Falling (Dansboro Crossing #5)

Chapter 1

one

PETER

“Come on, G. You know you want to do it.” I’ve been whining at Geneva since we made it back from Texas. I think it’s starting to work. We only have a day before we leave if she’s going to agree.

“Why would I want to be stuck in your car driving cross-country when I can sit in first class and be there in a few hours?”

I bet you thought I’d been trying to convince her to have sex with me. Get your mind out of the gutter. Although I’m definitely on board with that idea, but, no. I’ve been trying to convince her to road trip with me from sunny San Francisco to even more sunny Austin.

We both took a leap of faith when we resigned from her father’s real estate development business to join her brother in Texas. He fell in love with a one-night stand and never returned to California.

I wholeheartedly approve of the choice he made. He’s now married with a beautiful baby boy to fuss over. We agreed quickly that a struggling new business in Texas was better than dealing with her abusive father, even if it was lucrative.

I’ve been friends with Rand since boarding school. We were thrown together in middle school as roommates. The first time I met his sister, Geneva, she was tall, thin, and had a look that could freeze water.

Not much has changed. Except now, I really like when her icy gaze is turned on me. But she’s my best friend’s sister. She’s off limits, but that doesn’t mean she’s not always on my mind.

“Think about it. We could stop by Yosemite and Zion. You know you’ve always wanted to ride the rims.” It’s a wild guess. Honestly, I don’t know that much about either park. I don’t know a thing about riding a horse either, but whatever. It’s just been a long time since I’ve done anything other than work. I want an adventure. And I don’t want to go alone.

“I do like horses,” she admits.

“There you go.”

“And rims.” She smiles wickedly. Don’t read anything into it. We’ve been doing this barely civil sexual innuendo thing for years. I think we started it in an effort to freak her brother the fuck out. It worked, so we kept doing it. Now, I wonder if we even notice what we say to each other anymore.

“We could raft the Grand Canyon,” I dangle.

Her eyes narrow at me. That means that she’s either seriously considering going or I’m going to wake up in the hospital in several days. Did I mention the woman has a black belt in some sort of martial arts? She can probably raft like a demon too. I might be getting in over my head.

“Fine,” she says.

She’s sitting on my couch among the boxes waiting to be moved to Austin tomorrow. Her long legs stretch to the coffee table, where she wiggles her toes. Luscious, suckable toes. Jesus. I need to get laid. Not that Geneva’s not all kinds of hot, but she’s still my best friend’s sister. Although I get a kick out of telling him she’s hot all the time.

“Stop staring at my feet, perv.”

“Yes or no, Geneva.”

“Fine.”

Something inside me is doing a little cheer over spending a week on the road with this sex goddess. Probably the cheerleaders of Boner U.

“But we’re hiking in Yosemite, riding in Zion, and rafting the Grand Canyon.”

I’m going to die.

“And…”

I wait for more demands.

“Shopping in Santa Fe.”

“Seriously?” I ask. I’m not that worried about being dragged around the shops in Santa Fe. I doubt I’ll still be alive at that point.

“Yes, seriously. I want to check out the art galleries.”

“Fine.” Who cares? I really will already be dead.

“Fine.” She glares at me, seeing if she can call my bluff. I’ve known Geneva since her family came to deliver her brother to boarding school. She was eleven at the time and just as obstinate. Her mother fussed over Rand’s side of the room while Geneva stared at me with the same glare she’s giving me now.

“Yes, fine. I’ll pack my glasses so I don’t get a headache.” I’m color blind. It’s never hindered my ability to design buildings or render plans. I just always check with her to make sure my color elevations are correct.

Art galleries, however, are a dizzying riot of chaos to my eyes. I have both color-correcting glasses and sunglasses.

“I guess I should go home and finish packing,” she says with a sigh.

“Would you like dinner first?” Food is most likely the reason she’s in my apartment in the first place. I’ve never seen Geneva so much as boil water. I, however, took all the culinary classes they’d let me take while at college. I like to cook, and I wanted to do it well.

“What are you making?”

“French toast.”

“Your cinnamon swirl french toast?”

“The one and only.”

She closes her eyes on a moan. Damn. I wish I could get her to make that sound by doing something other than talking about food.

“You’re such a tease.” She grins. “Fucking sadistic.”

I laugh and get the only mixing bowl not in a box out of the cabinet. The cinnamon bread I made last night, so I know it’s fresh. My remaining eggs get cracked into the bowl. I add a touch of cinnamon, vanilla, and milk. Geneva moves to the bar to watch me work. This is one of her favorites, which is why I saved the ingredients for tonight.

The move to Austin seems to be harder on Geneva than on Rand or me. She left a job she was confident in, a Jiu-Jitsu instructor she liked, and a modern-designed apartment she adored.

I know she’ll shine at the new company we’re forming. But I wonder if she knows that. Geneva is as tough as they come on the outside. But on the inside, I think there’s more than meets the eye.

“How is it?” I ask, watching her take the first bite of french toast. She closes her eyes and chews for several minutes. Her eyes pop back open, spearing me with that cerulean gaze. It’s something she does all the time; she knocks me on my ass with that look. It steals my breath away every damn time.

“Panty melting,” she purrs.

“Then my job here is done.” She smiles and takes another bite. “The movers are supposed to be here around seven tomorrow morning. It shouldn’t take them long, then we’ll head to your place. I have everything we should need on our trip, so just pack any personal items you want to take.”

“Do I need anything specific?” she asks with a wink. She is the adventure seeker, not me. I visualize a pack worthy of someone preparing to climb Everest.

“Make sure you pack layers. We’ll leave as soon as the truck pulls out.”

“I guess I should go then. Just finding the box my hiking boots are in should prove a challenge. Thanks for dinner.” She stands and moves to the door. “Peter?”

“Yeah.” I wait for what she’s going to say. She seems to be on the brink of saying more but then reconsiders.

“See you tomorrow.”

Then she’s gone. I wish she had just said what she wanted to. Ever since I’ve known her, she’s had a wall firmly in place. Not just on my account either. No one that I’ve ever seen gets all of her.

I’ve never challenged her on that wall. I understand why it’s there. It took me a year of living in a dorm room with Rand to earn his trust enough to learn that the house they grew up in was one of violence. The best thing their mother did was send them to boarding school. Unfortunately, it was on opposite sides of the country.

The only support Geneva had in her young life was ripped away from her when Rand left for New England. She was left with an angry father, a barely existent mother, and a rebellious streak a mile long.

But sometimes the devil you know is better than the unknown. When Rand went to work for his father, he brought me with him. Geneva joined us the next year, and I got a first-hand look at the control Joseph Randolph had over his children.

Now, they’ve found their way out. Rand is living happily with his wife and new baby, the result of the best accident to ever happen to him. And Geneva is moving to a new city to join us in forming a new company.

I think this trip will be as important for her in making the transition as it is to me. I just hope we can survive a week of hiking, riding, rafting, and each other.

* * *

The movers show up bright and early the next morning. I’ve decided to donate or sell most of my stuff. Nothing like embracing the idea of starting life over with new things. As a result, it doesn’t take long to load out what’s left. A couple of hours later, I pull up outside Geneva’s apartment.

“Hey,” I say when she meets me. She seems a little skittish today. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good. Can we just get this done?” she snaps. I nod and lead the movers upstairs. Geneva has a lot more she’s moving than I do. It takes several more hours for everything to be loaded into the truck.

We’re close to being done when I notice her standing in the corner of her living room, wringing her hands. I slide next to her and drape an arm over her shoulder. I squeeze her against my side.

A shuddering breath escapes her lips. My arms wrap around her as I pull her against my chest. For a couple of seconds, she lets me comfort her. Then she shoves me away. I’m not offended; that’s just Geneva.

“Let’s blow this place,” she says, her jaw set in determination. We lock up and turn the keys into the concierge. Cleaners come tomorrow to clean both of our places.

Unlike Rand, neither of us owns our place. I had to pay a penalty for moving out early. Geneva only had two months left on her lease. There was a list of new tenants waiting for her place, so they waived any fees.

“Let me give you the grand tour of our steed for the next week.” I unlock my Land Rover. It’s not new, but it gets me where I need to go. Right now, it’s full of everything I think we might need for a road trip.

“This is the easy-to-reach cooler full of both water and soda. Don’t lecture me about sugar,” I add, holding up my hand when Geneva cocks a hip. “This one is snacks, both healthy and junk.”

“Nuts?”

“Lightly salted and chocolate covered. Also, chips, rice cakes, granola, cheese, the list goes on.” She peers in the back, looking skeptical. “Just get in.” She rolls her eyes but climbs in the passenger seat. I take a couple of deep breaths and walk to the driver’s side.

“Are we there yet?” she asks when I slide in.

“There are a couple of game books in the door to keep you entertained the whole three and a half hours to Yosemite.” She rolls her eyes and pulls out her phone. “Hey, no phones. You have to keep me awake.”

She puts her phone down. Digging through the stash of game books and magazines I picked up yesterday, she pulls one out. “Ooh, a survey.”

Crap. I should have chosen better.

“Tell us about your first time.”

What you’re about to witness is Geneva’s ability to torture me to the point of madness. She’s been perfecting it since we were young. There are probably a dozen articles we could discuss, but she’s zeroed in on the one that will push me the farthest out of my comfort zone. Well, I guess when in Rome…

“Fire away.” I chance a glance at her. Her eyes gleam back at me.

“Question one. How would you best describe the experience? One, it was a special and exciting experience. Two, it was uncomfortable at times but still good. Three, it was awkward and I’m glad I got it over with. Or four, it was a disaster.”

“Umm.” I have to think about this one for a minute. “I guess it was somewhere between exciting and awkward. She was older. She was way more experienced than I was. I fumbled around until she finally lost patience and took over.”

“Alright. Question two.”

“No, no. That’s not how we’re playing this. Now, it’s your turn to answer.” She tries to wait me out, but we have three more hours to go. I can hold out forever.

“Fine,” she finally growls. “It was time to get past being a virgin. I picked up a guy. We had sex. It was neither good nor bad; it just was.”

That’s horrible. I would take nervous fumbling over that any day. My heart breaks thinking this is what she chose. I’ve heard her be called a cold fish and worse before. It’s not true, though. I think she just uses it as a defense.

“Question two,” she starts again. “Were you nervous?”

“Hell, yes.”

“What about? That’s question three, by the way.”

“About everything. Am I doing something wrong? Is the condom still good? What if she doesn’t want to see me again? I know you think I’m this super stud, but I’m really a very insecure person inside.”

I laugh. She doesn’t.

“You’re probably the most secure person I’ve ever met. You’ve always had your shit together, Peter. Not like Rand and I. Well, Rand is getting there.”

She couldn’t have shocked me any harder if she had hooked me up to the car battery and poured water on my head. I’ve always felt like she thought I was a moron.

“What about you?” I ask.

“Didn’t think about it.” She smirks this time. I don’t think it’s far from the truth. “He was pretty drunk anyway, so I had to do most of the work.”

“Were you nervous?”

“Why? I planned it. I told you, it was just sex.”

“It should never be just sex,” I argue.

“Question four,” she continues, cutting me off. “Were you aroused?” She wiggles her eyebrows, making me chuckle.

“Obviously enough.”

“Yeah, he was totally into it. Even if he was slurring his words.” She doesn’t mention if she was, and I don’t want to hear the same answer again. “What position did you use?”

“Missionary,” we announce at the same time.

“Jinx, you owe me a soda,” she adds. I point to the back seat. She digs her favorite diet out of the cooler. She pops it open and turns back to the magazine.

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen,” I answer. “She was nineteen. Your brother and I snuck out of the dorms to attend a college party. We hitchhiked to the train station. Still made it back before morning call.” I wait for her to answer the same question. I hope I don’t hate the answer.