“I made my choice weeks ago. Apparently it hasn’t been obvious enough.” With a harsh noise, he pulled himself higher up my body, my breasts crushed beneath his chest, his heat scorching me.
Framing my face with his hands and forcing me to meet his stare, he gazed down at me, his eyes harsh and fierce. His thumb stroked over my tender lower lip and he chuckled once, the rough sound vibrating in my own chest.
“This isn’t how I wanted to do this. I had a plan—but leave it to you and your hard-headed stubbornness—” he cut himself off and pressed a kiss, soft and tender, to my forehead.
The unexpected change in pace gave me whiplash.
“I love you, Sadie.”
I tried to shake my head, sure I hadn’t heard him right.
“Yes. I. Love. You. I thought—I thought you knew. I thought my actions showed it. The paper airplanes, crawling in your window to cuddle for a few hours, your hair tie that I can’t bring myself to take off my wrist—how could you not know? Do you think I take moonlit walks with all my female friends? That I get so crazy going up my back stairs that I can’t even wait the few steps it would take to get to my bed with just any woman? I can’t hardly pass a fucking Krispy Kreme anymore without getting a hard-on. Gives a whole new meaning to the HOT NOW sign in the window.”
I stilled beneath him. That was everything I’d wanted to hear—but now couldn’t bear. My heart felt like it was in a blender, my emotions chopped to bits and flying everywhere. He was lying—I’d seen him with her with my own two eyes. The pictures in his nightstand. The lunch meetings he conveniently didn’t mention.
But I wanted desperately to believe him too. His eyes shone with sincerity, and the memories of all the times we were together, just together, came roaring back. Not the sex. The other times. His stubbornness trying to coax me into the ocean. Lying on the hammock, legs intertwined. The way our bodies automatically curled together in sleep.
The look on his face dropped, twisted, grew more determined. “I know you feel this connection we have, Sadie. It’s undeniable.” Reaching one hand between us, he plunged a finger into me. I was wet, more than ready for him and my hips surged up. He added a second and it was all I could do to focus on his words. “You think you respond this way because we click physically? You think this is just biological compatibility? You think this is just hormones at work?”
He worked me, pumping me with his hand, the heel of his palm circling my clit. I couldn’t answer, my body on sensory overload. I gasped his name. It was the only thought in my mind.
“You think you could feel this way with just anybody?”
When he withdrew from me abruptly, a cry of need wrenched from my throat. I was so close now. He unzipped his pants, pushing them down just far enough to free himself. He settled between my thighs, his cock a welcome warmth against my sensitive skin.
I squirmed, searching for pressure, friction, anything to ease this feeling inside me, despite knowing this was wrong, knowing this was goodbye.
“You don’t think it’s gotten better between us for a reason? I know you love me—you don’t even have to say it. I thought you knew it too. I thought the way our bodies spoke to each other made it clear—you don’t reach these heights, feel this passion, experience this utter perfection without love.”
“You don’t love me,” I gasped, tilting my hips until he was poised at my entrance.
“The hell I don’t!” he roared, impaling me with one hard thrust.
We both paused, the fullness of him stretching me, completing me, overwhelmed everything else. His neck muscles bulged, and his ass flexed under my hands. Even yelling at each other, nothing had ever felt more right than being joined with him.
And even if I never got to experience it again after tonight, I knew I’d never forget how he felt inside me. His long, hot length, greedy and impatient, moving now at a savage pace.
He dropped his mouth to my neck, sucking hard. Marking me.
I clutched him tighter, squeezed harder, slid against him, met each thrust. I wanted everything he could give me one last time.
He changed his angle, rolling his hips on the downward stroke, making sure my clit wasn’t ignored. We moved together, scaling the precipice until it was too much and I was right there at the peak. Tears fell from my eyes as my orgasm burst through me, scary in its intensity, its finality.
Another pump, one more, and he joined me, my name a harsh cry on his lips.
He buried his face in my shoulder, his chest heaving, as he pulsed deep within me. We stayed like that for a long minute, aftershocks rocking both of us as we caught our breath.
With a satisfied groan, he twisted, our sweaty bodies sticking to the leather seats as he rolled until I lay spent across his chest, my cheek pressed to the thundering pulse of his heart.
He ran his hand down my hair.
“Stay,” he whispered. “You’re mine. Fuck, if I’m doing something wrong, talk to me, teach me. But you can’t go. Not like this.”
I brushed my lips over his damp skin.
“I can’t, West. I can’t do this again. I shouldn’t ever have to wonder if I can trust you. Have to wonder if you’re with her, thinking of her, touching her.”
He started to protest, but I covered his mouth with my hand.
“You want to talk about actions? You were carrying her! She was draped all over you! You were laughing!”
My hand was ripped off his mouth.
“She’s an idiot who twisted her fucking ankle and I was taking her to the ER—”
“You know what?” I interrupted. “I don’t fucking care. I’m sure you have an excuse. You always do. I’m sure you have a perfectly good reason for having half-naked pictures of her in your nightstand too.”
He wrinkled his brow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. Scooping his shirt off the floorboard, I slid it over my head, grateful it would be long enough to cover my dripping sex. Glaring at him, I scrambled out of the truck. I didn’t even register the sharp edges of the crushed oyster shells digging into my bare feet.
“Why don’t you check when you get home? Then you can tell me what completely legitimate excuse you have for that. Because, I’m sure you have one.”
Tucking himself back inside his pants and zipping up, he followed me.
“Sadie, don’t do this. Don’t go. Catch a later flight. Turn down the job. Let’s work this out.”
I turned flat eyes on him, ignoring the hand he stretched in my direction. “There’s nothing to work out. We’re done.”
“We’re not done! Quit saying that!”
Stepping close, I kissed him one last time, softly, lips closed. A final goodbye.
“You really love me, West? Let me go. Just let me go.”
I WAITED LIKE a fool. Laid in bed, wide awake, dry-eyed, trembling at times with arousal and other times with anger. I wanted to scream and yell and beat my fists on his chest. Kiss him senseless and fuck him until we were too tired to talk anymore. My lips wanted to whisper in his ear that I loved him too, that we’d make this work. I plotted Aubrey’s demise with increasing detail. The ways I’d prove her wrong. Prove West did love me—that we were perfect for each other.
But I didn’t get to do any of that.
Because he never came.
Not when I got up to get a glass of warm milk. Not when the stars mocked me when I looked out the window for his truck—again. Not when the gray fingers of dawn stretched awake. Not while I showered off the last remnants I had of us, the last of him on me, our musky smell replaced with my usual cheap watermelon products. Not while I finished packing, my body on autopilot as I plucked toiletries from my bathroom counter. Not as I hauled two oversized suitcases to the curb and waited for Grady to pick me up on the way to the Savannah airport.
He didn’t show last minute, running to the gate, desperate for a last attempt to convince me to stay.
He didn’t text. Didn
’t call. Didn’t appear.
He never came.
He let me go.
He let me go.
He let me go.
YOU KNOW WHAT was great about airplanes? They served alcohol. Even in the morning. Today was only a travel day, according to Grady. I wasn’t officially on the clock, so why not start the day with a screwdriver? I didn’t remember much else from the first flight—Savannah to Miami. Just that one screwdriver I nursed the entire way. I was stuck next to some foreign businessman in coach who thankfully ignored me, leaving me to brood in my drink and stare unseeing out the window.
As I looked at the miniature landscape spread out thousands of feet below me, I remembered exactly how small I really was in this great big world. That my pain was nothing compared to all the problems that existed and plagued the world. Poverty, hunger, illiteracy, crime, discrimination. My heartbreak was so far down that list of problems.
And yet, I felt crushed by it.
Shattered. Cracked. Betrayed.
But not destroyed. I was too fucking stubborn to let a guy utterly destroy me again.
No. If nothing else, I had my pride.
And my pride demanded that by the time I arrive in the Caribbean, my wallowing would end. I had one more flight to pout and then I had to pull on my big girl panties.
If West was too dumb to realize what he fucked up, that was on him—not me.
I was a damn fine catch.
Any man should be lucky to have me by his side. Fucking honored.
I downed the last gulp of my screwdriver and allowed myself a tight, bitter smile. Anger was so much easier than denial. I was making nice progress through the stages of grief.
Miami was a blur. Grady and I had to race to make our connection—which actually turned out to be a decent-sized plane. Like the first leg of the trip, he sat in first class and I sat mid-plane in a seat over the wing. This time, my seatmate was a man traveling solo who looked only a few years older than me. And, unlike last time, this guy didn’t seem content to ignore me.
After stuffing a carryon in the overhead bin, he turned to face me, reaching out to shake my hand. “Hey. I’m Nick.”
Begrudgingly giving him my hand, I lifted my face to his. “Sadie.”
His warm fingers held mine a moment too long, and I tugged it back, tucking it under my thigh. He had dark eyes, like the color West preferred his coffee. The memory made me scowl.
Nick’s eyes widened and he looked over his shoulder. “Is something wrong? Do you get airsick or something?”
I blushed, embarrassed at taking out my frustration on this innocent guy. “No. I—I’m fine.”
He paused, his gaze drifting over my features. I wondered what he saw as he studied my face before his focus dropped to take in the rest of me. I glanced down, self-consciously. The scooped neck of my top had twisted a little from my seatbelt, and the barest edge of my lavender bra peeked out on one side. I fumbled with the cotton fabric, adjusting it back in place.
A smile lingered on his lips when I looked back up at him. “Yes, you are,” he said softly.
I fidgeted. Was he flirting? I took a minute to absorb the rest of him. He skin was bronzed, and his brown hair was streaked from the sun. Faint laugh lines cracked the sharp planes of his face, his full lips still tipped in a grin.
Why the hell was I noticing his lips?
I didn’t allow my survey to drop below his smooth-shaven chin and the strong angle of his jaw, but his shoulders were brushing mine, so he was clearly broad.
Alcohol. I needed more alcohol.
The flight attendant went through the safety talk and Nick paid attention, which was noticeable only because most passengers were ignoring it. He glanced over his shoulder to locate the emergency exit, two rows behind us.
When the plane began its taxi to the runway, he gripped the armrests tightly, dislodging my elbow in the process.
“Sorry,” he gritted out.
“Nervous?”
“Nope.”
I raised my eyebrows.
He grimaced. “Scared shitless is a better description.”
I bit my lip so I wouldn’t smile, but he saw the small motion.
“Most plane crashes occur within two minutes of takeoff. Once we’re in the air, I’ll be fine. It’s just those first two minutes.”
He braced himself with his feet, his thighs flexing under his gray pants.
“Talk to me. Distract me.” His eyes pleaded with me, belaying the gruff tone to his voice.
“Ummm. Okay.” I paused, my mind blank. “Are you single?”
What the fuck? Where had that question come from?
“Yes. You?”
I clenched my jaw, turned away for a second. “Yup. Very.”
His eyes narrowed as he observed me. “What’d he do?”
“What?”
“What’d the idiot do?”
“He was an idiot.” I shrugged.
“Clearly.”
Shaking my head, I turned the question back on him. “What about you? Why are you single?”
“I travel a lot for work. It makes it hard.”
That word. I couldn’t help my eyes from flicking down to his crotch.
The muscles in his arm relaxed as he laughed at me. “Yeah, it can be a problem sometimes. But I handle it.”
I coughed. Did he mean what I thought?
The laugh lines around his eyes deepened as he struggled to keep a straight face.
“Is it a problem that comes up a lot?” What the fuck was wrong with me this morning? I blamed my lack of filter on my way-too-early-in-the-morning drink.
He kept his voice serious. “Just morning and night.”
I snickered and he relaxed the rest of the way, his knuckles no longer white against the armrest.
“I’ve mastered some coping techniques. I could teach you. You may need them in the future, if you run into any more idiots.”
I blinked. Damn, he was bold. I looked down where his hand rested between us, unconsciously checking out his fingers. Long and lean. Surprisingly lean for such a broad guy.
“I’ve had a lot of experience—”
“I’m sure you have,” I interrupted.
“ . . . and it’d be a shame for all that knowledge to just go to waste,” he finished.
“We do live in a wasteful society these days.”
“It’s sad, really.”
This was the moment we should’ve busted out laughing. But, instead, we stared at each other, the tension rising between us. And I was grateful. This—this is what I needed. To spend a few hours flirting harmlessly with a good-looking guy I’d never see again. To take my mind off West. To remember there were other fish in the sea, other men who would find me attractive.
“I think we’re past the two minute mark now.” I broke the thick silence.
“Does that mean you’re done talking to me?”
“Are you still scared?”
“Terrified. I think you should hold my hand.” His eyes twinkled with mischief.
“I’m sure.”
“It would help.” His face was the very picture of sincerity.
“How do you know?” I couldn’t help but smile at his audacity.
“I don’t. But I won’t know until I try.” He scooped my hand into his, his grip loose and easy. He seemed at ease touching me, someone he’d known less than half an hour.
And oddly, I was okay with it. His vibe was so relaxed, I didn’t feel that weirdness that normally happens when a stranger enters my personal space. He left our hands dangling between us, his tan a slightly more olive tone than my own.
“Do you often hold hands with strangers?” I’d never met someone like him. I was intrigued.
“The pretty ones—as often as I can. But I’m shallow. I pass on the ugly ones.”
“Worried it’s contagious?”
He winked. “Are you implying I’m good looking?”
I opened my mouth then snapped it shut. Tried again. “I
mean, I’d say you’re about a six right now. A solid six.” I nodded to reinforce my words.
He shook his head. “I’m at least an eight.”
“Eh, that might be pushing it.” Teasing him felt natural. And he was an eight. Maybe a nine.
“You should see me when I’m trying.”
“You’re not trying right now?”
“Nah. This is my laidback, casual look. When I go for devastatingly handsome, that’s when you should look out. You can’t start looking your best. You have to build up to it, give them something to look forward to. Otherwise, they’re disappointed every time after that first encounter.”
I paused. That actually wasn’t terrible advice.
He nudged me with his broad shoulder. “I told you. Lots of experience.”
The flight attendant stopped next to our row, took our drink orders. I picked another screwdriver, accepting the tiny liquor bottle and plastic cup of orange juice. He ordered the same.
He let go of my hand so we could assemble our drinks and my fingers felt cool without his shared warmth.
“So, is Grand Cayman your final stop?” I was curious now.
He nodded. “I got a last minute assignment. I’m a photographer.”
“Me too!”
We spent the rest of the flight talking shop, debating techniques, and sharing tips. He was a lot more technical than I was, and I paid attention, even jotted down some notes on my phone.
When he spoke about his work, his face lit up and he used his hands. His passion for the field was clear. And contagious. We traded customer horror stories and compared equipment. He was a big fan of having multiple lenses and using additional lighting equipment. I was more of an in-the-moment, use-what’s-available kind of girl. Less is more and all that. He spent at least thirty minutes trying to convince me of the merits of his camera of choice—one that cost three times my current favorite.
We got so lost in our conversation, the landing took me by surprise, the slight bounce as we touched down startling me and making me automatically latch onto his arm.
He muscle flexed under my palm, his other hand coming up to cover mine. “You okay there?”
Soaked (The Water's Edge #2) Page 3