What If (Willowbrook Book 2)

by Mathews, Ashlyn

  “Remember what you said when we ended it?” she asked.

  He nodded. The movement was slow, yet firm, as though he couldn’t make up his mind whether he liked where she was taking the conversation or didn’t want to know.

  “Take a risk with me, Drew. Make love to me, out here in the open.” Yeah, her resolve to not involve herself with him had quietly left the party.

  He walked past her to the French doors of the house and clicked them shut, leaving her completely alone with a man who’d earlier promised to punish her for crashing his party. Her heart raced, and her mouth went dry.

  Grasping the soft fabric in her hands, she hitched up her dress and scanned him from head to toe and back up again to meet his eyes. Could he read her thoughts? If he could, he’d know exactly what she longed to do. She’d run her fingers through his dark brown hair then clasp his face in her palms before pressing her lips to his proud mouth.

  As though he also couldn’t wait, they hurried to one another and met in the middle. His large hands cinched her waist. “You sure this is what you want?” he asked. “We can’t go back to what we had.”

  How to get past the ache in her chest and the lump in her throat at the finality in his words? What she had asked of him was stupid and reckless. But she felt so alive at being stupid and reckless with him. Only him.

  He trailed his knuckles over her lips, down her neck and lower. When he swept his palm across her exposed cleavage, her heart beat out of control, and her knees weakened. She wanted him, had since she’d set her eyes on him at a football game their senior year of high school.

  In the silence, his question begged an answer. Confident he’d play by the rules—he usually did—she gave him her answer. “Yes. As long as we keep our masks and clothes on.”

  He tsked. “I made the rules, Em. Which means—” he slipped off his mask then hers “—I can break them.”

  Chapter Three

  Drew pulled Emma closer to him, if that were possible. The feel of her breasts pressed against him through the fabric of her gown, the fit of her body molded to his . . . he bit down a groan. He’d let her keep her gown on. However, he wanted to see her face when she came for him.

  “Would you like to dance?”

  Next to his ear, she laughed. No, not laughter, but… “Did you just giggle?”

  “I did, and I can’t believe you just said the word giggle,” she said.

  Smiling, he began to swing them around the deck. As they glided from one end to the other, he hummed.

  “Drew—” Her amber eyes shimmered beneath the moonlight, and he stopped their dancing. “Seriously? Cryin’?” On her toes, she pressed her cheek to his and whispered next to his ear. “I hate you.”

  She didn’t. She loved their song by Aerosmith. The lyrics reminded her of when they had met, a moment of profound loss for her. He understood the agony of losing a father. His own dad had died in a worksite accident Drew’s freshman year of high school.

  The drive to succeed and have his dad look down proudly from heaven had him living and breathing football. Until Emma. After their first kiss in their second year of college, he’d wanted to live and breathe only her. Thank God she’d felt the same way. The day of her father’s death, she’d fallen hard for Drew. Her time of loss and love. That had been her confession months after they went exclusive. Four years.

  Amazing how oblivious he’d been to the amount of time that had passed. College and football had been the focus of his life while Emma had been his anchor. Since their breakup and his team’s Super Bowl win, nothing held him back from getting whatever it was he wanted in life. He was rich, famous and . . . single.

  “Thank you.” The gratitude in her voice shook him out of his thoughts.

  “For what?”

  “To be serenaded in the moonlight and danced with like a princess? Absolutely priceless.”

  She was too sweet, and he was a bastard for wanting her to change for him. Unable to resist her quiet charm, he brushed her flushed cheek with his knuckles then trailed his fingers lower to her full and parted lips.

  As though undecided about something, her gaze swung to the ground before she looked him straight in the eyes. “If we do this, we won’t see each other again, right?”

  “If that’s what you want.” His hands swept down the back of her gown. Stopped at her waist, he tugged her to him.

  Her acquiescence was barely a whisper. “Yes.”

  He dipped his head and nuzzled her neck. Against his mouth, her skin was cool while her pulse beat strong and fast. Tearing his mouth from the soft skin of her neck, he lifted her by the waist, sank his face into her cleavage, and inhaled the scent of her. Vanilla with a hint of cinnamon.

  “God, you smell good.”

  She gripped the sides of his head and pushed him further into the swell of her breasts. Needing to be any place but upright, he steered them toward the chaise. He sat, and she straddled his hips.

  Tonight, he could pretend they were a couple again. Afterward, he would forget Emma. She’d made it clear she wanted no part of his world. He had wanted to go public with their relationship. She’d decided to stick with the status quo. She liked her privacy too much to have her life lambasted in the tabloids.

  He and their close circle of friends had suspected differently. Fear was the real reason Emma had wanted to keep their relationship a secret. Emma was afraid of new experiences, new places, new . . . anything. Fast forward four years and a Super Bowl Championship, and Drew realized he wanted “new”—new city, new happenings, and possibly a new woman. Tess.

  “Did you just say ‘Tess?’”

  Oh shit.

  She scrambled off his lap. The hurt in her eyes was like a swift kick to his gut. He reached for her.

  Shaking her head, she backed up. “I thought it was me, but now I realize it’s you.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, confused.

  “I haven’t changed, Drew. You have. Our break-up wasn’t about going public.” She came over and jabbed a finger on the spot above his heart. “You want fast. I like predictable. You want new. I like routine.” She spread her hands out. “What you see is what you get. Last chance. Take all of me, or none of me.”

  She was wrong. He hadn’t changed. Instead, he’d grown from the star-in-the-eyes eighteen-year-old kid she’d known to a twenty-five-year old guy who’d finally caught his star in the sky.

  “I tried all of you, and you weren’t enough.” At his clipped tone, she sucked in a breath. His gut clenched. “And you broke up with me, Em, not the other way around.”

  Giving him a view of her tipped chin, she grabbed her mask off the table. “You’re right.” The strap dangled from her fingers. “Goodbye, Drew. Have a nice life with Tess.” She headed for the back doors.

  Wait a minute. He stalked toward her. “You flew here, crashed my party, and think you can just leave? I don’t think so. Risks, remember?”

  The gentleman in him warned him to cool his temper and walk away from her rejection. Again. The bastard that seemed to win out more since their breakup had other plans.

  “Get laid, Emma. You need a big cock in you like no one’s business.”

  The pissed off determination on her face was the last thing he saw before she stormed off in the direction of . . . his motorcycle. Shit!

  Chapter Four

  Get laid? She needed a big penis in her? Emma chucked her mask over the side of the deck and straddled Drew’s motorcycle.

  Damn him for being so crass. And shame on her for thinking she could ask for one night and be good with that. She didn’t want one night. She had wanted forever.

  Yet, forever as a couple didn’t exist for her and Drew. Football was his life, and the kind of life he lived—in the limelight—wasn’t a life she wanted for herself.

  She gathered the excess material of her dress and stuffed it between her legs. Tears obscured her sight. She didn’t care. The strength of his hand on her bare shoulder sent a tingle of
warning and warmth through her like a scorching lightning bolt. She shrugged off his hand.

  “Em, get off.”

  “I am.” She stared forward and kicked back the kickstand. “With something bigger than you.” She smoothed her hand over the red and black Ducati, a shiny new ride to go along with Drew’s big, fancy house and his new, younger gal.

  The key was in the ignition. Holding down on the clutch, she kicked the gear into neutral, started the engine, and let it idle. In her peripheral vision, Drew’s attention shot to the downward slope of the deck and back to her face again before shifting to the rear seat—where she’d normally sit when they took his old Kawasaki motorcycle for a spin.

  “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.” His tone was soft. She knew better. Steel lined his words.

  Glancing up at the sky, she blinked away the tears. Rawness clawed at her throat.

  “Emma.”

  The hardness in his voice was gone, replaced by concern and a desperation she refused to heed. He’d said another woman’s name in place of hers. How could she forgive him even though she’d been the one who had broken things off between them?

  “I already have regrets.” She held down the clutch again and shifted up to first gear with the tip of her boot. Beneath her, the engine thrummed with power. “I shouldn’t have propositioned you. I came here to see if you were happy. Simple enough.” But not. Not really. Everything going forward would be difficult as hell.

  Shaking thoughts of the future aside, she leaned into the handlebars. “I now understand that you’re perfectly fine without me.”

  The Ducati rolled toward the slope. Firm pressure from behind halted the motorcycle abruptly. She glowered over her shoulder. Drew had a firm hold of the underside of the seat. She shook her head. He set his jaw in that determined way of his. Fine. If she was gonna crash his party, she’d crash it good.

  She eased off the clutch and gave the bike some throttle. The Ducati lurched forward. He’d let go. Quicker than Drew could dodge a solid sack, she switched gears and gunned the motorcycle down the driveway.

  He chased after her. “Cut the engine!”

  She didn’t dare look back.

  Half-way down the long driveway, there was a pull then a release as though Drew might’ve grabbed the edge of the back seat then had lost his grip. Her gut twisted into knots. Drew was hurt, she was sure of it.

  At the bottom of the driveway, she shut off the engine, hopped off the motorcycle and shoved it onto its side. She sprinted up the driveway. Drew lay on his stomach with a furious glare directed at her. She rushed forward.

  He shook his finger at her. “Stay the hell away from me.” In the dark, with only the moon for light, his wrists didn’t look right. “You crashed my party and my ride, a double whammy that’ll have repercussions, sweetheart.”

  He dared threaten her then soften his anger with an endearment? Clenching her hands at her sides, she pivoted and walked down the driveway. At the bottom, without a backward glance, she gave him a dismissive wave.

  She wasn’t afraid of Drew Hazard. Whatever repercussions he had in mind, she’d be ready.

  Hurrying down the side street that bordered his property, she called 9-1-1 for Drew, the cab for herself, then made another phone call.

  “This better be important, Emma.” A baby cried in the background.

  “Um, hi, Jones.” Jones was Drew’s PR guy. “You might want to get to Drew’s place. He had a sudden fascination with the piece of slab on his back driveway.”

  “What. The. Fuck?”

  “He’s conscious,” she reassured as she waved down the cab headed for the front of Drew’s place. “But he might’ve broken his wrists.”

  Jones dropped more f-bombs. With a quick, “nice talking to you again, Jones,” she hung up, stuffed the cell phone into the small clutch dangling off her wrist, and hurried to the waiting cab.

  She got in the cab and let the driver know where to drop her off. He pulled away from the curb, and she slumped into her seat. She wished Jones luck explaining away Drew’s crashed motorcycle and possible broken wrists.

  Broken wrists. Her hand shot to her belly. It was stupid of her to get on the Ducati. But when Drew had said those crass words to her . . . sighing, she stared at the passing scenery.

  Double whammy? Repercussions? Talk about understatements. Once Drew realized she was pregnant, she’d be in deep shit.

  “Ma’am, we’re here.”

  The cab parked along the curb. She handed the driver the fare and got out of the cab. His window rolled down.

  “Want me to wait?”

  She shook her head. On the drive, she’d texted Eve to send the limo to Pier 7 in an hour. Time alone was what she needed most right now, and not pity from her friend. The driver gave her a final questioning look before he shrugged then drove off.

  Ignoring the few stragglers who stared, she walked down the pier in her plum ball gown with her head held high. In the open expanse of the night sky, the moon competed with the brightness of lights strung high on the Bay Bridge.

  She hiked up her dress and rushed past the wood benches and Victorian-style light fixtures. A lump lodged in her throat, and her chest ached. At the end of the pier, she collapsed onto her knees. Her shoulders shook, and she let the tears fall.

  There’d be no more of Drew’s strong arms holding her safe at night, especially in the winter months when rain thrashed against the window panes. No more of his smart-ass remarks that had her wishing she had something to throw at him after he’d already had her laughing so hard she snorted. Or his kisses that left her tingling from head to toe.

  Since their breakup, Drew had been linked to several beautiful women. There was no mention of her. To the world, Emma and Drew hadn’t existed. And that had been her doing.

  Chapter Five

  Three weeks later…

  “No way will I be a part of your reclusive guy retrieval team.” With her palms flat on the kitchen table, Emma raised a defiant brow at her friends, Eve and Asa.

  They calmly sat across from her and exchanged knowing glances before redirecting their conspiratorial sights on her.

  “You’re the perfect one to get him out of that hole he calls a house,” Eve said with an exaggerated wave of her hand.

  With her hands outstretched in front of her, she backed toward the kitchen door. “Remind me again why you think I’m the one when either of you is capable?” She reached behind for the doorknob, ready to make a clean and quick getaway.

  “Of the five of us, he hates your guts the most,” Eve said with her usual tact. “If we send you in, he’ll come running from the woods begging us to give him a spot in the auction.”

  “Haha, funny.” Though she was twenty-four and too mature to stick her tongue out, Emma did so anyway. “Not.”

  Eve sighed. “We need him, Em. He’s a celebrity. Put Drew in our gala, and we’ll for sure get high bids. More bids equal—” Eve rubbed her fingers and thumb together “—more moo-lah.”

  Lucas, Eve’s on-again, off-again boyfriend, got up off the couch, came over, and started to massage Eve’s shoulders.

  “Maybe that’s not the greatest idea. There’s a reason Drew’s holing himself in his place. Screw the injured pride excuse he gave Rhys and me. Could be he needs a woman’s sympathetic ear.” Lucas directed those serious eyes of his on Emma. “Rhys and I—”

  “Are tired of holding his junk for him while he pisses,” said Rhys, Asa’s boyfriend, from where he sat on the couch flipping channels on the television.

  At the thought of holding Drew’s junk for him, she said a hurried, “I’ll think about it,” and bolted out the door and into her Prius.

  She wanted to help, but like Eve had said, Drew hated her guts. For sure, he blamed her for putting his throwing arm out of commission. Well, not just his throwing arm, but his other one too. And she couldn’t forget his last words to her. Stay the hell away from me.

  For some unknown reason, he was back in town, and
had been for a week now. Though it hurt to admit it, she didn’t believe he was in Willowbrook because of her.

  Now, their friends asked of her what she didn’t want to do—be near Drew. But they were right. If anyone could unearth why Drew was hiding from a world he wanted to be a part of since she’d known him, it would be her.

  From his answer, she’d ask about the gala. Like Eve had said, Drew would bring in a crowd and money. Two things they needed to make the gala a success for Sandy’s boy. A little guy Emma loved like crazy.

  Chance was almost three. He was a happy kid with a mop of curly blond hair and bright blue eyes. Recently, he’d been diagnosed with leukemia. Sandy and her husband wanted the best treatment for him. The best treatment meant making the trip to Seattle. For a barista and a janitor, money was tight. The town had pulled together, and with Eve’s mind for parties, they’d planned a gala at the senior center.

  Asa’s Supercross champ boyfriend could fetch a couple hundred dollars. What woman wouldn’t want to spend an evening with that easy-on-the eyes guy? Swoon-worthy, that’s what Rhys Miles was. Then there was Lucas Montaine. Wow. Another hunk of man. Drew? Drew was a bad boy with a wallop of sweetness. That’s what had drawn her to him.

  The day she had first seen Drew throw a football, rain had poured in buckets while cold had seeped into her bones. She’d waited and waited for a guy who later became a no-show. That had been the last time Emma had accepted Eve’s offer to set her up with a guy from “across town.”

  When the game had ended, Emma had called her father to come and get her. Yeah, it had sucked to be a senior in high school with no car. But money was tight and she’d been slowly saving up for her own car.

  Dad hadn’t answered, and that worried her, more so when her calls went direct to voicemail. She tried her mother’s number next. Her mom hadn’t answered either. In a panic, she’d run from the stadium. While stopped on the side of the road to catch her breath, Drew had pulled up alongside her and offered her a ride.