Blurring the Lines-nook (2 page)

Burke chuckled. Decker had to be in his seventies, but Burke had run into him and
his wife one day at a local po-boy shop and they’d been cuddled up and kissing in
the booth like randy teenagers.

“When you gonna get you a woman?” Decker asked, sly grin firmly in place. “You ain’t
gonna find one on the side of some mountain or jumping out a plane.”

Well, that wasn’t necessarily true. There were women on the adventure trips Burke
took. And adrenaline was a pretty potent aphrodisiac, so hookups happened. But it’d
been a long while since he’d been inspired to seek any out. Plus, most of the time,
he was on the trips representing his business, Daredevil Travel, and getting mixed
up with clients was a bad idea. “I do all right.”

Decker’s white mustache twitched as he pulled his briefcase from his car. “Still haven’t
seen you in my store. Must not be going
that
well.”

Burke sipped his coffee and smiled. “So this is all a sales pitch, huh?”

“A man is incomplete without the love of a good woman. Or of a good man, I guess,
if that’s your thing.”

Burke chuckled. “It’s not. But you’re quite the romantic, Mr. Decker.”

“Not being romantic, just speaking the truth.”

“Well, I promise if I ever need a ring, I’ll be buying it from you, sir.”

“You better. I have the prettiest diamonds in town.” Decker tapped the top of his
car and gave a quick nod of good-bye. “Enjoy the beautiful day, son.”

“You, too.” Burke stood there as the man made his way across the street to Decker’s
Diamonds, the store Mr. Decker’s family had owned for generations. Shiny engagement
rings glittered in the windows, and Burke shook his head. Being a romantic was probably
a job requirement for Mr. Decker. He had to peddle the notion to people every day.
Promises. Dreams. Forevers.

Tough business.

Burke shrugged his bag higher on his shoulder and turned to head toward his office.
Nice notion, but nothing was forever. He’d watched his parents get divorced after
fifteen years together. And he’d watched his older brother promise forever to a girl
willing to give it back to him, and he’d left her, too—courtesy of a glass of Jameson
and a fistful of pills.

Time stopped ticking for everyone at some point. Some by force. Some by choice.

But forever was a lie people told themselves.

Those who believed it only got disappointed. That was why he tested the limits every
chance he got and lived each day like it might be his last, whether that be scaling
up a dangerous mountain, hiking through an arid desert with limited supplies, or base
jumping from the highest spots he could find.

If the end came quicker than it should’ve because of his risks, then so be it. At
least he wouldn’t be standing around, twiddling his thumbs, waiting for life to start.
Or waiting for it to end…

He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked it again. Gretchen was supposed to
have met him at CC’s Coffee over an hour ago. It was their ritual when he returned
from a trip. They’d eat chocolate hazelnut croissants and drink
café au lait
while she listened to his latest adventure. He’d do a dramatic retelling, working
hard to make her smile, to see light come back into her eyes if only for a few moments.
But she hadn’t shown up at the normal time, and her phone went straight to voicemail.
He’d driven by her place on the way here, and though her car was still there, no one
had answered. Maybe she’d forgotten and was running errands or something.

He texted her again, making it clear this time that calling him back and letting him
know she was okay wasn’t an option. She hated that he worried about her, and she assured
him regularly that she was fine.
Fine, fine, fine
. He’d thought his brother was fine, too, and Harris had been anything but. So, Burke
wasn’t taking chances. Plus, he liked being the one who made his brother’s former
fiancée smile. He’d been after that particular privilege since they were kids.

Of course, Gretchen had never seen him as more than a close friend. Her eye had always
been on his older brother. But now the girl who used to have a laugh that would fill
up a room barely cracked a smile. Some days, he hated his brother for that. For what
he’d done to Gretchen. For leaving them both. The selfishness of it all.

Burke sighed and tucked his phone into his pocket, trying to shake off the grim feelings
that had taken over on the walk to his office. When the little green house came into
view, the Daredevil Travel sign hanging out front, his mood buoyed a bit. Travel was
his lifeblood, but there was something about coming home to his own little piece of
the world. His family would’ve never predicted that he’d been the one who’d end up
a successful business owner. With the way he screwed around in high school and college,
they probably figured he’d end up wasting away as a pothead in someone’s basement
or dead from one of his stunts.

He turned down the sidewalk that led up to the porch. The space he used for his travel
agency was a converted house in a former residential area, so it had a comfortable
lived in feel and was more like a second home instead of an office. It also had that
distinctly NOLA vibe with vines growing along the rails of the porch, making it appear
as if it’d sprouted right out of the landscape around it.

He jogged up the front steps, keeping his iced coffee balanced while searching for
his keys with his other hand. Once he’d located them, he moved forward to open the
lock but caught a flash of pink in his periphery. He turned his head toward the long
cushioned bench that flanked one side of the porch and almost dropped everything he
was holding. A woman was curled up, back to him, sleeping on the bench.

Or at least he hoped she was sleeping.

“Christ.” He set his things down. He’d once had a homeless guy pass out on the front
lawn, but this was no street person. The pink camisole and plaid shorts were clean
as was the long blond hair hanging off the bench.

Long,
familiar,
blond hair. His stomach clenched. “
Gretchen
?”

There was no movement at the sound of his voice, and panic whipped through him. He
rushed forward and put a hand on her shoulder, finding her skin damp and warm. Alive.
Thank God
. He gave her a little shake.

“Gretch, sweetheart, wake up.”

A breathy little moan escaped her—soft and sexy and sweet. The sound went straight
to his dick. Fantastic. Just what he needed. He ignored his body’s ridiculous automatic
response to her, gave her a harder shake, and repeated her name with more force.

At that she jolted, her body springing to life like he’d yanked the cord on a lawn
mower. She almost rolled off the bench in her haste, but he put his other hand out
to keep her steady. “Easy there.”

Her eyes blinked open, confusion etching her features as her gaze darted around. “What?
Where am—”

“You’re on my porch,
cher
.”

“Burke?” She braced a hand on the back of the bench, and he moved away so she could
push herself fully upward. Her gaze tracked over the porch like she’d never seen it
before. “What the—how did I get
here
?”

Her eyes met his—big fat questions lingering there. He crossed his arms, frowning.
“I was hoping you’d have that answer. And that you’d tell me you weren’t actually
sleeping on my porch where anyone could’ve walked up on you in the night.”

Her green eyes went wide, and she peered out at the street. “Shit.”

She rubbed her hands over her bare arms as if chasing off a chill. But all it did
was bring into focus that she was only wearing a pink cotton camisole, no bra. The
humidity in the air had dampened her clothes, leaving the blush of her nipples visible
through the thin fabric. Burke cleared his throat and forced his eyes upward before
she turned back to him. Now was not the time to let his mind drift into that territory.

“Gretch, what are you doing here?”

She swung her legs forward and looked at her feet and her very dirty, wet socks. She
sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh.”

“Wait, you
walked
here?” His voice came out louder than intended, but images of her wandering the streets
of New Orleans, barely dressed and without shoes made fear rush through him again—all
the possibilities, all the things that could’ve happened. “Why would you do that?
What were you thinking? Gretch—”

She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Stop for a second, all right? I’m
trying to remember.”

“Are you drunk?”

She dropped her hands into her lap and glared at him. “Seriously? What the hell?”

He lifted his palms. “No offense. But it’s a fair question. You’re sleeping on my
porch, wearing next to nothing, and you have no idea how you got here. You could’ve—”
Another awful thought hit him. “Ah, shit.”

“What?”

He laced his hands behind his neck, not knowing how to broach that kind of subject.
“Did you go out last night? Like maybe to a bar or on a date or something?”

A wrinkle appeared between her brows.

“Because people can drop things in your drink,
cher
. Stuff that makes you forget.”

She blanched. “Oh, God, no, nothing like that. I mean, I can’t remember how I got
here. But I know I didn’t go out. I—well, I never go out.”

He knew that, of course. If not for her duties at her grandmother’s shop to get her
out of the house, she’d qualify as a recluse. But he’d been away for two weeks and
things could’ve changed. While he was gone, they’d passed the one-year mark of Harris’s
suicide, and Burke had heard that sometimes an anniversary could trigger strange behavior.
It’d killed him not to be here for her, but the group that had booked the desert trip
had paid an obscene amount of money and Dex, his business partner, had to back out
as a guide because he’d gotten knocked down with the flu.

“What’s the last thing you remember? Did you take anything before bed?”

She rolled her lips together, and her eyes shifted to the side like she was straining
to look back in time. “No, I didn’t take anything. I couldn’t sleep. So I got up for
some reason… Oh, I know.” She looked back to him. “I heard something in the house.
I went to check…”

“And?”

“I don’t know. Obviously, there was no one there. At least no one I could see.” The
last part was mumbled almost to herself.

He frowned. “No one you could see? What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged.

“Don’t tell me you’re talking ghosts,
cher
.”

She sent him an annoyed look. “Shut up. It was late and dark and windy. Ghost thoughts
happen.”

His mouth flattened. Overseeing a tourist shop filled with voodoo and Catholic paraphernalia
was wearing off on Gretchen. Under normal circumstances, he’d probably tease her about
it. But he’d noticed over the last few months that Gretchen had taken more than a
passing interest in the supernatural side of the city—going to one of the quacks downtown
who claimed to talk to spirits, attending those city ghost tours they did in the Quarter,
and walking through the old cemeteries on her lunch breaks. She claimed she was just
taking in the sites and seeking artistic inspiration to get her painting again. But
he feared she was searching for way more than that. “So what happened after you checked
the house?”

She didn’t answer at first, and he could tell she was running through the events in
her head, trying to pinpoint how she’d ended up here. “I think—I think I fell asleep.
I was dreaming.”

“About?”

She glanced up then, but her gaze skated away quickly, almost guiltily. “I don’t remember.
But I’m guessing I walked here in my sleep.”

“Jesus, Gretch.” Being drunk and roaming the streets was bad enough, but being completely
unaware and wandering painted all kinds of horrible pictures in his head. She could’ve
stepped in front of a car or gotten attacked or fallen and hit her head. “Your house
is ten blocks from here. How would you even know where to go in your sleep?”

She clutched her hands in her lap and chill bumps appeared on her arms “Muscle memory,
I guess. I know the way here without thinking. I used to sleepwalk when I was little.
Mom said I could do all kinds of things in my sleep. Paint. Have conversations with
people who weren’t there. Move from room to room without bumping into things.”

“Lord. Did you ever leave the house?”

She shook her head. “Mom put deadbolts on the doors that required keys I couldn’t
reach.”

Unease moved through him. Gretchen lived alone. If she sleepwalked, there were no
keys she wouldn’t be able to reach. This could happen again, and she may not be so
lucky the next time.

A truck rumbled down the street, reminding him that he was standing in front of his
business with a half-dressed woman. He crooked a thumb toward the door. “Come on.
Let’s get you inside, and I’ll make you some coffee.”

“Yeah, sure.” She glanced toward the road again then got up to follow him into the
house. Once he closed the door behind them and flipped on the lights, she started
talking again, but he couldn’t process the words. He reached out and pulled her to
him.

A little squeak of surprise escaped, but she let him embrace her. Her heart was beating
fast against him, telling him she was more freaked out about what had happened than
she was letting on. He tried to get his own anxiety to settle. Not until he’d seen
her okay had he realized how worried he’d been. He closed his eyes, her scent filling
his senses—the perfume of the hydrangeas outside mixing with the unmistakable earthiness
of fresh rain. She was all right. Everything was fine.

He didn’t want to release her.

She leaned back and peered up at him, an unsure smile touching her lips. “Hey, it’s
okay, big guy. I’m all right. I guess the insomnia is just affecting me more than
I realized.”

He blew out a breath, trying to exorcise the lingering bad feelings. “You scared me
this morning,
cher
. Didn’t show up for coffee and then you weren’t at your house. I don’t know how the
hell you got here in one piece, but damn, am I happy to see you.”