by Billie Dale
Confused, I stare at his hand over mine. “The stalker didn’t leave these? How, I mean it’s not…. how?”
“Your eyesight is shit, I owed you big time for being a total douche this morning. I can’t take all the credit though, Mazric’s money helped. Sam washed your clothes.” He presses against my back, gripping the tie on my robe. “I picked out several matching bra and panty sets, which I think you need to model right after you reclaim your vision.” His voice ticks up and humor hugs his words.
“Cheeky bastard.” I take in his blurry reflection, able to make out his smile. Hips flush with mine; I feel the hard line of his dick against my crack.
“They’re safe, Sunflower. Mazric made sure one of his people stood by while he contacted the manufacturer. Since the factory is here in town, he went to pick them up instead of waiting on delivery. Hundred-dollar bills waving in someone’s face really speeds up the process.”
A stabbing pain shoots behind my eyes and enough is enough. I pull open the pack making quick work of the familiar process. The world turns from bright brain-splitting distortion to clear and precise.
I’m confused. The time it takes to make the ‘I’m almost blind’ strength of my contacts plus shopping and organizing, all before Hendrix and I arrived. It’s impossible. The pieces don’t fit; no matter how many ways I flip them.
A gut clenching roil twists my stomach. The stalker's intimate knowledge, how he knows where and how to hurt me the worst. His ability to tear me apart with the smallest actions.
Is Joey my stalker? Oh God. He couldn’t. Can’t. I mean he’s in Seven Mile Forge and, and, and was in bed with me... But he used other men. The guy at Dot’s, the one’s at my brother’s work. Who says he didn’t pay off another to trash the place while he seduced me? I mean, how else could he do all this in the minutes it took us to cross the beach?
My head rallies a battle cry while my heart rips in half. He hates me for leaving him and was never real stable, my head touts. No, my heart argues, just no, he could never.
“Preslee.” His goatee tickles the shell of my ear. My eyes meet his in the mirror. Concern clouds his silvery blues. I search his stare, wondering if obsession hides in the gold flecks surrounding his pupils. I flashback to the all the times these same eyes conveyed his love and to the end where they boiled with disbelief and pain.
Ask him. My brain and heart rally. Sure, he could lie. But would he? If he wanted to hurt me, he’s had plenty of chances.
Damn, this uncertainty sucks. My catalogue of crazy stalker types runs roughshod, speeding my pulse and making my palms sweat.
ASK HIM! My mind yells.
“Ask me what?” He continues to watch me in the mirror, voicing the question I hadn’t meant to vocalize.
“So um…” my tongue wets my dry lips, “h-h-how did you do all this? The clothes, underwear, contacts, my bath products… before I got here. Hendrix, Seth, and Miguel all freaked out right along with me. All those things take time…” My words fade as I watch his jaw tighten and tick.
He releases his hold on my robe and walks into the bedroom. I scramble to follow, but he continues out the door. Unwilling to chase, I grab my suitcase, picking out a freshly laundered pair of cutoffs and a tank before grabbing the shopping bag with my newly acquired underthings.
Mindlessly trapped in his refusal to answer my questions, I shuffle across the room to shut the door. Before the latch catches, it’s ripped from my hand, slamming against the wall. Dressed in dry jeans and fitted tee, Joey looms in the doorway. Between blinks he steps inside, closes the door, and twists the lock.
I inch backward, never taking my eyes off him. He stalks forward, watching me with a pupil-blown stare and lips tipped up in a smirk. My legs bump the edge of the bed. I stumble, falling on the soft surface where I crab crawl across the bedspread, taking a stand on the opposite side. I can’t tell if he’s pissed or turned on by my retreat. Either way, he wants to devour me.
Thirty-Four
Joey
I should’ve expected her doubt. Impressed with her deductions and reasoning, the distrust still stings like a bitch. If I were her; I’d puzzle it together the same damn way. I’m kicking my own ass for not seeing how my actions warred in her brain instead of setting it at ease as I intended.
Of course, me running off faster than a hot knife through butter didn’t help my case. I understood she’d need concrete, tangible proof. Something she could wrap her hands and head around to prove I wasn’t the scourge playing with her life. My save the day intentions were pure when I sent Mazric’s guy running around town and FaceTimed the chick at the lingerie shop. Now I see the creepiness.
Determined to show her, I rushed out grabbing some dry clothes and my phone. Standing minutes from naked with her offered too much temptation. When I came back, she was shutting the door. Between the air and the slap of my palm, it flung open with more force than I intended. Unwilling to be interrupted, I close and lock the door.
She began the game of cat and mouse. I’m a bastard for letting her think I’m the bad guy, but I need her to override her fear. Her robe gaps open during her scramble, showing me the slope of her tits. The tremble of her body contradicts the fire lighting her eyes. I grind my molars so hard they crunch but can’t stop the upturn of my lips.
It won’t hurt letting her believe the lie for a few minutes. I’d rather face her rage than watch her self-destruct. The sash hangs loose gaping the fabric in a straight line down her body. She doesn’t realize the flushed rosy valley between her tits and bare skin of her pussy taunt me. It’s maddening.
No, not the I’m the stalker ruining her life mad. I’m a bastard, not a psycho.
Would she fight me if I flung her on the bed to drown in the sweetness of her pussy? She tasted divine and I’m dying for more. How much would she thrash and kick before her clit sucked between my teeth brought her to heel? Could I make her call me daddy?
Errrrrrtttttt. Stop. Nope. My freak flag doesn’t fly that high. There will be no daddy calling unless it’s me dialing up my father for a chat. She’s not a dog I want to control or bring to heel. What the fuck is wrong with me?
My coiling inner dialogue spirals down the shitter, but the good thing is it’s enough to kill my boner and remind what I came in here to do.
Hands raised in surrender, I ease forward. She matches me step for step, keeping the distance between us until her back meets the wall. Fists clenched at her sides, I watch her frantic eyes search for a weapon. My gaze stays on her face because if I look at her body again, I’ll fall back down the rabbit hole of lust. Can’t go there again. Yet.
“I owe you an apology and an explanation.” She continues to peruse the area for a method of defense, ignoring my words. “Preslee.” My voice rises to snag her attention. Arms crossed over her chest, she stops cataloging the room. Defiance and fight stare at me through each narrowed blink. I wave a hand in the air telling her to track my movement. Slowly, I reach into my back pocket and pull out my phone. Unwilling to lose eye contact, I punch in the code instead of using facial recognition. With it unlocked, I offer it to her. “Here. The answers you need are all there.”
She jerks it out of my fingers and sets to work clicking through emails, texts, and my Google searches. After a few tortuous minutes she hands it back, but nothing in her demeanor changes. “It’s all gibberish without context.”
I close the distance between us. Despite my dick's rebuke, I tug the lapels of her robe closed and tighten the sash. She gasps, staring at my lips as she licks her own. We stand close enough her tongue almost touches mine. She regards her now closed covering, cocking her head in confusion.
I plop on the bed. Phone in one hand, I pat the spot next to me with the other. “Sit. I’ll explain it.”
Hesitant but curious, she situates herself with the expanse of the mattress between us. A tap of knuckles against the door precedes the twist of the knob.
“Sis?” Hendrix calls, knocking again.
; Her spine straightens. She glances toward the door before returning her stare to me. Her body language tells me she’s battling her fight-or-flight instinct. Teeth chewing on her bottom lip, she thinks. The door handle rattles again. “Preslee. Open the damn door.” Her brother’s impatience grows louder.
With a flip of her hair she walks to the door, flicks the lock, and yanks it open. She whispers words I can’t hear. I expect Hendrix to charge in, rip my head off, and leave me bleeding out on the floor. It’s what I would do if my sister pointed the finger toward the person threatening her life. Can’t even say I’d fight against him. While I’m not the one, I did kick her when she was down.
I stare out the window, watching the palm trees sway and the sun paint it all gold. The door shuts. Nothing about today turned out the way I wanted, so her leaving me here is another slide in the shitshow. I run a hand over my head, taking a moment to feel sorry for myself. The bed dips, “Prove me wrong, Joey. Because this hurts too much.” Tears hang on her words, snapping me out of the shock of her still being here.
Screen lit up, my thumb opens Safari and I lay across the bed so she can see. “Here is where I bought your underwear. Told the woman as best I could what size you are and she filled my cart.”
“No.” She grabs my wrist. “Tell me how you got it all here within a matter of minutes.”
“Minutes? Preslee it took almost two hours for you to get here with Hendrix.”
Her mouth falls open and the thin skin between her brows curls. Slow shakes of her head become emphatic twists of denial. “Can’t be. We stopped to talk to Sammy, but only for a few moments….” Her mind can’t work through the time loss. A guilt-heavy hood lowers her eyelids, pulling her gaze from mine. “I fell asleep. Hendrix must’ve had the golf cart guy drive around rather than wake me up. So you didn’t steal all of this stuff from me? Losing me didn’t morph your brain into one-track stalker gravy?”
“No, Sunflower, it’s not me.” My voice softens, hoping to placate her. “The only person I punished and ruined when you walked away was myself. But I’m willing to tie you to the bed and work out any of my repressed issues on your naked body.”
She turns, sitting cross-legged before hitting me with her watery smile. The levy holding her tears breaks with the rise of her lips, sending a fat drop down each cheek. “I’m sorry I doubted you. If it helps, there is one nagging part of me which refused my theory.” She swipes at the wetness on her face. “Damn, I’m sick of crying. Of being afraid, checking over my shoulder, and of always feeling him watching and judging my actions on his twisted scale of what’s allowed.”
I reach over, straightening her legs, before dragging her onto my lap. Don’t look at where the robe splits. Don’t look. This woman needs some damn clothes on.
Dick: What? No, she doesn’t. Stop being hasty and ridiculous.
“Don’t apologize for asking the big questions.” Her big blues blink, waiting for me to continue. Those lush pink lips sit in kissing distance. Her center is one wiggle away from feeling how much I want her. Time to nut up and hand her my man-card. “I want a redo of this morning.” She tilts her head, giving me the ‘of course you silly man’ face. “No, not like that.” This garners me an even larger eye roll. She’s enjoying busting my balls through facial expression. While it’s embarrassing to trip over my words and choke on emotion, she’s smiling and the watersworks are gone. “Since I’m screwing this up, let’s start over. I never should’ve let my anger take center stage. Sex or no, I want to wake up with you again, without the stress, and where I can keep you under me until it no longer qualifies as morning.”
Dick: Sex! Never, ever take it out of the equation. It’s never not an option. Stop cockblocking.
An adorable blush sweeps up her neck, spreading pink to her forehead. “My life is a mess,” she warns, picking at the fuzz of her robe.
My index finger tips her chin enough for me to press a soft peck to her lips. “It is and you’re worth every second if it means you’re mine. We’re gonna take some big-ass scissors to this sicko’s puppet strings and tell him to kiss your go to hell.”
Dick: Untie the robe. Do. It. Her tits are right there. Come on, man, I ain’t got hands. Help a brother out.
I ignore the protest of the rock-hard issue digging against my zipper. To his chagrin I’m content to pull her closer, stick my face in the crook of her neck—where her scent is crack to my senses—and hold her tight while breathing her in.
Exhaustion hits us both. Our issues and needing to talk looms, but they can wait. I drag her down until we once again form interlocking spoons, then I grab the thick comforter turning us into a snuggle burrito. My hand works inside her robe to the space between her breasts where her heart beats against my palm. Her fingers weave with mine as we both drift off.
Thirty-Five
Preslee
Five days.
I wake in his arms with our bodies sliding together, as he loves me slow and deep. Another quick round in the shower before we eat a breakfast of fresh island fruit, bagels, and drink copious amounts of a local coffee blend.
The cabin is all beach-facing windows, stretched beam ceilings, floaty white curtains, and plush furniture. Black tile floor helps control the influx of sand and the hours of sun add a dreamy softness.
Outside over a small dune is the ocean. The hotel keeps an umbrella and chairs set up. We spend hours riding on the waves rolling in, and bathing in the hot rays.
Sammy and Mazric join us from their place next to ours. Hendrix and his new gal pal, Anna Beth Tucker, arrive about halfway through our day. And when they’re not sightseeing, Curry and his flavor of the week, Dani March, hang out too. The guys do the manly throw a football thing while we bronze our skin discussing Sammy Lee’s perfect day. Warm briny water, board shorts sporting ripped, tanned eye candy and peace. Thanks to Seth, Miguel, our tight-knit group, and our unwillingness to venture beyond our amenities, I’ve also been stalker free.
Oh, he’s still there, watching. We’ve all felt his eyes boring down on us, but he’s a tricky one, staying out of sight.
At the end of day, we return to our bungalow. Did you know you could carry a bucket load of sand in the crack of your butt even though you’re wearing a swimsuit? Legit, it slaps on the shower floor before disappearing down the drain.
We take turns cooking dinner, eating it by candlelight out on the deck while we listen to the waves crashing along the coast. Some nights we take a walk. Barefoot, with the foam sweeping over our feet. The moon lights a bright enough path to search for shells and unique pieces of the sea.
I can testify sex on the beach is only good in alcoholic beverage form. Movies, books, it’s all a lie. Hand to God, the sand finds all crevices. It halts all further sexual activity for the night because even after a shower my vagina was still quite beachy and rubbed raw. I’m calling out all film directors and romance writers. Do not endorse sexy time by the sea. Think it gets better if you let the waves roll over you, wrong again. Wet slimy sand riddled with ocean debris hurts and saltwater burns like a bitch. Trust me, don’t do it. You’ll thank me later.
We use our alone time to talk. Some subjects cut to the bone, but we bare it all. Delving into the truth about why I really let him go is long overdue. I want him to understand where my head was at, but admitting my selfishness and immaturity wasn’t my best moment. I can’t say listening to him break down his relationship with Paris hurt any less, but we cleared out all the rubbish. Cracked open our hearts, letting them bleed out years of anguish so we can wipe it away and begin anew. I love his beam when he talks about Cash, almost as much as I enjoy the stories of baby and toddler Cash. Round and round we trade tales until hoarseness takes our voices and the way we eye fuck each other becomes too much. We’re so lost in each other we don’t even notice my bodyguards’ constant presence.
He’s the boy I loved and so much more. Josiah Holmes, the man, is the one I’m falling hard for. Behind his armor lives the sweet, do anything fo
r you Joey with a collection of all new facets. While I enjoy the mornings, my body yearns for the raw, rough, hard-fucking man who attacks me for hours in the dark before pure sexual exhaustion drags us under.
Safe to say I’m miles away from the born-again virgin I became. I ache in all the best places. The power of his body when he moves over me, filling my need with his length, erases all the clutter in my brain. Even thinking about it makes my ovaries explode.
All the frolic and sexy time comes to an end today. The rest of the guests arrive this afternoon. We filled the spare bedroom with toys for Cash. I can’t wait to see the little man. The one person I’m dreading is Carrie Lynn. Sammy and I locked down all the arrangements, leaving Mazric’s mother nothing to complain about. Fingers crossed, she accepts it and enjoys the island.
Sammy and I send the men to grab the herd of family and friends from the airport, opting for a girls’ day while they suffer the family. My best friend was antsy about not being there when her daughter arrived. Mazric soothed her with a reminder about the last phone call with Mazzy Jae and how she expects to dive in the ocean first thing.
Upon recommendation from a woman at the hotel when I confirmed the reservations, we decided to check out a local wine café.
It took a couple days and a slight sunburn, but with the right amount of SPF my skin is no longer ghostly pale. Salt and sun lightened my hair to near platinum. Joey stands in the doorway watching me slick my legs with peppermint lotion before I slip on a melon-colored, flowing, flirty, spaghetti strap sundress. Since it’s hot enough to bake biscuits outside, I sweep my hair into a ponytail, leaving my bangs hanging to frame my face. Thanks to the darker skin color I need little makeup, yet another good thing because it melts the minute you step out the door. A light brush of pale eye shadow, a quick coat of mascara, with some chocolate mint lip gloss, and I’m ready to go.