Taboo Unchained(47)

“What do you want?” I gasp out, my chest tight, the wine I drank earlier drowning out the chattering background of my thoughts. What's happening to me? “Just spit it out for fuck's sake.” I don't sound angry anymore, simply … frightened.

Scared.

I sound scared.

My eyes widen and my heart beats faster. That's it. That's the emotion. It's fear. I'm afraid. I am fucking afraid. My head snaps up as I blink away the stars that are appearing in my vision, swimming around Robbie's pretty face like spotlights. What it is, exactly, that I'm afraid of, I'm not sure.

Robbie bites at her lip again and looks around for a place to sit, settling on the brown leather wingback chair that faces the shuttered curtains on the front window. When she speaks next, she doesn't look at me.

“Luke, my dad … when he was on the roof the other day, he wasn't just fixing the roof.” Robbie turns slowly, the leather squeaking beneath her bare legs. If she's wearing something else under that baggy sweater, I can't see it. All I can see are perfectly sculpted calves, muscular but not barbaric. Robbie Carrell plays soccer, I know. And tennis, recreationally. She loves the river but hates the lake, is a dog person, was once a chess champion. I suppose our little conversations over the years have added up to something of a friendship, at least in her mind. So what do I do? How do I handle this?

“And?” I ask, trying not to grit my teeth. When Robbie meets my eyes, she tries to smile, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

“Well … he was installing security cameras.”



Robbie sees this statement as a bad thing, a shocker, something to bring me to my knees. But Lucas Carter was born of tougher stuff, and actually, this is a good thing. Yes. A very good thing. My fear fades away in the revelation, and I feel the muscles in my face relaxing. I can deal with this. I can deal with it while simultaneously getting rid of Robbie. Two birds, one stone.

“And?” I ask again, as if I couldn't care less. I feel awkward standing next to the bookcase and Lucas Carter doesn't do awkward. I move into the kitchen and fetch two glasses of wine, waiting patiently for Robbie to follow after. Fortunately she does, pausing in the doorway to the kitchen with a gleam in her eyes that tells me whatever was on the security cameras isn't terribly important.

“This is your kitchen?” Her hands press against her mouth, messy bundles of sweater bunching around her wrists. There's a word for the way she looks and it's … it could be adorable. I scowl and thrust the wine glass at her, managing not to spill a single drop. I realize she's underage, but really? Is that my worst worry at the moment? “It's absolutely perfect,” she tells me, and I hate how pleased I feel by the compliment. This is my private place, mine. And now I've had two women barging in here like they own the place. I feed my anger with the thought, letting Robbie take the glass without brushing my fingers. If she does, I might snap. I haven't seen a client in days, so the outcome would be bad. Very, very bad. “Thank you,” she says, lifting the glass to her face and smelling the liquid like a seasoned taster. “Like … oak and vanilla.” I raise my eyebrows as Robbie takes her first sip.

“Is that so?” I ask, sipping my own wine and leaning back against my fridge. “Do you drink cabernet sauvignon often?”

“My aunt owns a vineyard.” Robbie shrugs off the subject with a sloppy roll of her right shoulder. The fingers of both hands curl around the stem of the wineglass as she stares into its crimson depths like the whole universe could be found there. After a few moments, I start to believe it. “Luke, I saw you come into my backyard.” I expected as much, so I keep quiet, waiting to hear her thoughts on the matter. I take another sip of wine. Robbie's right: I taste the vanilla. “You threw the rock at my window.” Her head snaps up suddenly, eyes boring into me. “Why?”

“To make sure you weren't still snooping around,” I drawl, making sure my voice is bored, apathetic, disinterested. “Is that a crime?” Robbie takes a massive breath.

“No, but murder is.”

I laugh. It's actually a laugh of frustration, anger at Audra Holiday for dragging me into this whole mess, but I think it comes across as amused. Robbie seems to think so and smiles at me.

“Why did you have a dead body in your house, Luke?” I feel a muscle twitch in my cheek and set the glass down on the beautiful white and gray stone of my countertop. The sound seems to echo loudly in the quiet space. Or perhaps I'm just projecting? The beast cackles manically inside my chest.

“Dead body? Why on earth would you think I had a dead body in my house?”