Wrong then Right (A Love Happens Novel Book 2)

by Jodi Watters

  From far away, Sam Gleeson was the kind of man that easily caught a woman’s eye. Up close, he was the kind that melted her panties. Right after she offered to drop them.

  “Hey. Are you okay?” His voice lowered an octave and a wrinkle formed between his straight, dark brows. “Do you need some help?” He looked back toward her house, sitting next to his own, as if he expected to see the reason for her distress.

  “No, I’m fine,” she quickly replied, as if she hadn’t just been in the middle of a cathartic cry when Pete decided to disobey his master’s command and come introduce himself. The puppy had created a near perfect opportunity for her, but Ali wasn’t ready. Wincing inwardly, she knew she wasn’t ever going to be ready for what she needed to do in the coming days and weeks, but thanks to Sam’s number one ranking on the total hottie list, it wouldn’t be a hardship.

  That was, if she managed to rouse his interest.

  No second chance at a first impression, right? Life could be a real bitch.

  When he didn’t seem completely convinced by her answer, she smiled at the suspicious glint in his eyes. “Really. I’m fine,” she assured him, while nodding. Wishing her brain could conjure up a word other than fine.

  Clearly relieved that he didn’t have to deal with a tearful woman sitting on the beach not far from his back patio, his body relaxed and he gave Pete another quick pat before standing to his full height of six feet plus a few. Ali nearly swooned.

  “I’m Sam. I live right there.” He gestured with his head toward the beige contemporary house sitting next to her white-washed bungalow, as if she didn’t know. As if the mere knowledge of him hadn’t been the sole reason behind her purchase of the too large, too expensive home conveniently tucked close to his own. What she hadn’t been aware of was how potent he was in the flesh. “You just moved in, right?”

  Taking in his broad chest and tight abs covered in a snug gray t-shirt, along with his lean hips and thighs encased in jeans that were worn thin in all the good spots, she quickly regained her composure and stood up, wiping sand off the back of her shorts.

  “Yeah, a week ago.” Needing to retreat—to isolate herself as she’d been doing for the past few months, finding comfort in her solitary life—she raised her hand in a brief wave and headed toward her own back porch. Calling herself a colossal chicken shit.

  Pete barked, the high pitched sound sending a shot of unfamiliar happiness through her, and she turned toward him as he ran the few steps to catch up with her. His tail swished back and forth when she reached down to rub his soft ears and a laugh escaped her before she could stop it. It felt odd. And wrong. As if she didn’t have the right.

  “Bye, Pete. See you soon.” Still smiling, she glanced up as she turned to leave again and her gaze caught Sam’s, their eyes locking for a second longer than appropriate, considering they were strangers. Her chest tightened near the vicinity of her heart and that felt wrong, too.

  “You’re not gonna tell me your name, are you?” he said, his smooth voice equal parts amused and incredulous.

  “Ali,” she replied with a small grin, her steps slow in the deep sand.

  “Nice to meet you, Ali.”

  Only half turning around, she repeated his softly spoken words. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

  He watched her as she skipped up the wide steps of her back porch and disappeared into the dark house. She knew this because as she shut and locked the sliding glass door behind her, taking special care to set the security alarm, he stood right where she left him. A shadowed figure illuminated only by the rusty colored horizon at his back, looking like her very own personal sentinel for all the world to see, on duty to protect her against any harm that might come.

  If he only knew.

  “Shit. Shit, shit, shit!” Ali chastised herself as she began her minutes long nightly ritual before heading to bed.

  While most women might have a strict bedtime regimen of plucking, exfoliating and moisturizing, using an array of beauty products that cost a fool’s fortune, doing everything in their power to keep the wrinkles at bay and their men interested, Ali did none of that. Sure, she loved all the yummy smelling potions as much as the next girl, but she had other priorities.

  Instead, her nightly routine was completing an obsessive mental checklist to ensure every single window and door was locked tightly and her expensive, state of the art security system was set at the highest sensitivity level. In all honesty, it was a ritual she performed several times a day. And once or twice during the long, lonely hours of the night.

  “Why did you just walk away? God, you are such a wimp. You’re supposed to get close to him, not run away like a prudish schoolgirl.” As if letting him witness her mortifying sob fest wasn’t bad enough. “That is not a turn on.”

  She muttered under her breath while double checking the deadbolt on the front door, unlocking then locking it again, her mind easing only slightly as the loud metallic sound echoed through the quiet house. Window by window, she completed her task, never finding a single one unlocked or tampered with. Nightlights were placed strategically throughout the main and upper levels, giving off just enough glow to cut through the darkness, and after checking the garage door one more time, still closed and secure, she slowly walked upstairs to the bedrooms. Several of the stair treads, covered in the original walnut hardwood, creaked under her feet and while her realtor had been quick to assure her it was an easy fix, Ali had left them as is.

  “You had him right in front of you. And this is not the time to play hard to get.” She laughed out loud at the absurd thought. It wasn’t as if he’d been flirting with her. It wasn’t as if he had asked her out to dinner and she’d coyly declined, liking the thought of the chase. And it sure as shit wasn’t as if he’d asked her to join him in a welcome to the ‘hood one night stand, although that would have made this whole thing a hell of a lot easier. She was in way over her head here. Talk about underestimating her powers of feminine persuasion. She couldn’t even handle a basic conversation with him without getting tongue-tied. How many times had she said the word fine, again? Freaking pathetic. What in the world made her think she could pull this off, anyway?

  Mumbling under her breath, she walked into the small guest bedroom. The windows were secure, as they had been when she’d checked a few hours ago, and she glanced at the ornate iron bed dressed perfectly with crisp linens covered in a pretty coastal theme of shells and starfish. Ali knew full well this room would never have guests, probably never even have another set of eyes laid on it, but this was the first home that she had just for herself. If she wanted insanely expensive, peach colored fish on a bed that would never be slept on, then so be it. Years of not being allowed to spend a single dollar over the budget, even on something as necessary as groceries, did that to a person. The memory of what had happened to her one cold winter day, when she had spent eighteen dollars over her household grocery budget, flashed through her mind as she entered the spacious master suite.

  She had paid a price that day, for those eighteen bucks. And it didn’t have a thing to do with money.

  “That’s why you have to do this, Ali.” She said the words sternly, staring at her reflection in the huge master bathroom mirror before stripping off her white shirt, the pale pink tank underneath coming off just as quickly. Her shorts landed on top of the other two pieces as she placed them neatly in the wicker laundry basket, knowing that by lunch tomorrow they would be clean and folded, tucked carefully into her dresser drawer. There was a semblance of safety that came with order, even if it was a false sense of security.

  Reaching in and turning the shower handle to hot, she pushed the button for the steam feature and caught her sideways reflection in the mirror. Squeezing her eyes tightly shut didn’t change the sight that greeted her when she opened them a second later. Walking closer to the mirror, the steam just beginning to blur the surface, she touched the puckered skin on her right hip. Felt the slightly raised scar spanning almost four inches long from
front to back, the ugly arcing slash still pink in its newness.

  It was a cut meant not to kill, but to hurt. A permanent warning. One Ali had heeded.

  “That’s why you have to do this,” she said fiercely, her body now completely obscured by the steam on the mirror. The whispered words were convincing in their desperation as she stepped into the hot shower. “It’s only sex. Sex in exchange for your freedom.”