by Riann Colton
Brandi returned to count out the tills while I cleaned up my bar. We were always the first two to arrive and the last two to leave. Brandon James’ law. Not even Brandi could ignore it because he took the running of his bar very seriously; even if he didn’t want his youngest anywhere near it.
It wasn’t because I was an alcoholic, though my father scared me too much to ever dip into the bottles even when I had been drinking. It was because he hated me and wanted me to have nothing to do with his legacy.
Working in a bar probably wasn’t the wisest idea for a recovering alcoholic, but I did it for a few reasons. I knew how to do this job and I did it pretty well. And it pissed my father and sister off that a piece of paper legally bound me to this building. Once in a while Brandon would offer a large amount of money to buy me out of my mother’s inheritance, resorting to threats of violence when I said no. But the main reason I worked here was because I had made a choice four years ago to not be afraid of my father and sister. He had stopped swinging at me shortly after the overdose and I often wondered if it wasn’t because of Jax Deveraux, my unlikely guardian angel.
“So, Hill Deveraux is back,” my sister said.
“Yes.” I set the boxes filled with empty bottles in a pile beside the bar.
“Oh, that’s right. You and he have that thing.”
I ignored the snide tone even though it stung. Brandi was one of the frequent users of the phrase “Hill Deveraux’s whore.” Which was funny since Brandi slept with any guy who caught her attention. “Had,” I said, not really believing the word as I went into the office to double-count the trays. Brandi followed. She always did. Our dad came in to collect the cash drawers. No one but him deposited the money. Not even Brandi. I kept my head down as I sprayed the bar with cleaner.
I hated closing down.
I hated the close proximity to Brandi and Dad when all I wanted to do was go home, shower off the stink of temptation and crawl into bed, my feet sore and throbbing. My sister was like a bird of prey just waiting to swoop in. There were many words I’d use to describe Brandi: patient and nice were not two of them. Sure enough, down swooped those deadly talons for a killing strike.
“Sure is a sexy man, and he knows what he’s doing.”
I paused and returned to scrubbing a sticky ring on the smooth wood. It was hard to argue with either point. He was and he did. He really, really did. Once Big Jack had disinherited him, Hill had fallen off Brandi’s radar. He no longer had the financial means to give her what she wanted. He was no longer the golden son of Big Jack but the disgrace who wasn’t allowed back into the hallowed halls of Deveraux House. A fall from grace that I knew had hurt, even though his father was an asshole. He had been punished for daring to live his life his way. Pride was something Hill had a lot of.
And guess who had given it a few whacks this afternoon?
“Good night, Sarah. I plan on having a great one.” To the bone those red colored claws struck. To the bone.
I grabbed my jacket, because even though spring had struck Vancouver Island, the air had a little nip to it that made me thankful for sleeves.
I did not look at the upstairs apartment that had a light burning in what I knew was the bedroom. When I moved out, Brandi had moved in. Brandon had spent a lot of money renovating the small apartment into something bright and airy for his beloved daughter. He had soundproofed it, put in top-of-the-line appliances and plumbing and my sister had rubbed it in.
Still did. My sister loved reminding me that Brandon had a favorite daughter.
If Hill was willing to put his penis anywhere near the Venus fly trap that was my sister as she had been not so subtly implying, well…he was never coming near me with it again. God knows what he’d catch with that toxic vagina. I had a little pride, too.
Everyone had a weakness. Mine wasn’t alcohol or drugs; those had been my means of self-destructing. No, I had kicked my weakness out of my life earlier. Hill Deveraux.
I used to think my weakness was being Brandon James’ unwanted daughter. Nope. Weakness was what made us vulnerable and Hill Deveraux made me very vulnerable. Being a punching bag for my father and an easy target for Brandi was nothing compared to the emotional chaos of Hill.
It took fifteen minutes to walk home and I was ready for a shower, food, and bed. In that order. I was crossing my lawn when there was a sense of déjà vu. He wasn’t on the front deck this time but on the steps. Slowing down, I looked at the man with the slumped shoulders and elbows braced on his knees. The hair that needed a haircut was messy.
He looked up and his eyes shattered me. He looked defeated. As if something inside him had given up. Hill. “I had nowhere else to go, Sarah.”
Last night the cautious voice in my head had screamed trap! Tonight it nudged because I knew what it was like to have nowhere else to go when the bottom was the last stop. I touched his messy hair and he rested his head against my stomach. The weary sigh made me hurt. “Come on, Billy. Up you go.”
“I threw up in your neighbor’s roses.”
“Awesome.”
“Someone kept giving me whiskey.”
“What a bitch.”
He nodded, then sighed again. But this sigh was the sound of someone who had drunk way too much. And did he have it in him to stand up without throwing up on me? I knew this was probably my most unwise decision of the day. Still there was relief and joy that he was here and not with Brandi.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hill
Opening my eyes, I wished for death. My head was making it known it was pissed at me; my mouth felt dry and swollen and I wasn’t entirely sure all that booze from last night was going to stay down. A glass of water sat on the nightstand table with a little note that said drink me. There was a little drawing of me looking like hell. Bitch. I drank some of the lukewarm water and saw two little white pills resting on a piece of paper that told me to “eat me before you drink all the water.” Goddess. I took the aspirin and finished the water.
With a tired sigh, I lowered my whiskey-soaked head back down then turned to look at the woman in bed with me. She was so pretty, fast asleep. Too bad she was in her pajamas again. She needed to learn the fine art of being naked when we shared the bed. Wasn’t that what a good hostess did? Accommodate her houseguest. Even if I was a party crasher.
Holding my breath, I slid out of bed, grabbed my glass, and went to refill it. I had a serious case of too much booze dehydration. I stood in the kitchen and downed two more glasses of water, snagged my camera, used the john, then returned to Sarah. She filled the viewfinder, a curious blend of sweetness, fragility, and sexiness. The shutter clicked loudly in the silence of the room. I braced my arms on the mattress and adjusted the focus so she was slightly blurred. While I had a few digital cameras in my arsenal of goodies, I still preferred the good ol’ fashioned film camera. There was something about the weight of it and the soothing sound of the film advancing to the next frame that relaxed me. For work, it was mostly the digital cameras. The world changed fast. Within minutes I could send the photos from my camera to my editors. And I couldn’t lie, the bells and whistles on the digital cameras were pretty sweet but to relax, regroup, and center myself…that’s where my old camera came in to play.
“Stop it.”
“Make me.”
She grumbled, and without opening her eyes, turned her face away. Grinning, I reached out and tugged the sheet down and focused on the thin strap of the cami she slept in. The peachy color against her skin, strands of messy dark hair, a hint of her chin. She lifted a hand as if flicking me away. Setting the camera down on the nightstand, I slid in beside her and kissed her shoulder. The faded scent of her fruity soap made me smile as I settled behind her.
I briefly considered seducing her, but after yesterday, I had a feeling if I did, things would skid out of control again. “You often take in drunks?”
“Just the pathetic ones who tip my waitresses really well.” A little smile appeared and I lowered my head to her
pillow. Her elbow lifted and I took the concession. I slid my hand over to rest on her stomach, loving the soft skin warm from sleep. “Are you okay?”
“Hung over. Too old for that kind of abuse.” I liked the way she shifted so we were pressed together. Her artist fingers toyed with mine.
“No. Are you okay?”
I studied the back of her head as I thought over the question. The answer was easy. No. Sober Sarah saw too much with those sad brown eyes filled with clarity. Instinct yowled at me to get out of bed and get my ass far away but I couldn’t move. Too tired for that. Deep down to my soul, exhaustion was sucking me as dry as last night’s truth.
I had nowhere else to go.
“No.” That I had answered surprised us both.
We didn’t do this. Talk. We fucked. That was the way with us. I may have spoken a truth to her but I didn’t want to talk about the why. The fingers gently sliding back and forth along mine were soothing. “Where was your job this time?”
Yes, Sober Sarah saw way too much. I pressed my lips against her shoulder. “Don’t.”
The caresses stopped and I felt her entire body grow still. “Why? Because we just fuck?”
“No.” Because if I voiced it, that would make it true. Then what would I have? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I was a guy with a backpack full of cameras and a duffle bag filled with ghosts.
“Right.”
My arm tightened when she went to pull away. “Don’t,” I whispered, my hand fisting on her top to keep her from leaving.
“Why? I’m going to see the photo somewhere, so it’s not a secret. Where were you?”
I shook my head.
“Right,” she whispered. “Right.” She pulled away and I watched her sit up. Her head fell forward and I found myself moving, sitting behind her, my legs against hers.
“No.” I banded my arm around her waist when she went to leave. “Sarah.” I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts. They were a plague and the cure scared me.
“You think I don’t know what you see out there?”
“I think you see more than anyone else does. I’m tired, Sarah. Let’s just lie here. Please?” Lowering my head to her shoulder, I shut my eyes. “Please.” She nodded once and it was enough. I eased us backwards, drawing her warm body close. A shift of her body and she was facing me.
The hand on my cheek made me close my eyes. Or was it because now she was looking at me and she’d see I was flailing around in my head? Her thumb feathered below my mouth; her index finger was soft beneath my eye.
“Bad boy Hill Deveraux,” she whispered, “afraid of little ol’ me?” I nodded. Utter truth. Lips lightly brushed over mine. “Why? I’m just the girl you fuck.”
My eyes opened while her lashes lowered. This time she was hiding. “No, you’re not. I wish you were. Hey, don’t get mad and threaten to leave again. We both know you’re not going anywhere.”
“Asshole.”
I smiled as I kissed her. When her mouth parted, something deep inside me roared with primal triumph. Rolling onto my back, I slid my fingers into her hair to hold her in place as our tongues met. I always liked kissing Sarah: from the first kiss to the last kiss. She half lay on me, her body warm and soft. A little sigh escaped her and she slid on me completely as she deepened the kiss, her hand resting on my chest.
I felt her smile and reclaimed her mouth. I traced her spine and fiddled with the hem of her top. I could get her naked. We both knew it. But then it would go to shit again. I wasn’t ready for it to go to shit again. A little reprieve. I deserved that much.
Letting her go, I combed my fingers through her hair as she rested her cheek beside her hand. “Can I ask you something?”
Her shoulder twitched in response so I took that as a yes.
“Why is a recovering alcoholic working in a bar?”
She sighed and the soft brush of air caressed my chest, made me think of getting us naked. To hell with the consequences. “I’m good at it.”
“No.” I tumbled her to her back, pinning her beneath me. I shook my head and she looked down, her fingers caressing my neck. The soft touch made my cock twitch. “No seductive ploys. Tell me why.”
Her hand a made a fist and I saw the surprise in her eyes when she looked up. “So you get my secrets but I don’t get yours? How is that fair?”
“It’s not. I was watching you last night. Why are you working there?”
“Because,” she whispered as her eyes filled, “I refuse to be scared anymore. And two things scare me: slipping backwards and…” Her swallow sounded overly loud in the cocoon we had going for us.
“Brandon the Bear?” She nodded. “He still smack you around?” My thumb drew a circle on her cheek, then a line along her nose. She used to sport some hellishly ugly bruises on her sweet face.
“No.”
“You feeding me bullshit?” Because, seriously, if he was marking her up, I was going to give the man a come-to-Jesus talk.
“No.”
“Little liar. He’s a bully and he likes it.” A tear slid down her temple and I wiped it away. My head tilted and as I studied her, something began to burrow in my brain and I didn’t like it. “He ever come at you, Sarah?” She had been a virgin when we first hooked up but that didn’t really mean anything. And there had been the pills and the alcohol. They were a good way to make bad shit disappear.
“No. No.”
“Are you lying to me?” I cupped her chin and tilted her head back. “This is it, Sarah. Cards on the table.” I had no idea what I’d do if she said that, yes, her dad had molested her. Jesus.
She shook her head as more tears fell. “He didn’t. Really. I am not lying to you.”
“Then why are you crying, baby?” The tears made me want to find Brandon James and kick his ass. I was man enough to admit I was pretty shitty to Sarah. Why the hell she kept letting me into her bed and her body was beyond me. But what her father had done to her lit a cold rage in my belly.
Sarah cupped my face and lightly pressed her lips against mine. “Because you asked. You never did before.”
No, I hadn’t. Because I was just as big an asshole as her father. She drew me close again, her mouth a little more insistent against mine as a leg slipped out from beneath me to hook around my hip. “Now you say yes?” I wiped the still falling tears from her face. “No. Let’s go get some pancakes.”
She gasped. “Hill Deveraux is saying no?”
“Hey, if Sarah James can, so can I.” I gave the exposed curve of her ass a slap. “Come on, sweet thing, let’s go sober me up first. Then when my head isn’t throbbing and moaning…then we’ll get back to this yes-no business.”
“I have food here.”
“Yeah, but you can’t make pancakes worth a damn.” I kissed her, pushed aside the blankets, and held out my hand.
“How do you know I haven’t learned a thing or two?”
Grinning, I leaned over her. “I have no doubt you have, but I’ve seen what you do to pancake batter and it isn’t pretty. At all.”
“I hate you.”
“And you hate me good, baby. Now put that sexy ass in some jeans and feed me properly.” I walked over to my duffle bag and rooted around until I found a reasonably clean shirt and jeans that weren’t too bad. “Am I staying? Or are you going to have another kick-me-out-of-your-house moment?”
She rolled onto her stomach and stared at me. I found myself reaching for the camera out of pure habit. “I probably will.”
“Well, can I use your washing machine before you do? I have a serious lack of clothes.”
She nodded as she climbed off her bed. “It’s off the kitchen.”
This time I did grab my camera as she drew her top off. I caught the image of her, arms up, fabric at her head and all that smooth back revealed to me. I ignored her demand to put down the camera and she flung the scrap of peach at me. Cami in flight, one breast bared, lashes lowered, and lips smiling. I had it all in one frame. Hips in mid-shimmy as she pu
shed the shorts down, her cute little ass flashing me while her hair fell forward. Lowering the camera, I watched her draw on a pair of bright pink panties that didn’t seem to cover much. Setting the camera down on the bed, I walked around intent on getting to her. I plucked the matching bra from her hands and let it fall to the floor as I took her mouth in a kiss, walking her toward the bed.
“Feeling perkier?”
“Feeling something,” I said, sliding the panties down.
“I knew you didn’t mean no.”
I caressed one leg and leaned over her. She was so damn sensual. It was a part of her like her sad eyes, and her artistic talent. “I’m so easy,” I said before lowering my head and kissing her. I swallowed her little, gaspy moan when my fingers reached her warm, slick sex. Her foot slowly ran up my leg, granting me more access.
I knew there had been other men. Hell I’d had other women so who was I to judge. But I wondered if they got this from her, because I couldn’t recall her being like this. The booze and the pills had put a barrier between Sarah and the world, and so those rare sober moments in her bed had been exquisite. Raising my head, I watched her arch beneath me while her hands caressed my arms up to my shoulders. “Hill,” she moaned as her foot pressed on my ass to get me to move where she wanted me, between her legs and deep inside her.
Damn, I didn’t want pancakes. I wanted her. I wanted her writhing beneath me, her body wet and welcoming. She always felt so good. She was the only woman I had been naked in because of that. It didn’t matter that I’d gotten a vasectomy at nineteen, a raised middle finger at Big Jack. I never went without condoms except with Sarah.
Her artistic fingers caressed down my arm and over the fingers sliding over her. Ah hell, I thought as I grabbed onto my control with both hands. This was not going to last if she joined in. Her cry made my belly tighten as we both teased her, her entrance weeping for me to fill it. God, she was so pretty. Lashes down, cheeks flushed, mouth parted. I took mental pictures of all of her. Her lush, round breasts with their swollen tips, the way her stomach tightened with each roll of her hips. My brain captured the images to be savored later.