by Meghan March
Take Me Back
Meghan March
Copyright © 2017 by Meghan March LLC
All rights reserved.
Editor: Pam Berehulke
Bulletproof Editing
www.bulletproofediting.com
Cover design: @ Sommer Stein
Perfect Pear Creative Covers
Cover photo: @ Sara Eirew
Sara Eirew Photography
www.saraeirew.com
Interior Design: Stacey Blake
Champagne Formats
www.champagneformats.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Visit my website at www.meghanmarch.com.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Epilogue
Also by Meghan March
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
About the Author
About This Book
We fell in love on a beach, got married in paradise, and I carried her off into the sunset. It should have been perfect, but saying “I do” doesn’t guarantee a happily-ever-after.
Two years later, I barely recognize either of us behind the walls we’ve built.
It’s time to bring it full circle. Back to a tropical paradise. Back to find out if we can still make this work.
I’m not willing to give her up, but to save us, I have to risk everything.
Two damaged people.
Countless secrets.
The fight of our lives.
We might be broken, but we’re not done.
Chapter 1
Kat
Crap. I’m going to be late.
I check the clock on my phone for the seventeenth time as my car service heads for the Houston airport. If I miss this flight, Dane will never forgive me. Two years of marriage, and I know that for a fact.
“United Airlines, right?” the driver asks.
“Yes. Please. My flight boards in less than an hour.”
He glances up in the rearview mirror and rolls his eyes at me. “I hope you don’t have to check bags. They might not let you.”
“I don’t need to check bags. Just . . . hurry.”
He shakes his head and mumbles something to himself before taking the lane heading for the United terminal. I can already picture my early-for-everything husband waiting at the gate, glancing at his watch every three minutes and wondering if I’m going to make him take our anniversary trip alone.
I should have skipped the Brazilian wax. I don’t know why I thought forty-five minutes of someone tearing the hair off my lady parts might somehow help bridge the chasm between us.
Now I look like a plucked chicken, and my husband might strangle me.
My flight from Dallas touched down at seven o’clock this morning, and I hurried home to find Dane had already left for the office. Not a good sign for me. After a mad dash up to the bedroom, I dumped out my carry-on of suits and blouses on the bed and grabbed a handful of bikinis (I’m praying they still fit and they match), some dresses from those exotic weekend getaways that seem like they were part of a different life, and a random selection of other shorts, T-shirts, cover-ups, and sandals. My toiletry bag never moves from its zipper compartment, but when does it ever? With my suitcase reloaded, I made it to the spa by nine, in time to transform my blond mane from a work-weary look into vacation ready.
This is how I live now. Rushing from here to there, barely stopping to breathe. If I don’t give myself free time to think, I won’t break.
Must. Stay. Busy.
Now I’m pasting a smile on my face and pretending to be excited about taking a vacation that overlaps with the second-most devastating day in my life.
I can’t believe you’ve been gone for a year.
Grief wells up, and like I’ve practiced since I dragged myself out of bed a week after the funeral, I push it down and swallow the urge to cry.
This is why I don’t take vacations. This is why I work myself to the bone, spending more time in airports, hotels, and conference rooms, solving my clients’ problems so I don’t have time to worry about my own.
At least theirs are fixable.
But I’m trying because Dane was adamant. He didn’t even tell me about the trip until he’d already booked it and I couldn’t say no.
The horn of a rental-car shuttle blares behind us, jerking me back into the present as my driver swerves to steal someone’s spot in front of the terminal.
“Better get moving, lady. You’re gonna be late.”
I throw open the door and yank my carry-on out of the car. Thank God this goes on my business account, and I don’t have to waste time paying him.
“Thank you,” I yell over my shoulder as I rush toward the sliding doors.
I breeze past the check-in counter because veteran traveler that I am, I’ve already got my boarding passes on my phone, and head for the expedited security line.
Thirty-nine minutes until departure. I got this.
Twenty-six minutes later, I finally get through security and rush down the hallway to the gate, which, of course, is at the very end of the terminal.
Just like I pictured, Dane is standing at the edge of the seating area, phone to his ear, glancing at the clock above the head of the gate agent.
“Hey. Sorry. I’m here.”
He turns toward my voice. Brown eyes that are a perfect match to his short dark-brown hair sweep over me. His brows slash into a deep V.
It’s a complete one-eighty from how he’d grin and then catch me when I’d throw myself into his arms when we met at the airport on our stolen weekends away. But that was before everything changed.
Dane ends the call and shoves his phone in the pocket of his gray shorts. His white T-shirt strains over the thick muscles of his shoulders and a
rms, revealing gray-and-black ink that’s usually hidden under the sleeves of the starched shirts he normally wears for work.
“Jesus, Kat. I thought this was your way of telling me it’s over.”
His words hit me in the stomach like a fist.
“What?”
“You haven’t answered my texts since last night, including the three I sent you this morning to see if you were even coming. I get that business comes first with you, but seriously, what the hell?”
I stare at him, feeling like I’m looking at a stranger instead of my husband. “Over?”
“What else am I supposed to think when you go radio silent like that?”
Fumbling for my phone, I stare down at it like I’m holding alien technology. “I didn’t get any texts.”
“That’s hard to believe since I’ve sent a half dozen.”
“We’ve finished our pre-boarding and now are boarding Group One, our first-class cabin,” the woman at the podium announces.
Dane grabs the strap of his duffel and hefts it over his shoulder. “Let’s just get on the fucking plane.”
Two years of marriage, and it’s already come to this.
It’s all my fault.
Chapter 2
Kat
My mind is blank except for the word over pounding through it on repeat.
How did we get here? Once upon a time, Dane and I were happy. We were in love.
In fairy tales, the wedding is always followed by and they lived happily ever after. In real life, I do just means the real work begins.
I blink back the sting of tears as the gate agent nods at me, and I hold my phone screen over the scanner.
“Thank you, Mrs. Cross.”
Mrs. Cross. Maybe not for much longer.
I trail after Dane down the jet bridge and onto the plane. He shoves his duffel into the overhead compartment and reaches back to take my carry-on and stow it. Even when he’s pissed, apparently thinking about divorcing me, Dane still has manners.
“Window or aisle?” He makes eye contact with my shoulder when he asks.
“Whichever you don’t want.”
“You can have the window.”
“Are you sure—”
“Kat, take the window.” His jaw barely moves as the words come from between clenched teeth.
He steps back so I can slide into the row and tuck my purse under the seat ahead of me.
“You want your laptop out of your carry-on?” he asks as he steps out of the aisle to allow more travelers to pass.
My tone is hushed when I reply. “I don’t have it.”
Disbelief is stamped all over his face. “What?”
“I didn’t bring it.”
“You didn’t bring it.” He says the words slowly, as though he’s attempting a phrase in Swahili.
His shock isn’t surprising. I even brought my laptop on our honeymoon. I don’t remember the last time I went somewhere without it. Probably before I started the company, the week I met Dane . . .
* * *
Two and a half years ago
Holy. Shit.
They were the only two words my brain could conjure. Okay, not the only two, because there was definitely an F-bomb in between them.
Holy. Effing. Shit.
The straw in my coconut drink, some kind of rum deliciousness only Mexico could come up with, fell to the side as my mouth dropped open.
The most gorgeous man I’d ever seen strode out of the ocean like a tatted-up Greek god. Call it cliché all you want, but this man . . . Wow.
A snorkel and mask dangled from one hand as he wiped the water off his face with the other. Every inch of his perfectly built body was lean, muscled, and tanned golden bronze. And then there was the ink wrapping up his arm and spilling onto his chest. When he shook his head and water flew from his short dark hair, my heart slammed into my ribs.
“Holy shit . . .” Benjie, my best friend, said from the chair beside me.
“Mine. Mine. I’m calling it.” I flung out my arm to cover his eyes so he couldn’t get any ideas, but I misjudged the distance and knocked Benjie’s drink all over his lap.
“Damn, girl!” Benjie jumped up from his chaise lounge and spun toward me. “Watch yourself. Besides, we both know you don’t get to call it. You wouldn’t even know what to do with it.”
I sucked in an outraged breath and bolted to my feet. Rum deliciousness sloshed over the edge of the coconut, splashing my skin and soaking into my bikini top.
Benjie’s gaze zeroed in on the freezing-cold drink dripping from my cleavage. I knew he wasn’t looking at my now very prominent nipples because he liked boys and not boobs.
And so do I, dammit.
“Take it back. I do so know what to do with it.” Since I was mildly intoxicated, I didn’t realize my voice was carrying.
“Oh, really?” Benjie dropped a hand to his hip. “Tell me. Right here, right now. What would you do with that sexy piece of tattooed man meat? In detail.”
“I’d . . . I’d . . .” I stammered like an idiot, trying to come up with something that would shock Benjie into conceding.
I was thinking so hard, the fact that his gaze darted over my shoulder didn’t register. Or maybe it was the three coconut drinks I’d had earlier that stole my observational skills.
“I’m waiting,” he said, taunting me.
“I’d ride him so hard, he’d need a new saddle when I was done.” I raised my coconut in salute, a little too enthusiastically.
The remaining liquid went flying in a backward arc, and a low, soft curse came from behind me. I spun around, coming face-to-face with my newly claimed stallion.
“Oh God,” I whispered.
Instead of water dripping from his face, the remains of my drink now trickled down his cheek.
“I think this is yours.” He lifted the hibiscus flower that had decorated my coconut off his inked forearm and offered it to me.
I stared at him, not moving to take it, probably because my brain had stopped communicating with the rest of my body due to stimulus overload.
Benjie nudged me from behind. “Take the flower, Kitty Kat.”
The man’s intense brown eyes, so dark they were almost black, darted from my face to Benjie’s.
“You’re gonna let another man give your girl a flower?”
Holy hell, his voice. Deep, delicious, and all man.
“Psh, I’d let you give her the D right here on the beach if you asked. God knows she needs it more than I do,” Benjie said in a tone that made me want to throat-punch him.
Way to throw me under the bus, Ben-Ben.
The guy’s eyes widened, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure how he was going to respond.
And then it happened. Rumbling laughter. His whole body got involved, but not a single ounce of him jiggled. No, this hard-bodied man simply vibrated with humor.
It was the best sight-sound combination I’d ever witnessed.
When it faded away, he reached out and tucked the still beautiful hibiscus behind my ear. “I’d rather start by taking her to dinner.”
I shook my head. “We’re on vacation together, so—”
Benjie cut me off. “And I already kinda made plans to meet up with that bartender at seven. She’s all yours.”
I spun around to look at him. “What?”
“Bros before hos,” he said, attempting an innocent tone but coming off like the jackass I knew and loved.
“Seriously?”
“Love you, but I, too, love the D.” He winked.
“I’ll pick you up at your room at seven then,” the stranger said.
“Kat’s in number twelve.” Benjie offered the information since I’d suddenly gone mute.
“Number twelve. Seven o’clock. I’ll be there.” The man’s gaze trailed from my face down my body, and I could feel it like a touch. “If you wear that, I’ll be too busy fighting off the guys who want to take you home to enjoy the evening.”
My mouth dropped open as h
e gave Benjie and me both a nod before he strode away.
“Holy shit,” I whispered.
“Holy shit is right,” Benjie said, his voice hushed. “No way in hell would I have let you have him if I’d seen that ass first.”
* * *
Present day
“What can I get you to drink?”
The flight attendant’s question yanks me out of the memory. She lays cocktail napkins on the armrest between us, and I snatch one up to dab at the tear sliding down my cheek before Dane sees it.
If only I could rewind it all. I would give anything to go back to that day and make Benjie promise never to lie to me. If I’d only had some warning, maybe everything would be different now.
“Champagne, of course. We’re celebrating our second wedding anniversary,” Dane replies.
The flight attendant smiles, completely missing the note of sarcasm in his tone. “That’s so exciting. Congratulations.”
She bustles away, and I keep my voice quiet. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t get your texts.”
Dane shifts to look at me. “We already confirmed I’m last on your priority list, but I was fucking worried about you, Kat. I didn’t know if you’d been mugged or killed, or if you made it to your flight. You don’t tell me where you’re going anymore, so it’s not like it’s easy to check on you.”
Frustration underlies every word, and I can’t decide if that’s a good sign or a bad one. At least it’s not indifference. That would be worse.
I keep my tone hushed. “You’re not last on my priority list. I . . . I don’t know what happened.”
“Whatever.”
The single word continuing to pound through my head demands I ask my next question.
“Do you want it to be over?”
He doesn’t have a chance to answer before the flight attendant returns with our champagne.
“Congratulations again. Every anniversary is a little victory.”
We both thank her, and she moves on to get drinks for the rest of the first-class cabin.