Soaked (The Water's Edge #2)

by Stacy Kestwick

  “No one,” I said shakily, pausing to take a breath and steady my words, “no one will ever talk to me like I’m a cheap piece of ass to be passed around. Not him, and definitely not you.”

  I tried to scoot past him but there wasn’t enough room. Gritting my teeth, I shouldered my way back to the sidewalk, only to be stopped by his hand circling my wrist and stopping me.

  “You know that’s not what I meant.” His voice was adamant. “Not how I would ever see you.”

  Twisting my arm free, I glared at him. “You’re almost as bad as him. Whatever fucked up shit you have going on with Aubrey? If that’s how you treat someone you care about, I don’t want any part of it.”

  “Well too fucking bad. You are a part of it. You’re the only fucking part of me that matters anymore, and I’ve been busting my ass trying to show you that.”

  My face wrinkled in confusion. “Beating up my ex-boyfriend? Yeah, you really know the way to a woman’s heart.”

  He stared at me for a long minute, before dropping his chin to his chest and shaking his head. “Is that all you’ve seen? Did you not get my notes in Grand Cayman? Have you not heard about the changes—” He bit off the rest of his words.

  Frustration filled his eyes and pinched his brow when he lifted his head again. “My sister, Hailey, is the strongest, smartest woman I know. And she told me actions say more than words ever will. I’m showing you, Sadie. I’m trying with everything I have to show you that you’re my world. Why can’t you fucking see that?” He choked out a laugh before turning away from me, stopping next to the open door of his truck. He was quiet, and I watched his chest expand and contract as he took several ragged breaths before he spoke again, his voice flat. “Get in. I’ll take you back to your hotel.”

  “I can get a taxi, you don’t ne—”

  “Get. In. The. Truck.”

  “West, I—”

  “Sadie. Please. Just get in the goddamn truck. I just want to know you got back to your hotel safely. That’s it.”

  Feeling oddly guilty for the defeated slump of his shoulders and the resignation in his voice, I gave in, climbing in his giant beast of a truck without a word. He shut the door for me, before moving around to the driver seat.

  He didn’t look at me as he put the truck in gear. Didn’t turn on the radio. Didn’t try to talk. Just kept his eyes on the road and delivered me as promised to the front door of the hotel before I realized I’d never even told him where I was staying. I hesitated before opening the door, looking over at his stony expression as he stared out the windshield, his forearms stiff and unyielding as he gripped the steering wheel tightly with his fists.

  His hands . . .

  The knuckles were swollen, several of them torn and bloody. I gasped, reaching out instinctively to touch the back of the one closest to me. I hadn’t even taken a second to catalogue his injuries—wounds he incurred on my behalf—and I was suddenly ashamed of my selfishness.

  “You’re hurt!”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Let me help yo—”

  “These scratches? They’re nothing.” He flicked his wrist dismissively, but as I peered at his face in the shadowed interior, I could already see his eye swelling and the purple bruise blooming on his cheek.

  “Come inside with me. The least I can do is bandage you up after you defended my honor.”

  His lips twisted. “Trust me, it was my pleasure.” His eyes grew stormy for a moment as he flexed his fingers, but then he glanced at me and slow smirk spread across his face, a gleam entering those eyes that should have been a warning he wasn’t going to play fair. “But if you want to play doctor with me, who am I to say no?”

  Before I could protest that I wasn’t exactly offering up that, he shifted the truck back into drive and maneuvered into a parking spot. Ever the gentleman, he opened my door and helped me from his oversized vehicle, his injured hands lingering on my waist after he lowered me down.

  “Which room is yours?”

  “It’s . . .” I faltered, remembering my purse with my hotel key was still in Rue’s car. “I don’t have my key.”

  Shaking his head at me, West continued toward the front door. “Guess we’re going to my room then.” Looking back over his shoulder, he winked at me with his good eye.

  “You’re staying here too?” I frowned as I hurried to keep up with his long strides.

  “Yup.”

  Of course, he was.

  Catching up to him, I took stock of what else I could see. Torn shirt. Scraped forearm. The corner of his lip puffy and crusted with dried blood. Shit, he might have a fracture. Or have a concussion. Were his ribs okay? His back? Maybe when we got upstairs he should take off his shirt so I could—

  Yeah, he’d love it if he knew what I was thinking right then. I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped as we crossed the lobby.

  “Something funny?” He slanted a glance at me as he pulled the flat, plastic hotel keycard from his back pocket and pressed the button to call the elevator.

  No. Nothing about this was funny. Not really.

  “Just thinking about a different elevator ride with you,” I said finally.

  His brow furrowed as he tried to remember, and then his face brightened. “Ah, the night you had the best sex ever?” He leaned closer, his whisper harsh, one part challenge, one part promise. “Until me.”

  I closed my eyes at his words. Damn him for being right.

  The elevator doors opened, and I moved to the back. West followed, caging me with his arms against the shiny mirrored walls, crowding me until his chest touched mine. He was giving me whiplash, taking me from angry to concerned to aroused before I could settle on any one feeling. It was overwhelming, not knowing what was going to happen next with him. Not knowing what I wanted to happen next.

  But, fuck, he made me feel alive and vital and important like no one ever had before.

  “Which time was the best, do you think? That first time—in your bed? Or the time in the rain on the boat?” His lips brushed my ear as he spoke and a shiver ran down my spine, a reaction he didn’t miss. He ran the tip of his tongue down the side of my neck, and I struggled to contain the moan that wanted to escape. “The stairwell at the barbeque was pretty damn hot.”

  His hand dropped to my hip, his fingers slipping under the edge of my shirt to caress the skin just above my waistband.

  I tipped my neck—turning away from his words, not giving him better access.

  Ha. Even I didn’t believe that lie.

  “Or maybe,” he continued, pausing to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth, “maybe we haven’t had our best yet.”

  I bit my lip and couldn’t stop myself from putting a hand on his chest. Using every ounce of willpower I could muster, I pushed him back until there were a few inches between us.

  “We need to get you bandaged. And talk.”

  The elevator stopped, the little ding as it opened breaking the moment.

  He eased away from me, his expression telling me he wanted to do a lot more than simply talk, and walked down the hall, stopping two doors down from my own room.

  Because, where else would his room be? I cursed Rue under my breath for not telling me.

  After jamming the key in the slot, he stepped into the doorway and held the door open but didn’t move out of the way. My eyes narrowed as I brushed by him, knowing from the look in his eyes that he was forcing the extra contact.

  And hell if my traitorous nipples didn’t tighten in response.

  Trying to keep the upper hand, I snagged the ice bucket from the bathroom counter, flipped the door latch out so the door couldn’t close all the way, and slipped back down the hall, needing a minute to just fucking breathe. But really, getting ice from the machine wasn’t nearly long enough for me to wrap my head around what West’s appearance meant.

  What I wanted to do about it.

  About him.

  About . . . us.

  When I entered his room again, he was jus
t pulling his shirt over his head, the muscles in his back bunching as they were exposed. I tripped, almost dropping the bucket in the process.

  Was it possible he’d gotten even more ripped in the two weeks we’d been apart?

  I stopped in the bathroom and wet a washcloth and collected a clean hand towel. West sat on the end of the bed in all his shirtless glory, a slight smirk on his face as he watched me approach. But he was wrong if he thought I was going to fall right back in his arms, as gorgeous as they were with that Japanese wave tattoo covering the left one.

  Since his knuckles looked the worst, I started there, wrapping ice up in the hand towel and gently setting that on his hand. Then I took the wet washcloth and starting wiping the bits of blood from his forearms, his neck, and his face.

  As I dabbed around his swelling eye, he sucked in a sharp breath, and I paused. “You okay?”

  He wrapped the fingers of his uninjured hand around my wrist, stilling my ministrations. He kissed my palm, then placed my hand over his heart, where I could feel the steady thud. “I am now.”

  Biting my lip, I tugged free of his grip. He let me go with a sad smile.

  Wiping away the last of the obvious blood, I tucked some more ice in the rag and held it up to his discolored eye.

  “What exactly do you think is okay now?” I ventured.

  “Us.”

  Us. The word rolled around my head. Such a simple yet elusive concept.

  I sighed.

  “I’m not sure there is an us right now.” He opened his mouth to protest so I kept talking. “Whatever did or didn’t happen with Aubrey, the fact remains that you should’ve talked to me more. I get that your history with her is complicated. What I don’t get is why it’s complicated—because you’ve never bothered to explain it to me past the whole we’re just friends bullshit you’ve fed me. And if you think some two-sentence explanation is going to clear all that up, or a couple of punches is going to make that disappear . . . you’re wrong.”

  West lifted the ice from his knuckles, bending his fingers and wincing from the effort. Replacing the makeshift icepack, he kept his gaze lowered, not allowing me to read what was going on in that head of his. I took advantage of his distraction to let my gaze wander over him and drink him in.

  He hadn’t shaved in longer than normal, his usual two-day scruff replaced with something thicker. It gave him a slightly dangerous look that he worked the fuck out of. I resisted rubbing my palm along it, but I couldn’t help imagining what it would feel like against other parts of me.

  Like my inner thighs.

  I pressed my legs together.

  The tug on my arm caught me by surprise and knocked me off balance until I was perched on the end of the bed next to him, our sides touching from shoulder to hip. Scooping up my hand in his, he laced our fingers together and turned his head until our eyes locked.

  “Aubrey sees me as her ticket to freedom. Her old-school Italian parents won’t let her out from under their thumbs until she’s married off to someone they approve of to take care of their precious princess.” He rolled his eyes as he said the last part. “And seeing that our parents are best friends, they specifically want that someone to be me. Aubrey isn’t interested in me so much as what I represent to her. What being with me would mean to her as far as moving forward with her life. And she’s desperate to do that.”

  “Why doesn’t she just leave?”

  His expression hardened. “Because that Italian princess has never worked a day in her life to earn a paycheck, and her income is dependent on her either living at home or being married.”

  “So why doesn’t she get a job?”

  “Because that would actually require her to work, Sadie. And she doesn’t want to do that.” West sounded exasperated that he was having to spell it out for me. “She’s perfectly happy to flit about manipulating people, pulling strings behind the scenes, making people think they owe her favors.” He paused. “She really ought to consider going into politics, huh?”

  I turned his explanation over in my head, searching for flaws, but only finding an ugly truth.

  That I was just collateral damage.

  But still . . .

  “Why not tell me this weeks ago? And what’s that got to do with her being in your arms in Charleston?”

  “I didn’t tell you weeks ago because I didn’t think she was a problem, and I had better things to do when I was with you than talk about her.” Frustration colored his tone and his fingers tightened around mine as he spoke. “I’ve known for months, hell, maybe years, nothing serious was ever going to happen between me and her. I thought that was enough. I didn’t realize you were actually threatened by her.” He stopped, laughing a little. “I mean, Sadie, have you looked at yourself in the mirror? You’re gorgeous. It’s like comparing . . . I don’t know—a hot Krispy Kreme doughnut to a picture of one. I want the one that’s real, that I can touch and bite and lick and get messy with. She’s a two-dimensional caricature of what a man wants. You,” he let his gaze trail down me before meeting my eyes again, “you’re my fucking dream come true.”

  My heart leapt at his words, pounding furiously within the cage of my ribs. Maybe it wasn’t every girl’s fantasy to be compared to a pastry, but when he started using words like lick and get messy with, I could get on board with the analogy. Lord knew I liked the way he devoured me.

  “Hell, you’re the dream I didn’t even know I had until it happened. I’d never cared about waking up next to a girl, or trying to figure out how to make her smile, or wanting to show her all the things I loved until you tried to rescue me out in the waves that day. You did save me. I just hadn’t realized it yet.” He freed his hand to cup my cheek, and I leaned into his touch without thinking. I was drowning in his words. He ran his thumb across my lower lip and my tongue snuck out to steal a taste, pulling a tortured groan from West.

  “And Charleston . . .” His fingers trailed down my neck before intertwining with mine again. “I hate to say she planned to sprain her ankle on my boat, but I wouldn’t necessarily put it past her either. Regardless, once it happened, she milked the situation for all that it was worth. Her piece of shit dad couldn’t be bothered taking his daughter to the clinic and slipped me an extra hundred to take care of that little chore for him. I’m sure he saw it as a way for us to get closer. Maybe he was hoping I’d feel protective or something, I don’t know. And as much as she makes me crazy with her little stunts, I wasn’t so heartless that I was just going to abandon her at the marina when she couldn’t even walk.”

  He wasn’t. And the way he loved his friends, was there for them when they needed help, was one of the things that made me fall for him in the first place.

  But fucking Aubrey could take a long walk off a short plank and I wouldn’t miss her.

  A drop of water dripped from the rag I was still holding to his eye, tracing an icy path down my forearm. I shivered and lowered my arm.

  His eye looked terrible, and bruises were starting to purple his torso and jaw beneath the scruff. I’d never had a man actually fight on my behalf before.

  And it was fucking hot.

  But I’d trusted Asher with my whole heart once, too, believed every pretty lie he’d spouted at me. And look where I’d ended up. Even though I knew West wasn’t Asher, it didn’t make trusting him any easier.

  I ghosted my fingertips over his injuries, wincing as he pulled away when I brushed a tender spot on his ribs. “You should probably get some x-rays or something,” I murmured. “Or at least some decent painkillers.”

  He rolled his shoulders, all those delicious muscles flexing and moving under his tanned skin. “I’ll live. I’ll be a bit stiff tomorrow, but it’s nothing you can’t nurse me through tonight.” He snuck a hopeful glance at me when he said that last part.

  Through the night?

  I couldn’t help my eyes from straying to the mound of pillows on the king size bed.

  Or the way my palms grew damp.

 
; Or stop my tongue from darting out to slick my parted lips.

  I can’t stay.

  I repeated the phrase like a litany until my thighs relaxed from the way they were pressing together.

  “You know you want to.” His voice was a husky dare.

  I do . . .

  “I can’t.”

  “You can.”

  “No. I don’t know exactly what we are—if we’re anything—but staying the night isn’t the solution.”

  “It’d fix one of my problems,” he said, glancing at the obvious bulge in his pants.

  Holy hell.

  I rubbed my palms over my jeans and he cursed softly, watching the motion.

  “Sadie.” My belly fluttered at hearing him say my name. “I’ve missed you. I haven’t seen you in two weeks. Are you really going to make me sleep here alone—knowing you’re two doors down the hall?”

  “I think . . .” I took a measured breath. “I think I just left from cleaning up the mess that happened the last time I trusted a guy. And I’m not sure I’m ready to trust another one yet. Not the way you want me to.”

  Disappointment flared in his eyes, the brightness that was there a moment ago dimming. “I’m not him.” Conviction threaded his declaration.

  “I know. And while your wounds are visible, that doesn’t mean I don’t have some too. I need some time.” Tears burned my eyes, and I blinked rapidly to hold them at bay. Rising from the bed, needing to escape, I gestured at his battered-but-still-beautiful body. “Do you want me to at least find you some ibuprofen before I go?”

  His laugh held no humor. “No. Ibuprofen isn’t what I need.” The stark need in his eyes rooted me to the spot. “You are.”

  MY FINGERS WERE wrapped around the door handle when the heat from his chest pressing against my back seared through my thin shirt, his palm shooting out to keep the door closed.

  “One last thing before you go.” Hot breath fanned my neck, and my nipples tightened.

  I dropped my head down, resisting the urge to turn around and throw myself into his arms, but I couldn’t help leaning into him just a little. He removed his hand from the door and traced a finger down my bare arm.