‘So that’s why you chose Alpine Ridge too?’ Tom asked.
Ellie nodded slowly. She’d not thought of it like that, but yes, at the heart of it, moving to a new town, away from all who knew her, was a continuation of that trajectory she had been on, but in a more stable manner. Some people might call it running away. But she liked to think of it as running towards herself. ‘I think so.’
Mitch leaned forward, elbows on the table, his lips were curved with a light-hearted grin, but his eyes glowed with a seriousness she couldn’t ignore. ‘Let me tell you right now, the moment you started living here, in a town this size, where most of the residents have lived for generations, you signed away that freedom. Perhaps no-one will ever know your past, but they’ll sure as hell know everything about you from this point onwards.’
Amy laughed. ‘It’s true.’
‘I’m okay with that,’ Ellie said with a shrug because here in Alpine Ridge, she could be someone different to who she was without anybody noticing the difference.
Back home, where her parents and brother still lived, all her friends she’d known since high-school, her ex, they couldn’t see that she had changed. On the outside, she was still the same Ellie she had always been, her past hanging around her like smog. And they couldn’t see that inside, her flesh and blood, bones and mind had morphed into something different. Wanted something different.
But her past wasn’t something she intended to carry around anymore. She refused to be defined by the person she used to be. She needed this small town, despite the glass windows and sticky noses, because this was a place that would support who Ellie was blossoming into.
She met Sam’s dark coffee gaze and a delicious chill ran down her spine, pulsing heat into her belly and between her thighs. Sam reminded her of her past, of the bad choices she had made. Sam threatened this self-transformation.
‘More drinks?’ Mitch asked.
Ellie nodded, despite her better judgement. If she wanted to maintain a modicum of control, she needed her wits about her, and more alcohol was a fast track to clouded thinking.
But she also wanted to prove to herself that she had reached a new place, and clouded thinking or not, she was capable of making the correct decisions.
‘Another merlot?’
‘Yes, please.’
Mitch left for the bar, and just like his brother, he had a self-assured swagger and a great arse, not that she was looking … much. God, with all this virility around her, she was amazed she had any self-control whatsoever.
How did the locals deal with this corner of sexiness?
Ellie looked around the room at the other patrons—a relatively young crowd—all laughing and drinking.
Young women sat around a table in the far corner, chatting animatedly, then casting glances over. A beautiful redhead caught Ellie’s eye. Ellie smiled. The woman narrowed her eyes and looked away.
Okay, perhaps not everyone in Alpine Ridge was welcoming.
After the kitchen closed, a band set up on a stage at the front of the large room. The patrons grew boisterous as the lights dimmed and the band began to play contemporary rock songs.
Ellie’s mind was muzzy. A tingling happiness buzzed in her cells as the wine swam in her blood and brain. And as sobriety deteriorated, laughter was a strong component of the jovial atmosphere.
Sam stood up, lifted his chair above his head and carried it around to her side of the table before plonking it down beside her.
He stretched across the table for his beer, and Ellie was inhuman if she didn’t watch with great satisfaction this giant, chiselled man posing like a Greek statue of pure hotness before her.
He caught her eye as he took a seat beside her, his shoulder touching hers.
‘Hi,’ she said, already tingling in reaction to his close proximity and the warmth that spilled from him in great currents.
His coffee eyes met hers, winked. ‘Having a good time?’
She smiled. ‘I am.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ he said bumping his shoulder against hers, giving her an understanding of the strength behind this man and how all that muscle would feel on top of her. Her breaths were thin.
‘How’s business?’ he asked. ‘Amy said you hired an assistant?’
Ellie inhaled, needing the oxygen. ‘I did. Everything is running so much smoother. Thanks for the suggestion.’
‘No worries. So any more excited customers?’
She shook her head and grinned. ‘Gareth might be a one-of-a-kind.’
His focus dropped to her lips. He licked his own. Her next breath in was deep and short. ‘How long have you had your piercings?’
So that’s where he was looking. ‘My nose since just after high school and my lip after …’ she was going to say after her relationship ended with Blair, but Sam didn’t need those details, so she said, ‘before I started to travel.’
He nodded. ‘Another reactionary decision made after a breakup?’ He finished with a grin.
‘Yes.’
‘I like it.’ His gaze lingered on her tiny diamond stud. ‘A lot.’
Oh god, there was that mesmerisation again. Ellie’s breaths shortened.
The rest of the table erupted into laughter at someone’s joke. The rabble of noise snapped Ellie from her stupor. She sat up straighter and cleared her throat when she realised she had drifted closer to him. ‘Thank you. It hurt like hell.’
Sam arched a brow. ‘Any others?’
A grin curled her lips. What a flirt. She was almost ashamed to disappoint him. Sure, she was adventurous, but it only went so far. The thought of getting nipples or, god forbid, her clitoris pierced was horrible. ‘No.’
He nodded evenly, eyes firmly on hers.
‘What about you?’
His lips offered a flash of lopsided boyishness. A gorgeous dimple carved a deep groove in his cheek. ‘No piercings.’
‘Hmmm. No piercings. Specifically. So I’m guessing a tattoo, perhaps?’
He reached for his beer and drank, eyes never leaving hers, even as he placed it back on the table. ‘Perhaps.’
Her stomach tightened, a warm rush of blood and lust swamping her centre. Her teeth grazed her bottom lip as she tried not to imagine running her hands over muscle and ink. She really, really, really wanted to see that tattoo.
‘You?’
Yes, she had a few, but he didn’t need to know that. ‘Maybe.’
‘Hmmm,’ he said with a smirk, imitating her from earlier. ‘I guess we’ll never know.’
She shrugged, but her pulse was racing and she really wanted to know. But wasn’t Sam just like any other beautiful male creature who had crossed her path in the past? A player? He certainly looked like that type of beast.
He was the kind to be avoided.
If only her body felt the same.
‘I take it you’re quite a creative person, Ellie?’ he asked, then swallowed another mouthful of beer as he waited for her to answer.
‘Definitely. Always have been. Would you say you are?’
He shrugged. ‘No. I’m more of a practical—’ He met her gaze, but beneath those long, dark lashes, something unspoken but clear and loud was burning in his eyes, ‘— hands-on man.’
She licked her lips and sighed as his words moved inside her. ‘Hands-on,’ she whispered. Did everything that came out of his mouth have to sound like a sexy invitation? ‘That sounds like the best way to be.’
By this stage, she didn’t even know what was falling from her mouth, only knew that her body ached for him to be hands-on with her.
When Sam sat back and inhaled noisily as he reached for his beer, she realised he was struggling for composure.
Good, she wasn’t the only one.
And bad. Very bad. Because she didn’t need this, yet on a physical level, she ached for it.
‘I’m going to go get another drink,’ she said, standing quickly. Her head spun, but she remained still until the world straightened again.
‘Good
idea. I’ll come with you. I need to stretch my legs.’
They strode to the bar in silence and lined up beside each other. ‘I’ll get this shout,’ she said to him.
‘If you insist.’
Sam took a step back while she ordered a beer for him and another Mathews Family Vineyard Merlot for herself. She had to give the brothers credit, they weren’t just pretty faces, they actually made quality wine.
The barman returned with her order. Ellie collected the drinks and spun to give Sam his.
‘Thank you,’ he said, taking his beer.
She held her wine up in salute. ‘You and your brothers are very talented.’
Sam laughed. ‘Thank you.’
She had a swallow from her glass and placed it back on the bar top. ‘And know that I’m holding you completely responsible if my lips are wine-stained red.’ From her pocket, she pulled out her lip gloss, an essential when drinking red wine as it acted like a barrier. She ran the gloss over her lips, then smacked them together to rub it in.
‘Am I okay?’ she asked, pouting for him to inspect.
His eyes dropped to her mouth, chest rising and falling with his next breath. He leaned forward and rested his beer on the bar, his body so close to hers as he did. His warmth and scent swamped her: soap and man.
His face was centimetres from hers, his eyes were intense. ‘Ellie, you’re killing me here,’ he said, more of a growl than a whisper. He stepped closer until his chest was against hers. She had to crane her neck to meet his gaze.
He was killing her too, slowly and seductively, until that death was felt viscerally in her body. It had been much too long since a man’s lips were upon her, hands on her body, and right now, despite her better judgement as she soaked in his strength, she desired nothing more.
She pressed up onto tiptoes, drawn to that cheeky mouth. He leaned closer. She was throbbing with a need to taste him. Her mind was blank.
His mouth went to her ear. His breath was warm. ‘I want to kiss you so badly.’
Her mind dizzied. She pressed a hand to his chest. So hard. Hot. Too good.
His gaze scorched her, fuelled by so much promise it almost incinerated her to see it. ‘I won’t stop at a kiss,’ he whispered, timbre deep and husky.
He cupped her jaw, fingers dancing along her nape. Tingles fanned over the skin. Face closer to hers, his lips almost there, she closed her eyes …
‘Nice to see you’re up to your old tricks, Sam Mathews,’ came an acidic, female voice.
Sam’s hands were gone, his presence no longer close. Ellie opened her eyes; she was hollow, cold, in all the places he had been.
She met the gaze of the beautiful redhead from earlier. A snarl wrinkled the woman’s nose and twisted her lips. ‘He’s a manwhore, sweetheart. Break your heart.’
Sam rolled his eyes. ‘Tiffany. Don’t.’ Impatience was strong in his tone and his stance.
Tiffany smirked. ‘Why, Sam? It’s true, isn’t it? You’ve slept with half the eligible women in this town, not to mention the neighbouring regions.’
Sam shook his head, gripped Ellie’s arm and led her away from the redhead.
The redhead’s laugh rang out after them.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said a distance away. His voice was different, had less power, full of apology.
Ellie wanted to ask if what she had said was true. Was she just the next ‘eligible’ woman in line? Had she almost fallen for it again?
When they were back at the table, he asked, not quite meeting her eye. ‘You’re right to get home tonight?’
She flinched at his question—the finality of it. He was leaving. Quickly.
Unsure what to say, she managed a nod.
‘Ok, great. It was good to see you again. I’m going to take off.’
‘Sam?’
He shook his head, ‘See you, Ellie.’
‘Bye,’ she said as he stormed away and out the front doors.
Chapter 8
Sam burst out the front doors of the pub and into the night. An icy wind needled through his light jumper and jeans, but he didn’t object. He needed it.
He was rigid, bristling.
Old memories came back in tsunami-sized waves. His chest was so tight, he found it hard to breathe. He gulped at the air. His heart was racing.
Calm the hell down, Sam.
‘Sam?’
Sam jolted and spun to see Tom striding towards him.
‘What happened?’ Tom asked, hand on Sam’s shoulder.
Sam shook his head, pressed his palms to his knees and tried to draw in air.
Tom held him steady. ‘Come on, mate. Slow breaths. That’s it. Nice and easy.’
Sam squeezed his eyes shut and tried to do as his brother asked.
Fuck this happening here. Now.
Sam sucked in a deep breath, earnestly attempting to control the pace, then let it out. He repeated that again and again until he could stand upright, and the constriction in his chest lessened.
Eventually, his pulse steadied, and he didn’t quite feel so much like he was dying.
‘What happened?’ Tom asked.
Sam closed his eyes, shook his head. ‘Tiffany …’
‘The redhead?’
Sam nodded. ‘She called me a … in front of Ellie … I don’t need to hear that.’
‘What did she call you?’
As he scrubbed a hand through his hair, he groaned, ‘A fucking manwhore.’
Tom squeezed his lips together, but his chuckle soon burst through.
‘It’s not funny.’
Tom chuckled again. ‘It kinda is. Because it’s true.’
Sam levelled him with his gaze. ‘I’m not a fucking manwhore. What the hell is that? Who says that anyway?’
‘Tiffany, obviously.’
Sam shook his head, sighed. ‘It’s embarrassing. I didn’t want Ellie to …’
‘You didn’t want Ellie to know?’ Tom asked, brow arched.
‘Yes. Is that so bad?’
‘It is. She should know.’
‘What if I’m not like that anymore?’
Tom laughed. ‘Since when? Yesterday?’
‘Since I met Ellie,’ he said and hated himself for admitting to that, especially out loud.
Tom’s eyes widened. ‘Well, that is interesting.’
‘It’s not interesting. She’s not willing to get into a relationship.’
‘That’s perfect for you then, isn’t it? Suit your manwhore persona.’
Sam’s teeth clenched as he bit down his anger. ‘She doesn’t want … Doesn’t matter. I’m not talking about this with you.’
‘What really happened back there?’
Sam closed his eyes. ‘I don’t know. It was just like with Tamara. The way she made me feel. The twisted passive aggression. It brought everything to the surface. God, I should be over all that.’
Tom tilted his head to the side then quickly back upright. ‘You should be. But if you’re not over it, you’re not over it. All the should-bes in the world aren’t going to change that.’
‘True.’
‘Come back in. Let’s enjoy the night.’
Sam shook his head. ‘I need to get out of here. I’m gonna grab a cab and head home.’
‘You sure? I could talk to Tiffany—’
‘No, mate. Just leave her!’
Tom sighed ‘Okay. You do what you need to do.’
He rubbed his face hard. ‘Tell Ellie I’m sorry, and I’ll catch up with her later.’
‘Sure.’
Sam caught the next taxi that pulled in at the pub and rode it in silence all the way home. Memories whirled in his brain like great storms, wreaking havoc on his state of mind. ‘The ordeal’ was years ago; he should be over this. But the tightening of his chest, the shallowness of his breaths, the aching in his heart, indicated, well and truly, that he wasn’t.
The intensity of the visceral reaction made it all feel like it happened last week. And the anger that swelled in his v
eins was a strong reminder he was nowhere near forgiving Tamara.
To this day, it bemused him that once, he had actually loved her more than he thought possible. Loved and trusted and respected her to such an extent it would scare him. Scared him that he was capable of feeling so ferociously.
He remembered when he first saw her. It was his first week of university. He was eighteen and wandering through the halls trying to find his next class, but the university was enormous—so many buildings spread out across a sprawling campus.
And there were no apps back then with GPS tracking to get you where you needed to be easily.
A gorgeous woman dressed in a tight white thigh-length skirt and a pale pink blouse that exposed healthy cleavage was walking towards him. At first, he surreptitiously ogled her as she swayed her hips like she was on a catwalk, parts of his body tightening just looking at this woman.
Then, when she was close, she smiled and stopped, flicking her long blonde hair behind her shoulders. ‘Everything okay? You look like you need some help.’
There was a definite flirting lilt to her tone; he may have been eighteen and his hormones clouded his perceptions of things, but not this.
He pointed to the map in his hand. ‘I’m looking for this building.’
She came closer to look, her arm brushing against his. Her floral-scented perfume filled his senses. Her smile grew wider. She had sweet, plump limps lined with pale pink lipstick that matched her shirt. Lips like candy he’d love to suck. And green eyes like a cat. ‘I’m headed there now. Come with me.’
He was definitely not mishearing the emphasis on the word come, and it strummed those eighteen-year-old virgin hormones like nothing ever had.
Less than three weeks later, he lost his virginity to her. Tamara was her name. A psychology lecturer at the university. Unbelievably intelligent. And fifteen years older than him.
So many times since Tamara, he had asked himself how a relationship so seemingly healthy could morph into something that was so sick, so far removed from normal that what they had together was not identifiable.
Back home, without changing his clothes, merely grabbing a beer from the fridge and rolling up his sleeves, Sam headed out back to the glasshouse. He flicked on the spotlights, went to his long timber workbench, and lined up black plastic pots in a row.
The Sweetest Secret Page 7