Page 18 of Accidentally Mine
Instead, I hugged my cardigan close and shook my head.“I’m sorry,” I said, looking back as the train doors slid open.“I’ve got to go.”
His hair disheveled, he watched me as I stood, looking as if he just knew he’d get what he wanted, eventually.He exuded calm, absolute control.“If I haven’t earned it yet, give me a way to.”
I struggled to stop my knees from growing weak.“What?”
He reached out, his warm, strong hand engulfing mine completely.The touch sent a prickle of heat through me.With that dimple on display once again, he scanned me, his gaze taking all of me in.I caught myself as I started to lean forward, wanting to be closer to him.
“Come back.To the café.You know where to find me,” he said, a challenge in his eyes.“If I haven’t earned your number, at least I’ve earned another chance?”
I momentarily forgot how to breathe.“I…”
I what?I didn’t know how to finish the thought.
“Your train is leaving,” he said, his deep voice pulsing through my veins.
Sure enough, the doors were about to slide closed.Grabbing my bag, I raced for them, slipping through just as they were closing.As the train started to lumber away, I peered out the window as he balled the handkerchief in his hand, rose to his feet, and tossed that expensive cloth into the trash.
Pretentious as all get out.
But that didn’t stop me from thinking about him, all the way back to South Boston.
5
Brent
During the accident, I’d fractured my pelvis, shattered a hand, perforated a lung, and broken my leg in two places.In addition to learning how to walk again, I’d undergone daily therapy to get my brain back to normal function.It was eight months before I went back to work.Ten before I got back in a car, and a full year before I bought myself a new one.
But two things I never did?One: I never got back on the Pike again.And two: I never drove again.The car I bought was exclusively driven by Ernest.
I took the T to Brookline that morning, as I’d instructed Ernest to bug off at the coffee shop.The platform was usually crowded with commuters, but since I’d traveled the opposite direction of the crowds, it wasn’t too bad.It seemed like crowds made the possibility of a seizure worse, but I’d been willing to risk it.Rebecca Reece had captivated me, drawn me in.And I was determined to enjoy the independence I’d taken by ditching my driver.
It wasn’t ideal, going into work with a bloody shirt and a battered nose, and coffee stains all over my new English cut suit.But I guess I deserved it for acting like a stalker this morning—totally abnormal behavior for me.It seemed like every one of my eighty employees looked at me agog.The few brave ones asked, “What happened to you?”
The first few times, I explained that I accidentally spilled my coffee and got in someone’s way at the T station.But when I reached my office, and my secretary leaped up from behind her desk, gasping and diving for the first aid kit, I was tired of being treated as if I would crumple.
She came at me with a Neosporin wipe, and said, “Who did this to you?”as if I were a ten-year-old boy who’d gotten jumped on the playground.
I snorted.“You should see the other guy.”
I went into my office and closed the door, glad I had another suit to change into, and a fully equipped bathroom in which to clean up.I used to run on my lunch breaks, so I’d had it installed for that.Recently, I’d changed my exercise routine to the gym.
I showered and changed, then looked at my nose in the mirror.I’d broken my nose before, so I knew what it felt like, and it wasn’t broken.It was tender, but thankfully, no bruises were appearing beneath my eyes.I felt a massive headache coming on, so I popped some of the extra-strength acetaminophen my doctor had prescribed and swallowed them down without water.
Then I settled at my desk overlooking the Charles River and tried to get some work done.
But my gaze kept drifting to theGlobeI’d laid on the desk, and the picture of that sexy as fuck woman, Rebecca Reece.Those eyes.Turquoise.Were they the same ones in my dream?From that night?Was I going crazy?
I hadn’t wanted to leave it up to chance that I’d see her again.It was stupid and stalkerish to follow her, but she’d looked so scared.Like she needed to get away from something, and I hadn’t been able to stop the urge to want to protect her from whatever that something was.
I opened my laptop to the search engine and quickly typed in her name.It brought up thousands of results, Rebecca Reeces all over the country.Lawyers, actresses, even a supermodel.
I amended the search to: Rebecca Reece Boston.
Fewer results this time, but still thousands.The first one, though, was the picture from the article in theGlobe.I scanned the search results, another write-up making me take notice:
Rebecca Reece, the only child of Lyndon Reece, owner of Boston-based construction company, Reece Associates, disappeared without a trace on November third.Though her father filed a missing persons report, any and all leads have gone cold.
I studied the date, a strange, prickling sensation spreading over me.That day in November stood out in my mind because it meant something very big to me.
