by Dani Wyatt
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – Everly
Chapter 2 – James
Chapter 3 – Everly
Chapter 4 – James
Chapter 5 – Everly
Chapter 6 – James
Chapter 7 – Everly
Chapter 8 – James
Chapter 9 – Everly
Chapter 10 – Everly
Chapter 11 – James
Chapter 12 – Everly
Chapter 13 – James
Chapter 14 – Everly
Chapter 15 – James
Chapter 16 – Everly
Chapter 17 – James
Chapter 18 – Everly
Chapter 19 – James
Chapter 20 – Everly
Chapter 21 – James
Epilogue – James
H I S T O B R E A K
by
Liam & Wyatt
Copyright © 2017
by Dani Wyatt
AND Liam Ryder
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places,
events and incidents are either the products
of the author’s imagination
or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental.
www.daniwyatt.com
Cover Credit PopKitty
Editing Nicci Haydon, Lisa Hollett
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
His To Break
Chapter 1 – Everly
Chapter 2 – James
Chapter 3 – Everly
Chapter 4 – James
Chapter 5 – Everly
Chapter 6 – James
Chapter 7 – Everly
Chapter 8 – James
Chapter 9 – Everly
Chapter 10 – Everly
Chapter 11 – James
Chapter 12 – Everly
Chapter 13 – James
Chapter 14 – Everly
Chapter 15 – James
Chapter 16 – Everly
Chapter 17 – James
Chapter 18 – Everly
Chapter 19 – James
Chapter 20 – Everly
Chapter 21 – James
Epilogue – James
FORGING FOREVER
REINING HER IN
Other Titles by Dani Wyatt
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Chapter 1 – Everly
“Holy shit!” Terri’s cackle comes through loud and clear on the speaker of my brand-new iPhone, making everyone in the bar turn my way. I can feel the temperature rising on my face. Darn it, I never wanted this stupid thing. I was perfectly happy with the simple flip phone I had before. “Yep, they’re all here, Ev. Socks, panties. Jesus, is that a thong? I always had you pegged as a bit of a nun...”
“Terri, shhhhh—”
“...in a nice neat pile on the bed. You going commando below the waist, then?” She giggles, and I hear the bedsprings squeak in the background as she flops onto my bed. Her voice lowers—not in volume, just in tone. “Any hot guys to take advantage of that fact?”
Dear God, please stop her talking. My fingers are desperately pressing every button on the screen, trying to find a way to shut off the speakerphone. Every five-year-old in the whole darned universe knows how to use these things. How hard can they actually be?
Terri just keeps on talking, because that’s what Terri does. I love her to bits, but right now, I’m just about ready to throw the phone on the floor and crush it beneath my heel to—
Lord in heaven, what in the what-now is that doing here?
All the other sounds—the few people shuffling awkwardly in the hot-as-hell sailor’s bar, the dings and rattles of boats moving in the harbor outside, the sound of Terri’s voice—tune out to a distant hum as all my senses concentrate on a single point of interest.
He is a masterpiece, a sight straight out of a Greek myth. He-llo, sailor. I sweep a sweat-soaked strand of blond hair away from my forehead as I cross my legs and squeeze my upper thighs tight, stemming the tide that’s rising up in my girly parts.
I take a sip of the water at my elbow, just because I need something in my mouth right now, and what I want is too far away.
Now, normally, I’m not really into facial hair. Well, to be honest, I can’t say I’ve had that many options to choose from, but I don’t know...the dark beard, the way it’s kept neat, the way it reaches almost to the base of his neck where I’d like to nibble and nuzzle.
Oh my gospels.
Suddenly I’m spluttering, chest hacking at the water that’s just hit my lungs. I feel like I’m dying, but I still can’t take my eyes off of him. The water finds its way back up my windpipe and I taste it in my mouth, but with no other option, I have to take another sip to wash it down. He turns my way, just a moment of concern on his face before he sees I’m all right. I see a little smile, not so much on his lips but in his eyes, and once again, I feel like I’m about to ruin the only pair of panties I apparently have with me.
He turns back and watches the harbor, like maybe he’s waiting for something, and my senses come back to the present.
“...you’ll be all like, ‘Oh, my, golly-gosh, I appear to have forgotten to wear any underwear. I’m sooooo embarrassed.’ And he’ll just smile and reach forward and put his fingers inside your drenched—”
“Shut up, Terri!”
“Excuse me, sweetie...” A dear old lady, maybe in her eighties, perhaps even older, leans forward to point at my phone screen. She reminds me of my old grandma on my daddy’s side, though she was a battle-ax and this lady seems gentle. “Just tap the button on the right there.” Her crooked finger taps the air in hopeful assistance.
“Here?” I ask, not sure if I should be even more embarrassed by the fact that a woman probably four times my own age knows more about technology than I do.
“No, dear.” She points right, and I look down. “It looks like a speaker with three curved lines in front.”
Finally, I find it and hit it with my fingertip, Terri’s voice immediately silenced to an indistinct rumble. Who in the world designed this thing? How was I supposed to know that was a button?
“Thank you so much.” I look back up, and the old lady smiles thinly at me, probably as relieved as I am that Terri has finally been silenced. The man with her—I assume it’s her husband, but who knows, could be friends-with-benefits given how much more modern she is than me—brings his coffee cup to his lips, stifling a grin. I don’t even dare to look around the rest of the room. Seventy, eighty, ninety. That seems to be the median age for residents of this town. The last thing they need is Terri’s foul mouth.
But he isn’t seventy.
I steal another glance at the rolling mountain of walking man-meat leaning against th
e bar window. Long-ish hair—longer than I’d usually find attractive, to tell the truth—curls in dark, almost black strands around the backs of his ears. My daddy would tell me he was no good. He’d say I’m better off without men altogether, mind you, and he’d probably be right.
Another sip of water and my voice feels ready to take on the task of a conversation with my best friend. “You are such an embarrassment,” I whisper, holding the phone to my ear.
“Oh, stop being coy.”
“You were on speakerphone!”
“Was I? I wondered why it seemed to echo. Where are you?”
“A charming little bar and diner sort of place.” I choose my words carefully, aware that the other patrons are probably still listening in to the conversation.
“Charming? You mean old-fashioned, then.” I mmm-hmm an affirmation before she goes on. “Well, you wanted out of Texas, honey. Not that I can blame you—what with Cheating-Ass Trevor and your mom’s traditional ideas, something had to give eventually.”
“It’s only for the summer.”
“Initially. That’s what the university said, right?”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
The truth is, I wanted out of Texas ever since I was six years old and my mom forced me to play dress-up and weddings with George O’Connor of the world-famous O’Connor family. Don’t get me wrong, George was one of my very best friends. We’re still in touch now, if only by an occasional handwritten letter.
He came out eventually as a gay man, which was no big surprise to anyone who grew up with him, but that didn’t stop his family marrying him off to an unsuspecting cattle ranch heiress from Oklahoma.
But that’s my mom all over. Her daughter was supposed to be an asset, someone who would marry sensibly and bring in new blood from an equally wealthy—or preferably even wealthier—family. Otherwise, with me being an only child, there’s a very real risk of having no male heir to take on the family’s oil empire when my daddy passes away. And that might even mean—dear God in heaven forbid that it should ever come to pass—my daddy’s brother Jacob inheriting the lot.
I like Uncle Jake, but my mom does not.
“...that and more Republicans than should be legally allowed to gather in one state. No, you’re better off the fuck out of it. Take a breather after everything that happened with Trevor.”
Terri’s right. I’m best off getting away from Texas, at least for a little while. This place might seem to be straight out of some 1970’s Harlequin novel, what with the scent of salt and fish, the sound of gulls and the inquisitive stares of the locals at the interesting newcomer—not that I’m even all that interesting, but I’m definitely new—but it’s quiet and still, and that’s something I need in my life right now.
The bartender drops a couple more ice cubes into my mineral water and gives me a friendly wink. I smile back at him, nodding a thank-you.
I lower my voice and turn sideways, hoping not to be overheard. “I still didn’t expect to be transported back in time, though. I keep half expecting some salty fishing captain to cross my path at any minute and give me a hat tip. Honest to goodness, Terri, I swear, as I was coming into town, there was a house with a lady inside setting pies on her windowsills. Pies, for cripes’ sake. I mean, who still does that?”
She giggles. “Say it, Everly, come on. Say ‘for Christ’s sake.’” She pauses for a long moment before laughing at my discomfort. “Port Hope is clearly one of those places that you read about, honeybunches, a place that’s kind of frozen in time. And you’d best get with the program if you’re going to be hanging around for any length of time. Start hanging your unmentionables to dry on the line in that good-old salty ocean air. Well, not that you’re bothering with unmentionables these days.”
“Terri, stop!” I try to fight the giggle, but it bursts out anyway. “I’ll buy some more tomorrow. I just forgot to pack them, that’s all.”
“Ugh, whatever. Anyway, why not snag yourself a nice sea captain of your own while you’re there? You could spend the rest of your days gutting fish and wondering how many other ports he’s servicing, if you catch my drift.”
“Yeah, I think not somehow.” I roll my eyes. “I’m here for research, not salty captains.”
I force myself to avoid looking over at the bearded-beauty on the boardwalk outside. That’s really not what I’m here for. From now on, it’s just me and my research. I never should have bothered with any men. Turns out I’m a lousy judge of character. But I’m a brilliant researcher with a possible fellowship in my future, and that’s what I need to concentrate on right now.
“Love just isn’t for me,” I say with some finality.
Chapter 2 – James
She’s mine.
Fuck, I don’t know what this is. I’ve never experienced anything like it, never in my life. Never in my dreams. My cock is harder than it’s ever been, creasing the front of my pants in an effort to break free and make its own way over to her if I don’t get in there soon. But I can’t walk into the bar sporting a hard-on the size of the Empire State, so instead, I’m just standing here like maybe I’m waiting on something.
Which I kind of am.
I mean, I don’t need to wait to make sure that greenhorn Simkin makes it back to port safely. He has a radio aboard if he gets into any difficulty. But this is his first time out on the water on his own, and I feel kind of responsible for his well-being.
I feel responsible for the well-being of everyone who sets their boat onto the waters of Port Hope. Always have. It’s just the way I am. People see me as a go-to, someone they can rely on, and I don’t discourage it. In return, they let me know exactly what’s going on in town, the comings and goings, the rumors and deals that are being made.
It’s how I know exactly who this girl must be.
And I don’t know how I’m going to watch her sail out into the bay on another man’s boat. Especially his.
Taking a lungful of fresh sea air, I smell the distinct scent of lightly cooked crab meat drifting over from old Eric’s snack-shack, and it reminds me that I haven’t eaten in well over an hour. I don’t know what it is about my metabolism, but my body seems to tell me I’m hungry more often than most.
The sound of a horn precedes the distinct rumble of a strong engine, and I glance over at the harbor entrance to see Simkin’s shiny new vessel chugging back into port. Judging by the grin on his face and the friendly salute, I’d say he’s had a pretty good catch. A similar grin spreads over my own face, and I wave right back. Good for him. This place can always use a bit of healthy competition from a fresh, young face.
Well, I guess that’s my excuse for standing here well and truly sunk. I might have only gotten a glance at her a moment ago, but it was enough to leave a lasting impression, one that makes me feel like a fucking teenager mooning over his first crush. I need to go talk to her. I need to find out who she is.
Not want. Need.
Wiping the sweat from my face with the back of one oversized hand, I turn my shoulders to take another look at her. She’s sitting hunched over, turned away from me just a little, talking into one of those newfangled smartphones everyone seems to have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a complete technophobe. Far from it. I was on the committee that oversaw Port Hope getting its first phone mast. I argued for the company that wanted to put it in. Cell phones are a good thing, but why do they need to be able to access the internet or take photographs?
Dockers Bar looks from the outside like it would be the kind of place where sailors would go to get drunk, pick up whores, and have fights. And the truth is, it used to be up until a few years ago. Then Tacker took over the running of the place and cleaned it right up. Tack and I go way back together, right to high school, and he’s a good egg. Rough to look at, no-nonsense, but one of life’s nice guys.
I helped him out at the time, invested a minor share to make sure he had the cash he needed to make it work, and he’s turned it right around. Nowadays, at least at this time in the a
fternoon, it’s filled with pensioners from the retirement village and ex-fishermen I recognize from the days when my dad used to work these waters.
And her, sticking out like a sore thumb in her pink shorts and white tank top, deep blue eyes almost hidden beneath a split fringe of long, blond hair. I’m shocked at the thought that runs on repeat in my head.
She’s mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.
Shoving my hands into my pockets to adjust my erection so that it’s not quite so obvious, I push off from where I’m leaning against the bar’s window and give a final wave to Simkin before heading into the bar.
“Jimmy!” Tacker greets me loudly, and I nod back to him as he sidles over behind the bar, his beer-rounded stomach cleaning the edge of the counter as he goes. “What’ll it be? The usual? Or can I get you a proper drink for once?” He laughs and grabs a glass from the shelf behind him, not even waiting for my reply. He knows what I drink, and he knows why that won’t change in this lifetime.
“Thanks, Tack.”
I make a beeline straight for her. Fuck, I don’t even know her name, don’t know anything about her. I’ve never felt anything like this magnetic pull I feel right now.
Just as I get close to her, she looks up, right into my face, and I swear I see lightning flash in her eyes.
“Hi there.” I smile, taking a seat on the stool next to hers. Her mouth moves, but no sound comes out, so I push my luck. “Bring her another.” I wave at Tack. “I’m buying her a drink.”
She looks down at the glass next to her arm, forgetting the conversation she was having on her phone. I can still hear chattering on the other end of the line. “Yes?” she says, making it sound like a question rather than an answer.
“What are you having?”
“She’s on the mineral water, boss,” Tacker says, putting my lime juice and tonic water onto a coaster and sliding it toward me. “I swear everything in here is all-around backward. The old folks drink harder stuff than you two.”
“Another mineral water for the lady, then, Tack.”