Soaked (The Water's Edge #2)

by Stacy Kestwick

  Copyright © 2016 by Stacy Kestwick

  Edited by Kay Springsteen

  Proofreading by JaVa Editing

  Cover design by Hang Le

  Formatting by Pink Ink Designs

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic of mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Other books by Stacy Kestwick

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  West

  HELL WAS NOTHING like I envisioned.

  Brilliant blue sky. Sun beating down. Steady breeze. Calm seas. Fish biting. Classic rock on the satellite radio. No other boats around as far as the eye could see. Cold beer and soda in the Yeti. Beautiful, bikini-clad Italian woman posing against the bow.

  Most men would’ve killed to be in my deck shoes. Considered this paradise.

  I, on the other hand, would have sold my soul to be anywhere but here.

  I prayed to a merciful God for help. A pop-up rainstorm. A hurricane. Parting of the seas.

  Anything.

  Anything but another three hours of watching Aubrey try to sell her melons like a vendor at a farmer’s market. I’d already sampled them years ago. They were as fake as the rest of her, and I wouldn’t be going back for more.

  Luckily, my clients, the Young brothers, seemed oblivious for the most part. They were here purely for the fishing tournament. We were after marlin today and already had a great contender on ice.

  They’d brought along Mr. Perotti, Aubrey’s dad, as a thank you to him for being their lawyer through the process of starting up their new rental supply company.

  That was Aubrey’s angle. The same company was generously donating their services to the gala she was chairwoman of at the end of the summer, and she’d just wanted to thank them in person. She’d practically cooed as she said it, and when they’d politely invited her to join them today, she’d been fucking delighted. My idea of a thank you tended to be a head nod and a fist bump. Aubrey’s was a little different.

  She might as well have given them a striptease, based on the amount of fabric she had left on her body after she took off her blue cover-up. Calling it a bikini was generous. But maybe unnecessary displays of skin were a familial defect. Mr. Perotti’s shorts were half as long as mine and twice as tight. Although Aubrey was a lot less hairy than her dad. Got to give credit where credit is due.

  And not helping matters any, Mr. Perotti’s efforts to pimp out his daughter to me were about as subtle as a used car salesman up against a deadline. He’d all but bent her over so I could check out what was underneath her hood. It was disturbing as fuck what that man said about his spawn with a few beers in him. Like when he praised the sturdiness of her hips, saying her mama was the same way. I swear my fucking balls shrank to the size of marbles at that visual.

  Honestly, I felt bad for Aubrey. Pity was the strongest emotion she evoked in me these days. I got why she did it—threw herself at me the way she did. Her dad had made it clear since we were kids that a good marriage was what he expected of her. The way to make him proud. And he’d decided I was the ideal son-in-law, the son of his best friend. I think he assumed this whole charter fishing experiment—his word, not mine—would blow over soon and I’d take my rightful place as the next president of Montgomery Golf, the way my parents had always hoped I would, too. And Aubrey would be right there next to me, the perfect trophy wife.

  Too bad no one ever asked me what I wanted.

  I’d tried to play their game for years. Went to Wharton, escorted Aubrey to every charity ball and event I was forced to attend. Hell, I even sampled the wares she kept shoving at me. My willpower in my early twenties had only been so strong.

  But none of it had felt real. None of it fired my blood or sparked my ambition.

  Not the way running my own company did. Even if it was small, it was mine. I did it. It was my blood, sweat, and tears that made it work.

  And Sadie.

  Fuck, that girl had me feeling things I didn’t even understand. Had me doing things I would’ve called my brother a pussy for. Leaving love notes. Smelling her hair. Sneaking into her room at night just to wrap her in my arms, feel her snuggle back into me. Craving her touch like an addict. All I knew when it came to her was I wanted more.

  I wanted it all.

  Her soft smiles. Her sweet laughter. Her green eyes finding mine. Her small hands on my skin. Her long legs wrapping around my waist. Her sexy moans in my ear.

  Her nights. Her mornings. Her tomorrows.

  I loved her, I just hadn’t found the right way to tell her yet.

  That word was scary as shit, you know?

  It felt fragile, like if I didn’t handle it right, it would crumble and disintegrate right in front of me. Like a sand dollar. You ever tried picking one of those up? My rough fingers crushed them every time.

  Aubrey stretched at the prow, arms straight, back arched, head tipped to the sun. Breasts and ass jutting out. I rolled my eyes. You’d think by now she’d realize we weren’t happening. But I got it. I was her chance to escape.

  Her overprotective Italian father wasn’t going to let her move out of the house until he was passing her off to a husband. One he approved of. So I was the only option she could see. I knew that. And I felt bad for her. But not enough to be manipulated into being with her. When her parents weren’t around, and she forget she had ulterior motives, she really wasn’t that bad. Her sense of humor was wicked sarcastic, and she was smarter than her parents realized. But they were bound and determined to marry her off . . . and soon. It had slowly become their all-consuming mission.

  Personally, I thought Aubrey was willing to do anything just to make the nonsense stop. Even if it meant throwing herself at me every chance she got.

  What a fucking waste of time and energy.

  I had to give the Young brothers credit; they barely glanced at her. They were going to do well in the business world. Adapting on the fly to a situation was a necessary part of strong leadership, and the brothers had moved quickly—plying an accommodating Mr. Perotti with beer until he passed out. His hairy stomach rose and fell with each breath as he snored in one of the beanbags. I cranked the music louder to cover the sounds.

  Situation handled.

  Except by that point, the beer was almost gone.

  I looked in the cooler with longing, grabbing a bottle of water instead of the lone can of Bud Light. What I wouldn’t give to be able to drink myself into oblivion right now. Black out and not remember any of this.


  But I was businessman too. So I’d play the part of the helpful but unobtrusive guide, at least for another few hours. I’d made it this far, I was practically home free.

  I underestimated hell though.

  It had multiple levels.

  I’d forgotten.

  As Aubrey pushed away from the railing and sashayed my way, she stumbled in those strappy wedge heels she was wearing, falling to the deck with a shout and then clutching her ankle and whimpering.

  The brothers looked at her, then over at me.

  Mr. Perotti snored from the beanbag.

  I guessed that made her my problem.

  Clenching my jaw as I made my way around the center console, I squatted next to where she lay crumbled on the deck.

  “You okay?”

  Her dark eyes met mine, wet with tears.

  Ah fuck, had she actually injured herself?

  I sighed. “Where does it hurt?”

  A tear slid down her cheek. Her mascara must’ve been waterproof, because it stayed perfect. She sniffled. “My an-ankle.”

  Removing her ridiculous shoe—who the fuck wore heels on a boat?—I moved her ankle through its range of motion. She flinched and cried out and, shit, it was already starting to swell.

  Fucking lovely.

  The three hours left in the trip were an exercise in perseverance.

  Aubrey was not a good patient.

  By the end, I’d considered dumping her overboard to the sharks no less than four times. I figured her boobs would work as suitable floatation devices. I wouldn’t even have to sacrifice a life jacket.

  Her dad was worthless. When we stopped at the tournament marina, where the marlin we’d caught took second place, he left with the Young brothers to go to a bar to celebrate. Still wearing his short swim trunks.

  “You’re headed back to the city marina, right? Near the MUSC emergency room?” He clapped me hard on the shoulder, squeezing. “You don’t mind taking Aubrey, do you? She’d rather hang out with you than me, I’m sure.” He’d wiggled his caterpillar eyebrows and winked.

  I closed my eyes in defeat, taking a slow breath to calm myself.

  My God, why hast thou forsaken me?

  “No problem.” The words barely made it past my gritted teeth.

  “Thanks, son.” He slapped my back before heading down the dock after the Youngs.

  I cranked the radio to angry rock as I motored to the other marina, drowning out Aubrey’s pointless attempts at conversation from the beanbag.

  Looking at my watch and cursing, knowing there was nothing quick about a trip to the ER, not after fighting traffic through the city and back again, I sent Sadie a text, letting her know I’d be headed her way after I finished up with things here.

  Of all days, why did this have to happen on our last night together for the next three weeks?

  When we docked, I hauled a lame Aubrey into my arms, forced to carry her. The swelling had subsided some, but she swore she couldn’t handle putting any weight on it. Whatever. I just needed to get her dropped off at the ER. Then I could come back and pack up things on the boat while she got seen. Her dad could pick her up as far as I was concerned.

  She rubbed against me, talking some shit about me being her hero. I laughed to keep from strangling her.

  I needed to get back to Reynolds Island.

  I needed to get back to Sadie.

  Sadie

  I TEETERED PRECARIOUSLY on the edge of rage, trying not to let the shock push me off the cliff into the pain of his betrayal. I needed to hold on to the anger right now. It was the glue keeping me intact.

  My mind whirred, manufacturing scenes of West romancing Aubrey, of West laughing at my naivety, of their wedding, their future kids, their picture-fucking-perfect life. The episodes played on the IMAX of my mind—the images too big, the volume too loud to fully process. I was immobile, held captive by the what ifs. The never woulds.

  I inhaled carefully, my motions delicate. Abrupt movement might shatter the fragile grip I had on my control. And if I lost that, I wasn’t sure which way I would tumble—fury or agony. I just knew it would be violent. And I couldn’t allow that. It meant she—Aubrey—would have won. That he was never mine.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I exhaled. It was all I could manage.

  As my world shattered around me, everything blurred, as if trying to soften the blow. My breath caught, my chest fighting the most natural of instincts beneath the pain crushing it.

  Flexing my hands against the wrought iron table, I searched blindly for stability, a way to anchor myself in this awful new reality. My palms slid until my fingers curled around the edge, squeezing until my knuckles turned white.

  I was a lit fuse. I wasn’t sure if the detonation would be an implosion or an explosion.

  But destruction was inevitable.

  I licked my dry lips.

  Inhaled.

  Exhaled.

  I concentrated on the expansion of my ribs. The deflation of my chest.

  Rise.

  Fall.

  In.

  Out.

  I focused on my lungs. Because I couldn’t bear to think about my heart.

  ON MY DRIVE HOME, I got a text. From Aubrey.

  Save your pride and walk away now. He’s gonna dump you tonight. He’s already tired of you and your trip is the perfect time for him to make a clean break. Hell, he didn’t even wait for you to leave. He’s been with me all day. Woman to woman, I thought I owed you a head’s up.

  She’d attached a picture of West kneeling in front of her long, bare legs. He looked like he was about to take off her shoes for her. How fucking thoughtful of him.

  “YOU WANT TO go to Anchor now? I thought the plan was to meet the guys at the Wreck?” Rue leaned against my doorway, effortlessly sexy in a short skirt and loose tank.

  I twisted my hips, checking my backside in the mirror. Panty lines weren’t going to be a problem because I wasn’t wearing any.

  “Plans change. All the time. Without warning.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that mean?”

  I faced forward again and smoothed my hands down my snug black dress, coasting them over the curve of my hips. With my tan and my wild blond curls, I looked sexy.

  More important, I felt sexy. Too bad for West it was no longer for him. I didn’t know who the lucky man was yet, but somebody was going to be unwrapping me later.

  After all, wasn’t that the quickest way to get over a guy?

  I flicked my eyes to my best friend, willing her to understand without having to explain it all.

  “We’re going to Anchor. And we’re gonna drink. And we’re gonna dance. And we’re gonna see where that leads.” It probably would’ve sounded more fun if my eyes weren’t dead and my voice wasn’t leaden.

  Rue wrinkled her brow as she studied me. She was quiet for a long moment. “He fucked up?”

  I jutted my chin out and clenched my jaw, dropping my head in a jerky nod. I’m not gonna cry. He’s not worth it.

  “I hear there’s a good DJ tonight. Should be a big crowd.”

  My lips curved, more sneer than smile. “Fucking perfect. You ready?”

  She didn’t budge from the doorway. “I am. Are you?” Her voice was soft, the concern peeking through in her tone.

  “No.” I barked out a harsh laugh. “No. And I know this is a shitty way to deal with it. But it’s all I’ve got right now. Okay?”

  Rue smiled sadly, her expression soft. “I hear you, babe. Let me tell you though, from experience, it’s probably not gonna work. It’s gonna be a distraction at best, a regret at the worst.”

  I met her eyes, my gaze steady. “I’m okay with that.”

  She sighed. “Let’s go break some hearts then.”

  Too fucking late.

  Too fucking late.

  MY HIP THROBBED where I’d fallen harder than I meant to against the table. I slid the empty bottle farther away from me. Beer was my drink of choice tonight because I planned to
keep them coming nice and steady all night. That was number five. I think.

  My phone chirped. Again. It’d been making noise for the last two hours. I peered down at it, tipsy enough to finally be curious what he’d have to say. The messages filled my screen and then some.

  I’m back.

  I can’t wait to see you.

  Are you almost ready?

  I’m here. Where are you?

  Sadie, are you okay?

  Why aren’t you answering?

  There were more. His concern was evident.

  Too bad.

  He’d fucking sunk his own ship.

  A giggle slipped out. His own ship! I covered my mouth with my hand, my eyes watering with tears. It wasn’t that funny. It really wasn’t.

  Aubrey’s fake tits could be his flotation device. I was sure he had lots of practice hanging on to them.

  My laughter died abruptly.

  I studied my own breasts where they peeked out of the black jersey of my dress. They looked great tonight, but there was at least a cup size of extra padding in my bra propping the girls up. Aubrey’s boudoir photoshoot came to mind. Hers were fake, but they were well done. She’d dropped some serious cash on those babies.

  I cupped my chest, wondering if quantity was better than quality when it came to tit size.

  My fingers squeezed experimentally. They were good breasts. Sensitive. Perky. Clad in my most expensive bra. Somebody tonight was going to appreciate them.

  But not him.

  Resolved, I woke my phone up. Typed out a response and hit send before I could second guess myself.

  I’ve got some things to take care of. You understand.

  My screen immediately lit up with an incoming message, but I powered it off and left the text unread.

  Tonight wasn’t about him.

  It was about anybody but him.

  I picked up my fresh bottle of beer and took a long pull. I’d been ordering them two at a time; I was efficient like that.

  Rue put an arm around me, her lips wrapped around her own dark brown glass bottle. Releasing it with a pop, she leaned her head against me. With those heels, she would’ve been the same height as me if I was in flats, but I was rocking some serious shoes tonight too, so she only came to my chin.