Butterfly in Frost Page 3

  “You smell so good,” he breathes into my kiss.

  In the back of my mind, a red warning light is flashing. The pounding of my heart is spurred by the sense that I’m being careless. But I find I can’t let go.

  Need, long dormant, is awakening inside me, latching on to Garrett with ravenous hunger. I can’t get enough of his mouth, the way he tastes, the deep lashes of his tongue. He is unrestrained but so skilled. There is knowledge in the way he handles me, experience that promises pleasure too heady to resist.

  He moves, and I tighten my grip, a low whimper of protest escaping before I can swallow it down. He hums assurance, pulling me closer.

  The sound of my doorbell makes me jump. Garrett holds me tighter.

  “Hey, it’s Roxy!”

  I stiffen to the point of pain, feeling two separate realities converging.

  “She’ll go away,” Garrett murmurs, his lips at my throat.

  My heart pounds. “She knows I’m here.”

  “So?”

  “I can’t just hide!”

  Lifting his head, he looks at me. His mouth is a thin, furious line, his jaw set stubbornly. “Maybe you’re in the shower. Maybe you’re wearing headphones. Maybe you’re making out with your neighbor.”

  Panic makes me frantic. “You don’t just get to appear and disrupt everything!”

  “Teagan.” He sighs. “Calm the fuck down.”

  “Don’t tell me how to feel!”

  “Goddamn it.” He sets me on my feet and strides toward the door.

  There’s a moment of relief. Then the panic flares again. I barely have time to scramble into the master bedroom before I hear the door open.

  “Hello, Roxanne,” he drawls. “Not a good time.”

  “Oh! I—how are you . . . Garrett, wasn’t it?”

  “I’ve been worse.”

  “How’s Teagan?”

  “Freaking out.”

  I shout down the hall at them. “I’m right here, you know!”

  Pausing in front of the full-length mirror affixed to the wall by the closet, I cringe. My T-shirt and joggers couldn’t be more wrinkled. My waist-length dark hair is a total disaster; my crown looks like a bird’s nest. My brown eyes are dilated and blurry, and my mouth is a swollen, puffy red stain.

  Garrett looks like a sex god, and I look like a junkie with really bad lip filler injections.

  “You okay, girl?” Roxy calls out.

  “Ah . . .” My gaze darts, looking for a miracle that can make me presentable. “Yes.”

  “There was a package on the porch. I’m putting it down on this ledge by the stairs.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” I spin in an aimless, frantic circle. “And hang on. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “I’d like to have you over for dinner sometime,” Roxy says, her tone lowered so I know she’s talking to Garrett. “My husband, Mike, makes a fantastic homemade pizza.”

  “I’d like that, thanks.”

  “Tomorrow night, maybe? We’re right next door.”

  “Sure. I’ll bring the wine. Red?”

  “A red would be perfect.”

  I growl and pull apart my braid. As soon as it gives, I comb my fingers through the gnarls on top of my head, whip the ends around, and secure them in a low knot. Then I hurry out to the living room, finding Garrett leaning nonchalantly against the open door as if my home were his.

  Roxy’s eyes are wide when I turn my attention to her, as is her smile. “Hey there, Miss Thang.”

  I roll my eyes. “Sorry.”

  “For what? You want to come over for dinner tomorrow, too?”

  “Um . . .” I picture it, this tornado of a man spinning into the tranquility of my life. My palms grow damp. I feel like I’ve lost control of everything somewhere in the course of the day.

  But I can’t have them sharing personal anecdotes without me there. If information is forthcoming, I want to hear it.

  “Sure,” I say with a shrug.

  “Don’t look so excited about it,” she chides. “Anyway, I’ll be off. See you two around six? Call me later, Teagan!”

  She leaves. I watch through the window as she cuts over to her yard. Leaving me alone with Garrett Frost. Again.

  He strolls over, cups my face in his hands, and holds my gaze. “Where were we?”

  “What? No!”

  That dazzling smile reappears and blinds me; then he kisses the tip of my nose. “You’re adorable, Doc. Sexy as hell, too.”

  “I’m going to close my eyes,” I mutter, “and when I open them, this is all going to be a weird dream.”

  Reaching down, he circles my wrist with his fingers and lifts my hand to press my palm against his chest. My breath leaves me in a rush at the feel of his pounding heart.

  “See what you do to me?” he murmurs, his gaze heavy-lidded. Just that quickly, he shifts from playful to seductive.

  “You’re manipulating me.”

  “And you’re spinning circles in your head. Stay focused on what’s right here, right now.”

  I pull away. “That would be a divorcée with clearly evidenced bad judgment. I can’t keep getting swept off my feet and making the same mistakes.”

  Garrett’s jaw takes on a familiar obstinate slant. “I’m not a mistake. And I get a clean slate. Whatever happened before, I don’t have any strikes against me.”

  “You’re making up the rules as you go,” I complain.

  “Teagan, we were just making each other feel pretty damn good. Can we focus on that?” He reaches for my hand, squeezes it. “You’re not the only one feeling like the ground’s shifting beneath their feet.”

  Jesus. Being with him is like being in the ring with an invisible boxer. You never see the hits coming.

  He smiles triumphantly when I fail to offer another protest. He looks like a kid who’s just opened the one present he really wanted, which he already knew he was getting because he’d peeked in the damn closet and ruined the surprise.

  “Give me a chance to charm you, Doc.”

  “And fuck me.”

  “That too.” His fingers push into the knot of hair at my nape, freeing the strands to fall to my waist. He lifts a handful to his nose, breathing in with his eyes closed. “I’m coming on strong, I know. I would say I’ll slow down some, but I’d be lying, since I can’t.”

  Right. Another of those invisible punches, knocking the air straight out of me.

  “You can’t. Is that so?” My brow arches. “Why not?”

  “Don’t have the patience.”

  “Really?” I say dryly, since it’s been clear from the get-go that Garrett Frost does whatever he likes.

  He holds my gaze, and I watch, riveted, as something shifts. His eyes darken with shadows. His lush mouth flattens. The skin over his cheekbones stretches taut. He is suddenly hauntingly beautiful, his dynamic sexuality disrupted by my awareness of his quiet suffering.

  “Every day,” he murmurs, “I push beyond my limits, just to remind myself that I’m technically still alive.”

  He reaches out and grasps my elbow, the light hold turning into a caress that slides down my forearm until our fingers touch. I feel the path of that contact, my bare skin tingling where his flesh brushed mine, as if the nerves are coming back to life.

  My lips part on quickened breaths. Numbness has been my salvation.

  “I’m tired of hurting,” he says softly. “You remind me that my body can feel things other than pain.”

  My chest tightens. Garrett would be risky in any form, but wounded, he’s far more dangerous. I fear I’m too fragile for the storm raging inside him, too delicate to withstand the pain that buffets him, even with only the most superficial of intimacies.

  “Garrett . . . I . . .” I shake my head.

  “I didn’t mean to barge in and grab you like that. I don’t regret it, but it wasn’t the way I planned things to go.”

  “You had a plan?”

  “It got blown all to hell, but the one I went with seems to
be working.” Bending, Garrett kisses me.

  Unlike the blitzkrieg kiss he’d hit me with earlier, this one is tender. His lips are soft. Coaxing. His tongue glides along the seam of my mouth, teasing it open. He deepens the kiss with a slow, easy lick, making me shiver. A soft rumble conveys his pleasure and restrained desire.

  It takes extreme effort to place my hands against the defined ridges of his abs and push him away. “Stop.”

  Garrett takes a step back, giving me room to breathe. He watches me, waiting.

  “You want to start over,” I tell him breathlessly, “try at dinner tomorrow. You know, sitting down at a meal, hanging with friends . . . the way normal people get to know each other.”

  “Tomorrow?” He scowls. “What about today?”

  “You’re going away today, because I need time to think.”

  He heaves a frustrated sigh, his hands going to his hips. When my brows lift, he curses under his breath and heads to the door. “You know damn well we’re not normal people.”

  My gaze narrows. Creative minds are often too perceptive for their own good. “That may be true, but try being normal for once, Frost. Maybe you’ll like it.”

  “I like you,” he mutters as he turns to go. “That’s the only reason I’m leaving.”

  “It’s your own fault if you get caught,” I whisper to myself, tiptoeing onto Garrett’s porch and gingerly lowering the basket in my hands. My finger hovers over the doorbell, my pulse racing.

  It’s just that he’s a single guy in a new house. Chances are, most of his stuff is still in boxes and he hasn’t figured out where the grocery store is yet.

  At least that’s what I told myself when I opened the shopping app on my tablet and ordered a large bottle of San Pellegrino, Beecher’s Flagship cheese, honeycrisp apples, and artisanal crackers. I arranged the items in a cloth-lined wicker basket he can reuse, along with a decent knife and a pair of tall, slim drinking glasses. I also included a list of nearby grocery stores, drugstores, gas stations, and coffee shops.

  Taking a deep breath, I ring the bell. Then I run back to my house as fast as I can.

  “You surprise me, Dr. Ransom. You really do.” Roxy pauses in the act of chopping fresh basil and looks me over. Again. “One minute, you’ve sworn off men. The next, you’ve got a tousled hunk answering your door.”

  “Tousled hunk? You’ve been listening to too many romance audiobooks.” For the millionth time, my gaze strays to the clock on the microwave. With each passing moment, my stomach tightens.

  Her laugh lights up the room. “That’s your fault. You’re the one who got me into them.”

  “Yeah, thanks for that, Teagan,” Mike yells through the open french doors. He’s out on the patio, tending the wood burning in their pizza oven. “We used to listen to music. Now we listen to narrators pitching their voices to emulate the opposite sex. Why not just read the book?”

  “I hear you. Some are better than others.” I offer an apologetic smile. “You do get used to it after a while.” I used to listen to music, too. Now my new normal is talk radio, podcasts, and audiobooks. Mysteries mostly. And stories with unhappy endings, which are more realistic.

  I watch Mike for a minute. Standing a few inches shorter than Roxy, he’s still more than a few inches taller than me. He boasts a head of thick brilliantly white hair and a distinguished face that often frames a boyish smile. Aside from making the best pizza I’ve ever had—he is a transplanted New Yorker, so I don’t feel guilty saying that—his heart is as big as his wife’s.

  “So he just showed up at your door,” Roxy presses.

  Turning back to her, I sigh. She’s rocking wide gold hoops and a red Gucci belt with white jeans and a sleeveless white blouse. As usual, she looks more elegant in denim than I’ve ever looked on a red carpet.

  “Can we find something else to talk about?” I ask.

  “Why? Garrett was looking mighty sexy when he answered the door.”

  There’s a question in there, and I shake my head.

  “No?” she queries, frowning. “Please don’t tell me I screwed things up for you.”

  “Absolutely not. It was perfect timing. Thank you for the save.” A save that was becoming more appreciated by the second.

  “Teagan!” She sets down the knife.

  “What? Don’t look at me like that. You really expect me to have sex with a guy we just ran into a couple of hours before?”

  “Why not? You’re a grown woman.” Drying her hands on a dish towel, she cocks a hip against the island. “If he revs your engine, take him for a spin.”

  “He’d have to show up first,” I say tightly. “And it’s pretty clear he’s not coming.”

  Roxy finally looks at the clock on the microwave. It’s quarter after seven. She looks at me, genuinely startled. “You want to call him?”

  “I don’t have his number, and even if I did, I wouldn’t call him.”

  It hurts to be stood up—hurts like a bitch, actually—and I’m pissed off that I gave him the opening to hurt me. Pissed at him but mostly at myself. I know all about hot, confident, charismatic guys who can’t be depended upon. That I lost my head—even for a second—with all the experience I have just means I’m an idiot.

  Her lips purse. “I’ll just run over there real—”

  “Don’t you dare.” The tremor in my voice betrays me, but I keep myself together otherwise. I’d known this was coming, had been fighting against admitting it ever since Garrett failed to show up at my door to walk over with me, which wasn’t something we discussed but somehow I’d expected him to. I waited until six before making the short trek alone. Nevertheless, a little part of me kept hoping until I couldn’t delude myself any longer.

  “Maybe he hasn’t set his clocks yet. You know how it is moving into a new place.”

  “Don’t make excuses for him, Roxy. If it was important to him, he wouldn’t need a babysitter to get him here.”

  Mike squeezes my shoulder as he passes by. “His loss. I’m more than happy to teach him how to treat a lady. Just give me the word.”

  “He’s not worth the effort.”

  “Agreed. On a side note, the oven’s ready when you are, ladies.”

  Roxy glances at the clock again, her jaw clenching. “Fine. Let’s take these out.”

  We load ourselves up with the bowls of toppings, while Mike pulls a baking sheet with balls of homemade dough out of the proofing drawer. We head outside, spreading everything on the outdoor kitchen counter.

  A murder of crows squawks loudly, a familiar sound. There’s a tree in Les and Marge’s—Garrett’s—yard where the crows gather, and when an eagle gets too close, they make sure everyone on the bluff knows how unhappy they are about it.

  For the first time, I’m not on the eagle’s side. I know exactly how those crows feel about the intruder.

  Beyond my anger, though, is piercing disappointment. It’s terrible hoping something—or someone—is better than it actually is. It was brutally effective torture, drawing someone out of their cage of loneliness, then slamming the door shut again.

  Whether it’s deliberate unkindness or just thoughtlessness, it’s cruel all the same.

  4

  “Mike, as always, your pizza was divine.”

  He shoots me a look. “You didn’t eat enough.”

  “I ate until I was stuffed,” I assure him. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be stuffed for days.”

  We walk to the front door, all three of us humans and the two dogs. Though it’s almost exactly nine o’clock and still twilight hour this time of year, I’m past ready for bed. Energy, for me, is a delicate balance.

  “Thank you for coming over.” Mike pulls me into a tight hug. “It’s always good seeing your pretty face.”

  “Thanks for having me.” I hug Roxy, too, then give the dogs goodbye pats. “I’ll see you two later.”

  Mike pulls the door open, and I step outside. It seems darker on the street side of the house, which faces northeast, than i
t does on the Sound side, which holds the lingering glow of sunset for what seems like forever. Still, I see the dark figure running across their lawn in the gloaming, and my whole body tightens.

  When Garrett gets close enough for me to see the bottle of wine in his hand, I turn back to wave at Mike and Roxy, then walk right past him the moment he steps into the pool of illumination from their porch light.

  “Hey, wait!” He grabs for my hand, but I shake him off. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”

  “Don’t apologize to me. Roxy invited you.”

  “I know. Damn it.”

  I hear him go up the two wood steps to their porch. His voice carries as he talks to Roxy and Mike, his tone weighted with urgency. I pick up the pace, passing their detached carport, before cutting across their lawn to get to my house. My heart rate kicks into high gear when I hear footsteps behind me.

  “Teagan, wait. Let me explain.”

  “I don’t care, Frost.”

  He catches up and walks beside me. “Mike and Roxy invited me in; I brought good wine. Come back, have a glass, and I’ll explain to all of you at the same time.”

  “I’m tired, I don’t drink, and as I said, I don’t care, so I don’t need an explanation.”

  “You don’t drink?” When I decline to answer, he goes on, “I was on a call with a friend in trouble. I thought it was earlier than it is. For God’s sake, it’s still light out!”

  I refuse to look at him. “So it’s the sun’s fault you didn’t set a reminder or an alarm or glance at your phone to check the time? I see.”

  “I fucked up.” He grabs my arm when I reach the pathway to my front door, slowing me to a halt. “Okay? I screwed up, and I’m sorry.”

  I turn to him. His face is cast in shadow, which sets the square line of his jaw and the strong lines of his cheekbones into sharp relief.

  “Yeah, you’re also a liar.”

  Garrett crosses his arms. “I’m not lying.”

  “You did earlier when you said you weren’t a mistake. You also don’t have a clean slate.” I flick my hand. “And you’re still making up the rules as you go.”