Raspberry Crush (7 page)

"Well... I saw Seth today," Billy said.

"Uh-huh—
wait.
You mean Seth as in Seth from four years ago?" After Billy nodded, Corryn's eyes widened. "Oh, my God! Okay, back up; I need major details."

Billy explained about Seth's return to Massachusetts, his reason for coming to Bella Donna, and the pleasant chat they'd had that afternoon. After she was finished, Corryn pointed out that she'd omitted the most important part. "So how does he look?"

"Great," Billy admitted, and took a drink. As the tangy, bubbly liquid slid down her throat, she tried not to dwell on
how
great. Unsurprisingly, though, it didn't work, and a soft sigh escaped her lips.

Seth still had that warm, sexy grin, those sultry hazel eyes, and that easy, unassuming handsomeness that could stop her heart.

"Come on, there must be something wrong with him," Corryn said, reaching inside her jacket pocket for a cigarette. Then she froze—as she always did when she remembered there was no smoking in bars—and sighed irritably. It wasn't a particularly new rule, but alcohol always triggered her nicotine craving. "How's his hair?" she asked.

Hmm... she could say it looked gorgeous, darkly golden, and feather-soft to touch, but she knew that wasn't what her sister meant. "Not receding," Billy said with a smirk.

"His waistline?"

Billy shrugged. "He looks like he's in great shape"—mouth-wateringly great, and
felt
like it, too—"even better than when we were going out."

"Well that's annoying."

"Valid," Billy mumbled, grinning in spite of herself. "So, basically, we're talking no comb-over, no belly that could be detected, and no weak chin, either, if that was your next question."

By the dissatisfied frown on Corryn's face, it was. Shrugging, she said, "Well, so what? You look even better now, too."

"Oh, does 'better' have more than one meaning?"

"I'm serious. You're so pretty, and that hair color is perfect on you. Besides, you know my motto: If he's hot, he's probably a cocky asshole, and who needs the aggravation?"

Oh,
that
motto. Definitely not one you'd needlepoint on a pillow, but Billy supposed there was a certain logic to it. Especially from Corryn's perspective after Kane Bentley, the cookie-cutter-handsome, super-cunning lawyer had broken her heart.

Still, life and love weren't always that simple or predictable. In fact, Billy was willing to take hot guys on a case-by-case basis. For instance, Seth Lannigan might be handsome, but she still believed he had a good heart. And Mark Warner was not only cute, but kind and affable, too.
 

But Billy generally looked for the good more than her sister, who was a hard case like their mom. Corryn and Adrienne viewed the world in black and white; they also viewed each
other
that way, which was probably why they didn't get along.

"By the way, how's Mark?" Corryn asked now. "Have you guys gotten busy yet, or what?"

"No, I'm still waiting for the right time," Billy said deprecatingly. "I just hope it comes in this century." Corryn grinned, and then Billy giggled, because she knew it was just her savage hormones talking. "The thing is, I want to be intimate with him, but I want us to work
up
to that. We just haven't spent enough time together to work up to it yet. I definitely don't want to jump into bed with him. I want us to be closer. I want to know him on a deeper level."

That was the way she'd always been; she had sex on her mind as much as anyone, but when it came to the actual act, it was too intimate and special for her to take lightly. Of course, that was why she was twenty-seven years old and had slept with only one man—her ex-boyfriend, Ryan, whom she had dated after Seth. Looking back, she'd always wished it had been Seth.

Thinking of him now rekindled memories of this afternoon. Yet again. Billy shivered as her body stirred, reliving the sensations of Seth wrapping his arms around her and breathing against her ear. She'd always sensed a powerful kind of sexuality about him. It was in the hungry way he used to move his hands on her—the feral, almost pained expression on his face when he was aroused.

A flush of heat washed over her skin and snaked between her legs, where she was damp and wanting. Aching...

Meanwhile, her sister was saying something. "Wait, what?" Billy said, confused.

"I asked what time you're going to Mom and Dad's on Friday night."

"Oh. Around seven, I guess. What about you?"

"Seven's okay. Assuming I can make it."

"You can make it," Billy warned.

"You're right," Corryn scoffed. "It's a Friday night—of course I can make it."

"That's not what I mean. I mean you can't leave me there all by myself."

"Why not? Mom likes you."

"To a point," Billy said glibly.

"Look, Mom's great; I love her; she gave me life and all that. But I'm tired of her backhanded comments," Corryn said. "I'm tired of hearing that I'm thirty-four years old and that I need to get 'out there' again. It got kind of stale around the four hundredth time."

Nodding, Billy said, "You know, I think you two are in this holding pattern of passive-aggressive comments. You just need to break the cycle. Next time Mom says something that annoys you, tell her straight out."

"Fine, but I just can't understand how she's not annoying
herself,"
Corryn muttered, and Billy had to laugh.

"Well, I wouldn't wait for
that to
happen."

"Anything else, ladies?" the bartender asked as he cleared away their empty glasses. He wiped a towel along the bar and barely looked up.

"Yeah, two more," Corryn said, "and put some vodka in this time."

That got his attention; he looked up and quirked a smile at her. She almost smiled back, but stopped herself just in time.

After he poured them fresh drinks, he wiped his hands on his towel, then slung it over his shoulder. "Ten-fifty," he said, apparently not charging them for the first round. That was another thing about bartenders in Boston: They picked their moments to turn on the charm.

Corryn reached for her wallet, but Billy stopped her. "It's my treat this time, and don't argue," Billy said firmly. Corryn had been trying to shield her from poverty ever since she lost her job at Net Circle, even though she kept telling her that she still had semi-decent savings.

The bartender disappeared with the money, and Corryn thanked Billy and asked, "By the way, do you think you'll see Seth again?"

"Maybe. At the jubilee on Saturday. But maybe not. I don't know. I'm casual either way." Instantly she knew that sounded silly, but oh, well; it was only her sister. "Oh, and you're gonna watch Pike for me then, right?" With Lady McAvit still in a snit, Billy didn't want her baby getting into any trouble, but she'd feel too guilty to seal him up in the apartment all day and into the night.

"Sure, absolutely," Corryn said.

Smiling, Billy thanked her, then excused herself to go to the bathroom. She wove through a maze of pool tables and girls in black pants and tank tops, until she noticed something that made her stop short. Som
eone,
actually. A woman who looked like Melissa on the other side of the room. The Rack was a spacious place, though, so it was hard to get a good look. Tall, skinny, dressed in black, with thick, curly hair pulled back into a ponytail.

When she turned more to the side, Billy got a better look at her profile. It
was
Melissa, and she was talking to a man whose face was in the shadows.

Suddenly she glanced over her shoulder and made direct eye contact with Billy. Immediately Billy smiled and waved, but, even though their eyes were locked, Melissa didn't wave back. Pausing momentarily, she then turned back around.

Huh?

Is it Melissa or isn't it?

"You're blocking my shot," someone behind her barked, and Billy turned. She was right next to a pool table, and the guy holding the cue was glaring at her. He was some college punk kid with a baseball hat and a Northeastern sweatshirt, who blew his so-called shot as soon as she unblocked it. Continuing on to the ladies' room, Billy turned once to get another look at the girl who resembled Melissa.

Only now the girl was gone.

* * *

The following morning Corryn shoved her way onto the smelly, jam-packed E line. She wasn't trying to be a snob, but really, was this train ever
not
wall-to-wall crowded with people breathing and coughing on each other?

She'd trekked out to Jamaica Plain to show a one-bedroom off Huntington, and her appointment had never shown. So annoying. Realtors in Boston might have a reputation for being dismissive and short-tempered, but was it any wonder sometimes?

Now Corryn tried not to breathe—a strategy that obviously didn't last long. As it was, the little pocket of air she had smelled vaguely of sweat and stale bagels. And dirty socks. Christ, did someone have their shoes off, too? Wasn't there some kind of a law?

Frustrated and suffocated, she pushed through a mass of congestion, chanting, "Excuse me," as she went, and finally made it to a tiny clearing in the back.

After ten long minutes, the T was rattling underground. Then it jerked hard to a stop. The impact sent Corryn's head shooting up, and she suddenly found herself staring into a pair of vividly green eyes. Defogging her brain, she processed the whole image and realized that the green eyes belonged to the tall, broad-framed guy standing next to her.

When he smiled down at her, Corryn realized she was staring, so she quickly dropped her head and looked, instead, at the filthy, stinky floor. Much better. Really, who needed to make long, lingering eye contact with a guy on the T? He was probably a psycho, anyway.

"Crowded enough for you?" he said.

Her eyes flew up. He was still grinning at her. Yes, definitely a psycho.

Still, she smiled briefly at him. "I know—this is awful," she said, and noticed his green eyes sparkle. They really were so clear and beautiful... in fact, his face wasn't bad, either. Tiny lines of age around his mouth and eyes, with brown hair that had hints of gray running through it. Corryn guessed he was in his forties, but he was better built than any forty-something she knew.

Swallowing hard, she darted her gaze out the window at blackness streaming past as her heart rate kicked up.

She suddenly felt acutely self-conscious, like maybe this man was still watching her, and how did she look to him? She felt on display and a little nervous, because the guy was so damn attractive—an atypical observation on her part, but then, it was bound to happen every so often. The fact that she pretty much hated men right now didn't mean they couldn't still fluster her sometimes.
 

Now she could hear the choppiness of her breathing as her body and mind zeroed in on the man beside her. She was too aware of his close proximity, too intrigued by his size, and too paranoid, because she could literally
feel
his powerful presence. Were those ice-green eyes still on her?

Just forget it,
she told herself.
Focus on real-life stuff.
Like her schedule—what did she have left to do today? Oh, right, after a few more appointments and some paperwork, she'd eat dinner alone in front of the TV, then check her e-mail, find her inbox flooded with spam, and be in bed before most fifth graders. Yeah, her real life was just rolling right along.

The handsome guy next to her shifted his stance, bringing him a fraction closer. In response, Corryn's stomach muscles pulled tight and the breath hitched in her throat. Her heart was beating frantically. She was so edgy and nervous and over nothing! God, why did she have to be so bad with men and relationships? And why did she have to let it get to her?

Sometimes she wondered if Kane had ruined her for love. Then again, maybe she'd always been screwed-up, and he'd just made things worse. Not that he was abusive—just anal, critical, and pathologically dishonest. And rather than use direct insults, he'd made passive-aggressive remarks that even a toddler could see through.
Yeah, he was really something special,
Corryn thought,
and on top of everything,
he
left
me.

Suddenly the train jerked to another jarring stop, and the doors to her left flew open. Instead of people getting off, more just piled on. Shifting her body, she attempted to get "comfortable," but of course it was impossible. Not only was she sweaty, bitter, and short on breathable air, she was squished beyond belief, and could no longer reach the handrail.

"Christ,"
she mumbled, just as the man next to her—who must've sensed her frustration—said, "Here, hold on to me," and set his hand gently on the middle of her back. Corryn jumped at the contact, but grabbed on to his arm anyway, because she was about to fall over. Now he was practically enveloping her, holding her back steadily and warmly with one hand, while she held on to his other arm.

As the T rocked and swayed, Corryn felt confused. Her body was on full sensory alert; she was clutching on to a total stranger and honestly didn't want to let go.

As the train shook, her hip brushed against his thigh and he pressed more firmly on her back. A jolt of heat speared straight to her crotch.
Insanity,
she thought, taken aback by the sudden attraction.

It had been so long since she'd been touched by a man—so long since she had truly, deeply wanted to be. The guy next to her had to be releasing pheromones like crazy; it was the only logical explanation.

Sharply, she pulled away from him. A look of sudden confusion crossed his face. "I'm fine now," Corryn said by way of explanation, smiling politely and pretending she was having no trouble balancing as the T bumped and swayed. She had to collect herself and get back in control. Suddenly the train stopped short, pitching everyone forward, and as Corryn tried to steady herself, she felt something like a pinch on her breast. A pinch and a twist.

What the hell!

"Hey," she barked, tapping the man's upper arm, which was thick and rock solid.