Risking It All (7 page)

Except she couldn’t relax. The night before came flooding back. She couldn’t forget the rift that had opened between them. He’d evaded her again and then turned his back to her. Kyle had never done that before.

She also couldn’t forget lying on his chest. For one brief moment, things had seemed right between them, and she did what she’d always done—she moved toward him, drawn by the need to be close to him. Except once she had, she found herself noticing all those minute things. She’d noticed the man, not the friend. Staring down at him, breathing in the sweet mintiness of his breath, she’d focused on his mouth, only inches away. He was close enough to kiss, and she’d had the insane desire to do exactly that. To lean down and capture his mouth. Would he taste as good as she suspected?

Oh yeah. She had to admit, if only to herself, that she’d had the thought before. It wasn’t like she hadn’t caught him kissing one of his girlfriends over the years, either, so she’d seen him in the act. Now those simple memories made her wonder. Last night, they’d filled her with the yearning to experience it for herself.

The longer she lay in his bed this morning, the more she became aware of exactly that—the man. His soft, warm breaths feathered along the nape of her neck, sending shivery tingles running down her spine. His lean, taut body against her back made her tummy do somersaults. Kyle kept in good shape, and all those muscles pressed so intimately against her made her heart trip over itself.

She was immersed in everything that was him. His apartment, his bed, his sheets. The whole room smelled of him, filling her nostrils with a scent that only a few months ago had merely been him. Just Kyle. Now being here with him had her body responding. She might have been a virgin until she was twenty-seven, but she knew desire when she felt it.

She wasn’t alone in that, either. Kyle’s hips pressed intimately against her backside, and his undeniable erection nudged her butt. While a little voice in her head reminded her men naturally woke up that way, a languid, desirous heat curled through her belly. It wound its way through her, seeping like a dense fog through every cell. Her hands itched to reach back, to touch him, to explore his warm, hard body, and his erection nudging her backside made her ache in the most primal of ways.

Before she could gather her wits and decide what to do, Kyle shifted behind her. His arm tightened around her waist, drawing her closer, and his grip went from casual to possessive. Murmuring sleepy, unintelligible words, his soft lips grazed the back of her neck, and his hips arched against her as he pushed his arousal into the seam of her backside.

Heated tingles raced down her spine. Goose bumps shivered along the surface of her suddenly too-sensitive skin. Her core moistened as longing and desire curled through her.
Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.
She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the dull throbbing settling between her thighs and stroked his arm, praying he’d relax and go back to sleep. He was dreaming. That was all. Only dreaming. And the sooner he stopped, the sooner she could get out of this bed.

Except Kyle shifted again. This time his hand slid up her stomach, curving around her left breast, his warm palm sliding against her nipple. Pleasure arrowed straight to her core, and Cecelia gasped and bit the inside of her cheek to keep a needy moan from leaving her throat. Pregnancy hormones had made her breasts super sensitive, and something as simple as the stroke of his hand was exquisite torture. God help her, but her body responded, her nipple pebbling almost painfully against his palm.

She froze, eyes squeezed shut, and dragged in several quick, desperate breaths in an effort to calm her reaction. Kyle stilled, but his hand remained where it lay. The T-shirt she wore, his shirt, no less, suddenly seemed like no barrier at all.

Oh God, she had to get out of this bed before she did something she’d regret. Like arch her back and rub her breast against his palm. None of which would do a thing for her efforts to ignore her growing desire for him.

Slowly and carefully, she lifted his wrist and set it behind her. Kyle grumbled in his sleep, shifting in the bed, but quieted and stilled. Within moments he settled back to sleep, his breathing going deep and even again.

With a quiet, relieved sigh, she sat upright and scooted to the end of the bed. Her gaze focused on the doorway, she tiptoed across the room. If she was lucky, he’d sleep ’til noon like he usually did, and she could get out without having to confront him. She intended to pursue their conversation from last night. He wasn’t getting off that easily this time, but she needed time to pull herself together.

She’d made it only halfway across the room when he gave a loud yawn behind her. “Morning, Ceci.”

Her heart leapt into her throat, and she froze midstep. Now what? She couldn’t face him yet. He’d see right through her, would no doubt be able to read her mind, as he so often seemed to do. She couldn’t let him see her confusion or, heaven help her, her reaction to his touch. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he’d say or do. She didn’t want to acknowledge the feelings, let alone admit to them, and if he turned her down, she didn’t know if she could handle it. She’d failed one too many relationships. If he told her she was only a sister to him, just his friend, it would crush her. It was childish to feel that way, and completely mixed-up, given that she refused to allow the feelings to take root.

But she couldn’t deny the emotions, either. He was the one man in her life who mattered. Really mattered. She supposed, out of everybody in her life, he was the one person with enough of her to actually break her heart. And the thought of facing him right now . . . she was too embarrassed. How do you look your best friend in the face and tell him his touch made you imagine him naked? She just couldn’t.

Her shoulders slumped. And neither could she put him off. If she bolted from the room, he’d know something was up. Then she’d be forced to face him or come up with some lame excuse. And they’d promised each other honesty a long time ago. When she was around fifteen, Gran had put off her questions again, leaving her with the feeling that she knew more than she let on, and Cecelia had made Kyle promise he’d never lie to her. Even if she didn’t like the truth. Then promised him the same.

She sucked in a deep breath in an effort to calm her nerves, forced the calmest expression she could muster, and finally turned. Only to dissolve into a fit of giggles. Kyle sat up in the bed, rubbing his hands over his face. The short hairs on the top of his head jutted out at odd angles, reminiscent of a porcupine. Sunlight streaming in through the blinds caught the golden highlights, almost illuminating his head in a halo.

His head jerked in her direction, amusement dancing in his eyes. “What are you laughing at?”

She covered her mouth, giggling behind her hand. “Have you ever seen yourself in the morning?”

He raked a hand through his hair, making more spikes stand up, but a tiny flush tinged his cheeks.

“You’re one to talk.” His eyes narrowed, yet at the same time the left side of his mouth quirked up. “I think a rat made a nest in the back of your head while you were sleeping.”

She dragged a hand through her hair, her fingers tangling in the knots he’d so kindly pointed out. Something about it all only made her laugh harder, until her sides ached and tears slid down her cheeks.

Kyle rolled his eyes, playful and highly amused . . . but not surprised, and that’s when it hit her. With one last hiccup, her giggles died away, her earlier panic gone, taking the unwanted desire with it. This was Kyle. He’d been her best friend since she was seven. She grew up with him. He was the quintessential boy next door. He knew her better than anyone.

Pregnancy hormones. That had to be it. The pregnancy hormones taking over her body had no doubt caused whatever insanity was taking over her mind these days.

She dropped her hand to her side and smiled. Yes, that was it all right. It had to be, because she would not go down
that
particular road with Kyle. Acknowledging this desire meant risking losing him, and she just couldn’t. She needed him, and as tempting as these thoughts were, she needed him to stay where he was. As her friend. It was as simple as that.

Cecelia sat at the small kitchen table an hour and a half later, chin in hand. The plate of food Kyle had set in front of her ten minutes before went untouched. She wasn’t hungry. She’d stayed this morning because she wanted to talk to him. She was going to find those answers to her past or die trying, and Kyle reminded her too much of Gran—always putting her off but never really telling her why. This time, she at least wanted to know why.

But sitting there, she almost wished she’d decided to go home. This morning’s touch had her body humming on a low simmer. She couldn’t stop watching him, couldn’t stop noticing all those things she shouldn’t. Kyle had always had a big appetite, always ate like it was the last meal he’d ever get. This morning was no different. He’d piled enough French toast, scrambled eggs, and sausage on his plate to feed at least two people. He sat shoveling in bites and washing them down with swigs of coffee. She never could figure out where he put it all.

As amusing as she found his eating habits, it was the little gestures that caught her. Every time his lips grazed his fork, she couldn’t help remembering their soft touch nibbling at the back of her neck an hour and a half ago. Even the way his biceps flexed as he lifted a bite to his mouth sent heated tingles running down her spine. The mere thought of his possessive grip on her waist this morning had heat, soft and subtle but undeniable, settling in her core.

What made it worse was the way he peeked up at her occasionally. Each time, something intense flashed across the depths of his eyes, leaving her trembling with awareness. But tension mounted between them. Something was different. They made small talk, but otherwise, there was an awkwardness there. Kyle was different, unusually tense and quiet. While making breakfast together, something they’d done more times than she had fingers and toes, she’d caught him watching her more than once. Not to mention, he seemed to be making an effort not to touch her. When she’d brushed against him on her way to the sink fifteen minutes ago, they’d both stopped. Kyle hadn’t
exactly
flinched, but he’d definitely noticed the contact. His body had stiffened.

His reaction brought up all those questions she didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone ponder. Had her feelings for him really changed? Worse was the frightening possibility that his might be as well. She’d seen it last night, too, as she lay on his chest. She wasn’t exactly experienced when it came to men. Jimmy had been up-front. When he wanted something, he said so. But she’d sworn heat had flashed in Kyle’s eyes last night. There’d been a moment, like when they’d made breakfast, where he’d stared a little too long, a tenderness in his eyes when he touched her she couldn’t remember ever seeing.

There was a distinct tension between them she couldn’t ignore anymore.

With his elbow braced on the table, Kyle let his fork hover halfway to his mouth. He glanced up from his plate, those eagle eyes pinning her to her spot. “Out with it.”

Her heart stalled then resumed at a frantic pace. Hands trembling, she picked up her fork and stabbed a bite of her eggs, though she didn’t put it into her mouth. Oh God, he’d caught her staring. How on earth would she get herself out of this one? Grasping the first idea to flit through, she nodded at his plate and flashed a teasing grin, though she was sure it wobbled. “Actually, I was thinking you eat like a pig.”

“Growing boy.” Bright blue this morning, his eyes twinkled with amusement. He set down his fork and patted his stomach. “That’s not what you were thinking. Talk to me.”

He braced both elbows on the table and folded his hands, waiting with a patience that was all Kyle. After a few moments of silence, he arched a brow.

She always hated being on the receiving end of that intense, probing stare. Kyle was good at his job. His partner, Marsha, had told her once he was good at getting a suspect to crack. When Kyle wanted something, he usually got it. Now that determination only served to make her tremble. Not for the first time in the last twelve hours, she couldn’t help wondering . . . could he see right through her?

She straightened, firmly reminding herself of why she’d come over in the first place. She was determined to convince him to help her. Or to get a straight answer out of him. “I’m going to find out what happened to my parents one way or another.”

She hoped this time he’d cave or that, at the very least, he’d talk to her.

Kyle froze, so still his surprise hung in the air. Finally, he released a heavy sigh, shook his head, and stood, pushing his chair back with his knees.

“I’m sorry, but we’ve had this conversation a thousand times, and the answer is the same. I can’t help you with this.” His lips etched into a thin line as he picked up both of their plates and turned, crossing to the sink, effectively shutting her out. He scraped the plates into the sink and then flipped a switch, filling the air with the crunching of the garbage disposal.

The same stony wall and the same cryptic answer as always. This time that stony wall was one too many. Anger and hurt warred for supremacy in her chest, and tears welled in her eyes. Why wouldn’t anyone tell her the truth? That’s all she wanted. The truth. Gran had done the same thing, patted her head and explained it away, and she couldn’t shake the feeling what she’d really done was put her off so she wouldn’t
have
to answer. Just like Kyle had.

Well, she was tired of being put off. She needed answers. Didn’t anyone understand? She was sure out of everybody, Kyle would. His father had left their family, walked out. He knew what it was like to wonder where your parents were, but at least he knew
why
his father left. It might not stop the hurt, but at least he knew.

“Dammit.” She slapped a palm on the table and rose to her feet, rounding the table toward him. “We’ve known each other for twenty years. You know how important this is to me. It’s not like I’m asking you to do something illegal. I’m asking you to support me in this.”

“Don’t ask me to do this, Cecelia.” As abruptly as he’d turned his back on her, he spun to face her again. In his left hand, he still held the worn blue sponge, either oblivious or not caring that water dripped on the floor.

That he called her by her full name wasn’t lost on her. Kyle had called her Ceci since he was in third grade. He called her Cecelia only when she upset him, usually when they fought. Like now. But his eyes won the struggle for her attention. A war raged in their depths, uncertainty and indecision, regret and sorrow, all fighting for supremacy.

The power of the look stunned her into momentary silence. She doubted she’d ever seen so much emotion in his eyes before. He always hid them, usually behind his wry sense of humor. If things got too tense, she could always count on Kyle to make light of the situation.

Not now. In fact, he hadn’t done that with her in so long she couldn’t remember the last time he had. Things had been too serious between them for too long.

“Please don’t do this again.” His voice lowered to a bare whisper, his searching eyes pleading with her. Dejection hung on him.

“I could probably ask Marsha. Or Chase for that matter. Either one of them would no doubt do it for me in a heartbeat, but not you.” She dared a step forward to bridge the chasm growing between them. Something was definitely wrong, and she wanted it to end. “I asked
you
because you’re my best friend. You’re the person I come to for things like this, when I need someone. I’m safe with you, and we’ve been holding each other up for twenty years. If this were you, I wouldn’t hesitate. Why won’t you do this for me?”

“Because I—”

With a roll of her eyes and a weary sigh, she held up a hand, stopping the words before they left his mouth. If she heard them one more time, she’d scream. “No. You can and you know it. You just don’t want to. I know the difference. You might think I can’t see it, but I do. Because I know you, Kyle. I know your every mood and your every expression, and I know when you’re not telling me something. But for the life of me, I don’t understand why.”

Feeling suddenly alone, she turned her back on him, turned away from his distant expression, and pressed her bare toes into the metal piece separating the living room from the dining room. “All my life I’ve lived with this emptiness inside, not knowing where it came from or why. Those nightmares feel familiar to me, and I feel like I’m missing something, but I don’t know what or why. I long for things people take for granted every day. Do you know what I’d give to be able to complain that my mother nags me to death? You do it when your mother tends to coddle you like you’re still ten years old. Even Evan complains. I’d kill just to know my mother’s name.”

She paused to draw in a shaky breath, but he remained silent behind her. She wanted to turn to see his eyes, to see something that said her words had penetrated his heart. Who was she kidding? She wanted to go to him, wrap her arms around his waist, and bury her face in his chest. To see the familiar glimmer in his eyes and know their friendship remained intact. Somewhere over the past six months they’d lost it, and she couldn’t be certain where they’d gone wrong or even why. But here, now, the rift between them was no longer all in her imagination. It was most definitely there, and she had no idea what to do about it anymore.

Except she didn’t dare go to him or touch him. At this moment, she wasn’t sure he’d welcome her. He might as well be a stranger for as close as they were right then, and she hated it.

She folded her arms across her stomach, feeling more alone and more vulnerable than she had last night. “I don’t remember much before Gran and I moved in next door. I have bits and pieces of things, confusing snapshots that live in my mind. Faces of people I don’t know. A small two-story house. Everything else, the first seven years of my life, is just gone. I have no idea where I came from, what happened to my parents. Did they give me up? Did they leave? Were they killed? Am I an orphan or just unwanted? Gran always refused to tell me.”

The only thing her grandmother had ever told her was that she was her paternal grandparent and that she’d adopted Cecelia at seven. Gran always said love glued them together. Every time she brought up her parents, though, Gran changed the subject.

“I have no past. No family.” She rubbed a hand over her still-flat stomach, imagining the baby within. It was silly and selfish to discount the Morgans, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same as having that flesh-and-blood tie, knowing where you came from and having a sense of roots. A past. All she had right then was a nagging emptiness she couldn’t fill. “Right or wrong, I need the answers. Now more than ever.”

“You may not have a past, Ceci, but you have me. And Evan and Malia and Becca. You and Gran have always been family. You know that.”

“It’s not the same.” She pivoted to face him, but everything she wanted to say to him flew out of her head as his expression caught her.

Kyle leaned against the kitchen counter, his hands gripping the edge. Having set down the sponge and turned the water off, he now stared at the floor but lifted his head as she faced him. His eyes shone with a raw, aching pain, like a gaping wound left open and exposed.

The expression made her chest ache, and several seconds ticked out as they watched each other in strained silence. She yearned to go to him, to touch him, to bridge the chasm widening between them and regain what they’d so obviously lost. She’d never meant to make it sound as if he and his family didn’t mean the world to her, because they did. Without them, she’d be well and truly alone. They
were
family and had been for most of her life. Despite how alone she sometimes felt, when push came to shove, she knew the Morgans were there for her.

Just as quickly, Kyle averted his gaze to the floor and folded his arms. Before her eyes, his walls came up. His features hardened, and the muscles in his jaw ticked. She knew that look. Kyle could be damn stubborn sometimes, but now it just nagged at the ache in her gut. She wanted to believe he’d never lie to her, but her doubts still lingered. He pushed too hard trying to convince her not to pursue her past, and the look on his face now told her that nagging voice was right.

She took a step in his direction, but Kyle tensed, and she stopped several feet from him.

“You’re the one person I’ve always counted on. The one person I thought would understand. You’re my last hope. I’ve done all I know how to do myself. But time after time you tell me you can’t help me with this, and you won’t tell me why.” She paused and drew in a deep breath. Once she put this out there, she couldn’t take it back, and her gut told her voicing these thoughts would serve only to widen the chasm between them. “I can’t help but wonder if you know more than you’re letting on. From my viewpoint, it sure seems like you’re hiding something.”

“I’m not hiding anything.” Frustration laced his tone and showed in the crease that formed between his brows. With a low growl, he dropped his arms and pushed away from the counter, crossing the kitchen to her in three long strides. He stopped a comfortable distance from her and seemed to hesitated, his gaze reaching, searching, then stepped into her personal space. “I just don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to be the one to put that look back in your eyes.”

“What look?”

“The one you had on your face when you showed up here yesterday.” He shook his head, staring at her with eyes full of misery. “It kills me to see you like that.”

His hand came up slowly, caressing down her cheek. The simple stroke stole the breath from her lungs. Every instinct screamed at her to step away from him, but Cecelia’s feet rooted to the floor. Like this morning, he’d never touched her quite like this before, so light and tender. He touched her the way a man might touch a woman. The intensity in his eyes held her captive. Rendered speechless, she could do little more than gape at him. Now she knew what a deer felt like when faced with the bright lights of an oncoming car—bewildered, wanting to dash away to safety, yet mesmerized and drawn in at the same time.

He cupped her cheek, and she closed her eyes, leaning her face into his palm. She told herself she intended the contact only to help ease the tension between them, to regain the connection they’d always had. But his warm breath brushed her lips, like the whisper-soft flutter of a bird’s wings, and the moment became something else. Shivers of awareness swept down her spine, and every hair on her body seemed to stand on end. The yearning she’d had last night while lying draped on his chest came again, strong and swift. To lift onto her toes, to capture his mouth and taste him.