by J. B. McGee
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Advertencia Antipirateria del FBI: La reproducción o distribución no autorizada de una obra protegida por derechos de autor es ilegal. La infracción criminal de los derechos de autor, incluyendo la infracción sin lucro monetario, es investigada por el FBI y es castigable con pena de hasta cinco años en prisión federal y una multa de $250,000.
Cover Illustration Copyright © 2014 by Indie Pixel Studio, Frolova Elena, and StephanieFrey
Chapter opening illustrations © 2016 by Kamenuka and Indie Pixel Studio
Some images used under license from BigStockPhoto.com
Editing by Lawrence Editing
Cover design and interior formatting by
Indie Pixel Studio
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
CONNECT WITH J.B.
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EPILOGUE
OUT OF THE STORM PREVIEW
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
“I think the words you stop yourself from saying are the ones that will haunt you the longest."
-Taylor Swift
“How much of this shit is yours?” I ask Cammie, surveying the mess that’s her living room. “And are you gonna report this or just let it go?”
She shrugs. “Most of it is mine, but it’s just stuff. I don’t really care about it. It can be replaced.”
I nod. If most of what’s been ruined is hers, then I’m pretty sure I know who did this, and I think she does too. “Cops?”
She gives her head a small shake. “I don’t think so.” She walks to the modern all white kitchen and opens a cabinet, pulling a dustpan and handheld broom. “I’m pretty sure this was Oliver.”
“Damn. Does he do this kind of thing a lot?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” She brushes the shards of shattered glass from the broken picture frames and what used to probably be a side table.
“But he’s done it before?”
She glances up through her lashes. “He’s got a hot temper.”
What I want to ask her is why she’s cleaning up his mess. This isn’t her place anymore. Why can’t she just get her stuff and get out of here? But I decide to hang back and hold my tongue. Despite her reassurance that she is all in this with me, I’m still not sure I want to influence her any more than I already have. But damn, I feel stupid just standing here with my ankles and arms crossed leaning against a wall while she’s on her knees. On her knees cleaning up her now ex-fiancé’s apartment. I could get used to seeing her like that doing other stuff, though. My cock agrees as it swells in my pants. “Cam?”
“Yeah?” Her green eyes are wide and on mine with that intensity I’ve come to love.
“What do you want me to do?” I arch a brow, taking a step closer. My mind is racing. There’s a part of me that just wants to get her out of here, take her to my place or the guest house, and devour her. The other part wants me to take her right now in Oliver’s apartment against a wall, on a countertop, anywhere and everywhere. Even though I said I wouldn’t. But that was before. Before she was free, totally available now. Before her parents knew—at least one of them. Everything is done and way faster than I anticipated. Granted, her parents don’t know everything. But that should only help the situation once they find out about Oliver and how shitty he’s been to her. I slowly stalk toward her. We’ve always gotten our signals mixed up, but I would be willing to bet money Cammie knows there’s an underlying message within my question.
She swallows hard. “Why am I cleaning this up?”
Smart girl. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”
She drops the dustpan and handheld broom. “Did you want to help?”
I smirk. I’m pretty damn sure she’s playing with me. “Oh, there are a few things I’d like to help you with.”
She inches closer to me, unbuttoning a few of the ones that remain of that white cut off shirt. There’s something about her wearing it that completes me. It’s odd because I never knew I was broken or missing a piece. Or maybe I did. Maybe I knew it was her. Seeing that shirt on her, though, it spurs a certain kind of possessiveness. She bites her lip as she pushes the fabric off her shoulders. “This is a really bad idea. Are you sure you’re not the bad boy I always imagined?”
I grab a fistful of her hair and pull her face to mine, kissing her. “You’re a bad, bad girl, and what you want to do is a terrible idea.”
“So, you want me to go back to cleaning?”
Fuck no. I shake my head, my mouth too dry to speak. “We’re not having sex here. Not today, not now.”
“You’re so presumptuous.”
My lips curl in a wry smile. “Confident is a better word.”
“Confident about what?” she asks, arching a brow.
“Confident that if I said I wanted to bend you over that countertop, giving and you taking every inch of me, you wouldn’t complain. But also confident enough to know that I can wait and take you when I want—that you’ll wait—begging until then.”
Her breath hitches as she pauses. “Cocky is actually how I’d describe you.”
She has no fucking idea.
“Can I make a suggestion?” I ask.
“Yeah, sure.”
I nod. “Take what you absolutely need, and then hire a couple of guys to come move your stuff into storage tomorrow.”
She stares at me.
I hold my hand up before she can say anything. “Do it while he’s at work. It’s not like you have a truck to be able to get the big stuff right now. We sure as hell can’t fit it in my car and yours.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking. Probably that I work tomorrow, that I can’t wait to be fully free from him, that I had to come back anyway...I wasn’t thin—”
“Neither of us has been thinking. It’s all happened so fast, and none of this is what either of us planned.” I pick up her shirt, put it behind her back, and hold it as she slips her arms back in it, then I button some of the buttons, leaving a few open. Why, I don’t know. That cleavage has been teasing the hell out of me.
“I need to at least pack, though. I can’t hire people to come move me with nothing ready to go.” She leans over, giving me the perfect view of her plump ass as she picks the dustpan and little broom back up.
“People do it all the time, Cam.”
“What if he destroys the rest of my stuff?”
“Let’s take the things that matter the most to you first. I mean, we can move as much as we can today—even rent a U-Haul if you want to, but I just…” I run my hands through my hair as I take in the destruction. “I just think it’s smart of us to get out of here. People do crazy shit when they feel like they’ve lost everything
or are about to—when they feel hopeless.” I would know. She, of all people, should know that. And how uncomfortable this must be for me if I’m having those thoughts.
“He doesn’t feel hopeless.” She grimaces. “He thinks he’s got all the control and power. That’s why he went to my parents. He said it was because he was concerned about me, but the reality is it was a way to try to threaten me into falling back into line. You and I both know this was an effort to make me look like the bad one, the slutty one, the one breaking social code.”
“Sick son of a bitch. I thought you said he wasn’t abusive.”
She plops down on the floor and puts the little handheld broom inside the dustpan. “He isn’t.”
“That’s abuse, Cam. He doesn’t have to hit you. If he controls you—”
She stares at me, like I’m a puzzle she’s already put together, and I’m a fool for not already knowing where the middle pieces go before I’ve even figured out the corners.
“What?”
“Holden, it’s not abuse. This is our life. This is Magnolia Grove. The men tell the women what to do, how to act, when to fall in line. That’s just the way it is. Don’t make him sound like something he’s not—like something you’re not—we’re all a part of this society.”
What the actual fuck? “Whoa.” My head bounces back. “Do you honestly think that about me?”
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”
I’m almost at my wit’s end with her and her inaccurate perceptions of me along with her accusations. “You should be.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Bullshit.” I start to pace back and forth in front of her.
She jumps up and grabs me by the shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
I shrug out of her grips. “You don’t give a fuck about me. What are you doing, Cam? Are you just playing with me? Is this a game?”
She sighs. “No.”
“Then what? Spit it out. You keep saying no fucking secrets, but I think the biggest one might be that you really do think I’m inferior, not good enough for you.” There’s a sheen on her cheek. Is that a tear? “Are you crying?” Damn, I don’t want to make her upset, but I’m not going to be a doormat for her to walk all over either. “I know you’re not going to pretend you’re the hurt one when you insult me every chance you get.” I can’t keep the disdain out of my voice. I want her, us. At least, I think I do. Maybe this is one of those situations where I want what I can’t have. Where it looks more appealing in my imagination than in reality.
She shakes her head, another tear spilling over her cheek. I can’t talk to her. The words that are going to come out of my mouth next are going to be ones I regret. I just have to be quiet. It’s her move. I swallow, still pacing back and forth, my eyes never leaving hers. With my gaze, I try to convey everything I want to say, but can’t.
She throws her hands in the air. “I can’t do this.”
That’s enough to stop me right in my tracks. We just got started, and she’s already bailing. “Are you fucking kidding me?” My blood pressure is through the roof, and my fight or flight response is pushing toward supersonic speeds as my feet start walking to the door. “I should have known better than to think this would work.”
“Why?” she yells. “Why, Holden?”
I shrug, not bothering to look back. “Why not?” I say, gripping the doorknob.
“That’s the best you’ve got? You’re just going to walk away again?”
I close my eyes. All I see is her fucking father standing in front of me in that hallway nine years ago, and then again today in Rind ‘N Grind. I clench my jaw, biting my tongue.
“I knew you needed time to grieve, but how could you just walk away like you did, say the stuff you did to me and never even apologize?”
I drop my head. It’s like the elephant has been suspended over our heads, and it just got dropped in between us, like the whole world just shook beneath my feet. It’s fucking hard to breathe, but I try. My chest moves up and down faster than I ever realized was possible without having completed some type of vigorous workout. That’s when I realize there’s no space between us.
Her hand is on mine, and she slowly pries my fingers away from the cold metal. “Don’t walk out of my life again.”
My mouth opens, but when nothing comes out but a gasp, I close it.
“I’ve never known how to do us, Holden. It’s hard to remember to inhale when I’m around you, to remember to fill my lungs with oxygen because I’m so consumed with everything about you. My feet fall lighter when you’re around because it’s like I’m walking in the clouds, walking on my dreams, and I’m afraid if I step down too hard, I’ll fall right through them.”
My lips curve upward slowly. “I told you, you don’t let your hopes get too high because you’re afraid to fall.”
“I wasn’t until you, Holden. You made me this way that day in my bathroom when I thought you were going to kiss me and you didn’t. You made me this way when I thought you were going to come see me in the hospital and you didn’t. You made me this way every day we walked down the hall past each other and I thought that moment would be the one when you’d finally break the silence. Wait for it.”
I hold my finger up and act like I’m listening for something.
“And you didn’t. You never did. Not until last night. But by all means, please forgive me for being afraid to hand you my trust on a silver fucking platter.”
Fuck, it hurts hearing her talk about me like this. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
“Me too. Don’t leave. Quit shutting me out.”
“You’re the one who said you can’t do this. Maybe it’s good one of us has the sense to see it for the disaster it probably is.” I’ll be damned if I let my heart hurt like it did after I lost her and Vi in the same day. I wasn’t prepared to lose her auction yesterday. She’s right. I’m cocky. A cocky bastard who knew I’d win. I thought I’d tell her how I felt about her, and then we’d make up like we should have done before our fathers fucked everything up. None of this. It’s all wrong. Or maybe this is right. Maybe it was never meant to be. Maybe that’s why we can’t ever get on the same page.
“That’s not what I meant.”
I’m not sure why, but it feels like someone just suspended me in the clouds she just mentioned, and now I’m the one tiptoeing on my dreams. I’m afraid there’s a ‘but’ coming along, and like the elephant, I’m going to come crashing down. Like my hope is going to be shattered against this floor, Oliver’s fucking floor.
“I meant I can’t do us without knowing why you so easily walked away from me. You were so cold, Holden.”
I turn and look up at her through my lashes. This feels like shit. I knew I’d have to face this eventually, but damn, I thought we’d have more time to get reacquainted before we got into the heavy stuff. Everything has happened so fast. And even though she’s not my mother, it sure feels like it did all those times when I’d get caught doing something wrong and I had to face her. Usually because Vi twisted the situation and put something back on me or I did something less severe as a result of something she’d already done. Mom never understood. Or maybe she did.
But it’s like Cammie doesn’t get it.
“It was the opposite of cold, tigress. I was so damn hot for you, I was convinced even the firefighters who met us at the pool couldn’t have extinguished the flames that had gone from simmering to a full inferno between us.”
She gives me that shy smile of hers. It’s the same one she gave me that day in her bathroom before the phone interrupted what I’d hoped would be our first kiss.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just in so much pain myself. After finding out about Vi, I didn’t have any room for anyone else near my heart until I rebuilt it. And then everything fell apart right as I thought I was almost there—almost to the point of finding my way back to you.” Not the whole truth, but none of it is a lie.
No secrets, Holden.
I can’t tell her about her father. It wouldn’t have mattered if my father hadn’t done what he did. It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d found my way back to her. It’s one thing for Cammie to have a rift with her family because she chose me. It’s another thing for them to hate each other because I told her the reason I gave up on her, on us, was solely because of threats from her father.
As much as I hate my father, I hate hers more because ultimately it was that secret conversation he had with me in the hospital that killed us before we were even born.
Cammie puts her hands on my cheeks, her lips gently brushing against mine. “Let’s go get a U-Haul and storage unit. I don’t want to have to come back here…I’m ready to put this behind me.”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice. While I’d love for her to just get what she needs and get the hell out of here, let someone else move her, the weight—the burden—that’s been on my chest seems to lighten at the thought of having this behind us.
I nod. “Okay.” I glance down and notice she’s still wearing those fuck me shoes. I’m such an idiot. Her lean, toned legs are sun-kissed, and those shorts show so much of them. “You should probably change your shoes now.”
She shrugs, her lips forming into a smile against mine. “Why?”
“I don’t think they’re good for moving.”
“You’re probably right.”
I smirk. “I am right.”
“Uh-huh. I guess I was just hoping if I wore them long enough, they’d live up to the nickname you gave them.”
I slap her ass playfully. “Patience. Go change your shoes. We’re already going to get enough looks.” What I don’t say is that I don’t want people staring at her, gawking at her, like her father did in Rind ‘N Grind.
She pushes off my chest. “Thought you didn’t care about the looks, about people’s opinions.”
Rolling my eyes, I blow out a breath. “I don’t care what people think about me.”
“So…”
Glancing away, I twist my face, then look back at her. “I care about what they think about you.” That’s the best way I know how to put it without saying what I’m trying my hardest to avoid.