Return To Us (Sand & Fog Series Book 6)

by Susan Ward

  Jake won’t steer me wrong. I want the apartment to be perfect before Willow sees it again.

  Grabbing the cart, I pull it into the hallway, switch off the lights, and lock the door. Moving quickly, I get this load to the third floor and stacked with the boxes already there.

  On the street, I look left then right and spot a taxi. I whistle loudly and wave my hand. I’m short on time, so I can’t waste any running back to the hotel. Because I’m dressed like your average early a.m. fitness nut, he stops. It bugs me, though it probably shouldn’t.

  I climb into the back seat and tell him where to take me. I’m a sweaty, stinky mess. Working your hump off can do that to a guy, but giving your all to something worth doing leaves you pumped inside instead of exhausted.

  I go through the list in my head of what’s next. Even though it’s clean, my extra set of clothes in my backpack isn’t good enough for a date with Willow. Not even a breakfast date.

  I’ve got ninety minutes to purchase new clothes, shower, grab breakfast, and get out the door so I won’t be late getting to Mel’s by eight. Doable if I take advantage of some of the perks of being Eric Manzone.

  I debate with myself.

  It’s for a good cause.

  I want breakfast to be special for Willow.

  It’s my first step in trying to win her back.

  I’m almost to the drop-off loop for the El Encanto when I remember that other thing that needs to be done if what I’m doing isn’t going to blow up in my face before I’m ready to out myself. I fish my cell out of my pocket and text Ivy.

  Me: I started work in the apartment. But you’ve got to do me a favor. Run interference with Willow until I’m done. Keep her out of her dad’s place. I don’t want her seeing what I’m doing until it’s finished and I tell her everything.

  THE EXPANSIVE FRONT LOBBY is empty except for hotel staff, and I make a fast stop at the concierge desk. I take a pen and paper and start writing.

  “I’m going to need a few things brought to my room as soon as possible,” I say without looking up. “I’m assuming you have a master key to the men’s store? I’ve put down my sizes and what I want. I need the clothes in thirty minutes. There are also menu instructions for the chef on what I want for breakfast. I need everything, exactly as requested, packed in a to-go bag for me and a taxi waiting for me in ninety minutes.”

  He takes the list and scans it with a slight crinkle to his brow. On the line for guest name all I put down was EJ. “Would you like this billed to your room?”

  “Yes, the Emerald Suite.”

  Now his eyes fix on me as though he’s trying to figure out who I am. Suppressing a laugh, I rap my knuckles on the counter. “Clothes in thirty minutes. Breakfast and taxi waiting in ninety,” I remind him before I hightail it toward the elevators.

  Inside my suite, I go down the hall to make a fast check on Hank. Easing the door open only a crack, I peek in. He’s wrapped tightly in the blankets, sound asleep. I hardly heard him cough at all last night. It was the right move and right time to put an end to our camping on the street.

  Even if my buddy’s health could manage the homeless routine we’ve been living, neither of us are returning to that life. Now that I have a plan for both my amends and to win Willow back, things will work more smoothly staying here instead of Volunteer Park.

  I can’t leave Hank camping alone at night while I’m off working at Willow’s. Us buddying up after rehab was as much about safety on the streets as friendship. I’ve had to have Hank’s back and he mine more times than either of us would like to count in the past year.

  Quickly, I cross the room to check the vaporizer housekeeping brought up last night. Half full. Enough until I return from Mel’s. Hopefully, he’ll sleep straight through the day.

  I jot a note on the room service menu. Order what you want and bill the room. Don’t forget to take your pills. Text me if you need me.

  After setting it beside him on the bed, I go to my room and into the adjoining bathroom. I turn on the shower and strip. After shoving my running clothes into a laundry bag for housekeeping, I step beneath the steaming dual streams.

  For a moment, I lean with my palm flat against the tile, letting the water run down my back, luxuriating in the privacy and the feel of softened water. My daily shower at the shelter is a far cry from this. It feels like forever since I’ve had privacy, all the hot water I want, expensive soaps and shampoos, and as many fluffy clean towels as I want waiting for me.

  Tilting so the spray runs down the side of my neck, I glance through the glass door at the large tub on the other side of the marble floor. Closing my eyes, visions start teasing inside my head.

  Willow naked, leaning back against me as I wash her and kiss her long, graceful neck. Willow facing me, her legs straddling my thighs, her luscious tits pressing against my chest.

  I really shouldn’t be letting myself have this fantasy, but I can’t stop the arousing images or my sudsy hand moving to my immediately hard cock. Besides, I need to take the edge off. Mental pleasure with my fantasy Willow before being with the real thing.

  Sink down and ride me, I imagine myself saying to the apparition behind my lids, and her eyes widen as they darken. Soft throaty laughter fills my ears as I lower her onto me. A groan sighs from her lips when I fill her, her back bowing, leaving her neck arched for my kisses.

  As my mouth leaves a burning trek from the underside of her jaw to her breasts, she moves faster. By the time I’m sucking hard on her nipple, she’s in a frantic rhythm on my cock.

  Pumping my shaft faster, I imagine my hand moving to her ass, clutching as I urge her toward release. Her dark eyes on mine, her fingers dig into my shoulders. Her groans get louder, and I can feel how juicy she is even surrounded by water.

  She’s riding me like she’s possessed.

  Her nipples protrude from her bouncing tits.

  She’s on the edge.

  My hand increases its pace.

  Watch me come, she whimpers in my fantasy. She knows I love that and it brings me close to coming all over my hand. But not yet. Her fantasy orgasm isn’t over.

  Oh, Eric…

  My cock shoots as I lean against the tile for support and groan. My ragged breathing fades with my vision of Willow.

  I hear a knock on the door.

  I consider punching the wall.

  I don’t want to be interrupted.

  As water spills onto me, my dick tingles.

  The urgency is gone but not the want.

  If Willow were here, I could fuck her this instant. I want her so badly even jerking off doesn’t gives me relief.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Fuck.

  I turn off the shower, wrap myself in a towel, and head to the door.

  AFTER TRIMMING MY BEARD—and my pubes because it doesn’t hurt a guy to be hopeful—I pull on the clothes the concierge selected for me, run the comb through my wavy blond hair, step back, and stare at myself in the mirror.

  I clean up well, if I do say so myself. And these clothes are perfect even if I didn’t pick them out or try them on. It’s exactly breakfast date wear. The right blend of casual sexy. Slacks instead of jeans, Italian leather shoes instead of hiking boots, ash-color cashmere sweater with a white tee underneath. Not trying too hard. Not understated. Complementing my build and coloring.

  Now that I’ve decided it’s time for EJ the homeless street musician to fade away, I need to slowly transition Willow into seeing me in a new light before I shave this damn beard and tell her everything.

  It still blows my mind she doesn’t recognize me. I’m a little more muscular than I was at twenty, my hair is its true golden-blond shade, and the beard blocks the lower half of my face, but, fuck, eyes and smiles don’t change. I’d recognize Willow from her eyes even if she was wearing a ski mask.

  It was a bummer to hear Ivy’s theory on this: that I’d hurt her so bad she’s unable see what she
doesn’t want to see. That sank a knife through my heart and ratcheted up the guilt as only Ivy can.

  I prefer the theory I heard on that Special Forces TV series. If you alter the points on the face that eyes pick out for recognition, you don’t have to go to elaborate lengths to conceal your identity. Probably rubbish, but it does take the sting out of Willow not knowing it’s me. And even better, it’s kept anyone from the press from recognizing me.

  The concierge is by the front door before I cross the lobby. He hands me the bag and opens the door. “Do you need anything else, sir?”

  I slip on my sunglasses and take the bag. “No. And make sure housekeeping knows not to disturb my suite today.”

  I’m a half hour early when the cab drops me off at the curb. Using my key, I let myself into Mel’s. I slowly turn up the lights to a warm dim glow.

  Then I survey the room for the best place to unpack our food. The room isn’t exactly overflowing with romantic options. My gaze roams from the dark red geometric pattern behind the bar to the row of low blue velvet couches and drinks tables resting on the raised platform that lines the walls. The center of the room is filled with tall tables and barstools.

  The décor is like something out of a 70s go-go film. A red wall that looks like textured glass, surrounded by patterned walls that look like swirling sand. Pendant lights dropping from the ceiling. A disco ball above the dance floor. Eccentric enough to be stylish again. This could be a very popular upscale club if managed the right way. But, regrettably, nothing jumps out as the perfect spot for me to start us again.

  The plush blue couches are the most comfortable option and it would put her up close beside me.

  I let out a ragged groan and tell myself not to listen to my horny man. It’s going to be hard enough to do this the way I want to and not ruin everything by making a move on Willow too soon.

  I turn toward the small stage and my vision lands on the large red leather booth. This table is reserved for the band, I hear Willow say in my head.

  A smile rises to my lips.

  Perfect.

  Chapter Eight

  Willow

  I STARE AT MYSELF IN the full-length mirror in the corner of my small bedroom. What stares back at me is baffling, though I’m not sure why.

  It’s the same old simple floor-length cotton nightgown. My hair has its usual slept-on tangled fuzz. The smooth skin covering my face is a touch pale and unspectacular without makeup. My dark eyes pop a tad too dramatically from my face without color on my lips to balance them.

  I pull at the skin beneath my eyes and lean in. Frowning, I scan each feature. I hardly slept last night between the lust-fuel dreams about Eric James and the anxious minutes in between panicking over breakfast with EJ. I’m sure I didn’t get more than an hour’s sleep all night.

  I should look terrible.

  Why don’t I?

  I let out a slow breath as I gaze at the mirror. I look different. Feel different. I feel more energized, more alive than I have for months. Jeez, it’s like I’ve downed a bottle of antidepressants or something.

  Somehow, my long suppressed inner woman has woken. That’s who’s in the mirror wondering why I haven’t dressed yet.

  “I’m not going,” I say out loud to my reflection. “It’s better to stand him up, apologize later than let him think there can ever be anything between us.”

  My inner me crosses her arms and glares. That’s the kind of thing Jade would do. You’re better than that, Willow. You hit things head on. You’re not a coward or a mean girl.

  I wince.

  She’s right.

  Though I am going to have to process why the thought of a date with EJ floods me with a conundrum of emotions. Yes, I haven’t been on a date for more than six years. Yes, I haven’t had sex in more than two. And, yes, I’ve come to realize living like a nun is probably why the merest contact from EJ gets me overly hot and thinking things.

  It’s untouched, unloved woman syndrome. It has nothing to do with the guy; it has only to do with my love-starved, sex-denied hormones.

  It all makes perfect sense when I think of it that way. Honestly, there’s nothing to get worked up about. Even though he’s a man who’s beyond beautiful, if I go or don’t go it won’t change anything.

  I’ve no intention of becoming involved with him.

  My subconscious scowls at me. If it won’t change anything, why are you afraid?

  My insides commence twirling again. Ignoring both the question and my body’s answer, I head to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. As I fill my mug, I note the clock on the wall. I’m already a half hour late to meet him.

  Why am I still debating this? That’s pretty clear confirmation that I’ve decided to stand him up, cowardly move or not.

  I start washing the dirty dishes I left in the sink last night. Being busy is good. It keeps me from thinking.

  When I’m done I’ll cook my own breakfast for a change instead of grabbing my sausage sandwich from Java Hut…um, I wonder what EJ brought for breakfast. Probably nothing too expensive or interesting. He most likely grabbed something fast and easy.

  Groaning, I shut off the water. I’m going to obsess and feel awful the rest of the day for having not shown.

  Damn it.

  Now I feel like climbing into bed, hiding under the covers, and completely ditching work today.

  Ridiculous. I’m a grown woman behaving like a teenage girl.

  There’s a knock on my door and I lean to look through my kitchen window. No car in my driveway. I inch closer to the glass so I can see my front porch.

  Oh no…Ivy.

  Her five morning texts that I’ve ignored flash in my head:

  Stopped in at Mel’s after my NA meeting.

  Why aren’t you here?

  I let EJ inside to wait for you. He seems to think he has a date with you. Hmm…what don’t I know?

  Where R U?

  Stop ignoring me. Answer the phone.

  There are four voice mail messages as well I haven’t listened to yet. Her light knock turns into a loud pounding against my heavy oak door. She’s not going away. If I drag this out much longer, she’s only going to use her key to my house to let herself in.

  I open my front door and tense at the sight of her.

  “So you’re alive,” she states dryly, charging past me into the entry hall. “I’ve been texting and calling you all morning. You never miss work. I thought something had happened to you. You scared the hell out of me, Willow.”

  After closing the door, I grimace and slowly turn to face Ivy. She’s got her hands on her hips, frowning at me. “I—I overslept. I’m sorry you were worried.”

  Her chin bobs as she studies me. “You look wide awake to me.”

  In the kitchen, I hear the water running. I forgot to turn off the sink when I went for the door. That’s a good diversion and I make a fast retreat into the other room.

  “What’s going on? Why are you hiding in your house?” Her voice is insistent and anxious, and her words bluntly accurate.

  Crap…blowing off EJ is one thing, but I have to deal with Ivy. It’s not possible to avoid her. She let EJ into the bar. She knows what’s going on. I have to give her some details, because she won’t let up until I do.

  I sink my fingers into my hair. “I gave EJ the wrong idea yesterday. He thinks we have a date this morning. I should have fixed it last night, but I didn’t. And I panicked and didn’t know what to do. That’s what’s going on, Ivy. Can we drop it now?”

  Ivy plops down on a chair and takes a few moments to assess me. Or maybe to convey she’s not leaving until I tell her everything.

  “Why did you panic, Willow?”

  When I don’t respond her eyes drill into me, persistent and demanding. Sighing, I can see nothing but the truth, the total truth, will end this. “I don’t want to get involved with anyone and there’s something about him that unnerves me.”

&
nbsp; There. I’ve said it.

  I lift my nose.

  Her gaze narrows.

  “You should have thought of that before you said you’d have breakfast with him,” she says in disgust.

  I flush. “You’re right.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I’ll apologize tomorrow.”

  “No, you’ll meet him like you said you would.”

  What? “No. I can’t correct a mistake by making a bigger mistake, and that’s what letting him think I’m interested in him will be. Unkind to him. Awful for me.”

  “Not interested in him?” Her nails start to tap, tap, tap against the table. “I haven’t seen you this way since Steve Marquez asked you to the junior prom. You were so hot for him you couldn’t even talk to him on the phone before the big night, afraid you’d blow it.”

  “I was sixteen, Ivy,” I scoff. “This is totally different. A rational decision made by a grown woman. I said yes, I shouldn’t have, and now I’m not going.”

  That sounds worse than it did in my head.

  Inwardly I groan and wait for the boom.

  “Why does EJ unnerve you?”

  No boom. Insightful question. She changed direction so quickly my head spins.

  I sink down on the chair across the table from her. “I don’t know. It’s something internal not cerebral. I feel things that I don’t expect to around him. I have flashes in my head and memories I don’t want resurfacing. It’s confusing and scary. My internal alarm—which you say I never listen to—says don’t go, and this time I’m listening.”

  “I think you’re trying to tell me you’re attracted to him.”

  How the heck did she reach that conclusion?

  My mouth scrunches up.

  She cocks her head and raises her eyebrows.

  “Yes, I’m attracted to him,” I admit rashly. “Which is insane. That’s reason enough to shut it down now with EJ.”