Wound Up (8 page)

“Words, once said, are out there. No do-overs. It’s half the reason we have a job.”

He chuckled, opening blue eyes filled with some emotion she didn’t fully recognize. “You always couch the pain with humor?”

The truth slipped out before she could stop herself. “I’m afraid of what would happen if I didn’t.”

He cocked his head to one side. “What are you afraid of?”

She silently cursed herself. No way could she spell out for him her most basic fear. Behavioral conditioning—the theory that every behavior was learned—held that she might not be able to love because her childhood hadn’t taught her loving behaviors. Was that true? Had her mother’s choices doomed her to never experience love, to never give or receive it?

She fought to keep her breathing slow and even as her chest tightened and her lungs refused to work properly. No way was she pulling those questions out for his consideration, professional
or
personal.

Shaking her head, she laughed with intentional self-deprecation. “Oh, no. You’re not using me as a warm-up evaluation. Dig around in your patients’ heads, but leave my psyche alone. It’s perfectly happy in its screwed up little world.”

“I’m just curious.”

“No, Justin. We aren’t going there.” She sighed, slouching in her chair and stretching her legs, ankles crossed.

“I want to understand you.” He considered her long enough she fought not to squirm in her seat.

“There’s nothing to understand. Seriously.” She rolled her head back and forth, stretching her neck. “I’m simple and straightforward. What you see is what you get. Always.”

“No pretention?”

“No.” Her one-word answer was sharp and definitive. “I don’t have any interest in that.”

His gaze roamed over her body, lingering on her shoes. She’d found them at a second-hand shop, surprised to find the name-brand shoes in such good shape. Damn if she was going to admit she’d bought half of what she was wearing from thrift stores, though. It was none of his concern.

She crossed her legs with a seductive kick and leaned forward to glance at her shoes. “You seem to have a thing for my heels. Sorry. They’re not your size.”

He snorted, sliding lower in his chair and resting his hands over his abs. “I’m all about high heels.”

The way his eyes sparkled made her grin despite her unwillingness to play this game with him. “Cute. And for the record, dressing well isn’t pretentious. It’s called job security, Dr. I-Wore-a-Suit-and-Tie.”

One muscled shoulder lifted in a lazy shrug. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. Your eyes gave you away, cataloguing my outfit right down to my accessories.”

“How do I fix this, Grace, this thing between us? Throw me a bone here.”

She wasn’t sure what to say. Even if she’d been confident, she didn’t know if she could’ve come up with the right words, words that wouldn’t have betrayed her miserably fragile state. Her gaze dropped to her lap and she fiddled with the hem of her skirt. “Don’t do this, Justin. Not now.”

“It has to be now. I can’t spend the next two weeks side by side with you and not wonder what might be between us. I can’t watch you walk out of here a week from Friday and not wonder what the hell I could’ve done, not wonder if I should’ve asked for forgiveness, apologized, or hell, even groveled.”

“You hurt me,” she whispered. “After one night you figured out the most damaging thing you could say to me, and then you said it. I’m not sure we can get over that.”

“Don’t punish me forever for my careless choice of words.”

“I’m not punishing you. I’m protecting myself from the chance you meant everything you said.”

“I didn’t.”

“Some part of you was certainly capable of articulating that you think the night between us was a mistake. I won’t take the risk that that part is far more dominant than you realize.”

“Grace—”

“No. Listen to me.” One hand over the other, she gripped her wrists. “I don’t owe you my history any more than you owe me your future.” The lifetime of verbal abuse had never weighed more than it did in that moment, but she’d be damned if she’d share that with Justin. She didn’t want his sympathy or his pity. “You’re going to have to accept and respect that I have my reasons. That’s not a negotiable factor, so there’s nothing to discuss.”

Pushing himself to sitting, he leaned forward and propped his forearms on his knees. His chin dipped to his chest. “How did we end up here, Grace?”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and somber.

The air conditioner kicked on, the vent’s vibration creating a heavy percussion in the quiet office.

“Justin,” she said at the same time he said, “Grace.”

“You first,” she insisted.

Lifting his face to hers, he gave a short nod. “How about lunch?”

“Lunch?” She glanced at the clock. Her stomach growled the second she realized it was noon. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea that we—”

“It’ll be quick because we have to be here and prepped for our first appointment in an hour and a half.” He stood and offered her a hand.

Grace stood on her own and shrugged into her jacket. “Just lunch.”

Fleeting disappointment shone in his eyes before he locked his reaction down. “Fine. As colleagues.”

Dread and longing wrestled in her chest, bouncing off one lung and then the other with serious prejudice before they went into free fall. They snatched at various emotions on the way down and didn’t stop until they hit the soles of her shoes. “Okay.”

Justin opened the door. “After you.”

Stepping through, her emotions crawled out of her high heels and came to rest behind her belly button. The tension singing through her said those battered feelings were prepared for full-blown, riot-gear-required anarchy. Her eyes watered with a particular emotion she wasn’t willing to openly name.

She feared it might be regret.

8

N
ONE
OF
THIS
was going the way Justin wanted. Not even close. Hearing the hitch in her voice, listening to the accusations in her words, witnessing the hurt in her eyes—it had thrown him. He hoped the hurt he’d caused was superficial. It was what lay underneath that wouldn’t let him go, though. Below that painful veneer was a well of emotional damage she hadn’t been able to hide. He didn’t know who or what had caused it, though he intended to do his best to find out. The one thing he was sure of? She hadn’t walked out on him yesterday. He’d driven her out that door. And the responsibility of his actions left him with the sensation he was sinking faster than a man wearing cement shoes in the Hudson.

There was only one thing to do. Starting now, he was going to seduce Grace. Not seduce her with suggestive dances or passionate kisses that would allow her to claim she’d only been caught up in the moment. No, he was going to offer small things, little words of kindness, gestures of comfort—whatever it took to get her to realize that he was a better man than he’d shown himself to be and that he hadn’t meant what he’d said. She was smart. It wouldn’t take long for her to put it together. He just had to figure out how to show her what Saturday night had meant to him. He figured lunch was a safe place to start. Granted, it had been a spontaneous invitation, but it provided an immediate opportunity to start showing her who he really was, the man he’d become over the years, not the selfish punk he’d been.

“What do you feel like for lunch, Grace?”

The click of her heels on the old building’s commercial tile was loud in the quiet hallway, and he heard the falter in her steps at the question.

She slowed. “I assumed you had somewhere in mind.”

“Nope. I figured I’d leave that up to you.”

“I’m not entirely familiar with the area, so I’ll let you make the recommendation.”

Well, this wasn’t working out the way he had hoped, either. “Fast food or sit-down meal?”

“Anything that costs five bucks or less. That’s what I’ve got on me at the moment.”

A spontaneous idea rolled over him, and, instead of thinking it through, he simply went with it. “C’mon. If we catch the 12 bus, we’ll have plenty of time.”

“You didn’t drive to work?”

“I borrowed the car from a friend Saturday night. I don’t own one yet. Hopefully that changes in the next week.” He stepped up his pace, not giving her the opportunity to question him further. His long legs ate up the floor and forced her to nearly jog to keep up with him.

She never faltered, never complained.

They managed to catch the bus, but only because they ran for it. All the seats were taken, so they grabbed the handholds above them and hung on as the bus lurched into traffic. Grace swayed, her breasts brushing against him. He closed his eyes for a second and managed not to groan. Barely.

“Sorry,” she murmured, moving away.

The urge to lay his hand on the slight curve of her hip and keep her close overwhelmed him. He wanted to hold her against his body, tuck her up tight and breathe in her scent, experience the brush of her ass against him as the bus rocked to and fro over uneven roads. Clearing his throat, he offered her a small smile. “No problem.”

She blushed and glanced away.

He gently hooked a finger under her chin and gently urged her face around to his. “Seriously. No problem.”

“You promised lunch.
Just
lunch.” Her voice was soft as velvet with an undertone of steel.

“I did. I didn’t promise I wouldn’t react to your touch.”

“Then I won’t touch you.”

“My loss.” He stepped back a fraction, ignoring the curious glances of those nearest them.

Her brows drew together as she peered up at him. She opened her mouth to say something when the prerecorded voice came over the sound system, announcing the next stop.

“This is us.” He gave in to temptation and laid his hand at the indention of her waist and guided her forward.

She inched away. “I’m pretty sure I can find my way out of the bus, but thanks.”

“Just trying to be courteous.” And wasn’t that a lie? He wanted to touch her any way the moment allowed, no matter that someone might witness the act. It was an innocent gesture that let him put his hands on her. He’d settle for that. For now.

“Thanks.” Clearly discomfited, she stepped off the bus and moved aside to wait for him. “Where to?”

“Down this block. The diner is across that intersection,” he said, pointing.

The short, narrow blue-white-and-chrome fifties-style diner was a landmark in the Capitol District. Situated on Broad Street and open twenty-four hours a day, it was always busy. The clientele was diverse, ranging from politicians to street sweepers. The food was amazing and kept all the patrons coming back for more. Justin would know. His mother worked there, and he’d essentially grown up in the place.

The idea his mother would meet Grace left him a little uneasy, but that was okay. He wanted Grace to realize that he was well aware of how to treat people, women in particular. He didn’t like the fact that she seemed to consider him heartless. God knew he had been in the past.

Not that kid anymore.

The mantra interjected itself into his internal conversation. He’d learned to remind himself of the poor choices he’d left behind and the golden ring he’d dialed in and aimed for instead. He had his doctorate thanks to the Second Chances program and the woman Grace was about to meet.

He might be nervous, but he was also damn proud. His mother was amazing. He’d never brought a date to the diner—though he supposed this wasn’t a date. If he had to ask for clarification, Grace would undoubtedly remind him it was “just lunch.” Still, his mom would understand.

“Earth to Justin.”

His gaze snapped to hers as they stood at the crosswalk. “Sorry. What was that?”

“How’d you find this place?”

“It’s a bit of a landmark. The diner is owned and run by a cantankerous Irishman and staffed with the best waitresses in town. And if memory serves, I owe you a piece of pie.
Good
pie. There’s none better than the chocolate cream they serve here.”

She flushed, and her hand went to her throat. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I pay my debts, and I say I owe you pie, so there you go. Pie it is.”

The light changed, and they crossed the street, then the diner’s parking lot.

Justin held open the door and ushered her inside. “Sit wherever you’ll be most comfortable.”

Hesitating briefly, she moved to a booth near one of the large windows and sat in the sunlight. It glinted off her hair, showing the deep reds and golds hidden in the dark depths. The light played across her face, warming the pale tones and making her skin nearly translucent. It lit up her eyes, making the green a bottomless pool of color. When she realized he was staring, she glanced away. “Let me be honest, okay? I have no idea why you wanted to take me to lunch. Maybe you’re trying to assuage the guilt you’re harboring over Saturday night or Sunday’s words. Maybe you’re trying to reestablish yourself as a nice guy. Maybe—”

“Enough,” he said, quiet but firm as he slid into the booth across from her. “Stop it, Grace.”

“Pardon me?”

“You heard me. Cut it out.” He reached for a menu and slid it in front of her, fighting the urge to hunch his shoulders. She’d read him as easily as a freaking book. “I wanted to have lunch with you. You agreed to have lunch with me. That’s enough.”
For now.
“And while I might not be wining and dining you at the five-star level, the food’s excellent all the same.”

She frowned. “And the company?”

Eyeing the dessert case, his lips twitched before a sheepish grin spread across his face. “Actually, the worst thing on the menu might be better than the rancid company.”

Her laughter rang out. “Duly noted.”

The sound of her laughter whipped through him like a warm Chinook wind. He wanted to hear it again, would do almost anything to hear it again.

One of the waitresses walked by and winked at him, tilting her head toward Grace. That’s when it hit him. Bringing Grace to the diner was tantamount to inviting her to dinner with his whole family, not just exposing her to his mother. The employees of the Broad Street Diner had been his family for more than fifteen years. They’d stepped in to rally round his mom and sisters after his dad had been killed. The waitresses had created babysitting schedules to watch his sisters when Justin had been so wrapped up in his own misery he’d been no help to his mom whatsoever. They’d pitched in to give the kids Christmas and birthday gifts. They’d donated extra shifts to simply help his mom make ends meet when they were all just as strapped as the Maxwell family was.

Familiar guilt at the choices he’d made long ago prickled along his nape. He hadn’t been the best kid. Moments like this, moments when the past snuck up and surprised him, pissed him off. He’d paid for his self-centered behavior, rash decisions and darkest moments. Man, had he paid for it. No sense letting it crowd in on him now. He rubbed the tattoo that circled his left biceps, recalling the bite of the needle.

“Justin?”

His head snapped up.

“Your arm bugging you?”

“What? Oh. No. It’s fine.” He glanced over her head to find his mom chatting with a customer at the counter. He whistled softly.

She lifted her soft brown eyes from her customer. Those eyes wrinkled with her automatic smile and struck Justin silent. The soft depth of the crow’s feet was new. Or was it? Had he just not noticed? When had she started to show her age?

“Justin!”

“Hey, Mom.” The weight of Grace’s wide-eyed stare slammed into him. Glancing over at her, one corner of his mouth kicked up. “Did I forget to mention my mom works here?”

* * *

T
AKING
A
DEEP
BREATH
while silently promising herself she’d kill him slowly with a staple remover and a letter opener when they returned to the office, Grace stood and faced the diminutive woman with as much composure as she could muster. “Mrs. Maxwell? I’m Grace Cooper, a former student of your son’s.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Grace. Please, call me Darcy. Coffee? Hot tea? Soda?”

“Hot tea would be amazing.” Grace was drawn in by Darcy’s warmth and guileless smile.

Justin rose and followed his mom across the narrow aisle and around the counter, sweeping her into a huge bear hug. How such a tiny woman had birthed and raised the tall, muscular man left Grace completely flummoxed, particularly when he spun Darcy around, feet off the floor.

“Put me down, you big oaf.”

“You wound me, Ma.”

“I’ll get my pie server and show you wounded.” Darcy wiggled out of his arms. “Cream with your tea?” she asked Grace calmly as she tucked stray strands of hair into her chignon.

“Please.”

“She gets ‘would you like cream with that’ and I get the boot?” Justin grabbed Darcy again and laid a loud kiss on her cheek. “I’m your son, Mom. Your
son
.”

“You’re a pain in the ass is what you are,” she groused good-naturedly, slipping away to efficiently fill a mug with hot water and retrieve a tea bag. She spun away, moving swift and sure to pick up a called order, refill coffee mugs and set Grace’s tea in front of her even as Justin returned to the booth.

Grace rolled the Earl Grey tea bag between her fingers. She hated Earl Grey but didn’t have the guts to ask Darcy for something else. “You don’t have to look at the menu?” she asked Justin.

“She’d only abuse me with it,” Justin called over his shoulder before focusing his attention on Grace with a grin and shake of his head. “I’ve eaten everything on the menu at least once, so I’m familiar with all of it.” He shuddered. “Even the meat loaf.”

“My meat loaf’s the best, kid,” the cook called from the kitchen pass-through.

“Your meat loaf has lamb in it. Lamb does
not
go in meat loaf, Shamus.”

“It does if you’re Irish.”

“I’m definitely more of, you know, a Fifth Avenue and Sycamore Street kind of guy.”

“Still a smart-ass.”

“
Always
a smart-ass,” Darcy interceded, setting a cup of coffee in front of Justin before stroking a hand down his hair. “So how’s the first day as Dr. Maxwell going?”

Justin answered and their banter continued as Grace stirred her tea, the diners’ voices creating white noise for her rambling mind. She’d been stunned senseless the moment Justin whistled at Darcy. This little microuniverse could have come straight from one of her childhood daydreams, one where she’d grown up loved and cherished and part of a family. People looked forward to seeing her. She would have given anything to be part of this...this...soundstage. That’s what this was. A soundstage. It left her waiting for the laugh track and cued commercial breaks.

How could this exist right in front of her and yet be so far out of reach?

“Grace?”

She blinked and raised her eyes to find Darcy standing over her.

“Your tea bag is coming apart, sweetheart.”

“Right.”

Darcy carried the cup away and returned with a fresh cup of hot water—and another Earl Grey tea bag.

“Thank you.” Closing her eyes for a split second longer than a blink, Grace worked up the nerve to address Darcy. “What do you recommend today?”

“As if there’s not a chalkboard special by the door,” someone muttered behind her.

“Mind yourself, Mr. Kapps.” Darcy’s mild censure garnered an immediate apology. Nodding, she considered Grace. “We’re famed for our burgers.”

“And Shamus cuts a mean steak fry,” Justin chimed in.

“Are you disparagin’ my Irish roots, Justin?” the swarthy-faced man called through the pass-through.

“Your...Irish...roots,” Justin hooted with laughter.

The cook blinked and then, apparently catching the play on words, laughed along with him.

Cue that missing laugh track.

“Oh, you two,” Darcy sniffed, her merry gaze shifting to Grace. “Are you opposed to burgers?”

“I’ve been in college so long I’ve forgotten they could be anything other than the politically correct soybean patty.”