Silver Falls - Anne Stuart [44]
Except David didn’t know her taste in fast food. And he would have been horrified at the very thought. But Sophie knew—maybe she’d told Caleb.
Hell, they weren’t together for that long—hardly time enough for them to get into Rachel’s culinary peculiarities. It was sheer coincidence that they both liked no pickles and onions and cheese. Not a sign of something more complicated.
It was hard to stay wary with her Diet Coke and a double double In-N-Out burger. She could feel her whole body relaxing into the soft leather of the rental car. She ought to be pissed about that—he’d made her change her clothes and then drove her down the mountain in that lousy Jeep. He liked to toy with people, and she had no desire to play the mouse to his jungle cat.
But she simply couldn’t summon up any rage. Not then. Maybe later, when the fast-food bliss wore off. Tonight she was in her own little corner of cholesterol heaven.
The drive back was silent, oddly comfortable, and Rachel tipped the seat back a little, closing her eyes. Strange that she could be so relaxed with the black sheep. But after the rough day, the nerve-racking back roads drive, she could suddenly let go of everything, close her eyes and feel enormously peaceful.
Caleb had turned on the radio, and she heard the rich sound of African rhythms, the sweet tremolo of Portuguese fados, the beauty of Asian flutes. “World music station on the satellite radio,” he murmured, reading her mind.
It should have bothered her. But it didn’t. She was too caught up in missing the worlds she’d lived in, that now seemed a lifetime away, the color, the music, the taste and smell, the people. And for a brief moment she wanted to cry.
And then she thought of Sophie. Sophie, who made friends wherever she went, who learned to read in Brazil, who had her hair in cornrows in the Caribbean, who danced in Mozambique and sang in India. Sophie in her new, safe, ordinary world, with new friends and a better school than Rachel could have ever provided.
It was right. It was fair.
But why did it suddenly feel so wrong?
9
The house was dark when Caleb drove into the driveway, David’s black BMW sitting in front of the garage like a silent reproach.
“Oh, shit,” Rachel muttered beneath her breath.
“What? He’s going to beat you?”
“Yeah, right. Your brother doesn’t even like to swat flies—you know that. He’s very Zen. No, he’ll just be disappointed.”
“Well, slip into bed and maybe he won’t notice what time you came in.”
“We don’t…No, you’re right, he probably won’t notice,” she said, hastily switching words.
“You don’t what? You don’t sleep together?”
Shit. “Of course we do.”
“No, you don’t. David has always slept lightly—the slightest sound would wake him up. If you shared a bed there’s no way you wouldn’t wake him up. He’s my brother, remember?”
She could try to bluff, but the thought that she’d be tempted to do so was annoying. Her blissed-out burger buzz had vanished, and she was back in the land of tofu and lemon water. The night was dark, and it had even started to rain again. “Exactly. My thrashing keeps him awake, so we have separate rooms. And in two days I’ve already figured out how your mind works. Yes, we have sex. All the time. We just go to his room or mine. Or the living-room floor. Or the kitchen countertops. Or the…”
“With Sophie in the house?” he said mildly enough.
Double shit. She’d been getting defensive again. “She goes out often enough.”
“So why were you going through your elaborate seduction routine tonight? Not that I wasn’t appreciative, but if your sex life is all that good how come you have to resort to candlelit dinners and low-cut shirts?”
“I’m thoughtful,” she snapped. “We’re newlyweds.”
Caleb’s soft laugh had to be the most annoying sound in the entire world. “And it’s such a love match.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“I’d rather fuck you.”
The porch light came on, the front door opened to the rainy night,