Crossing the Line: Without a Trace series, a contemporary erotic romance novel by Ally Bishop Page A

horseback.”
    “Really?”
    “Yep. I, like many other little girls, wanted my very own horse. So I took lessons for years, then worked at the farm in exchange for riding time when I was a teenager and we couldn’t afford lessons anymore.”
    He’s quiet for a few moments. “Can I ask you something personal?”
    “Of course.”
    “I get the impression that after your parents passed away, you and your brother didn’t have much else beyond each other. I might have just interpreted it that way—“
    “No, you’re right.” I stare out the window as the highway rushes by, feeling like a vacuum is sucking the pleasure out of the air. “We didn’t, really. My mother’s parents filed for custody of us, rather than letting us go to our godparents, which had been our parents’ wishes. Blood is thicker than water in the courts, and our grandparents won.” I chew my lip for a moment before continuing. “They aren’t bad people, and it’s not like we were abused. But our mom didn’t want us with them because, just as they were with her, they aren’t loving people. They made sure we had clothes and food, but Noah and I shared their basement. Anything we wanted, we had to earn the money for and buy. And on one hand, that’s a good lesson for kids. But there was no affection towards us, ever. To this day, we don’t hear from them unless something is wrong, and even then…if we don’t contact them, it’s rare that they’ll reach out. And we get blamed for not being more attentive every time we do try to talk to them.”
    He doesn’t interrupt, and I continue after a breath. “Our parents weren’t perfect—they argued a lot, in large part because they were both hot-headed, passionate people. Our mom was an art teacher at a community college, and our father was in marketing as a graphic designer. The two of them could go at it for hours.” I shake my head at a particularly intense memory. “But they loved us, and each other, and even when they did argue, it was more…I don’t know, more focused on the issue they disagreed over. Never about each other. They took us to see our grandparents on holidays only, and even then, it was for short visits. My mother hated going to see them.” I shake my head to clear it. “Anyway, they weren’t awful, and we weren’t horribly damaged from it. But they weren’t great, either, and I sound ungrateful when I say that.”
    He releases my hand and lays his palm on my knee. “No, you don’t. It’s honest, and you are, perhaps, a bit fairer than you should be. I have a friend—Casey—who had parents like that. They were in the same social circles as my own, but for some reason, they always thought throwing money at him would substitute for affection. And as he could tell you, it doesn’t.”
    Something in his tone suggests it didn’t end well. “What happened to him?”
    “He tried taking his life twice when we were in high school, so he actually moved in with my family for a while. But for Casey, it’s never enough. He made another attempt in college.”
    “Oh my God, I’m sorry.” I trace his knuckles, wishing I could say something more comforting, but lacking the words.
    He lifts a shoulder. “He’s better now. Most days, at least. And he’s a good guy—most days at least—no thanks to his parents.”
    We don’t say anything for a few minutes, and then he speaks. “I love yogurt, but I hate it frozen.”
    His return to our game brings a smile to my face. “Frozen yogurt is a total cop out. Ice cream all the way.”

    We’re nearing our destination when the road signs start to give him away.
    “Connecticut, eh?”
    He grins. “My aunt recently opened a bed and breakfast in downtown Greenwich, and I thought it might make for a nice night away.” He waits a beat and then admits, “Plus, it’s the only place I could get last minute reservations.”
    “Is this the aunt from Italy?” I ask as we take the next exit.
    “No, that’s my dad’s