What ifs were dangerous. What ifs were terrifying. I watched Brett smile at my mother and stand, reaching for her hand, and she blushed, following him to the dance floor where he carefully spun her around.
What if he broke my heart?
“Want to grab a movie?” I gestured to the brick storefront of Rick’s Movie Rentals. “We could grill burgers and stay in tonight.”
“Sure.” Brett glanced out the window. “I didn’t think those existed anymore.”
I smiled, pulling into the gravel lot. “Watch what you say in public. We’re a no-Redbox town in support of Rick.”
“Really? That written down in the city code?”
I scowled at him. “Might as well be. Walmart stuck one out front—had to replace it three times due to vandalism. They finally gave up after the last one caught fire.”
“Did they catch who did it?”
I laughed. “No, and no one tried. That Redbox would have meant the death of one of our town’s oldest establishments. Plus,” I elbowed him, “if you give Rick the secret word, he’ll let you in the back where the dirty videos are.” I turned off the car, leaving the keys in the ignition, and opened the door.
“Sounds clandestine.”
“Oh, it is.” I leaned against the front door, the chime of bells causing the round man behind the counter to look up with a smile.
“Hey Riley. It’s been a while.”
“Hey Rick. This is Brett—he’s visiting from Lauderdale.”
“Oh, I’ve heard.” The man eased off the stool and stood, reaching a hand across the glass counter. “Nice to meet you. Take good care of our girl, you hear?”
“I’m trying.” Brett smiled.
“Got anything new, Rick?” I called, dipping down the aisle.
“New ones are on the end caps.”
We finally—taking our time, nothing left of the town to see—decided on Die Hard, grabbing some candy and microwave popcorn packets off Rick’s shelf. Brett paid and we returned to the car, cracking open a box of chocolate peanuts for the ride home. I had just pulled out when Brett chuckled from the passenger seat, turning the DVD case over in his hand.
“What?”
“I was just thinking about our first dinner in Aruba. When you asked me to name a movie with singing in it.” He held up the case. “Doesn’t Bruce Willis sing in this? Some Christmas song while he’s running around?”
I tilted my head, thinking. “I think you’re right. Another shining example of your poor answering ability.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think Jerry Maguire endeared you a little to me. Cracked my tough guy exterior.”
“Tough guy exterior?” I laughed. “Please.”
It was odd, being in my normal environment with him beside me. The two of us—out of luxury, no palm trees or ocean waves in the background. My air conditioner blew hot, our burgers got slightly burnt, and the DVD skipped every time things got interesting, but the night was a success.
That night, his body curled around mine, Miller’s body warm on my feet, I fought off sleep. I just wasn’t ready for the day to end and him to fly away in the morning. I had been so nervous about the weekend, the wedding, and all for nothing. Brett had been perfect, complimenting the girls, dancing most of the night on the floor, jumping on stage with the band at one moment and showcasing an impressive ability to—of all things—play the guitar. I’d fallen deeper in love with him at every turn, with every introduction, with each wink he gave me and kiss he stole. It was as if his profession of love had opened a floodgate in my heart, and my body was finally allowing a hundred powerful emotions to pour forth and link my soul to his. I had pulled aside my father early, his gruff exterior becoming even more rigid when I ordered him off of Brett.
“It’s my job as your father to protect you. You’ll understand it when you have a child.”
“I won’t ever get to that point if you scare off any potential suitors,” I had said pointedly, my hand gripping his shoulder. I’d looked up at him and begged with my eyes. “Please, Daddy. Just let me have this one relationship and trust me that I know what I’m doing. Please.”
His eyes had softened and he’d pulled me close to his chest. “You know I love you, Riley.”
“I know, Daddy. Now prove it by trusting me.” I spoke into his shirt, his hand pausing in its pat of my back.
“If that’s really what you want, pumpkin.”
I pulled back and beamed up at him. “Thanks, Daddy.”
“Now, where is this man? At least let me give him a warning glare.”
I had laughed, looping my arm through his and leading him to Brett. Dad had postured, straightening to his full height and gripping Brett’s hand with a strength that had to hurt. Brett had smiled, easy and confident, his eyes direct on my father’s, soft on my mother’s, his head tilting when he listened to her speak. He was, simply put, perfect. And they didn’t fight it, Mom beaming at me, Dad actually clapping Brett on the back near the end of the night, his mouth curving into a rare smile. If I could replay the evening a hundred times, I would. Especially our last dance, the music slow, our bodies close, his hand stealing into my hair and tugging at the pins there. I hadn’t protested, I’d just rested my forehead on his as I felt the fall of curls on my bare back. “I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you,” he’d murmured. I’d said nothing, just released a soft sigh and taken his kiss when it’d come.
I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you.
The best sentence in the world.
“You know that she’s dead.” Nicole kicked off her shoes and leaned back in the chair, bringing her feet up and sitting Indian-style.
I flinched. “I thought therapists were supposed to be gentle.”
“Therapists may be. I was probably gentle with you two years ago. But I’m a psychiatrist now. And that gives me the ability to do what needs to be done.”
“And to overcharge me,” I grumbled, loosening my tie and pulling it off.
She laughed in response, catching the tie when I threw it at her. “I work for practically free. I get my payment in other ways.”
“You’re a godsend,” I lowered myself into the chair across from her.
“No, but you were.” Nicole straightened, picking up a stress ball, and spun slightly in the chair. “Back to Elyse.” Her voice had flipped, business-like once again, and I wondered, for a moment, what her other patients saw. Was it the light-hearted tease or the serious doctor? Or did they see what I did, an infectious blend of the two?
I closed my eyes. “Back to Elyse.” It always came back to Elyse. It couldn’t not. Not when so much of my daily life revolved around, or was because of, her. She had touched me in life and stolen me in death. Stolen me, pulled me into this madness and wouldn’t let me leave. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to leave. Not when we were changing so many lives.
“I feel like you are letting Elyse jeopardize your current relationship.”
“I paid for your grad school for that?” I joked, opening my eyes and lifting my head.
“You need to tell Riley.”
I shook my head. “It’s too dangerous. I can’t bring her on the trips if she knows. If she said something wrong, gave it away—I’ve worked too hard on my cover.” And I had. A pile of money spent burying any trace of Elyse on the Internet. False documents, backgrounds, and paper trails in place. If someone researched Brett Jacobs, they found me. If someone investigated Brett Betschart, they found next to nothing. Certainly nothing about Elyse. Certainly nothing that would link the two identities.
“Think on it.” She pressed.
“I have.”
She held firm, holding eye contact, and, for a brief moment, I realized how proud I was of her. An egotistic thought. “You are allowed to be happy, Brett,” she said quietly. “You can let that happen.”
“I know that.”
I did know that. But it still felt wrong.
3 months before
Caribbean Sea
I stretched out, my red toenails peeking at me as I propped my feet on the deck railing, the cushion beneath me warm against my wet skin. Around us, navy blue water as far as the eye could see.
“Happy?” I felt his hand tug through my hair before he played with the strands. I looked up to see Brett looking down, a smile on his face.
“How could I not be?” I patted the cushion beside me. “Come lay down.”
“Sunbathing isn’t my thing. I don’t like to turn on all the seagulls.”
I laughed, rolling over and running my hand down his stomach, his abs hard beneath his T-shirt. “Then ... why don’t you turn me on instead?”
He squatted, bringing his face level with mine, and leaned in, pressing his lips to mine, his hands running up my arms and to my neck, my bathing suit top undone and stolen before my mind had a chance to catch up. He stood, smiling down at me, my hands tight to my chest as I lay on my stomach and glowered at him. “Give that back,” I hissed.
“You’re missing the benefits of yacht ownership. We are fifty miles from anyone … just you and I on the boat.”
“So?” I looked around furtively.
“So...” He pulled off his glasses, then the T-shirt, his hands quick as he unbuckled, unzipped, then ditched his shorts, his body completely exposed. “So, I want to fuck you in the sunshine.”
He stepped closer, leaning over me, his cock pressing into my shoulder as I felt his fingers pull at the strings of my bikini bottom, the material falling away as he rolled my reluctant form over, my hands rising to cover myself, his touch gentle as they pushed my hands away, proof of his attraction growing thicker and stiffer before my eyes. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” He leaned over, crawling onto the cushion and on top of me.
“You say that to all of the girls,” I scoffed, running my hands down his chest, his cock bare as it bobbed between us.
“I’ve never said that to anyone.” He parted my legs, wrapping them around his waist, his eyes on mine when he cupped his hand over me, his thumb against my clit as he pressed his fingers inside, his other hand fisting his cock. I moaned, arching my back and pulling at his neck, wanting him closer, wanting him everywhere.
“Let me get a condom,” he whispered.
“Not yet,” I begged. I squeezed with my legs, ground against his hard cock, and watched his eyes darken with need, his hand moving faster, his fingers inside me quicker, the soft pant of his breath the most erotic thing I had ever heard. I ran my hand through his hair, and he bit my neck. I lost my breath in the start of an orgasm and finished with his groan in my hair. I felt his control break and loved that power belonging to me.
The first girl I’d ever saved was Marcia. She was a tiny brunette who was on heroin when Joel and Chris brought her in. I’d stood in the kitchen of a Bahamian rental and looked at the girl before me, her jaw working, her eyes dull and vacant, ribs showing, and felt my chest tighten. Wanted a Xanax. Wanted to walk out of that kitchen and never see another woman ever again. That life was not one I’d known. I knew butlers and Italian marble floors. I knew lobster in Tahiti and Miami Heat skyboxes with my name on the door. I hadn’t known what to do with a strung-out girl who had spent the last sliver of her life servicing the needs of animals.
I had chewed at my bottom lip as I leaned against the edge of the fridge and stared at the girl. “How much did you pay for her?”
“Three thousand.”
I’d closed my eyes at the sum. Wondered, in the moment before I opened them, how much her parents would have been willing to pay. Her boyfriend. Her husband. I would have paid a hundred million for Elyse. I’d wondered, as my gaze found the girl again, her teeth chattering in the quiet room, how much Elyse sold for, how much the man who’d killed her had paid for the right.
“Buy as many as you can.”
6 weeks before
My first visit to Fort Lauderdale began in the middle of a storm, Brett’s plane circling the perimeter of the city for ninety minutes before our gas levels forced us to touch down. I closed the window shades, gripped the armrests for dear life, and gave a sermon-worthy prayer in the four minutes it took us to descend.
When the wheels touched down, it was rough, the plane slamming onto the runway, my shoulders jerking forward as if I’d been yanked. I didn’t care. We had landed, I was alive, and I wanted to get off that freaking plane as fast as humanly possible.
When the door opened, he was there, wetness plastered to his face, rain pelting down, his arms gathering me into his soaked chest, his mouth desperate against my cheek, my neck, my mouth. “God, I was worried,” he ground out, stepping back and helping me down the steps, my magazine held over my head doing a piss-poor job of protecting me from the rain. When I hit the ground we ran, through the heavy rain, toward the hangar.
I was laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it all, my blouse plastered to me from his wet embrace, our run through the rain pointless, the downpour one of the soak-your-bones variety. I hiccupped, a slight chill passing through me in the form of a shudder. Brett noticed, pressing a button on the side of the wall, the hangar door sliding shut. I looked around, the large, empty space big enough to hold my house. “Doesn’t the plane need to come in?”
“It can wait.” He pulled me closer, dragging us both down the side of the space until we reached the small kitchen. His hand was quick and efficient as he popped the front button on my jeans, my purse falling from my hand as he unzipped my pants and squatted, peeling the wet fabric down my legs, my feet lifting to help, his fingers tickling when they pulled off my sandals. “This is purely in concern for your health,” he murmured, opening the dryer and tossing in my jeans, the appliance door hanging open as he returned to me, his eyes traveling from my feet, up the length of my legs, lingering on the white triangle of my panties before he shook his head, a small smile crossing his lips. He stepped closer, his hands shaking a bit as he unbuttoned the front line of my blouse, his hot mouth along the line of my neck as the shirt was carefully removed.
“Nervous?” I teased, my own words shaking slightly as he ran a hand over my newly exposed cleavage.
He smiled, his eyes pulling from my chest to my face. “With you? Always.” He wrapped his palms around my waist and lifted, setting me onto the counter, his presence lost for a moment as he added my shirt to the dryer and then - my eyes glued to every movement - stripped himself, the actions quick and fumbled, a laugh coming from my mouth when his feet got tangled in the soggy jeans. By the time he slammed the dryer shut and started it, his glare only made me laugh harder, a hand over my mouth doing nothing to muffle the sound.
“Easy,” he growled, stepping forward, grabbing my knees and forcing them apart, the laugh dying in my throat as he leisurely slid his hands up my thighs, his thumbs slowly moving back and forth in their travel. His fingers crawled over my hips, hooking in the edge of my panties, a cheap pair I had picked up in the grocery store, white and plain, his eyes glued to them like they were crotchless lace.
“God, Riley,” he breathed. “You are every man’s wet dream.” He pulled at the edge of the underwear, as if testing their strength, then left them on, his fingers running over the thin fabric, my breath hissing as the pads of his fingers ran down and over my clit, his eyes finding mine when he did the first brush. I leaned back, my hands supporting me on the counter, my legs opening wider, giving myself to him, my confidence growing in his eyes’ raw and needy devour of the view. His other hand pulled at the underwear, stretching it tight, the wet press of it against me cold yet stimulating, everything stimulating in this moment.
He uttered a curse, his right hand continuing the sweet torture of my clit as his left moved higher, pulling down the top of my bra, another simple white item, anything sexy in the luggage on the forgotten plane. I wondered about the pilot. Did he sit outside these doors, still in the plane, waiting? Is there a chance he’d come in? Push a button and raise the doors, exposing this moment under the bright fluorescence?
My thinking stopped when, with my breasts gently pulled free, hanging out of the top of my bra, Brett’s palm scraped over their surface, his hand rougher than normal, a sharp contrast to the gentle play of my clit that was already making me literally pant before him. He ran the back of his nails along my nipples, squeezed the weight of my breasts in his hands, gently tweaked the points as my hips involuntarily twitched, wanting more, his hand responding, a finger sliding under the fabric and moving deeper, into me, the single digit causing a wave of response that had me moaning in his hands.
“You see what you do to me, Riley?” He nodded down, his cock thick and ready, bobbing out and bumping against the counter’s edge, just a few inches from me. Shrinkage was a phenomenon that, apparently, didn’t affect this man. The knowledge that it was that hard, that ready, without him even touching it, with just him looking at me, touching me ... I couldn’t stop the wave of arousal, the tilt of my need as I reached forward, gripped his shoulder, my scream muffled by my bite into his skin, the thrust of my hips shameless as I ground against his hand, unable to control myself as I came right there on the counter.
His hands didn’t stop, carried me through, the moment of his cock’s shove into me coming as I fell, my body limp as he held me to him and pounded out every bit of his craving, one of his hands bracing on the counter, his hips a blur, the sound of our slaps and moans and pants echoing through the cavernous space, my body reawakening beneath him, my nails digging into his back, voice begging him for more, a second orgasm so closely behind the first that it felt as if they were tied together with string.
When he came he yelled my name, his hand fisting in my hair, his other hand digging into the cheek of my ass, almost pulling me off the counter in his frenzied need to be as deep and connected as possible. He fully buried himself, his last few fucks short and deep, his voice cracking as he held me to him, his chest heaving, breath ragged against my cheek, his hands holding me in place as if he couldn’t bear to let go. “God, Riley.” He exhaled. “God, I love you.”
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