“He said he fell out of a tree.”
At least his story was consistent.
“Did you believe him?”
“Not for a second. And he knew I knew he was lying.”
“What do you think happened? A fight after school?”
His mother? She almost hoped it was Carla who’d hurt the boy. As horrendous as that was, it was still better than the other possibility—that one of his mother’s “clients” had gotten to the boy.
“He wasn’t at school.”
“A street fight, then?”
“Maybe.” Hands in the pockets of his sweats, Kirk slowed as they reached the small private park that was part of the gated community in which she lived. “You want to sit?”
“Sure.” She was actually kind of relieved. Walking had been too much effort.
“You wouldn’t happen to know some nice friendly cop we could call to check up on him, would you?”
She didn’t need a cop to do that. All she had to do was make a phone call. “Yeah. I can think of a couple. I’ll get on it first thing in the morning.”
They discussed the boy for another few minutes, until Valerie wished she’d never agreed to the outing. She’d just needed a few minutes of feeling good.
And Kirk Chandler had a way of making her feel good.
Especially when he touched her without touching her, running his finger through a strand of her hair, close enough that she could feel him, but not so close that he intruded on her carefully plotted life. Not so close that skin touched skin. Not so close that she was tempted to lose the misery of the day in the sweetness of a man at night.
He was restless beside her. Tapping the heel of his tennis shoe on the concrete beneath their bench. Nodding his head slowly. Something was bothering him.
But he wasn’t telling her about it.
Valerie didn’t want to care one way or the other.
She didn’t want to think at all anymore. At least not until she’d had a chance to sleep off the worst of her pain and worry and guilt.
Kirk’s hand moved slowly through her hair. Taking up one strand. And then another. Occasionally shooting a ray of sensation down her body as he brushed her scalp. A full fifteen minutes passed in almost complete silence before he dropped his arm along the back of the bench right where her shoulders were leaning.
She settled into the bench.
She asked him how playground duty was going. About Brian’s eating habits at lunch that week. And, wincing slightly, she asked about his team’s chances of winning the play-offs if Abraham was still too sick to play in the game the following night.
She was glad when his hand slid from the bench to her shoulders, massaging lightly. The action was harmless. They were in an open, if dark and deserted, park. And touch was good sometimes.
Her exhausted body came alive, giving her renewed energy when she needed it most. His touch revived her strength and once again she felt as if she could carry on. Forge ahead. Make a difference in the world. And for her sons.
His hand moved to her neck and her head dropped back. He kneaded the taut muscles of her neck, bringing immediate relief. But even as her eyes closed, she knew she couldn’t stay there much longer. She had to get home. Check the locks. Turn off the lights. Look in on the boys. Wash her face, brush her teeth and find a clean nightshirt…
The lips touching hers were so light, so perfectly part of that moment, she simply accepted their rightness in being there. And when their pressure increased, when they began to move, her own moved beneath them, as naturally as her skin had responded to the healing touch of Kirk’s fingers. She was alive with sensation, euphoric almost, and yet sedated by the night. The quiet.
He kissed her a second time. And a third. The fourth time Valerie opened her mouth to his, deepening the kiss. Tasting him.
And then, slowly, she became aware of who she was.
And pulled away.
CHAPTER TWELVE