He’d taken Lizbeth three different times in three different ways, leaving her exhausted but content, sleeping peacefully in his bed, while he sat in the chair, hollow as a straw—with the exception of the five beers he knocked back—searching for something, anything, to fill the void.
Tonight’s fucking had been hard and fast, probably brutal if anyone were unfortunate enough to play witness. No Mr. Nice Guy in this bedroom. He’d carried enough aggression to start a war, but she spurred him on, needing to be taken even harder.
The sex had never been sweet or gentle, but rather edgy, almost angry at times. Over the past few months, the ferocity increased.
Everything about their relationship was destructive. And the worst part? Neither seemed to care.
Erik wanted to know the cause of Kevin’s drinking. This was the root of it all.
After the moaning and groaning and coming was over, he always needed something to wash away the disgust and self-loathing that crept in on the heels of the post-coital exhaustion.
Worse yet was the reason he stuck with Lizbeth in the first place. Watching Kat and Erik build their life together gradually ate him alive from the inside out. Not because he wanted Kat for himself or because of jealousy. He was so damned happy for his friend that lately, aside from Spencer, Erik’s joy was the only bright spot in Kevin’s life.
But Kevin had come to realize he wanted the same thing for himself. The Wildman, who swore to never settle down with one woman, wanted to be tamed.
He’d known all along Lizbeth wouldn’t be a permanent fixture in his life, but having someone temporarily beat being alone. At least that’s what he told himself before Lizbeth went crazy. By the time he reached his breaking point, the wedding had closed in, and he found himself trapped.
His gaze dropped to her high-heeled shoe and, not for the first time, the damned thing morphed into a ratty work boot.
Since crawling out of bed to drink in earnest, Samantha Wallace dominated his thoughts, which only intensified his mental anguish.
She fascinated him on every level, from her rocking body to the history behind her boots to her mysterious eye color—an unknown that was driving him batshit crazy. He didn’t have room for another complication, however. His plate was already loaded with Lizbeth, the wedding, and now the Vanguard problem.
Oh… and apparently, he also had a drinking problem, so throw that shit on top and call it gravy.
The only way to keep from joining Lizbeth on the crazy train would be to avoid women altogether. If he stayed in Myrtle Beach, away from Lizbeth, he wouldn’t have to worry about repeating tonight’s performance. He’d need to deal with Samantha from time to time, but she had no idea how much she attracted him. He could keep things professional until he had the wedding behind him and ended things with Lizbeth. Then, after he got himself under control, he would pursue her and see if anything developed.
Until then… celibacy was the name of the game.
Chapter Five
Myrtle Beach’s Boardwalk, a mishmash of activities and shopping, offered something for everyone. Along with the Ferris wheel, there were several rides available for adrenaline junkies, one being a giant slingshot that launched riders into the stratosphere… Okay, so it only sent the passenger sixty feet in the air… but still.
For the less adventurous, who preferred spectator sports to thrill rides, a jumbotron at the edge of the pavilion played popular afternoon sporting events. And for the truly sluggish, there were lots of bars and cafes scattered about, where one could eat and drink until their little hearts grew merry.
As far as Sam was concerned, the best thing about the Boardwalk was the world-famous, massively messy, awesomely unhealthy but so friggin’ fantastic foot-long chilidog.
The promenade wasn’t nearly as crowded as a few weeks before, but Sam still doubted they’d be able to find one six-year-old boy—assuming he was at the Boardwalk and not wandering around on the beach, or at a different location altogether.
Sitting on a bench in the middle of the pavilion, she handed Michaela her hot dog and drink and spread the fries between them. After making sure Michy was settled, she closed her eyes and bit into the gooey mess. The bread nestled her lips like a fluffy pillow as flavors exploded on her tongue—ketchup, tangy mustard, sweet relish, spicy chili—
Her moment of nirvana came to a crashing halt when Michaela yelled, “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy. There’s Spencer.” Sam opened her eyes to find her daughter pointing across the crowd to the small seawall separating the pavilion from the sand. “I told you we’d find him. I knew it.” Michy waved her arms like she was trying to take flight and yelled, “Spencer, Spencer!”
Everyone in the area turned to them… everyone except Spencer, apparently, and panic quickly ensued.
When another massive wail failed to catch his attention, Michy scrambled down from her perch, dropped her hot dog and drink onto the bench, and took off. She vaulted over the concrete barricade like a professional hurdler and sprinted down the beach like an escaped convict.
“Shit.” Sam dropped her hot dog onto the paper wrapper, grabbed her bag, and bolted after her.
She jostled around a toddler chasing a sea gull, then hit the sand “sidewalk” in pursuit. In the blink of an eye, she went from running to flying to diving face first into the sand.
Blinding, white-hot pain shot through her ankle and up her leg. “Son of a fucking bitch!” She rolled onto her back, brought her knee to her chest, and wrapped her arms around her leg, gasping for air.
The pain was so intense, she couldn’t pinpoint where it originated, maybe the ankle. Despite the horrendous throbbing, her daughter was still scurrying down the beach, and somehow, someway, she had to get to her feet.
She pushed to her knees, preparing to go vertical, when Michy’s sweet voice rang out. “Mommy!” The concerned cry was the most beautiful sound she ever heard.
Thank you, Jesus.
She didn’t have to run anywhere. She didn’t even have to walk, because her baby bird returned. Sam flopped onto her back, squeezed her eyes closed to stop the sting, and bit down on her lip to squelch the quivering.
“This is going to hurt, but we have to get your shoe off. Your foot is already swelling.”
Her breath left in a whoosh and she forgot to take another as the deep… vaguely familiar voice registered. She cracked her eye open and, for the briefest moment, wondered if she’d died and gone to heaven where all the angels looked like Kevin Mazze.
He shoved his sunglasses onto the top of his head, giving her a good look at his red and watery eyes with dark half moons below and a two day-old shadow coloring his jaw. This was no angel, and wherever he’d been last night, he obviously had a devil of a time.
“I’m sorry,” he said, flinching as he unbuckled her sandal and slipped it off her foot.
Agony ripped through her leg, all the way to her stomach, erasing any fantasy she had of being dead or in the presence of angels. “Ooww… Son of a”—Sam glanced at her daughter—“beach! Sheet, that hurts.”
“Keep breathing. Take long… deep breaths.” His low tone and slow cadence compelled her to do as he said. “Good. Keep going. Deep breath in, slow exhale.”
After a few more Lamaze-type breaths, the pain morphed from a concentrated oh-holy-fuck-that-hurts into a body-wide throb.
“Spencer, come here.” Kevin reached into his back pocket for his wallet and pulled out a five.
Despite the nausea rolling northward and the burning desire to curl into a fetal position and cry for her mommy, Sam focused on Kevin Mazze’s face, then on Spencer… from afterschool… who had the same dark hair and compelling midnight eyes as Kevin.
She gasped. “Spencer’s yours?”
Kevin ignored her question and spoke to Spencer. “Give that to Miss Amy at the snow cone booth and tell her we need a baggie full of ice and one of her dish rags. I’m going to get Samantha up to the pavilion.”
Spencer ran off to parts unknown with Michy on
his heels. Sam tried to sit up in protest, but Kevin pressed a hand to her shoulder and shook his head. “I can see the booth from here. They’re fine. Let’s get your foot elevated to minimize the swelling.”
He laid her sandal across her stomach, slid his arms under her back and knees, and scooped her up in one fluid motion. “That was a hell of a fall,” he said, while using his foot to push sand into the hole she’d fallen into. “Anything besides your ankle hurt?”
Sam was as overwhelmed and vulnerable as if she’d been parked naked in the middle of Main Street during the Labor Day parade. Her foot was on fire, but she’d survive the injury.
She may, however, die from mortification.
Sand stuck to her sweaty skin and itched so bad she wanted to scratch like a dog with fleas. Her daddy used to say, “Grit is good for the craw,” and though she never understood the meaning, she hoped the saying was true, because hell would freeze over before she’d embarrass herself further by spitting out the sand stuck between her teeth.
Adding to the trauma, Kevin—her fantasy man—not only witnessed her swan dive, but felt the need to come to her rescue.
Memories from the night before rushed her, and even though he didn’t know he’d been her dream lover, she panicked. “I’m fine. Put me down. Put me down.”
“What the hell? Stop fighting me.” His words were like a cracking whip, instantly stifling her wild attempt to break free. “Does anything else hurt?”
She shook her head in short, jerky motions. “Only my pride. I’m fine. You can put me down now.” When he kept walking toward the pavilion, she said, “Really. Any time now.”
A breathtaking smile lit his face and laughter vibrated from his chest into her side. “You are feisty, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” she admitted. “But usually with more finesse.”
Of all the ways she imagined launching a campaign to attract and seduce, none included falling flat on her face. She wrapped her arms around his neck to hold on and ducked her head to keep from hiding behind her hands.
The pain was still incredible, but cradled against his body with her arms around his neck, breathing in his earthy scent, she was shocked to find heat of a different kind blooming. Never one to pass up an opportunity, she gave in to the temptation tickling her fingers and sifted them through the curls at the base of his skull.
His body tensed, and he stopped breathing. The response initially made her think the subtle advance was unwelcome and she quickly let go of the silky strands. But then his arms tightened, pulling her closer to his chest. His reaction wasn’t obvious, but enough to let her know he wasn’t repulsed by her touch.
She lifted her gaze to his, hoping for a clearer indication of his thoughts. But rather than being warm and inviting, his eyes narrowed as he stared at her sunglasses. As they bounced from one lens to the other, his jaw flexed and frown lines creased around the edges of his lips and eyes. Not the reaction she hoped for. His mixed signals made her feel awkward and left her with that naked on Main Street feeling again.
She wasn’t petite, but she didn’t weigh a ton, either. Certainly not enough for someone in excellent condition to be overexerting himself. The day was warm, but not a scorcher… so what was up with the bead of sweat trickling down his long sideburn.
He swallowed a few times in rapid succession, and his voice was a little rougher than normal when he said, “Let’s find a place in the shade to sit while we ice your ankle. Because of the swelling, I don’t think X-rays will show anything right now, but I can take you to urgent care, if you like.”
“Thanks, but that’s not necessary.” She pointed to the bench she and Michaela vacated moments earlier. “Look, my awesome-dog’s still there.”
Kevin grinned. “Ah, that explains it.” At her frown, he added, “I wondered about the mustard on your nose.”
A fresh wave of humiliation shot through her. She swiped at her nose and sure as shit, her fingers came away with a streak of yellow. “Jesus, can this day get any more embarrassing?”
“Did you shit your pants when you fell?”
She gasped in shock. “What? No!”
Kevin laughed and eased her onto the bench. “There ya go. It could’ve been worse.”
Despite the circumstances, she laughed. She always considered laughter the best medicine, and before she could gain control, the small chuckle turned into near hysterics.
“Miss Amy said come back and get more if we need to,” Spencer said, handing him two big bags of slushy ice, a couple of towels, and Kevin’s five-dollar bill.
“Thanks, squirt. You did good.”
“Mommy, are you okay? You scared me when you screamed.”
Sam wrapped her arms around Michy in a reassuring hug. “I’m fine, sweetie. It’s just a little owie that’ll be better in no time. And, for the record, I didn’t scream.”
Michy giggled and Kevin grinned. “Yes, you did, and it was loud, too.”
“Great.” Sam sighed and rolled her eyes to Kevin. “The other thing you asked about… Apparently, it’s the only thing I didn’t do.”
She’d fallen, screamed, nearly cried, had mustard on her nose, sand on her skin, grit in her teeth, and an ankle the size of a basketball—all in front of the sexiest man she’d ever met, the man she fantasized about the night before… the man she hoped to seduce.
Despite her shortcomings and the accompanying drama, he was still here, using a feather-light touch to drape the towel over her ankle and foot, and readying the ice. He didn’t drop the bag in place, but instead, let it hover for a moment, giving her time to adjust to the weight and sensation of the cold before settling it in place.
“We’ll leave that on for about thirty minutes, then figure out where to go from there.”
Sam didn’t do well being nursed, and she hated to disrupt Kevin and Spencer’s afternoon. And a little privacy to spit and scratch would be awesome.
“Thank you for your help, but I’ll be fine. There’s no need for you and Spencer to hang around here. I don’t know how much time you get to spend with him, so please”—she shooed him away like a stray—“go do whatever you had planned.”
He leaned against the wooden pillar behind him and crossed his arms. “Spencer’s my nephew, and I have him all the time.” He said the last few words in a heavy, dragged-out nature, like being with his nephew was a major burden, but the grin on his face and the warmth in his eyes said otherwise.
Michaela and Spencer, with their beautiful five and six-year-old tendencies, had gotten on with the business of having fun and were playing in the sand by the seawall.
Unable to spit, Sam sipped from the straw in her cup and swished the soda around in her mouth. She eyed the chilidog, considering another bite… or twelve. But at the rate she was going, she’d end up choking and need Kevin to do the Heimlich. She rested her hands on the bench behind her and leaned back, while Kevin carefully shifted the bag.
“So, it’s true,” she said through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the micro-bursts of fire accompanying each shift of the ice.
“What’s true?”
“You really are a nice guy.”
He grimaced. “So I’ve been told.”
She smiled at his discomfort. “You’re humble, too. I heard lots of good things about you, but… somehow, I missed those qualities yesterday.”
He laughed and ran a thumb across his brow. “Yeah, sorry. Yesterday wasn’t one of my finer moments.”
“I understand. That’s why I—” The discomfort of the ice pushed beyond her tolerance level, cutting off her thought and causing her foot to jerk. “Holy sh—” She snapped her mouth shut and glanced to the seawall, making sure her pint-sized police officer hadn’t caught the near slip. She blew out a breath and let the pain radiate outward, then dissipate.
She hated to make Michy leave, but she couldn’t keep an eye on her with this ankle. Scratch that. She could keep an eye on her, but that’s all. If Michy got in trouble in the water, Sam would be at the m
ercy of the lifeguard and strangers. Should a stranger decide to snap up her little cutie pie, Sam would be helpless.
Chalk up another Mommy Fail of the Year nomination. At this rate, she’d have such a huge advantage on any other candidates, she’d have the award wrapped up by the end of the weekend.
She cut her eyes to Mazze, who watched her way too closely. Given the circumstances, it seemed odd to enjoy his company, but her pleasure wasn’t important. One disappointed child was more than enough, so she gave another go at getting him to move along.
“There’s no need to hang out here,” she said. “I’ve already interrupted your day enough.”
He cocked his head to the side and grinned. “Trying to get rid of me?”
As he reached for the ice again, she grabbed his wrist to stop him. They both froze and stared at the connection.
Breaking the trance, she said, “Yes, because if you keep touching that bag, I’m going to flag down the police and charge you with assault.”
His laughter rose all the way to his eyes, which seemed to be clearing, and rather than settling back into a frown, his mouth maintained the smile. He delicately lifted the ice from her foot, giving her a moment of relief.
“We didn’t have any special plans,” he said, distracting her with conversation as he slowly lowered the quickly melting slush back into place. He watched her face for signs of distress, and when satisfied she was okay, he let go. “To be honest, I hadn’t planned on staying long. We were going to get a snow cone and then head back to the house so he can swim while I sit in the shade and drink cold beer.”
Sam’s facial muscles slackened and she imagined her eyes turning glassy. “That sounds like a great plan. Why’d you even bother coming here?”
He nodded to the kids. “Spencer said his friend Michaela would be here and insisted on stopping.”
“I’ve only met him a few times, but he seems as precocious as Michy. I’ve been meaning to talk to Marianne to see about arranging some play dates, but I keep missing her at afterschool.”
Crossing Lines Page 5