Kate Carlisle - The Lies That Bind

“Hello, darling,” Derek said.

I jumped. He looked even more dangerous than usual. Maybe it was the fog.

“Are you all right, Brooklyn?” Mitchell asked.

“I’m fine,” I said, staring at Derek. “Good night, gang.”

“Good night,” a trio of voices answered, and I heard their footsteps recede into the night.

“You waited,” I said to Derek, tossing my bag into the backseat of my car and pulling my jacket even tighter around me.

“Of course I waited. I told you I would.”

“I thought you’d be inside.”

He scowled. “I tried waiting inside, but it became troublesome.”

I chewed my lip nervously. “Layla?”

“Yes. Come here.” He coaxed me into his arms.

“It’s been a long night,” I said, and covered up a yawn.

“And you’re tired.” He began to knead a pulse point at the junction of my shoulder and neck.

“Yes. I’m exhausted and just want to… oh.” I was pressed up against him and he was doing miraculous things to my muscles. I would melt if he continued much longer.

“We can go for a drink, or dinner,” he said.

“Oh, well, I could eat something.” Thoughts of pizza returned and I smiled.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered. He was well aware of my ability to eat heartily anytime, day or night.

But was I really his girl? Did I want to be? After all, he didn’t call, he didn’t write, and he didn’t want to see me again. And yet, he was here, and so was I. I certainly didn’t want to be his port in the storm, but if he kept rubbing my neck like that, I would say yes to just about anything he asked.

“Darling, I-” His cell phone vibrated in his jacket pocket and he muttered, “Bloody hell.”

I took the opportunity to step back, away from temptation. “Better answer it.”

He stared at the screen, then looked at me, plainly conflicted. “I warned them not to call unless-”

“Answer it,” I said again, then tried to move farther away to allow him some privacy. But he swung his arm around my shoulders and dragged me up against his solid chest.

I could hear yelling on the other side of the call but couldn’t understand what the speaker was saying. Derek barely said a word but for a muttered expletive here and there. And with his clipped accent, even cursing sounded charming.

“I’ll be there in ten,” he said, then clicked off the call.

“New plan?” I said lightly.

“Yes,” he said, “I must go kill Gunther Schnaubel.”

“Hey, that’s okay,” I lied. “I should go feed my neighbors’ cats anyway.”

He laughed. I liked the sound of it.

I tried to convince myself that this was a good thing. I’d been seconds away from going to dinner with him. From there, I might’ve agreed to spend the night. Only a couple of hours ago, I’d been furious. Now I was ready to throw my panties in the wind, for heaven’s sake. Things were getting serious and complicated, fast. For me, anyway.

I still didn’t understand his relationship with Layla and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. More important, I didn’t know what to expect by getting involved with him, if anything. And now I wouldn’t have the chance to talk to him about it. Not tonight, anyway.

So it was just as well that he’d received that phone call. It would give me some space to think about things. I needed to figure out exactly what I was getting my very vulnerable heart into.

He leaned his forehead against mine. “Tomorrow night, Brooklyn. I’ll be here. We’ll go to dinner and we’ll talk. And I promise you, there will be no more interruptions.”

“Okay,” I whispered, grateful for the short respite. Twenty-four hours was plenty of time to think about stepping off a cliff, wasn’t it?

Wednesday night, I walked the periphery of the classroom. Earlier, my students had insisted on grilling me about why I happened to be wearing a cute dress when I normally wore jeans. I wasn’t about to tell them I had a date with the hottest secret agent in the Western Hemisphere, but they guessed anyway. Well, about the date part. Who would guess he was a secret agent? Well, he wasn’t really. Not anymore. Anyway, once my upcoming date was out in the open, I had to endure all their opinions and warnings and teasing. Then Alice mentioned that she’d seen my companion up close last night and oh, he was dreamy.

Dreamy. Who said that anymore?

Finally, though, they all settled down enough to concentrate on yet another of my fascinating lectures, this one on wood-block presses. I’d already given every student a small wood press to work with. The classroom had enough for everyone, thanks to Marky May, who had made them all himself.

Marky’s presses were an ingeniously simple pattern, essentially two fifteen-inch blocks of smooth hardwood held together by two long wood screws, one on each end.

“To press your pages together, you place your textblock between the pieces of wood, spine side up. Then twirl the wing nuts to tighten until the textblock is held firmly. Could it be easier?”

I pointed out that the spine should stick up a little higher than the press itself so glue wouldn’t drip onto the wood. “And make sure the linen tapes aren’t pressed between the pages and the wood. They should lie on top. We don’t want to get glue on any part of the tapes except where they’re already sewn to the signatures.”

“There you go, speaking in tongues again,” Mitchell said, shaking his head in confusion.

“Sorry,” I said, chuckling as I studied everyone’s pressed pages. “Okay, everybody, look at Alice’s press. See how the tapes are strewn over the block? That’s what yours should look like.”

“Teacher’s pet,” Gina teased, and they laughed.

Alice laughed along with them, then frowned as she rubbed her stomach.

“I was just kidding,” Gina said, her forehead creasing in concern.

“No worries,” Alice said, trying to wave away the pain. “It’s just me and my nerves.”

Whitney wiggled her eyebrows. “The good news is, when you rub your stomach like that, I’m blinded by your gorgeous diamond ring.”

Alice held her hand up to the light and stared fondly at the ring. “It is pretty, isn’t it? Stuart is so sweet.”

“You’re very lucky to have a nice guy,” Whitney said. “You have no idea what’s out there these days.”

“Slim pickings,” Gina agreed.

“Hey, I resemble that remark,” Mitchell muttered.

Everyone laughed, then settled back to work.

“I could make these wood presses for the kids taking our classes,” Marianne the librarian marveled, flicking her wing nuts. On the first night she’d told us that she planned to take what she learned here and offer book craft classes for kids at her library.

“That’s way too much labor,” said Jennifer, who worked at the same library. “And the little kids won’t be able to operate something like this.”

“Are you kidding?” Gina said. “If I can do it, anyone can.”

“It’s true,” Whitney said, elbowing her friend. “She’s all thumbs and press-on nails.”

I pulled a large binder clip off my stack of notes and held it up. “Two of these will hold a book in place almost as securely as a wood press.”

Jennifer’s eyes lit up. “Binder clips. How clever. Now that’s more my speed.”

Once they all had their signature pages firmly held inside the presses, I demonstrated how to apply the thin layers of PVA glue to the text spine.

“Dip the brush halfway into the glue, then swipe it liberally across the spine edges. You want to soak the threads completely. Be sure to daub the wet brush carefully between the pages so that everything is covered in glue.”

I wandered around the room, watching them apply thin layers of adhesive to the compressed textblock.