

  Unfortunately it wasn’t the please he was looking for, because she was pushing him away.

  “I . . . we can’t do this.”

  His lips cruised her neck and he felt her tremble. “Why not? We are married.”

  “Except this isn’t a real marriage.” Her voice was starting to sound a little clearer and a lot more in control. Not a good sign. “I’m not good at casual sex.”

  He stepped back, not releasing her totally, and lifted an eyebrow at her. She leaned her head back against the wall, her neck pink where the stubble from his beard had marked her. Will stifled a groan, knowing he might have already lost this set of downs.

  “That night doesn’t count. I was doped on medicine and I don’t remember it.”

  “So you keep saying.”

  She traced a finger over his biceps. “This is only temporary. It’s complicated enough with Owen, but this . . . this would only make it messier. I’m not good with messy.”

  “Bull! You’re very good at messy. My house looks like a hurricane breezed through it since you’ve lived here.” As compliments go, it wasn’t Will’s best effort.

  She was squinty eyed again. Will swore as he dropped his hands. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to say what he said next.

  “Saving yourself for the priest, I see.”

  Her hand made contact with his face and Will didn’t try to stop her. He’d deserved it. She deserved an apology. Instead he turned on his heel and left the room for a much-needed shower. A cold shower.

  Fourteen

  Brody was holding court in the crowded tea room of the Tide Me Over Inn, rehashing a call gone wrong in this year’s playoffs. The guests were sympathetic to his indignation about getting called for offensive interference, particularly the three young Frenchwomen who most likely hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. Will shook his head and began to step into the large parlor before a hand grabbed his arm.

  “Don’t you dare take him from that room. He’s good for business.”

  Will smiled down into the face of Patricia McAlister, the inn’s owner and Gavin’s mother. Her fiery red hair had faded into a more serene champagne color after some fifty-odd years, but her smiling eyes were blue as ever.

  “Hey, you’ve got your own professional athlete in the family. Make him entertain your guests,” Will teased.

  Patricia’s eyes dimmed. “The baseball season has just begun. He’s too busy. Besides, Ryan doesn’t come home anymore. Except maybe for weddings and funerals.”

  Will mentally kicked himself for upsetting the woman who’d been a second mother to him. Apparently the estrangement between Ryan and his family was as bad as it ever was, especially after the death of his father a few years back. Patricia still grieved the sudden loss of her husband deeply; the rift with her son didn’t help matters.

  He pulled her in for a hug, brushing a kiss over the top of her head. “He loves you. He just doesn’t like being in this town.”

  “Spoken like one who feels the same way.”

  “It goes without saying that I love you.” Will neatly sidestepped the second part of her statement. Like his m
other, Patricia believed Chances Inlet was her destiny, the place where she’d get her second chance. Will and the McAlister boys all thought the myth was a bunch of crap, hightailing it out of town as fast as they could to find their destiny someplace else. Somewhere they could be someone else.

  “I can’t let you in there,” Patricia insisted. “Not with those French exchange students in heat and you without a ring on. Really, Will, would it hurt you to wear a wedding band?”

  When news of their wedding broke, Julianne’s brother had spun an elaborate tale of lost love to the media. Most people believed the marriage was real. But those closest to Will—Patricia and Gavin and a few select others—knew the truth. Both his mother and Patricia were as irritated as Julianne that he would not wear a ring. Not that it mattered to him. If Will ever put on a wedding band, it would be because he loved a woman enough to commit his life to her. His feelings for Julianne were a mix of lust, mistrust, and exasperation. Nothing close to love. And any commitment they might have was scheduled to end in a few months.

  “Only if he wore it through his nose,” Brody interrupted, slipping from his admirers and joining them in the hallway.

  Patricia laughed. “That I’d like to see!”

  Will shot Brody a menacing look, but as usual, the tight end wasn’t fazed.

  “Go pick on your other sons. Brody and I have work to do.” He turned to the ornate, curved staircase in the inn’s grand foyer, and Brody followed.

  “Boys!” Patricia called to them as they climbed the stairs. Her tone was one Will had heard a thousand times in his lifetime, usually as he and the McAlister boys were off to their attic play space. “No roughhousing. This is a hotel, and I have guests.”

  Brody winked at her. “Message received. If I want to clean his clock, I’ll take him to the gym.”

  “As if that would ever happen,” Will mumbled.

  Brody charged up the stairs, Will at his heels, and entered a large suite at the head of the stairs. Patricia had named the rooms after cities and towns in Scotland, decorating them with the colors of the clans who live there. Brody was in the Inverness room, a sunny suite with a king-sized four-poster bed and panoramic views of the Atlantic Ocean just across the street from the inn.

  Will moved to the center of the room as Brody closed and locked the door behind them.

  “You can’t be too careful,” Brody said in answer to Will’s raised eyebrow. He opened the top drawer of the antique tallboy and pulled out a large envelope and two smaller ones, tossing them on the round table between two overstuffed chairs. Brody slouched in one of the chairs, one of his long legs dangling over the side. He grabbed the remote and dialed up SportsCenter on the television.

  Will carefully picked up the envelopes.

  “Dude, they’re perfectly safe. I had them checked out before I touched them.”

  Will hadn’t considered that the letters wouldn’t be safe, but he felt a sheen of sweat break out on his back at Brody’s words. “Paranoid much?”

  “Hey, one never knows. Besides, it gave me an excuse to call this FBI agent I know. You should see what she can do with a pair of handcuffs.” Brody winked at him.

  He shook his head and sank down into the chair across from Brody, tearing open the first envelope.

  “Hey!” Brody sat up in his chair. “You gonna open those here?”

  “I thought you said they were safe,” Will said as he pulled the contents from the largest envelope.

  “Dude, they are. That doesn’t mean I want to know what’s in them! I don’t want to be incriminated in this mess. You know, guilt by association?”

  “Relax. I haven’t done anything wrong, so . . .” Will stared at a photo of him putting a punishing hit on Denver quarterback Mark Callahan. It was the play that cemented Will’s position in the NFL, the one that earned him a starting position. It had also ended Callahan’s career with a separated shoulder that never recovered despite two surgeries.

  “Damn,” Brody said from over Will’s shoulder. “That was some hit.”

  “It was a clean hit.”

  “I’m guessing someone doesn’t think so.”

  Will threw the photo onto the table and picked up one of the smaller envelopes. In it was a small wooden emblem, a seven-pointed star surrounded by a wreath, a symbol of the Aurelian Society, one of the secret societies at Yale University and an organization Will was a member of.

  “Is that some voodoo good-luck charm?” Brody asked.

  Will slid the piece into the pocket of his jeans. It wasn’t a good-luck charm. It was a message. One about honor and duty to the university to which he owed so much. One about keeping his mouth shut.

  He didn’t want to open the last envelope, but he couldn’t wuss out in front of Brody. Will slid his finger through the seal and pulled out a single piece of paper. It contained one handwritten line:

  SNITCHES DON’T LAST LONG IN THIS LEAGUE.

  “Dude, you might want to think about getting a lawyer.”

  • • •

  Despite her resolve to stay hidden while she was living there with Will, the picturesque town of Chances Inlet—decked out in red, white, and blue bunting and American flags to commemorate the upcoming Memorial Day holiday—captivated Julianne. From the way Will had described his hometown, she’d expected the people there to be cold, perhaps even hostile. They were anything but, constantly regaling her with stories of Will’s escapades as a boy. The tales they told were more Norman Rockwell than Will’s abbreviated version of his childhood.

  Meandering to the town square after her postpartum check-up with an OB-GYN Dr. Ling had recommended, Julianne sat on a blanket beneath one of the huge live oak trees lining the quaint park in the town’s center that featured an actual Civil War cannon. Children scrambled on top of the cannon as their parents snapped pictures. The ocean roared somewhere in the distance, but the noise didn’t diminish the peacefulness she felt. Owen slept quietly in his stroller, a Blaze baseball cap shielding his face.

  The pencil had started moving slowly on the page at first. What started out as doodles was slowly turning into a stunning wedding gown. Julianne dared not breathe. It had been so long, she didn’t want to jinx it even by smiling. The lines of the dress were elegant, fit for the wife of a military doctor. She hoped she could hold on to the image until she’d completed the sketch.

  Her iPhone buzzed on the blanket beside her, her brother’s face popping up on the screen. Crap! Just like that, the image of the dress vanished from her head.

  Tossing the pencil into the grass, she picked up the phone. “What do you want?”

  “My, such a pleasant greeting.” Her brother’s voice was its usual smug sound. “Can’t a brother check up on his sister once in a while?”

  “You’ve called me every day since I got here. I don’t think you’ve called this many times in a year. Ever.”

  “I just want to make sure everything is okay with you and the baby.”

  “Owen. Your nephew’s name is Owen.”

  Stephen let out an exasperated sigh. “Julianne, I know my nephew’s name. I know your name. I even know your husband’s name. How is William the Conqueror treating you, by the way?”

  Stephen’s calls were the same every day. He asked about Owen, then how Will was treating her, as if he were suspicious that Will might be abusing her. He never asked about her, though. Of course, he never had before. Why should now be any different? She wondered what her pompous brother would say if she told him Will was beating her. Or subjecting her to humiliating sexual encounters. She blushed just thinking about the kiss they’d shared two days ago.

  Instead, she answered as she did each day. “He’s treating us fine, Stephen.” Which was sort of true; Will was treating Owen fine. Julianne, however, was being treated with the chilly reserve Will was famous for. Ever since their encounter in the nursery, they’d gone back t
o being distant housemates, alternating caring for Owen. It was better this way, she kept telling herself. Easier to make the break when they had to.

  Besides, Will’s accusation about her and Nicky hurt more than she wanted to admit. People were forever making false assumptions about their relationship. Julianne never spent much effort refuting them because she truly did love Nicky. He was the one constant in her life, the one person who’d always been there for her, especially when she needed him the most. She didn’t think her heart was big enough to love another person. Until she’d had Owen.

  But Julianne was a realist. Nicky loved her, she knew, just not enough. He loved another more. At first, she’d been devastated by his decision to become a priest. As the years passed, she rationalized his choice by being thankful that at least he would never love another woman more than he loved her.

  “He’s bonding with Owen, then? Actually helping take care of him?” her brother asked.

  An image of Owen sleeping on Will’s chest popped into her head. Will had taken to getting up in the predawn hours with the baby, Julianne taking the middle-of-the-night shift. When Owen hadn’t been in his crib this morning, she’d panicked, racing down to Will’s study to find the baby nestled atop Will’s slumbering body, his big hand securely cradling their son. The scene was so tender it brought tears to Julianne’s eyes. She’d quietly retreated to the kitchen, trying to figure out why she was crying. The purpose of their stay in Chances Inlet had been for father and son to establish a bond. Julianne wasn’t sure why she’d felt so left out.

  “Yeah, they’re bonding, Stephen. If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”

  “Julianne!” her brother called before she could hang up. “Wait! I need to ask you something.”

  “I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do with my life, if that’s what’s keeping you up at night. But don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you by sleeping on street corners.”

  Stephen sighed. “You and Owen are always welcome at my house. And I have no doubt you’ll figure something out. You’re a brilliant designer.”