by Anne Malcom
I had been tossing up the merits of leaving the country and seeking asylum. A few minutes later I walked along the beach, carrying my heels in my hand and letting the water kiss my toes. I was sure I’d regret it later when I got sand in my seven hundred dollar shoes, but right now it was therapeutic. I was letting the water wash all my man troubles away when it washed something else right up in front of me. Running out of the surf, holding a board and looking all wet and delicious was Brock.
I stopped walking.
“Shit,” I muttered.
We hadn’t spoken since our yelling match four days ago and I was surprised to realize how much I had missed him. I itched to go running into the surf and pounce on him, no matter the fact I was wearing a white lace Chloe dress that would not survive salt water. It must be serious if I was willing to risk couture. The fact that his abs looked great dripping with water and his long wet hair framing his attractive face had me willing to throw my entire wardrobe into the ocean if need be. I had already decided to turn and remove myself from the situation when Brock’s head turned my way and his eyes locked on mine.
At that moment while he changed direction and strode towards me I was locked in place. It was as if his gaze had turned the sand underneath my toes into quicksand.
“Sparky,” he greeted me softly.
“You surf,” I replied, drinking in his sculpted body.
“As much as I can,” he replied.
“I’ve always wanted to surf,” I continued.
“I can teach you.” He seemed to not be perturbed by the weirdness of my greeting.
“You’d want to drown me after five minutes.”
Brock’s face went dark. “Maybe. But I’d want to fuck you after five seconds. Especially if you wore that red bikini that makes your tits look good enough to eat.”
Silence descended at the mention of the red bikini and the argument it represented. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch. It was all a bit...intense,” I blurted, feeling generally sorry.
“Shit, babe, I’m sorry I came on too strong with the whole old lady thing. It’s too fast for you, I get it.” He ran his hand through his damp hair and I followed it intently with my eyes. “It’s too fuckin’ fast for me as well. But I can’t stop fuckin’ thinkin’ about you, babe. Your body, your hair. That bikini, the way you taste.” His eyes were dark on mine. “Fuck it,” he muttered. He speared his board into the sand and grabbed the back of my neck, pulling my body against his damp and hard one.
I melted into the kiss, submitted to the firestorm that followed his touch. As his hand squeezed my ass roughly I was able to gain some coherent thought.
I pulled back. “We need to stop,” I said breathlessly.
“Yeah, if by stop you mean go to your place so I can fuck you against the wall while you’re wearing that virginal fuckin’ dress I agree,” he growled and I almost complied. Hell, I almost suggested the sand at our feet.
“We can’t,” I said firmly. More to myself than him.
He frowned. “Why the fuck not?”
“We can’t do this for...awhile,” I declared, not wanting to end it entirely. It was selfish and possibly cruel, but the thought of never feeling Brock’s explosive touch again had me feeling vaguely nauseous.
Brock’s frown turned into a glare. “What are you talking about, Amy?”
“We just can’t, okay?” I said quietly.
Brock’s hands tightened at my hips. “That’s not a reason, and not something I’m going to accept, baby.”
I huffed at him. “Well, it’s my prerogative to end something without giving a reason if that’s what I want,” I shot at him.
A hand moved from my hip to graze the side of my breast. “Yup, it may be your prerogative but it sure as shit isn’t what you want. Tell me what’s going on,” he demanded.
I let out a breath. I really didn’t want it to come to this. “Someone’s coming to town today. Someone I need to...sort some things out with before I can even consider taking this—us—further,” I said quietly.
Brock’s face turned cold. “A man.”
I nodded, unable to say anything else. I felt like a massive bitch.
“So you’ve just been using me as your personal fuck toy until your real man comes to town? That it, Amy?” he clipped. “The man who wears an expensive suit, earns enough money to keep you in your fancy shit and someone you can take him to Mummy and Daddy?” he yelled.
“No! Of course not. How could you even think that? We’re not together. Not anymore,” I defended. “And wearing a fancy suit and getting my parents’ approval would be two things that would make me run a mile,” I told him honestly.
Brock glared at me in disbelief before his face turned blank. “Yeah, well you do whatever you gotta do. I don’t need your shit fucking up my life.” He grabbed his board and walked off.
“Well, that went well,” I said to myself.
It was safe to say the drive home that night had me feeling like utter shit. Not only had I felt like a terrible person after the train wreck run-in with Brock, I also had just gotten off the phone with Lucy and she had told me somehow Jimmy had called Gwen. My worry for my friend permeated everything else. I was terrified that sick fuck got into her head and bulldozed all of the progress she had made over the past year. That was not going to happen. I would make sure of it.
I dialed a number I usually avoided like the plague.
“Amy, how are you, my dear?” My father answered the phone pleasantly.
“I’m not the best, Father, since I just found out that piece of shit Jimmy somehow called Gwen’s cell phone and threatened her,” I responded with a shaking voice. “I need you to find out how that happened and get whoever was responsible fired,” I ordered. “I also want you to make sure that that piece of shit is in solitary for the rest of his miserable life.”
My father was silent for a moment. “Consider it done. How is Gwenevere?” His concern almost sounded real for a moment.
I paused. “I don’t know, I haven’t spoken to her yet. I’m pulling up at home now so I’ve got to go.” I turned off the car, bracing myself. “And Dad...thanks,” I said after a moment.
“You’re welcome, Amy.” My father sounded taken aback at my thanking him but I didn’t have time for my estranged family drama. I had my real family to worry about.
Promptly, as I was walking up our driveway in fact, my worry turned to anger.
I stormed in the door, slamming it behind me, eyes narrowing on Gwen as I hurtled into the dining room. “You!” I accused, pointing my finger. “I cannot believe the prick who shall not be named called and I had to find out from freaking Lucy! I mean, I love the girl, but I don’t want to find this shit out secondhand. You should have called me the moment you got off the phone with that maggot so I could call him back and reach down the phone and castrate the fucker,” I said fiercely, meaning every word. I would gladly deball that man given the opportunity.
Gwen looked at me blankly, and I was happy to see she looked...okay. She didn’t look like she was on the verge of breaking down. She wasn’t that shell she was a year ago. She looked strong. I let out a teeny breath.
“Hello Amy, how’s it going? Want to say hello to Ian who just got home from an unknown warzone?” was Gwen’s sarcastic response. Okay, so she was fine.
I swallowed, unsure if I could glance his way without laying all of my feelings on my sleeve for Gwen to see. The room felt like it was crackling with electricity; I could feel his presence, the heat of his gaze on me. I willed myself to glance in his direction with an impassive stare on my face. I focused on why I was mad.
“Sorry, Ian, didn’t mean to be rude. I was just a little preoccupied with the whole ‘Gwen getting a phone call from a murderous psychopath’ situation.” I decided sarcasm was the best form of defense.
But as my eyes locked with Ian’s everything fell away. I drank him in greedily as he pushed up from his chair, striding toward me, not breaking eye contact. He was bigger, his
muscles more defined. His eyes glowed with intensity.
Then I was in his arms. I battled with the feelings that came rushing with his touch and then relaxed. He was whole. Safe. No bullet holes in sight.
When he released me I wasn’t ready to let go of his touch. I also wasn’t ready for the tender, intimate gaze that penetrated my soul when he looked at me. It was one we had shared in the stolen moments of our fleeting courtship. I inwardly winced at the pain it caused.
“Looking great, Ames,” he said softly after his eyes had roved my body.
The look wasn’t wild or animalistic like the ones that Brock directed at me; neither did it make me feel like flames licked my body. It was soft, reverent, though there was a tinge of sexual hunger in it.
I was glad I looked good today. Well, I tried to look good every day, but I was happy with my outfit of choice. My white lace dress had long sleeves but its hemline finished well above my knees. My hair was braided so it fell long over my shoulder, and my Manolos almost had me meeting Ian’s chin. I was clad in enough designer armor I might just survive this encounter.
I turned my thoughts outward, or more particularly to rove over Ian’s body. A dull hunger thrummed through me as my gaze ran down his muscled expanse. I stopped at a scar on his eyebrow with a frown. A sick feeling quickly replaced the desire, a brutal reminder of his chosen profession. The thing that could get him dead in an instant. The thing that had already killed us. “Just another one to add to the collection,” I remarked dryly.
Something passed in his expression before he schooled it and I realized we were showing way too much of our confusing non-relationship in front of clueless Gwen. I tried to turn my face into an emotionless gaze and removed myself from Ian’s vicinity.
Interestingly enough, the worrying situation with Gwen had done nothing to derail my runaway freight train of emotions about Ian. When I tried to bring Jimmy up again Gwen refused to discuss it. She instead changed the subject to something arguably more dangerous..
“How about we talk about where you’ve been all day, Abrams?” she shouted from the kitchen where she’d gone to dump the dinner dishes and my stomach dropped.
Don’t mention Brock! I mentally shouted at her. I was having enough trouble trying to sort out my feelings without making Ian aware of the man who had worked his way under my skin.
“Having makeup sex with Brock maybe?” Gwen teased, walking to the table with dessert in her hands. Our telepathic connection left a lot to be desired.
Ian’s face turned to granite. “Who’s Brock?” he growled.
The anger in his tone caught me off guard. Then pissed me right off. He was the one that called it off between us. He was the one who pushed me away. He had no freaking right to play the jealous, angry, macho man.
Gwen, bless her, continued to feed the fire without knowing. “Oh, just some guy that won’t take Amy’s shit but is completely under her skin,” she said with a smirk.
Great. Ian’s glare was in danger of turning me to stone. I did my best to ignore it as the conversation with Brock came into my mind. He wasn’t likely to be a problem anymore anyway. I ignored the stab to the heart that was. “He’s no one. No one special and I certainly won’t be talking to him again. Subject closed.” I was trying to convince myself more than anyone else.
I eyed the decadent looking cake Gwen had placed in front of me. I cut the hugest piece I could then dumped it on my plate. Maybe if I become two hundred pounds heavier I wouldn’t have to worry about man problems. Only the crane that they would need to get me out of the house would be an issue.
Gwen’s disbelieving gaze at my food choice had me feeling defensive. “It’s my cheat day,” I shot at her.
Luckily the roar of a Harley took the heat from me and the fact I was consuming two days’ worth of calories. Gwen’s face got all dreamy and happy and I couldn’t help but feel pleased at this. My love life might be a steaming pile of shit but my best friend was happy. That was good enough for me. The stormy look on Ian’s face had me feeling instantly defensive of Gwen’s well-deserved happiness.
I pointed at him with my fork. “Look here. Mr. Soldier, don’t you dare try any of your macho man bullshit and be a dick to Cade. He can handle it, I have no doubt about that, but we don’t need the drama. He cares about your sister and makes her happy. That’s all you need to know,” I told him snippily.
I may have also been using this opportunity to not only let out the anger I had toward Ian for shooting me accusatory looks at the mention of Brock but for breaking my goddamn heart in the first place. I glared at him. The soft feeling I had towards seeing him again without any shrapnel wounds had dissipated and reality was setting in. He glared back at me then nodded.
He chose that moment to retreat with his plate of food. I struggled not to perv at his ass as he was walking away. I failed.
I realized that Gwen’s eagle eye was on me as I dragged my own gaze away from her brother’s glorious behind. “What the hell was that?” she shot.
Oh shit.
“What?” I tried for innocent.
She wasn’t having it. “You know what. You and Ian—what the hell is going on? You guys were acting weird.”
“No, we weren’t.” I went for denial.
“Yes, you were,” she pressed.
“Were not.”
At this juncture she let out a frustrated groan and then in a flash my plate was whisked away. My eyes narrowed. You did not take away chocolate from a woman who was suffering serious love life troubles. Granted, Gwen was oblivious to these troubles, but my emotions didn’t know that.
“Hey, what the fuck?” I nearly snarled. I needed that chocolate. It was that or heroin. And I didn’t like the way addicts wore their hair.
“You don’t get any more until you tell me what’s going on,” she declared, holding the plate out of my reach.
Gwen did not know how close I was to tackling her right now. Cade entered the room and I directed my scowl in his direction. “Your girlfriend is evil,” I informed him.
I used his arrival as an opportunity to push past Gwen and snatch my plate of sanity before escaping up the stairs. “That will go straight to your ass,” I heard called after me.
“Fuck you!” I shouted back. I slammed the door to my room and tucked myself in bed, shoving cake into my mouth and trying to sort all of my emotions out. Seeing Ian again made me painfully aware I wasn’t over him. I still loved him. He was strong. Caring. And extraordinarily sexy. He also broke my heart.
My mind wandered to Brock. Also strong. Also sexy. But he was different. He made me furious. Irritated the shit out of me. We hardly went five minutes without arguing. What we had was raw and real; he didn’t romanticize me and put me on a pedestal like Ian did. He ravaged me body and soul, but he didn’t take shit. Didn’t treat me like I was some delicate china doll who needed to be handled with care.
These thoughts rolled around in my head until well after my plate was licked clean. Well after the lights turned off and a Harley roared away.
I was painfully aware that Ian was in the same house as me. I had wished for him to be this close, pleaded for it. Now I didn’t know how to handle it. I even had the evil thought of wishing he was still over fighting some unknown war so I didn’t have to face the grim reality that was staring at me through the darkness.
I was in love with two men.
“Fuck this,” I muttered, throwing my covers back and slipping out my door. I wasn’t intending on going anywhere near Ian’s room, not with Gwen in the house. My mission was to locate either vodka or chocolate and either drink or eat my problems away. Said mission was foiled when I reached the kitchen and came upon a shirtless Ian sitting at the breakfast bar.
His eyes flared as he took in my nightgown. I self-consciously yanked it down. I don’t know why, the man had seen me naked for Christ’ sake. Plus I should have felt a little satisfaction at the hungry gaze that flickered over my lace-clad body. Instead I felt panic.
“What are you doing?” I whispered at him accusingly.
“Waiting for you. It’s about time,” he replied casually but his voice was gruff.
I crossed my arms. “I didn’t come here to see you,” I said.
“Yeah, I can guess what you came down for.” He shifted slightly to reveal the bottle of beer he was drinking and a glass of vodka. “I know you, Abrams,” he declared.
I narrowed my eyes. “You used to know me. Then you left and chose an unwinnable war over me. I’ve changed,” I snapped at him, snatching the glass from his outstretched hand.
His eyes didn’t leave mine. “Not from where I’m sitting. You’re still beautiful. You’re still fiercely protective over my sister and you’re still sarcastic as hell. You’re still my Amy,” he said hoarsely.
“I’m not yours,” I snapped, “You made sure to let me know that a year ago.”
Ian sighed, standing. “I wanted to protect you, Amy. I wasn’t ready to leave the army. My duty. I didn’t want you resigned to the life of a soldier’s wife. Waiting for sporadic phone calls, only half living your life because of the way I chose to live mine.” He stood, moving toward me. “I wanted you to be happy, to have a chance to move on—not be stuck in one place waiting for me.”
I stepped towards him, pointing my finger at myself. “No, you didn’t do it for me. You did it for you. So you didn’t have to feel guilty for going over and satisfying whatever it is that makes you leave and risk your life.” I glared at him. “You didn’t even give me a chance. Didn’t give us a chance. You didn’t believe I was strong enough to handle it. I was. I would have been. Or I would have tried my fucking best. It might have worked. It might not have. But you took that choice away from me,” I finished on a whisper yell. “And then after Gwen was hurt you came back and those nights—” My voice broke slightly remembering the silent, desperate way we made love, trying to comfort each other. “Those nights that we shared, I thought it meant something to you. Made you realize it was something worth waiting for. But no. It was off to war you went again, without a fucking backwards glance!”