by Megyn Ward
She stands in front of me in a pink bra and lacy pink thong panties. She pants, her small breasts expanding and contracting with each breath. Toned stomach and strong, tan legs, her breaths came faster and harder.
Shit.
I hold out my hands to try to calm her. “Hey, hey. Stop. What’s the matter?”
Her hands clench, her body taut like a spring about to uncoil. “Why do you want to know?”
Because you’re all I care about. All I can think about.
I can’t stand the pain that radiates from her. “I want to help.”
“No. Don’t. You can’t say that.” She shakes her head and points at me. “You don’t have the right to even think that.”
She’s right. She’s better off without me. I should walk away.
But I can’t.
I say the only thing I can. “I’m sorry. God, Kylie. So sorry.”
“Here and willing.” She thrusts out her chin. “I think those were the words you used, right?”
I hate myself for that.
If there is anything in the world I could change, it would be uttering those words. “You can’t believe I meant that.”
“Of course not.” She gives me a fake smile that reminds me of Liesa. “You probably meant to say naïve and stupid.”
Everything in me wants to hold her and make her understand how much I care. She has to remember what it was like for us. What felt like to have me move inside her. Making her come for me.
You’re going to fuck me and take me to breakfast.
That’s what she said to me, wearing nothing by my shirt and a smile.
And I did. Only it wasn’t just fucking. It’s never been just fucking.
Not with her.
She stands in the sun, her skin radiant, her face alive with rage. “Doesn’t matter if you meant it. You said it. All to protect your precious Liesa.”
Not Liesa, you.
Always you.
I can’t tell her that. “It was stupid. I put you in a bad position and I didn’t want it to get worse.”
“For you.” She jabs a finger at me. “You didn’t want to ruin your TV deal with Liesa or your budding romance, or whatever it is you’ve got going. So you made me out to be some stupid slut who spreads her legs for anyone.” A wave crashes against her thighs. She glares at me. “Maybe that’s what I am.”
“Don’t say things like that.” I splash in the receding surf toward her. “You’re not. You’re everything—”
“No. Stop.” She spins around and runs.
I lunge after her and grab her arm, forcing her to turn toward me. “What happened?”
She seems to weaken when the sea water splashes on her face. “What’s wrong with me? Why doesn’t anyone want me?”
I do.
Only you.
“Nothing is wrong with you.” It’s all I can do not to pull her close. Kiss her. Tell her how much I care. How desperately I want her. But I can’t. I can’t to any of it so, instead of doing what I want, I settle for telling her the truth. “You’re smart and fun. Ambitious, and sexy. Everyone loves you.”
She snorts and wipes at her tears. “Nobody loves me.” With that, she pulls out of my grip and stomps out of the water and up to the sea wall.
She reaches down and grabs her rum bottle and sets it on the wall, then looks around at a loss.
I follow her, unbuttoning my shirt. “You can’t go traipsing through the financial district in your underwear.”
She scowls at me but thrusts out her hand for the shirt. I hold it out like I’d seen Niles do with Mom’s silver fox coat. With more grace than a girl in a thong and bra should have, Kylie slips her arms into it and starts working on the buttons.
I don’t want to tell her how cute and sexy she looks with my shirt hanging close to the tops of her thighs and those long, muscular legs stretching beneath the hem. That first time, she’d been wearing my shirt then, too. Her fingers had worked furiously to shed the shirt as quickly as possible. She’d wanted me as badly and I’d needed her.
How can I even think about that when she is hurting so desperately now.
I’m an asshole.
She’s smart to never want to fuck you again.
She hoists herself up the wall and starts her barefoot tromp toward the crowded streets.
“Hey!” I spring up the concrete wall and sprint after her. “Wait. You can’t ride the bus that way.”
She looks at her bare feet and my shirt barely covering her. “Sure I can. I’ll pretend I’m a drunk tourist and no one will think twice about it. Rich people can get away with anything. Look at Liesa.”
I trot in front of her and turn around, jogging backward to keep ahead of her. “Let me give you a ride home.”
“No.” She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Fuck no.”
It’s not that I want her mad, but at least this Kylie is alive. The one I’d found defeated on the sand scared me. I want to know what caused her to deflate like that. Maybe I can help. But that can wait a minute. “Come on. Don’t be so stubborn.”
She switches directions and tries to get around me. I pivot like a linebacker and keep in front. She feints left and slips around me.
When I catch up to her, a hint of a smile plays on her lips.
“If you won’t let me drive you, I’m going to just going to follow you and pester you all the way home.”
She flashes those fighting eyes at me. “You can’t ride around on a bus without a shirt.”
“Says the girl with no pants on.”
Without slowing her march, she gives me some side-eye. “Haven’t we done this before?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, only then it was a taxi ride.” And that night had ended with us on the beach. A night I’ll never forget.
A pink flush creeps onto her cheeks and I know she’s remembering. “I’ll take the bus.”
“Come on, Kylie.” I throw up an arm in front of her in hopes of slowing her down. “I’ll drop you off at your house and drive away.”
She tries to shift around me again but I’m too fast for her and cut her off. She halts and folds her arms across her chest, raising the hem of the shirt dangerously high. She scans the ocean, as if one of the circling gulls might swoop down and give her a ride. Then she squints at the congestion of the office buildings. Finally, she considers me and I try to look helpful and friendly, not like the guy who ruined her life.
“Okay. A ride home.”
She allows me to walk beside her as we round the JK Investment building and walk past the guard’s office to the underground parking garage. She picks out my Mercedes and strides toward it, not acting at all embarrassed to be in my shirt and skimpy underwear.
She doesn’t know how much I admire her confidence.
Twelve
Kiley
I climb into Zach’s fancy-assed Mercedes. The leather seat feels smooth against my thighs. The last car I’ve been in, Blake’s old Hyundai, has torn fabric seats and even then, it burned my legs. Zach’s car sits in a covered garage, more pampered than I’ll ever be.
Oh, poor, pitiful me.
Jesus.
Zach doesn’t seem to mind being shirtless, and really—why would he? If at all possible, he’s even more gorgeous than the last time I saw him. A dark, even tan covers smooth skin that stretches over taut muscles. A smattering of sun-bleached hair covers his chest. And a line of almost downy hair trails under the waistband of his shorts.
He drives confidently through the busy traffic, deftly maneuvering to the highway that runs along the beach, the main road away from the financial district and Seven Mile Beach. Away from where the money hangs out to the center of the island where riff-raff like me lives.
Driving on the left doesn’t seem to shake him, guess he’s been here long enough he’s used to it. Bright hibiscus and flashy bougainvillea line the street and occasionally, a sliver of ocean shows in breaks between buildings and jungle. Trees hang heavy with mangos and other fruit,
and blossoms bright as Jackson Pollack paintings splash against every shade of green. I love the island.
But today, it seems to shine for everyone else.
There you go again, you big baby.
Zach glances at me, then back at the road. “Want to tell me about it?”
“No.” But I do. More than anything. What would it be like to talk to him about the pain? To have him listen, hold my hand, sit with me? He acts as if he cares. There’s nothing but kindness in his deep blue eyes.
Actually, there’s more than kindness. There’s a smoldering hunger that tells me he’s noticed my near nakedness as much as I am aware of his. He has to be remembering what we’re like together. The things he did to me. What I did to him. Heat that has nothing to do with the tropical air rises in the little car.
But this is the guy who fucked me in an outdoor shower and brought a camera swooping down on us. I’d thought we were starting a relationship, maybe falling in love. He thought I was here and willing.
Zach’s face falls. Those dimples disappear. “I really want to help.”
“You can’t.” God, but I want him to be the one who can.
His hands tighten on the steering wheel and his biceps flex, but he keeps his mouth closed. After leaving the bulk of the tourist traffic behind it doesn’t take him long to wind through the streets to our blue and pink bungalow. Blake’s car is gone, so he’s at Dive Love. Diana hadn’t come home last night, so she’s probably still with Don.
I pop out of Zach’s car. “Hold on. I’ll change and give you your shirt back.”
“That’s okay,” he says. “You can keep it.”
I don’t want any reminders of Zach around. He looks far too good to wander around with his shirt off, anyway. “I’ll be right back.” I run up the concrete slab of a patio and into the house.
My room is scattered with clothes I’d tried on and rejected that morning while I planned my new life as Jonas Knightly’s daughter. I whip off Zach’s shirt and spin around to find something to throw on. And stop dead.
The picture of me and Mom laughing on the shore of a beach stands on the table by my bed. Our dive gear hangs heavy on our backs, our masks string around our necks. We look so happy. We were happy. I remember that day. Early in our week of diving, days of sun and surf ahead of us. I didn’t know life could turn so cold and lonely. I slump onto my bed, all the fight drains out of me.
I’m not sure how long I sit there before I hear Zach walk into the house and cross the tiny living room. “Kylie?”
I don’t answer him, but it only takes a couple of seconds for him to find me. He stands in the doorway, all naked chest and tanned legs. After one glance, he walks to the bed. He sits down next to me and puts an arm around me, pulling me close. “I know I keep saying this, but I’m sorry. For whatever or whoever hurt you. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry for the whole damned world.”
It wouldn’t matter if I had you.
Guard your heart.
He holds me close to him. “Please tell me what happened.”
I can’t stop myself from leaning against him, his skin against mine. I take in the scent of him, sun and ocean and his soap, all of it creating a wonderful smell that I hadn’t realized I knew so well.
Zach.
I don’t have the strength to fight it any more. I start to talk. “This might be the worst day of my life.”
He hugs me tighter. His bare chest hard and warm like a shield.
“No, there will never be anything compared to the day Mom died. But this might come in second.”
His warmth and firm hold don’t waiver. If he’d have said anything, I might not go on. But he keeps silent.
“For almost twenty hours I had a father.”
He takes a breath and stills, giving me time to tell him.
“I found out Jonas Knightly was my father after Mom died. I came here looking for him. That’s why I was at the office that day when I met Liesa. I convinced myself she was my friend and I told her about it and she stole his toothbrush. I finally got the nerve to send it out for DNA testing.”
Zach brushes my hair from my face. It was what Mom used to do when I.
Why can’t you be mine?
“When it came back a match, I’d let myself build it up to where I believed Jonas would accept me. Not just that, I’d imagined when I showed him the DNA evidence, he’d have no choice but to acknowledge me.”
Zach lets out a huff of disgust. He holds my gaze, telling me clearly of his disdain for Jonas.
“I told myself it was all about the money. All I wanted from him was tuition for grad school and I’d be set to make my own way in the world. But it wasn’t until I understood he’d always known about me and had rejected me from conception, that I realized I’d lied to myself. It was never about the money.”
I have to stop to swallow a sob and Zach encircles me with his arm. Our thighs smash together on the bed and we sit as close as we can. So much skin against skin.
“It was always about having a father. Mom had loved me, taken care of me, and taught me how to take care of myself. She’d been my staunch supporter, my coach, my advisor, and my best friend. Without her, I felt lost and alone.”
Zach’s eyes are full of such depth and compassion. Part of me actually believes he feels the same way about me that I’m trying so hard not to feel about him.
I clear my throat, chasing away my tears. “But, whatever. Fuck him I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone.”
Zach finally speaks. A deep rumble I feel in that naked chest, where I want to put my lips, trace with my tongue. “You’re right—you don’t need Jonas. He’s an asshole. But you have people in your life. Blake and Diana. And Liesa, if you’ll let her.”
Every one of those names feel like a knife to my heart. “Blake is mad at me for contacting Jonas and for—” I stop short, then think, what the hell. “For you and I being together that night.”
I continue. “Blake and I will never be friends like we were. And besides, he’s leaving for law school at Columbia soon. Diana is moving to California with her new boyfriend. And Liesa?” I push my hair out of my face. She’d said we were connected and some part of me feels it. But that had been as much wishful thinking as Jonas accepting me as his daughter. “Liesa is more concerned about ratings and her amazing lifestyle than she is with friendship and loyalty.”
“You’ve got me.” His small smile hints at his dimples. “You’ll always have me.”
Guard your heart.
“No. I don’t. I don’t have you Zach. I never did.” I jump up, suddenly too aware I barely wear anything, and that Zach doesn’t have a shirt on. I find Zach’s shirt and wadded it up. I hold it out to him. “Here’s your shirt. Thanks for the ride home. Goodbye.”
He grabs the shirt from my hand and tosses it to the side. He stands up and takes a step toward me. His eyes have deepened two shades and heat seems to roll off him. “Kylie.”
“No.” I shake my head. Tight, jerk swivels that stiffen my neck. “This can’t keep happening. I can’t keep letting it happen.”
His jaw clenches like I punched him, his neck stiffening against the assault. And then he turns and walks toward the open doorway.
He’s leaving.
I have to plant my feet and lock my knees to keep myself from lunging at him. From throwing myself in front of the doorway to keep him from walking through it.
But doesn’t leave.
He plants his hand on the open door. “Say you don’t want me, Kylie.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it, his gaze aimed at the living room. “Say you regret ever meeting me and tell me to leave.” The hand at his side clenches for a moment before he forces it open. “Say it and I’ll believe you. I’ll leave, and you’ll never hear from me again.”
The thought of never seeing him again does something to me. Sets off this wild, desperate fluttering in my chest but I open my mouth to tell him to leave because I have to. I have to say it because I can’t keep doing thi
s to myself. I can’t keep letting myself fall for him, again and again.
I don’t want you. I regret ever meeting you. I want you to leave.
“Zach…”
That’s all I say, the rest of it getting lost somewhere but he must hear it in my voice, the truth of what I really want because he’s shoulders loosen, his relief almost palpable.
He closes the door, shutting us both in. When he turns and reaches for me, I let him. When he pulls me against him, even though I know it’s wrong, I can’t fight it.
I want him too much.
Almost as much as I need him.
“Jesus, Kylie—” His hands slide across my hips, one molding itself around the curve of my ass while the other pressed against my back. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m—”
I don’t want to hear I’m sorry. I don’t want to hear anything. I just want to feel. Be with him. Even if I end up regretting it.
Almost without my consent, my mouth opens and presses against his skin. At first, just a gentle brush of my lips, against the naked skin of his chest but it isn’t enough. I need more of him.
I need everything.
My tongue swirls on his skin, tracing the curves and contours of his pecs. Trailing lower and lower. Following the ridged muscles of his abs until I’ve slipped from his grasp and am on my knees in front of him.
I can feel him watching me while I work the button on his shorts loose and I look up to find him watching me with a mystified expression. Like he has no idea what I’m doing. It would be funny if I wasn’t in such a hurry to get my mouth on him.
Slipping my hands into the waistband of his shorts, I push them down around his hips, freeing his cock. Wrapping my hand around the hard length of him, I lean in to lave the swollen head of him with my tongue while I give his shaft a slow, measured stroke.
“Jesus…” He groans it, his hip jerking forward, stroking himself in my grip. “Kylie…” The head of his cock gives a hard jerk when I close my lips around him, moaning when the salty taste of his pre-cum hits the back of my tongue. He reaches up, his hands tangling themselves in my hair, so he can push himself into my open mouth.