Moments in Time: The Complete Novella Collection Page 7

  “You have to think about this carefully. This could change everything. He might never forgive you.”

  “ Maybe he will. I’ll explain everything. If not, at least I’ll know I did the right thing.”

  Sunday evening, I stood in front of the mirror and rehearsed how I would tell Nick the truth. After repeating a string of words to myself for almost thirty minutes, I showered and went to bed.

  ***

  The doorbell woke me up around two a.m. I slipped into my satin robe and stumbled to the door.

  It had to be Melisa. She visited me often now. But never so late.

  I yanked the door open and green eyes stared back at me. “Nick.” I swallowed hard.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Hmmm… Yes.” I stepped aside. My hand grasped the door for support. I wasn’t prepared to see him yet.

  “How did you know where I lived?” I asked, closing the door.

  “You gave me your address at the hotel. We were supposed to have dinner at your place tomorrow night. Or have you forgotten that?” Nick’s gaze swept the room. “Nice place.”

  “Thanks.” My apartment was airy and comfortable. A big contrast to how I felt. “What are you doing here?” I sat on the couch, hands tucked under my bottom so he couldn’t see them shaking.

  “I missed you. We spent a great night together, and then you don’t call for a week and don’t answer my calls? What’s going on? Have I upset you in some way?”

  I shook my head and blinked back tears.

  Nick came to sit next to me, and drew me close. “Then what is it? Why do you look so upset?”

  “It’s nothing…” I’d planned to tell him the truth, but now the knot in my stomach rose up and choked me.

  He shot to his feet and paced the room. “I don’t get this. There’s obviously something wrong. Why won’t you talk to me?”

  “I can’t.”

  Nick ran both hands through his hair and sat back down. “You can tell me anything, anything at all. Whatever’s bothering you, we can work through it together. I promise you that.”

  “No, we can’t… Nick, I—”

  “Look,” he said seriously. “It was not a coincidence that we met that day at the chapel. We were meant to walk into each other’s lives. That’s why we bumped into each other again at Stalford. I feel so much for you. I’d like to believe you feel the same for me. When we were together, I really felt you liked me as much as I like you.”

  “I do, I really do. But—”

  “Let’s not throw this away. One doesn’t come across something like this often. Carlene, I want to be with you. I know you’re still healing from the loss of your ex, and that’s why you’re holding back, but I am in love with all of you. We can work through this together.”

  I rose to my feet and went to stand by the window, gazing into the darkness. “There’s too much you don’t know about me.”

  “Tell me, baby. Let me in, so I can get to know you.”

  “I can’t.”

  He didn’t say anything more, but I could hear him shuffling around behind me.

  He approached me, but I didn’t turn to face him. He stood so close that heat radiated from his body to mine.

  My heart skipped a beat.

  As he pressed the length of his body against mine, his erection hard against my butt, he made me forget about my plans to confess.

  “Tell me you don’t miss this.” Nick wrapped his arms around me and slipped one hand inside the robe. He cupped my breast, and with the other hand, unraveled the cord of my bathrobe and peeled it off. The satin material brushed against my body and pooled at my feet.

  The confession would have to wait. I needed Nick. Just in case I never got the chance to be so close to him again.

  I shivered as he moved his free hand toward my panties.

  With just a finger, he removed them from the area he was interested in and pushed them to my knees. He paused and took his hands away from my body, leaving me cold. He unbuckled his belt, unwrapped a condom. His warm breath caressed my skin as he slid it on. Then he pulled me close again, bent me forwarded, and parted my legs with his knees, opening me up to him. My breath caught as he gripped my thighs and pushed into me, igniting me.

  He slid in and out slowly at first, and then faster and harder, as our moans, groans, sighs, and my screams merged into one.

  I gyrated my hips from side to side, feeling all of him. It was hungry, painful, beautiful sex that stole my breath.

  Together Nick and I rose up the ladder of passion, higher and higher, until we climaxed at the same time.

  Panting, Nick straightened me but didn’t pull out. His arms remained wrapped around my body. He kissed my neck and the back of my ear. “Tell me you can live without this and I’ll leave.”

  “I can’t,” I whispered. But inside, guilt gnawed at me. It couldn’t go on like this. He had to know. “But we need to talk.”

  “Yes, we do.” He slid out then, and I turned to face him.

  “I’ll go and have a quick shower first, is that okay?” I needed time to prepare myself for a moment that might just change everything.

  “Take as long as you need. I’ll be here.”

  When, five minutes later, I walked out of the bathroom, drying my hair, my eyes zoomed in on what Nick held in his hand, and my heart stopped. He held a framed photograph of Chris.

  “Who is this?” he asked, his face ashen.

  I leaned against the doorframe for support, suddenly dizzy with fear. “I… I… Nick…”

  “Answer me, dammit!” he shouted, his voice a blade of steel that cut right through me. “What are you doing with my brother’s photo?” His eyes were daggers. “Who are you?”

  “Nick.” I walked to him and tried to touch him, but he yanked his arm away. “You’re her, aren’t you? You are Marianne Adams, the woman who shot and killed my brother.”

  “I can explain.” Tears welled up in my eyes and flooded my throat. “I wanted to tell you.” My first name was Marianne, but after Chris died I wanted to be someone else, and I started using my middle name instead.

  He threw the photo onto the couch and grabbed his suit jacket. “What’s there to explain? You killed my brother,” he shouted.

  I sank to the couch. “Yes,” I muttered. “But it was a mistake. The police confirmed it.”

  “I don’t give a damn what the police think. How can a killer be innocent? You pulled the trigger. That makes you guilty of murder.” He leaned on the wall for support. His brows knitted and his eyes narrowed to blazing slits. “How could you not tell me? How could you make me find out like this?”

  “Please sit,” I begged through my tears. “Allow me to explain.”

  He straightened up again and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “No.” He walked to the door. “I know the truth now. All I need is for you to stay the hell out of my life. You belong behind bars.”

  “Please, don’t say that.” I shot up from the couch and ran after him as he barged through the door. I followed him, barefoot, all the way to his car, shouting his name. But I was too late.

  Nick climbed into the Porsche, slammed the door shut, and drove away.

  I fell to my knees on the sidewalk—not caring that grains of sand dug into my skin—and buried my face in my hands, weeping. He would never forgive me. My happy ending had turned into a nightmare. But I wanted him back. So much that it hurt. But how could he love his brother’s killer?

  END OF BOOK 1

  Rekindled Moments (Moments in Time #2)

  By Dori Lavelle

  Chapter One

  The day I met Chris, I’d been inching my way through the isolated Shop ‘n’ Carry grocery store parking lot, my shortcut to and from campus.

  Every step was a slip. When I’d left my apartment hours earlier, the skies had shown no sign of an approaching snowfall. In fact, the day had started off mild, which made me believe the long, harsh winter was finally ending. Fool that I was, I’d taken my spring tr
ench coat and sneakers instead of a heavy winter coat and boots.

  My sneakers sank into the fragile cushion of snow, my feet growing wetter with every step. I shivered and hugged myself to keep warm as the wind whispered into my ears.

  Home was fifteen minutes away. Not that far, but in winter distance multiplied. And I definitely didn’t have enough money on me for a cab.

  “Want a ride?” A deep, warm voice rang out in the cold.

  I startled and peered through the snowfall in the direction of the voice.

  It belonged to a guy in a black pickup truck, which was idling a few parking spaces away from me. His eyes were fixed on my face.

  Suddenly a little warmer, I called, “No, thanks,” and pulled my woolen hat further down my forehead, catching a whiff of my lavender-scented fabric softener. As I passed his truck, I evaded his gaze, but every fiber of my being begged me to meet those electrifying eyes.

  As I did, he stuck his head out of the window and gave me a smile that knocked my heart out of place. “At that rate, you’ll make it through this parking lot no earlier than tomorrow morning. I promise I won’t bite.”

  I shrugged, gave a small smile, and kept walking.

  When I arrived home twenty-five minutes later, I could barely feel my fingers. It took a long, hot shower to warm me up.

  Lara, my roommate—who later fell in love with a French exchange student and followed him back to Paris—prepared hot chocolate for me.

  Curling my fingers around the white mug, I inhaled the soothing aroma of chocolate. Every sip coated my tongue and warmed my throat. Its richness reminded me of the voice belonging to the stranger from the parking lot.

  ***

  The next day, I made sure I was dressed for winter; the temperatures had plummeted even further. I thought of taking a different route home to avoid bumping into the guy from yesterday. Not that I didn’t want to see him again, it was just that he was so sexy I feared I’d be all clumsy around him and he’d lose interest. But I couldn’t help myself. An invisible string drew me toward the Shop ‘n’ Carry parking lot. Besides, I needed to get home as soon as possible. I was consumed with exhaustion after a long, drawn-out lecture on marketing principles from my ancient professor.

  Lacy snowflakes blinded my eyes as my gaze raked the lot for a black pickup. Every nerve of my body told me he was there, even if I couldn’t see his truck. Was I just being crazy? But no—there he was, leaning against his pickup.

  He met my eyes and grinned. Despite the cold weather, he only wore a leather jacket, white T-shirt, and jeans. “Remember me?” he asked as I neared the truck. He was parked at the entrance of the lot, which meant I couldn’t exit without passing him. “Change your mind about having me drive you home?”

  This time I took a good look at him. He was above average in height, with sculpted facial features, a buzz cut peppered with snowflakes, and muscular arms with biceps that bulged against the sleeves of his form-fitting jacket. Handsome. Seriously handsome.

  As I drew closer, a smile tipped his lips again, and my cheeks burned.

  In spite of myself, I returned his smile. I had to admit, he had my heart pounding with that grin. But I shook my head at his invitation.

  At twenty-two, I’d dated a few guys, but something had always been missing. If someone had asked me, before I met Chris, if I’d ever been in love before, I probably would have said no. Any guys I really felt drawn to had never shown much interest in me. If they didn’t find me attractive enough, that was understandable. I sure wouldn’t have been attracted to myself. My hair was dull. I was too skinny and too tall, with no curves. None that I could see, anyway.

  Lara thought otherwise. According to her, I was so beautiful, men feared being turned down if they asked me out. Hard for me to believe, but to each her own.

  “What if I threw in a cup of coffee, or tea, or something cold? Whatever you prefer.”

  I wanted to accept his invitation, but I didn’t. Not for another three days.

  Chris never gave up. Every time I walked through the parking lot, he was there, smiling at me from his pickup.

  On the third day, he changed his strategy. Instead of inviting me out for coffee, he brought the coffee to me.

  How could I say no to that?

  Inside the truck, he wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and poured me coffee from a thermos flask. Out of a bag he pulled sachets of sugar, a pint-sized milk carton, and chocolate and vanilla doughnuts.

  No one—and definitely no guy—had ever done something so nice for me.

  ***

  Since our first coffee date in his truck, we saw each other often. When we weren’t together, we talked on the phone. We had both grown up in orphanages, and that fact only drew us closer. Within a week, we were an item, and I became the envy of every girl in town. Most girls who met Chris wanted him, but he only had eyes for me.

  Even though he told me I was beautiful, I had to make myself look and feel like I deserved him. I cut my hair into a cute, sleek bob, and Lara helped me pick out clothes that flattered my figure and made me appear more curvaceous.

  I knew almost immediately that Chris was the love of my life. I experienced a lot of things for the first time with him. He pulled me out of my shell, made my world come alive. Together we went skydiving, paragliding, motor biking, sailing. Anything that promised an adventure.

  That was Chris, an adrenaline junkie. At first I thought it was in his blood, but two months after we met, he became depressed and revealed to me the shadows that had followed him from childhood. When he was just five, Susan, his adoptive mother, had committed suicide while Chris slept in the other room. The only thing she left was a note: I’m sorry. This is too much. I can’t cope.

  I realized his hunger for adventure, the rush of adrenaline, made his heart beat faster and harder. It made him feel alive. Chris was incapable of being happy on his own; he needed something to charge his batteries.

  The problem was, the greater the thrill of an adventure, the harder the crash afterward. His euphoria usually only lasted until we landed back into reality.

  He laughed and smiled, but I knew him too well. The happy part of him had died with Susan—the second mother to abandon him. The only thing Chris had inherited from her was her depression, and he’d never healed.

  Interestingly, he had gone to college for psychology. But I suspected it had little to do with a future career and more to do with his desire to understand his own psyche. Unable to find the answers he searched for, he dropped out and went on to earn his living as a self-taught IT specialist.

  Even though Chris was dying inside a little more each day, he brought me to life. He lifted me to heights I never imagined I’d reach. He only needed to call me “my girl” to send my stomach doing flips.

  I did the best I could to make him as happy as he made me, to soothe him with my love. I thought I could change him, help him heal. I was there when he needed to talk; I held him when he awoke in the dead of night, cowering from his demons. I was there. Period.

  But in the end, I didn’t save his life. I ended it.

  Chapter Two

  I struck a match and lowered the flame toward the candle in my hand until the wick caught. Although I could light my candle using the flames of the other candles that were already burning, I preferred creating my own flame. A new light in the world.

  The fire on the matchstick died before I had a chance to snuff it out, releasing a thin stream of smoke that drifted upward.

  I placed the candle on the stand—a new flame among dozens—and sent up a prayer for Chris. That he would find peace and happiness, wherever he was. Two things this world had withheld from him.

  Done with my weekly ritual, I slipped into the last pew of Grace Chapel, my usual place to sit. To hide.

  I sat straight as a rod, my eyes fixed on the flickering flames at the candle stand, their vivid sparks blurred through my curtain of tears.

  The candle had been for Chris, and so had the prayer, bu
t the wait was for Nick.

  Two brothers who each held a piece of my heart. The two men I’d loved and lost.

  The mint sweet I had in my mouth when I arrived had melted away, so I popped in another. It, too, melted away, and still, Nick didn’t appear. Just as he hadn’t on any of my last visits.

  Falling in love with Nick had not been part of my plans. Chris was my first. I thought he’d be my last. But fate intervened and knocked the wind from my lungs.

  Six months ago, I met Nick right here in Grace Chapel. We had coffee at a café down the road and then he kissed me, flipping my world upside down.

  Thanks to my friend Melisa, I opened my eyes to see what I had been missing. Maybe the time had come for me to stop paying for my sins. Four years of living and working at the Oasis Shelter as payment for my crimes had been enough. That one kiss shoved me out the doors of Oasis and into the world. To start over.

  When Nick bumped into me again, I had a glamorous job at Stalford Jewelers and worked as a part-time jewelry model. I had a place to stay, a life. After one night of passion, I thought he’d stay long enough to decorate my world.

  But through a cruel twist of fate, he found out I’d killed his twin brother—Chris. Nick never gave me a chance to explain, and it was destroying me inside to know he hated me. If only I could make him understand I had not meant to kill his brother. But how? Even though I had stumbled upon the slip of paper with his number in my purse, my calls to him went unanswered and unreturned.

  In the end, I had no choice but to stop contacting him, if I didn’t want to be thought of as a stalker, that is. If we ever communicated again, he’d have to make the first move.

  “Maybe it’s time for you to move on without him,” Melisa said to me last week, when I went to volunteer at the Oasis Shelter. We were sitting in the cafeteria after serving breakfast to the residents.

  “I wish I could. I can’t bear the thought of him believing I’m a crazy murderer.”

  Melisa shook her head. “I’m sure he doesn’t think that.”