by E. R. Whyte
Say You Love Me
Reclaiming Heaven Book 1
E.R. WHYTE
Say You Love Me Copyright ©
2020 by E.R. Whyte
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission, except for use of brief quotations in a book review.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
As E.R. WHYTE
Contemporary Romantic Suspense
RECLAIMING HEAVEN DUET
Say You Love Me
Tell Me You’re Mine
As ELLE RAE WHYTE
Contemporary Sweet Romance
ONLY IN OCRACOKE SERIES
Just a Crush
Just a Neighbor
Just a Friend
Dedication
For Henry Cavill.
You’ve fueled a thousand fantasies, but I’m married, so I think we should just be friends.
AUTHOR NOTE
Hello, lovely readers,
Sometimes it can be scary to trust a new author, so if you’re here, thank you. I want to offer a heads up before you immerse yourself in the world of Reclaiming Heaven.
This is not one of my sweet and clean romances. It has a hero and a heroine who don’t always make the best choices. It has language. It has steam. There’s even a stalker who’s a tiny bit… stalker-ish.
So, please, if any of these things trigger you, just say no.
Love,
E.R. Whyte
1
Shiloh
THEN.
I flop back on the grass, already wet with dew this early in the pre-dawn night, and look up at the sky. “There’re stars,” I whisper to my ride-or-die, Cotton. Turning my head, I see her pale platinum hair gleaming like a straight satin ribbon in the moonlight. Pretty. I laugh silently to myself, thinking if her mother had known that she would have hair as pale and white as cotton, she never would have named her Emery. Her nickname suits her much better. With a giggle, I reach out to touch her hair and end up hugging her.
“Girl, you’re plastered,” she says, shoving me away.
“Am not! Never been drunk… day in my life.” I hold up a finger in front of me in an I’ll-have-you-know gesture. I’m mostly teasing. I’ve got a good buzz on, and it would be a simple matter to lay right back on this manicured lawn and sleep it off, but I’m not drunk. “Shiloh Brookings does not do drunk.” I side-eye Cotton. “Disorderly, maybe. Drunk would be unseemly.”
“Unseemly.” Cotton snorts out a laugh. “That’s us, babe. Those unseemly girls…” She glances behind us as the glass sliding doors open and noise from the party spills out. We came out to the backyard for the cool fall breeze and respite from the crush of bodies and pounding bass, so it’s with reserve that I turn when she says, “Oh, lookie. Company. Hey, boys.” Cotton’s greeting holds none of my restraint. She’s always been the extrovert to my introvert, the bright butterfly to my moth.
It’s part of the reason we meshed so well when I moved here several years ago. I was a hormonal thirteen-year-old, hurting and angry at my father and uncertain about a mother and a younger brother I hadn’t seen since I was little. I didn’t know how to make friends and hadn’t wanted to put myself out there, as my mom kept urging me to do.
Fortunately for me, Cotton didn’t need me to put myself out there. She just needed someone to pay attention to her. Her own parents were “country club” people, as she called it. Concerned with looks and status, they didn’t pay much attention to Cotton beyond making sure she dressed appropriately and was in attendance at events that mattered.
Cotton just needed a friend.
“What the hell are y’all sitting out here for? Party’s in there and your asses are getting wet!” Shane, a football player who’s been getting on my last nerve for a while, grabs me under the arms and hauls me up to my feet. “Here, let me help you with that, babe.” He brushes at my ass, his hands lingering too long for my comfort.
“Stop it, Shane!” I am so over his grabby hands. Every time I turn around, he’s lurking by my locker to beg for a date—just one, Shiloh, that’s all I need—and making me late to class. Most recently he had come straight from a supply closet hook-up with Krystal, our head cheerleader and resident mean girl. I guess he didn’t realize people told me stuff. It was getting ridiculous. It was obvious I was no more than a challenge he needed to overcome.
“Not until y’all do truth or dare with us. Come on, let’s party.”
“Y’all are obnoxious. And I love you for it. Come on, Shiloh.” Cotton loops her arm around my neck and starts pulling me inside. “You know I can’t turn down truth or dare.”
I roll my eyes and allow Cotton to lead me inside. We are out in the boonies at some freshman kid’s house—or maybe he’s an eighth grader? I don’t know. Our school has eighth grade to twelfth, and it’s hard to tell these days. They all look the same.
It’s unofficial tradition every year for the JV and varsity football teams to combine resources and host a party once school gets underway—a semi-sanctioned way to kick off and hype up the season. All the parents know it’s happening, since they also participated when they were kids, but they take a step back and pretend to turn a blind eye. In exchange, the kids keep the wildness to a minimum. It’s one of the few times you’ll see the entire football and cheerleading teams hanging out together, regardless of age, and while some things are more youthful, it’s still a fun time.
Regardless of his class status, the kid’s house has a sweet set-up on the bottom level. As we walk past them, I can see friends hanging out in the multiple rooms, playing at the billiards and game tables, making out in the darkened indoor movie theater, and drinking at the wet bar. While we rarely mix with underclassmen at all, this kid is loaded enough that most uppers will excuse the fact that he’s a freshman. Plus, his parents own a vineyard or something, so there’s always high dollar booze along with the keg. He’s a friend of Sammy’s, so I know my little brother-slash-dumbass must be floating around here somewhere, too. He’s been good at avoiding me so far, but it still makes partying a little awkward. Mom will flay me alive if he gets wasted.
The upperclassmen have taken over a few of the lower level rec rooms, while faint shrieks from the underclassmen filter in from other spaces. Now and then a bold one tries to infiltrate the upperclassmen groups scattered around and is sent scurrying back by a harsh word from Shane or Krystal or another senior. The entire thing is giving me a headache and I look for Sammy as I move down the hall and into a room, wondering if he’s ready to leave.
Like background music to my thoughts, I hear cheers and see Krystal grinding on Shane’s lap reverse cowgirl style as I settle myself on the floor beside Cotton. Krystal’s eyes lock on me in challenge, and while her moves are faintly ridiculous, Shane looks like he is having a delightful time.
I train my eyes somewhere else, not interested in any kind of competition with her. I don’t know how to make it any clearer that I’m not interested in Shane. I know hi
s type. I’ve seen it a hundred times helping Mom on her investigations. Shane’s a typical cocky guy, full of himself and his looks, and acting as though the world owes him something for the honor of his presence. In this case, he seems to think that thing owed is me. He forgets that I’ve seen his parade of girls, though, in the past four years we’ve been in school together. I’m more than the next notch for any guy. More than a trophy. Not. Interested. Thank you, next.
“Shiloh?” A hand waving in front of my face pulls me out of my reverie. “Hello? Earth to Shiloh?” It’s Krystal.
“What?”
“It’s your turn. Truth or dare.” I realize the game has been playing out around me while I’ve been out of it. I guess the lap dance was Krystal’s dare.
“Oh. Um.” Inwardly, I cringe at the idea of giving these guys any piece of myself, any truth to hold or dispense as they choose. “Dare, I guess.” Cheers rise and guys start adjusting themselves as if to prepare for something naughty. Such one-track minds. I look at Cotton and roll my eyes. Krystal’s face takes on a calculating air as she considers her play and as if on cue, shrieks come from the adjoining room. The underclassmen sound like they are having fun, at least. I steel myself for something humiliating, wiping all expression from my face. Krystal wants Shane and Shane wants me. It’s the way things have been since day one. Krystal will wish to lay me low, and I can’t believe I even came back inside for this fresh hell.
“Just a minute…” She surprises us all when she rises from where she is sitting and hurries out of the room. I shrug in response to Cotton’s questioning look, and we’re all quiet until her return a few minutes later. I decide I don’t care much for the smug expression on her face. “Okay, I’ve got it. Best dare ever,” she says, a glint of triumph in her eyes. “Shiloh, I dare you to go in there and be the next seven minutes in heaven kiss-ee for the freshmen!”
For a moment there is dead silence. Then laughter bursts out. Shane is rolling on the floor, his minions are laughing, and even I am cackling. “You want me to do what?” I gestured toward the door. “Go kiss a freshman for… seven whole minutes?”
Krystal nods. “Yup.”
“Oh, God.” My appalled laughter fades into weaker chuckles and I wipe my eyes. “I’m going to feel like a… a… fucking cougar!” I have to admit; it’s a genius dare. If I take it, there’s a high probability I lose any cool cred I’ve garnered as a somewhat popular senior. I’ll henceforth be known as that senior chick that macked on a kid. If I don’t take it, I’ll be known as a coward.
Shane chortles. “She’s going to give some kid the time of his life. He’ll probably come all over himself from a kiss!”
I give him a dirty look. “Nice, Shane. You kiss your mama with that mouth?”
“Maybe I can join the fun—” He rises to his feet and Krystal yanks him firmly back down by his belt loop.
“Nope. Not part of my dare. This is all Shiloh.” Her eyes challenge me. “You in or out?”
Cotton snorts as I consider. “Just think of it this way… You’ll be giving some kid the best first kiss of his life. He’ll remember you forever.”
I shake my head and prepare for humiliation. “Krystal, I cannot even believe you. Some of these kids aren’t even freshmen. They’re fucking eighth graders. This is so gross.” I slide off my chair and prepare for this indignity, jerking my top down over the waist of my jeans.
“Get in there, cougar.” Shane gives me a small shove, and I head for the door.
“You suck.” I shake my head. Why do I have the feeling I’m going to regret this?
2
Gunner
THEN.
The amber bottle spins into a blur on the wooden floor, the wait for it to come to a stop seeming without end to our waiting circle. The small group of us still collected at my home at two in the morning watch with an intense gaze as it starts to slow. I look over at Miles, my best friend since forever, and grin at the collected group of guys sprawled in a circle on the carpet. One of us lucky schmucks is about to get seven minutes in heaven with Shiloh Anne Brookings, captain of the dance squad and one of the hottest girls in senior class. If she kisses as hot as she looks, the reputation of whoever ends up with her is going to be set.
Shit. Their reputation will be set, regardless. They can just stand there in the closet and stare at her. They don’t even have to do anything. Just be in her presence. Please, Gods-of-ye-bottles-of-Bud and horny dudes. Land on me.
Somehow, Shiloh wound up with our underclassmen group playing seven minutes in heaven a few minutes ago. I was just about done with it—Becky Stevens was joining in and I have absolutely no desire to be anywhere near that Stepford freak—when I saw her ambling up, that tool Shane Reasor shoving her lightly on. “We have a smoking hot addition for your game,” he said, and winked at us guys. What a douche. Although he is right in saying that she’s smoking hot. She’s wearing some kind of tight skinny jean with rips in strategic areas and a black tank top with spaghetti straps which outlines her curvy figure perfectly.
Shiloh stands there by the door with an expression that shouts, what the hell am I doing here, so someone plugs her in as the next person in the closet and it is Game On. I think it was a dare or something… I don’t care about the why. She’s here and by the gods of the beer bottles I’ll be the chosen one.
I’ve crushed on this girl since I was ten years old and she was thirteen. I even remember the first time I saw her. She pulled up in her mother’s beaten up Subaru wagon, climbing out to stand and stare resentfully at the house. I’d been spending the day with Sammy at their neighbor’s house while Mrs. Brookings went to pick her up from wherever she was, and Sammy and I stood now in the yard, watching as she bent to grab something from the front seat.
“She looks mad,” Sammy whispered.
“Didn’t you say her dad died? She’s probably just upset.”
“He was my dad, too.” Sammy elbowed me.
“Yeah, but you didn’t live with him.” The Brooking parents had some weird arrangement where they split the kids when they divorced, but since they had been on opposite sides of the country, they rarely saw the other child. I didn’t understand it.
The girl was skinny, with dark red hair pulled back in a loose braid. She was just starting to develop, though. I could tell, even though she was presently sitting on the step with her arms crossed over her chest, that she had boobs.
Boobs were almost as interesting as baseball, I had decided recently.
“C’mon,” I said to Sammy. “Let’s go talk to her.”
The bottle starts to slow. One… two… no, not him, please… Yesss! I release the breath I was holding with a low whoop of excitement and bump fists with Miles as I rise to my feet. In the back of my head there’s a low litany of words playing like a scratch on vinyl: don’t fuck this up, don’t fuck this up, DON’T FUCK THIS UP. I pump my fist with each mental word to build myself up.
Shiloh stands beside the designated closet, scrolling her phone and looking faintly bored. She looks up as I approach and tucks her phone in her back pocket. “Ah, Gunner…this is a little awkward. Come on, let’s get in here before Sammy sees and flips his shit.”
For a moment I’m dazed. She knows my name. Then I remember she’s seen me with Sammy. Of course, she knows your name. Dumbass. “Oh, yeah… he took a break this round when he heard you were stepping in. He didn’t want to be accidentally paired with his sister. Or even see you paired with anybody. Said something about ‘my eyes, my eyes, my fucking eyes,’” I tell her. Shiloh laughs. Score.
“Well, that was smart of him.” She takes my hand and leads me into the closet with a little finger wave at the group and I look back and waggle my eyebrows. Even if we do nothing else, my reputation is boosted just by her taking my hand. She’s so awesome. And hot. Did I mention hot?
As the door closes behind us, I start to check her out in earnest, but the lights go out and we are plunged into an inky darkne
ss. I startle and knock into a rack of clothes beside me. “Shit. Shit.”
Shiloh chuckles. “Easy, Tiger. Part of the rules.”
“Oh. I knew that.”
Somehow the darkness heightens my perception of everything. I can smell her scent, something light and citrusy. I’m glad she’s not one of those girls that slathers on the perfume. I like being able to smell her. She smells so freaking good. Edible and sweet. I inhale deeply, remembering one of my science teachers talking about the power of the olfactory sense and how certain smells can linger in a person’s memory years after first smelling them. I know this will be one of those scents my memory holds onto.
In the light from the seams of the door, I can just make out the outline of her body and the gleam of her eyes. I swallow and rub my palms on my jeans.
“Are you nervous?” she asks me.
“Nervous?” I force the laughter through suddenly dry lips. “Shit, no. I’ve done this lots of times.” I see the glint of her teeth and a faint white as she flashes a smile at my bravado.
“Good.”
I feel her hands on my cheeks drawing me closer to her. I’m a little taller than her and dip my head down to meet her lips, but then I realize my hands are just dangling. Where should I put my hands? On her shoulders? Somewhere else? I don’t want to come off as an overeager puppy, groping and slobbery. Don’t fuck this up. I decide on the shoulders and set them there hesitantly. No, that’s weird. I move them to her hips. There, that’s better. That’s not quite as middle school as shoulders, but it’s only semi-sexual. Sexual. Great. Now I have a partial boner. Where do I put that?