by Riann Colton
TABLE OF CONTENTS
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
Acknowledgments
Bio
Sarah Mine
By Riann Colton
Copyright © Riann Colton 2013
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.dpgroup
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-0-9916714-3-4
DEDICATION
For Sarah, katz & Hill…it’s been a long time coming but I finally got it right.
CHAPTER ONE
Sarah
Someone was on my porch. Even from the edge of my lawn I saw the hiking boots on the railing. The front porch light was on, a beacon guiding me home after my shift at the bar ended. Although I couldn’t see who it was, I knew. Only one person would be on my front porch at this hour. I fisted my hand then shook it out in a feeble attempt to stop the slight tremor at the realization. Anyone but him.
Anyone.
I’d take a serial killer…or a religious fanatic asking me if I’d found God in my sinful life…or a creeper from the bar…or anyone but him. Because my heart was doing stupid, crazy things like beating a little faster in anticipation of seeing him while fluttering with nerves because I so didn’t want to see him again. Why me? Out of everyone in Pierce Point, why me? I pressed a hand to my stomach.
I didn’t want this. I didn’t need this. Though many would say I deserved this.
William Hilton Deveraux was back.
For now.
As I approached the steps, one boot lowered with a solid thud followed by the second one. My heart pounded hard at each thump. My palms grew damp as he stood.
I was not ready to see him. I was not ready to see if I was finally strong enough to evict him from my life. Closing my eyes, I wished him away. It didn’t matter how many times I told myself over the years that I was stronger. He was here and the truth was mortifying.
I wasn’t sure I was stronger. Not when it came to Hill.
“Hello, Sarah.”
Four years. Four years since I’d heard his voice. Four years since I’d seen him. Four years since I’d touched him. Four years. Be strong. Be strong. Be strong.
I opened my eyes and stared at the man before me. Yep. He was really there.
His hair was shaggier than I remembered, and lighter from the sun. There weren’t a lot of barbers where he took his camera. I wondered where his lens had taken him this time. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t followed his career in the photos he sold to books and magazines.
His eyes were different.
They were graver than they had been in his teens. The things he had seen through his lens had left their mark on him. The silver color was somber now. The poor little rich boy was long gone but that wicked bad boy glint had matured into something that made my chest hurt. I didn’t want him hurting.
I dug out my keys, then unlocked the door and led the way inside. There was the rasp of him lifting up his duffle bag though I didn’t watch. If I made eye contact, all those promises of no more Hill Deveraux would shatter apart.
I turned and he was there. An imposing figure of every teenage dream I dared to dream. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and my flinch didn’t go unnoticed. We both froze. His gaze moved over my face, a little frown appearing as he tried to puzzle something out.
His finger slid down my cheek and my heart stuttered as unwanted memories began to stir. He’d show up, I’d let him in, we’d have sex, then I’d wake and he’d be gone. Every time. All the time. Constantly. From the time he left Pierce Point the first time, until the time he left the last time. And me? I’d bury it all beneath booze and pills. Anything to forget that no one wanted me for more than their own means.
No more, I promised myself. “Shower is down the hall on the right.” Easing away from him, I tossed my keys onto the coffee table. “Couch. Night.”
“Couch?”
It was three in the morning. I was tired and dealing with Hill was beyond my abilities at the moment. Tomorrow I would face the reality that he was back. “Couch.”
“Sarah.” My eyes closed at how he said my name. Be strong, be strong, be strong.
Because I could not go back. I could never go back to being that girl Hill wanted. The drunk. The addict. The invisible piece of ass. I couldn’t be her ever again.
“The couch or the door, Hill.” I stopped and looked at him over my shoulder. He frowned at the couch as if he could incinerate it with his eyes, thereby getting himself into my bed. So much had changed over four years. I had grown in ways he would never imagine, nor notice unless he looked. And Hill never looked. He was selfish, the poor little rich boy.
He was sexy.
He was my weakness and that meant he had to sleep on the couch.
“Good night.”
Loneliness flashed through his eyes. I would not weaken.
Once inside my bedroom, I shut the door while lecturing myself. Four years had taught me a lot. I had cleaned up. All addictions eradicated. Including Hill Deveraux.
I wiggled out of my bartender’s uniform, thankful to no longer have Brandi’s written over my left breast in hot pink thread. My pants fell to the floor and I froze when I heard the shower.
“Pretend he’s not here. He’s not here.” I changed into my pajamas, then crawled into bed.
Hill was back.
I should have gotten him sheets was my last thought before I sank into the welcome oblivion of sleep.
Hill
I didn’t know this house. As I washed away the grime of travel, I admitted I wasn’t too sure of Sarah either. She said no. To me. She never said no. Bracing my hands on the tiles, I stared at the drain as I tried to process that I was going to be sleeping on the couch. I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want to dream. I wanted to forget.
I wanted to forget myself in Sarah’s body. Jax had once said that Sarah was the magnetic north for my dick. Maybe. But being with Sarah was effortless. I didn’t have to drag out some charm. I didn’t have to seduce my way into the pair of panties of a girl whose name was already forgotten. Being with Sarah was easy. And I desperately needed easy right now.
Once I felt more human, I dried off, then, naked, walked down the hallway to the living room.
The couch. My mind was dulled from being awake for too many hours. I lay down and listened to the hum of the fridge and the utter solitude of Sarah’s house. Fuck, it was quiet. My skin itched as if I was still covered in sand and grit. The room felt too small. This house was creeping me out without me knowing why. I didn’t want to be on the couch.
I didn’t want to be in Pierce Point any more than I wanted to be on this fucking couch that was too narrow, too short, and too empty.
“Fuck this.”
Rolling to my feet, I walked down the hallway. I may not know the house, but I knew the owner pretty damn well. The odds of her kicking me out of her bed were pretty slim. This was Sarah.
After my eyes adjusted
, I saw the bed and the bump under the covers. I went to the other side of the bed and slipped in next to her. The sheets were cool against my skin while the feminine body was warm.
This I knew. She smelled right. She felt right. Caressing down her back, I stared at her. Sarah. It would be so easy to nudge her legs open and slip inside her. It would be so easy to lose myself in her. Find myself in her. A soft, sleepy sigh escaped her and I lowered my cheek to her shoulder.
There was no more silence with the soft sounds of her deep breathing. And, I admitted as I pressed my nose into her hair, the loneliness eased enough for me to sleep.
Sarah
Somebody was in my bed and he was naked. His breaths were slow and warm against my ear. The arm stretched along my side was heavy and the hand spread on my thigh was familiar. A smart woman would get out of bed with a naked Hill occupying half of it. Even knowing better, I still ran my finger over the back of his hand. A tiny touch couldn’t hurt me right?
His skin was warm, proof that he was real and I wasn’t hallucinating. Tears burned in my eyes and my chest felt tight. He was here. I wasn’t surprised that he had made his way into my bed. I should get out of bed and kick his naked ass out of my house.
Instead, each of my fingers slid along his. Silly Sarah. This was not smart.
Holding my breath, I eased over so I could look at him. With him asleep, this was the safest time to do so.
He was so gorgeous he made my heart hurt. At the very beginning I wondered why he was in my bed. Then I came to the realization that he was in my bed because I never said no to him.
Even with his face relaxed in sleep, there were lines at his eyes and two bracketing his mouth. My finger hovered above a silvery scar on his right cheekbone. When had he gotten that? How?
The face was familiar, but the changes weren’t. He was only twenty-six, two years older than me, but he seemed much older. As if the pictures he took aged him.
He inhaled a deep breath and his hand slid down to cover my ass. Dark gold lashes lifted. William Hilton Deveraux. Heaven and hell all rolled up into one tasty package. Dark grey eyes and dark blonde hair, he was sin. He was my greatest downfall. Forget the drugs and alcohol, this was my addiction.
I tried my damnedest to ignore the insistent press of his erection. I need to get out of bed, I thought a little desperately as his hand slid to my hip and along my waist before he guided me onto my back. He sprawled half on me, a heavy weight I didn’t want to remember so vividly.
“Sarah.” He said my name quietly, as if speaking loudly would spook me. Maybe it would. He lowered his head and kissed me.
Resist! I needed to treat him like the addiction he was. Quit. Maybe go to rehab over him. Attend H-A, Hill Anonymous, meetings. Find a sponsor. Anything because this…
This was a bad idea.
His lips parted over mine, nudging me to join in the seductive play of his mouth. I couldn’t do this. Not anymore. The routine hadn’t changed over the years. We’d fuck. He’d leave. I’d fall apart. I couldn’t do that again. I could not be that girl again, not even for Hill.
I cupped his face and felt the sharp press of his cheekbones, his face leaner than I remembered. Seeing his photographs tore at my insides. I couldn’t imagine living them. He had, though, and what he showed on film had left impressions on his body and spirit, because his eyes were still tired and haunted.
“I can’t,” I whispered, astonishing both of us. Could I do this? Because, no lie, he felt so good lying on top of me. The heat of his body was intoxicating as it soaked through my pajamas and he was hard right where I wanted him. No, I didn’t want him. I couldn’t want him. This is how it started and I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t. Going back scared me. Terrified me.
“You can, baby.”
I shook my head as I gazed up at him, his fingers lightly gliding up and down the curve of my waist. Did he see? Did he even notice I had changed? That I wasn’t mind-numbingly drunk or high or any of that? Did he even realize that I wasn’t the girl he had left four years ago?
He lowered his head to kiss me and I knew the answer. No, he didn’t see. Because that wasn’t what we were about. We were the fuck then the leave. Over and over and over again. Turning my head, I looked at the clock hoping it would tell me what to do.
“Sarah,” he whispered in my ear as his hand made its bold move from my waist to between my legs. A jolt of heat made me jerk as if the cotton of my bottoms didn’t exist, and he found all the right places. His fingers rested lightly over me, the middle one rubbing in slow strokes.
Holy. God. My toes curled as my eyes closed. That one little touch caused massive cracks in my resolution because it felt so good. It was hard to deny what he did to me. My body knew him, craved him. The thin fabric that separated his finger from me grew damp.
His name escaped on a broken sigh. Betrayed by my own lust. Lips rested against my neck, his breath hot and moist on my skin as he teased and tormented me. And himself, if the heavy weight of his erection resting against the inside of my thigh was any indication. Every brush of his lips made my skin burn, and his hand moving between my legs ignited me.
“Look at me.”
Swallowing, I opened my eyes as his weight shifted. The pillow under my head dipped a little. He braced his right arm above my head, his left one ceasing its torture. Shifting, I met his gaze. His fingers slowly caressed up the front of my pajama bottoms then slipped under the elastic waistband. My stomach jumped at the heat of his fingers; the calluses added an extra something to the caress. The minute he hit that damp, aching spot, I cried out, arching into him.
His gaze shifted over my face before returning to my eyes. Arousal burned in the silver depths as he watched me writhe. A little smile, the tiny flare of victory as he pushed a finger into me. Even as I cried out, arching at the sensation, reality swept through me as I stared into eyes that knew he had me. His easy fuck was a few strokes away. I wondered if he even liked me. If he even saw me as a person. He made my heart hurt in the worst possible ways.
Oh God, I couldn’t do this again. I gripped his wrist and the teasing touches came to a sudden halt. He frowned down at me, frustration churning in his eyes until that glint of satisfaction was gone.
“Why? Damn it, why?”
“I can’t, Hill.”
“Why?”
We both knew I could. The evidence was between my thighs, my body slick and ready for him. His hand shifted, damp fingers resting on my stomach then sliding to my hip. He rolled us both so I lay on him. This was almost as bad as him on top. There was just too much temptation in Hill. “Because I really want to,” I admitted before easing away from him.
I sat on the side of the bed, his heated “Fuck” echoing around the bedroom. Anger, frustration, confusion. I heard it all in his voice. It took all my tattered will power to stand and leave him in my bed, because I was feeling those too. He was naked; he was aroused. He was Hill.
And yet, I was walking away.
Because I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t go back to that fragile, broken shell of a human being that had been with him four years ago. I had barely survived being that girl the first time.
The second time would probably kill me.
CHAPTER TWO
Hill
I found a mug. I found the coffee. I found the woman sitting on the railing of her back deck while she drew. Damn, but she was pretty with her messy brown hair and the pajamas that left little to the imagination. If my camera were in my hands, I’d fill a roll of film of her. Right now.
I leaned against the railing, looking at the yard and not the sketchbook. Sometimes she’d show me what she drew but mostly she didn’t. Her choice. I respected that. Not everyone saw all the photos I took. My stomach gave a little twist. “How long have you lived here?” I needed her to talk to stop my thoughts from forming. That’s why I was here. To forget all my shit.
The black fine tipped marker halted its faint scratching movement on the page. “Almost three years
.”
I sipped the coffee as I looked through the open sliding door. The house wasn’t big. A little bungalow that was older than me with two bedrooms. Did she own or was she renting? I was curious. And a little envious. My current place of residence was a hotel. If one were to press for more, I’d admit the majority of my crap was in storage. Storage was easier to maintain when I wasn’t home a lot. “Nicer than the apartment.”
“A box in an alley was nicer than that place.”
The last time I saw her, she lived in a small apartment above the bar her father owned. It had reeked of stale beer and hamburger grease. The party noise below was constant during the night: shouts, music, and laughter. A lot of nights had been passed in that slum. Hours of mindless fucking where I didn’t have to be anyone but Hill.
This was nicer but I sure as hell didn’t feel like Hill here. I bet if we had been in that old, dumpy apartment we’d both be coming our brains out. Instead, I was drinking tasty coffee with a Sarah I didn’t know.
She returned to her sketch and I watched the way her light brown hair fell over her shoulder, forming a partial curtain between her and the world. She looked like the Sarah I once knew. She certainly had the same big, sad brown eyes I remembered. There were still faint freckles on her nose and cheekbones. That was the same sexy mouth. And she sure as hell was still the fragile girl I had last screwed when I was twenty-two.
But she wasn’t the Sarah I knew. She wasn’t so used up, strung out and gutted by demons I couldn’t even imagine.
Everyone knew about Sarah James. Everyone knew what had happened in that James house. Everyone had seen the bruises. Everyone had turned a blind eye to the marks, to the booze, to the drugs. Even me. What an asshole.
Pretty, I thought. She was so damn pretty. Reaching up, I brushed her hair away. She froze like a terrified deer because that’s what you did when a hand came at you.
Asshole. Brandon James was an asshole.
So was I.
She looked cautiously at me and I wished I knew what went on in her head. If this were four years ago, we’d still be in her bed. It wasn’t, though. I traced the rather delicate line of her jaw. I shifted so I stood between her knees and set her sketchbook aside.