Free A Shadow on the Ground by Rebecca Lee Smith Page B

wish you could—” He stopped. It was no use. Nothing he said would ever change her mind about him. He had set their destiny in motion. She hated him. He had to accept that and let her go. He would never deserve a second chance with her, and that couldn’t have hurt more than a punch to his gut. Why did he care so much, after all this time, what she thought of him? Because seeing her again had awakened something deep inside he'd forgotten could even exist? Because the desire he'd felt for her the autumn he turned twenty-two was the elusive high he'd been chasing, and never come close to duplicating, with every woman who'd made a quick detour through his life?
    “I could use a drink,” she said. “Do you want a beer?”
    “Sure.”
    “Then I'd like to hear more about Jeremy. He reminds me of a heartbroken kid I used to know.”
    “Who?”
    “Me.”
    She turned to go inside, and as she stirred the air, he breathed in her faint, sweet scent. She crossed the porch, and he tried to burn the image of the woman she’d become into his brain, where it could ground itself in reality. Thick dark waves bounced against her shoulder blades. The narrow straps of a dark pink bra crisscrossed her back beneath her white T-shirt. Faded jeans hugged the contours of her thighs, sat low on her soft, rounded hips. He loved those hips. The memory of holding them as they moved against him blazed across his mind for an instant. He pushed it away.
    If only he could... no. He couldn’t. He was sitting on her porch, swallowing his pride for Jeremy. He’d plead his case and go away like she’d asked him to. She'd made it clear she didn't want anything to do with him, and he’d respect that. Wondering what might have been didn’t do anybody any good. His and Morgan’s time had come and gone. Which, in theory, should make it easier for him to stomach deceiving her. But once she was out of his system, and he’d closed that chapter of his life forever, his new life, the responsible, grownup life he was determined to make with a son he barely knew, could finally begin.
    And if he believed that, he was a bigger fool than he thought.
    Christ, he was in trouble.
    Big. Big. Trouble.
    He and Tyson were friends, but if Tyson learned Gage had compromised this job, he would hand it over to Bobby Poole or that money-grubbing jerk, Cal Leonard. Neither one of those boys would give a damn about Morgan, or protect her if she got caught in the crossfire. If Tyson found out about his connection to Morgan, he'd tell Gage to get a grip or get the hell out. Then he'd tell him to go to a bar, find some hot little number to shake the cobwebs off his privates, and get back to work.
    The screen door creaked. He looked up, and she was standing in front of him.
    A little jolt ran through him. He still wasn’t used to having her near enough to touch instead of hovering like an apparition at the edge of his dreams. In the world he was used to inhabiting with her, he’d be waking up right about now, squinting hard against the stark morning light, bracing himself for the mother of all hangovers.
    She handed him a beer and sat across from him on the frayed wicker loveseat. Her perfume, so quiet he wasn't even sure it belonged to her, roused his senses as it lingered in the air. She’d turned out the porch light, and the glow from the stained glass lamp in the living room caressed the soft planes of her face, making her look younger and more vulnerable than she had in the harsh light of day. She'd swept her long hair up and harnessed it into one of those plastic claw-things at the crown of her head. A few tendrils trailed against the nape of her neck. He remembered the long ago feel of it sweeping against his bare shoulder. Then later, after they lay tangled in each other’s arms, the tickle as it draped across his chest. He had the urge to unclasp her hair and thread his fingers through it, then cradle her head in his hand.
    “You could have asked me this big favor