Love Lines- Bradley Read online

  His rowdy arrival at Olivia’s bedtime was sure to draw her to the top of the L-shaped stairs on the other end of a wide hall off the center of the room. It was her favored place to eavesdrop from. Mine as well at her age and my overworked muscle of spite wanted my child to hear how cruel her father had been to me, to curry favor with her in case of a custody battle. At the last hour, my maternal instincts pressed forward to salvage Olivia’s innocence. Something no one ever did for me.

  “Lower your voice, Rafe,” I insisted. Old Delilah didn’t make demands of the provider handpicked for her during her first year at VSU, Rafe’s sixth year of medical school. Old Delilah wasn’t here right now. “Olivia can hear us. I’m not out of control, I’m fed up. You can move in with my parents. They’ll put up with your shit since they love your cheating ass more than me.” He had a penis and impressive degrees.

  His full lips parted in shock, hazel eyes snapping at me for not towing the line anymore. My egg and sperm donors, Lilah and Ed Baldwin were going to be just as mad plus shit a brick apiece. Their policy—marry who we choose, have an heir quick, keep your man happy whatever that entails, don’t sully the family name, and live high on the hog because you’re probably married to a pig anyway—had gone straight down the tube. Good riddance to the slippery slope of a loveless marriage.

  Rafe’s greatest treasures—his long, elegant fingers—slashed through the air, the temperature dropping fast as the winter night moved in. “You’re my wife and what you want is NOT acceptable!” He really meant what I wanted didn’t matter… to anyone.

  Tolerate and obey were my options. Not today. No more of the devil I know.

  Warned by Duchess that change would be hard, I clutched at imaginary pearls above the unzipped neckline of my pink, velour coat for strength to enter the unknown. “Cheating on me since the day we were thrown together is what’s not acceptable anymore. I want a divorce. I want you out. I don’t want you bringing your slimy ass back here to get your other things until you’ve cooled down.”

  “Slimy!” he snarled.

  I flinched, his ferocity startling enough to send me backpedaling deeper into the corner. His large shoulders rose up near slightly too big ears. The flaw was overshadowed by the combination of a strong jaw, striking eyes, cupid-bow mouth, and charming persona when he turned it on.

  Flipping that switch now, his face cleared of all emotions except remorse, and it wasn’t enough. “I’m sorry if I’m scaring you and I get why you feel what I’ve done is slimy, but I didn’t plan for the affair to happen. It. Just. Did!”

  “I didn’t plan to divorce you when we married either, but I. Just. Will. Now leave. Please.”

  “Look.” His buff chest expanded with a deep, frustrated inhale. “We can go to—”

  “Don’t say counseling for your affairs plural and swear you’ll stop cheating,” I spat. “That hasn’t worked for anyone we know yet.” We were all too entitled thus for marriages to last, someone had to be taught to tolerate and obey. A vicious cycle that I’d break in my life tonight one way or the other.

  Resuming seething, his glare cut through me like a blade as he palmed his slender hips. “Fine. I won’t say it, but this is my home. I’m not leaving. Come here. We can fix this.”

  I shook my head vehemently. “No. We can’t. Let it go, Rafe. Let me go.”

  His nostrils flared like an angry bull’s. Generally a passive man, losing a significant part of a life painstakingly built would make anyone aggressive. He took the first rushed step around the oversized, deep red Victorian armchair with throne-back toward me. His lips were pressed in a thin, white line. Anger wafted off him in droves.

  I didn’t know this side of him, shuddered to think he may be about to hit me. He hadn’t before. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t after I pushed back for once. Probably should get out this corner too.

  Thanking God this room was enormous, I sidestepped down the lane between the wall and backside of the sofa, keeping the furniture spaced several feet apart between us. “Rafe, this is my house, my wedding gift from my parents, in my name, so you are leaving. You can get another house like you do women. Go be with your latest mistress since she’s who you want.” For right now anyway.

  Tailing me, he bellowed, “Melissa’s not who I want! Be still!”

  Damn that when shit was going sideways fast. I circled the loveseat at a much faster pace. Long ivy vines floating to the floor from plants hung on hooks in front of the windows got swept up in my breeze. I scurried between the coffee table and granite rock fireplace, glimpsing over my shoulder.

  His longs legs were eating up the gap between us too fast until navigating a tight nook created by the sofa placed closely to the wall proved to be a challenge for him. His body was twice the size as mine, and there were only so many tight spots in here.

  I started to panic on my first lap through the opened front doors and armchair. “Rafe, we’re playing musical chairs like children and Olivia’s listening. Stop this.”

  “You stop!” His response rolled like thunder, rebounding off the stark white walls with scenic pictures.

  So much for keeping our voices down. At least the thick, beige carpet muffled our footsteps.

  I darted behind the sofa again. “Remember our child is here, needing us to act like adults.”

  “You remember!” He had become a damn parrot, never was very imaginative.

  “Rafe, you don’t want me. Only saying you don’t want Melissa because you think it’s what I want to hear. It’s not and it’s not one of your nights to be with her. Come tomorrow evening when you’re supposedly scribbling in patients’ files, you’ll want her. You’ll have her. You know it. I know it. Melissa knows it. Just pretend it’s already Wednesday and go to her with my blessings.”

  “I said be fucking still, Delilah!” he roared, fists balled up at his sides.

  The sheer magnitude of his outrage shook me to my core. I stumbled. Giving him my blessing was the wrong thing to do. Grabbing for the birchwood frame of the loveseat reset my balance. Fear, of Rafe outweighing me by seventy pounds and eight inches, replaced the blood in my veins.

  He had never been this furious or tried to assert himself with me. No need when he had a Stepford wife in training before we married. Underneath his fury, he was a sad cliché refusing to let go of the woman he didn’t love because she was a piece of his carefully cultivated image. A prop. A possession. Melissa could be that too.

  “Rafe, we’re done,” I spoke firmly in spite of my heart beating a mile a minute in my throat. “You need to leave. Please!”

  At the far end of the sofa, he responded with a guttural, “No.”

  Bypassing the fireplace again, I wondered what had my parents gotten me into. What had I let them get me into? I could’ve said no to marrying him therefore goodbye to my generous allowance, but Olivia and I wouldn’t be a part of this fubar—fucked up beyond all recognition.

  “Mommy.” Olivia’s whimper drifted to me from the hall as if prompted by my emotions.

  Her palpable anxiety acted as referee, freezing us in place. At the rear of the armchair near the front doors, I huffed in dread instead of air. At six-two, Rafe dwarfed the sofa near the hallway Olivia stood midway in. It slayed me to not be able to see her, unable to assure her that things were and would be fine. It’d be a lie anyway with the way Rafe’s eyes were narrowing on me.

  He stretched out one hand toward the hall’s opening next to him. “Come to me, Olivia.”

  My stomach churned violently. The son of a bitch was going to use her to bring me to heel.

  “Olivia, lock yourself in your room and use your phone to call 911!”, I screamed then raced past the armchair to the turn around the sofa that would take me past him to her. If I got past him.

  Still, I had to try, to protect my daughter. Seconds felt like minutes as I covered the left side of the room as fast as an inactive twenty-seven-year-old socialite could. Not fast enough clearly. Luckily, Olivia was the typical kid doubling as
a track star who would obey me before Rafe. Thankfully, she’d have no problems getting to her bedroom at the top of the stairs before he got anywhere near her.

  When he took off down the lane behind the sofa toward me instead of up the hall after her, I could’ve kissed the man for coming for me and letting Olivia go. Now, it was vital I got myself to safety before we met at the backwall he was running parallel with. Executing a flawless U-turn, I dashed for the opened doors.

  Help was in ready supply at the neighboring homes, but the exit to my house appeared to be a mile away. As the breeze from my mad dash blew back my hair, I changed my mind about this room’s size being a good thing.

  “Get back here, Delilah! You need to be reminded who the damn boss is around here!”

  He’s lost his shit entirely. Feet, don’t fail me now.

  Halfway to the double doors, the gigantic figure of a man jogged out of the pitch black draping the yard, into the short reach of my low-wattage porchlight. What in the actual fuck? He could’ve been a moving mountain, but I wasn’t Mohammed, so my fear perceived him as a threat too and tripled. Nothing good came of strange men that big materializing out of thin night air.

  During my unplanned workout, I had time to ponder would the new guy help me? I sure as hell hoped so—he was everything bigger than Rafe, who I’d have enough trouble tussling with if he got his hands on me. Finally reaching the threshold to the outside, Rafe’s presence emerged behind me like a gathering storm.

  “Delilah, stop!” Not even on his life.

  The stranger ascended the first of three porch steps. Only ten feet of porch divided us. Close enough for the light color of his jacket to register, emphasizing his size even more. He. Was. Massive. Whether friend or foe remained to be seen. I couldn’t afford to be caught by either man. Not when I had to get back to my child. Somehow. Changing directions seemed like a good tactic for making that happen.

  Windmilling my arms aided my sharp swerve to the left, running at full speed across the deck away from the men. Out of pure desperation, I cried out to the stranger, “Don’t let him get to my baby!”

  “I won’t.” The deep growl in the unexpected visitor’s timbre was soul-jarring, belonged more to an animal than human, and sent chills down my spine vulnerable to him and Rafe.

  Just who had I invited to intervene in this shitshow?

  “Delila—ack!” Rafe’s weird rendition of my name behind me was superseded by a thud that shook the exterior wall beside me enough to steal my focus. After that shock wave, no way was I leaving my little girl for the time it took to bring the closest neighbor back as reinforcement.

  At the dark end of the porch, I curbed the intent to hurdle the white railing, leaping over the bushes below. In the bushes was most likely. I wasn’t even accidently athletic, chugging air like a pissed-on bull after fifteen measly yards. Pivoting around at the edge of the newly re-planked surface, what I saw next had my eyes bulging out my head. The newcomer’s left hand had Rafe pinned to the house by his throat. Well, that explained the ‘Delila-ack’ from Rafe and the shock wave. Why my soon-to-be ex-husband’s feet kicked wildly inches off the ground on each side of the stranger’s shins required further review.

  Feeling a lot less scared and inclined to take flight with the stranger and Rafe entertaining each other, I examined my savior. The side profile of his Roman nose, swollen dusty-pink lips—top slightly fuller than the bottom pouting between a high cheekbone and chiseled jaw—incited an unhealthy dose of déjà vu. I had seen this guy before, somewhere.

  Not lately though. No one woman in her right mind would forget his thick crop of curls shining like platinum gold under the porch light’s glow. They were confined to the top of his head shaved low on the sides and back, ideal for running my fingers through, and nagging at me.

  Where do I know that hair from?

  Feet in gigantic, tan combat boots were burdened with the weight of dark jeans covering thighs as round as tree trunks, slim hips, and a firm ass you could bounce a quarter off of. There was an excessive amount of material in his jacket to contain hulking shoulders. The man was panty-melting gorgeous with the looks of a fallen-angel and drop-dead fine, from the right side anyway.

  Not the time to be admiring half of his assets, Delilah.

  Right. Rafe was acting like he’d drop dead soon from being strangled if he didn’t get loose. His manic struggles were doing nothing to pry the hand from his neck. I couldn’t bring myself to care if he never took another breath. I was the one he had been chasing to remind who was boss after all, which was not him at the moment.

  Chapter Three

  ~Delilah~

  The man in charge held up one-hundred-and-eighty-pounds of toned human by the neck without effort. Oddly, his hand was matted black in color with chrome veins where his knuckles should’ve been. Likely an enhanced prosthetic clashing extremely with the bronze skin on his face. The attachment didn’t even stir a faded memory nor match the other hand prone at his side. My attention quickly gravitated from there to his desert camouflage coat, honed fashion sense screaming there was nothing off-the-rack about it. The weave pattern and thread count were too high to be anything other than top-quality… or military-grade.

  Ah, a soldier. That only incited more questions. What was his name? Why was he here besides saving my nosy ass?

  Rafe choked out, “Put me… the hell… down.” He could talk, he wasn’t being that strangled.

  “When you calm down,” the soldier delivered with a wealth of patience and quiet authority in his tenor. Definitely military. “I can do this all night and you’ll still leave in the morning like she’s been telling you to do since you got here.” It didn’t take a genius to conclude that my savior was nearby when Rafe got home, but exactly where nearby and why?

  Fuckkk!!! Was he stalking the house? Had Rafe slept with the man’s woman?

  If so, he was regretting it now.

  “Mommy!” shot out of the house, Olivia trailing in socks and long-sleeved unicorn pajamas.

  “I’m here, baby girl. Everything is fine.”

  Hurrying over to her propelled me through an intoxicating mist of sandalwood that didn’t come from Rafe. I breathed in deep—it smelled that damn good—scooping my daughter up on my hip. Standing on the other side of soldier only got me a reverse image of his handsomeness but no closer to figuring out why he felt familiar. Until it came to me, I decided to stare at him, rudely. No hardship for me there, he was way too easy on the eyes.

  Olivia put her mouth right against my ear, whispering loudly, “The cops are coming. Who is that? Is he from the future?” Clearly, she had spotted the robotic hand.

  Its owner smirked. “That’s a new one.”

  Letting her watch Terminator with Duchess’ son, Aiden, had come back to embarrass me. “No, baby. He’s not Arnold Schwarzenegger. An easy mistake though. He’s I don’t know who, but I know I knew him… at some point.” Would like to again, and it was so not the time for that.

  The object of our discussion glanced down at us. He was more attractive from the front than the sides unbelievably. My mouth went bone-dry when his steely-greys collided into my baby blues. The impact was shocking, breathtaking, so were his eyes for a couple reasons. One was obvious: I liked them, immensely. Two, they were eerie twins to a set I saw almost every day on the aforementioned Aiden, a mixed-race kindergartner living five houses down with his mother. His hair was curly too, skin a tad darker than the soldier’s. Linking the two led down a dark path to true hearsay about Duchess dating a white guy who used to liv…

  Full recognition slammed into me like an anvil dropping, unhinging my jaw. “I do know you. Sort of. You graduated high school a few years ahead of me and Duchess. You’re her baby daddy. I really hope you knew that already or she’s going to be mad as hell at me. I’m a terrible gossip, so please pretend I didn’t say anything about Aiden. Ah, you didn’t hear that name either. By the way, what’s your name? I can’t think of it for the life of me.”
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  It had been six long years of dealing with my own issues and since seeing Aiden’s father, an authentic bad boy half a mountain lighter way back when, strutting around like he owned the place. Driving his and women’s reputations into the ground were part of his daily and nightly ritual. So I heard. He was born on the wrong end of town in a trailer park, strike one with my folks. Becoming the wrong sort of man in every way was strike two.

  The only thing my mother did right was forbid me to get this close to him as a teenager. She must’ve known it’d take a lot for me to resist his allure. I wasn’t doing so hot with that now, totally understood why Duchess fell for him who exited her life publicly, scandalously. Cueing strike three; giving this sleepy town a steaming pile of food for gossip. He dished that out in spades then ghosted Laramie, leaving a piece of himself behind.

  Of course, the scandal continued as Duchess’ belly swelled, only dying down after Aiden’s birth. And now, his father was back. Holy shits. For how long?

  “Name’s Bradley White, ma’am.” Aiden’s father stated dryly, the last piece of the puzzle falling into place. “I might as well tell you now that I found out about my son after moving back yesterday. You’ll find out anyway and can tell it right when you’re gossiping about it. That leaves me with nice to see you again, Delilah. Nice to meet you, Olivia. Do you prefer Mrs. Claiborne?”

  “We don’t prefer it,” Olivia said slowly with a rapid shake of her head that sent the tail of her wheat-colored ponytail swiping across my mouth.

  Appalled at being fed hair and that he moved back here of all places, I blurted, “Why did you come back? There’s still nothing here and the rumors about you were so bad they’ll only get worse when everyone finds out you’re back… and I didn’t know you had manners. It’s nice.”

  One thick eyebrow reached for the sky, wrinkling his forehead.

  Realizing I sounded accusing as usual, I winced. “Sorry. What comes up, comes out is the next vicious cycle I break.”