Unbound (The Men of West Beach Book 2)

by Kimberly Derting

Raphael grinned lasciviously. “Can’t say the same, I’m afraid.”

  “No shit. I guessed as much.” I eyeballed him warily.

  I spotted Lauren in the crowd and subtly waved her down. Subtly, as in an airport ground crew would’ve been impressed by my flagging skills.

  She was breathless by the time she reached me. “Oh my God, what’s wrong?”

  “9-1-1. We can’t make heads or tails of your gobbledygook computer mumbo jumbo. We need you to fix this mess. Stat!” I shoved the instruction sheet at her and stepped away from the computer.

  She narrowed her eyes at me like I was suddenly the enemy, punched two buttons in all of two seconds, and voilà! Slide show time.

  The thing about the slideshow was that even though I’d watched this thing a hundred times already, I still wasn’t immune to its impact. Lauren had rounded up some of the top students from her computer classes at the rec center to put it together. To say it was intense was like calling Hurricane Katrina a light gust. These were some of the most gut-wrenchingly beautiful stories of love, loss, and triumph of the human spirit.

  They brought cystic fibrosis to life up there on that screen. I mean, sure, it was an incurable disease, but the treatment options today were better than they’d ever been before. Some people who’d been diagnosed were living longer, and better, lives thanks to medical advances.

  Then again . . . some were not.

  And we did our best to incorporate all those stories into our reels. We wanted all these donors here tonight to understand what these families were up against. What they lived with on a yearly, monthly, daily, and hourly basis.

  How their lives, even after their loved ones were gone, would never, ever be the same.

  People like Lucas . . . and his parents.

  There were stories of adults who’d already lost their battle, children who were struggling daily . . . even babies in the hospital with tubes in their noses.

  I looked around the room when the first pictures of Adam started to appear. Many of these people had known Adam or his family, and I could see the tissue boxes being passed around, as everyone remained frozen, watching.

  My own vision was blurred, as I had to blink like crazy just to clear it. Me, who’d seen this already, a million times.

  I saw her then, leaning against Charles’s shoulder, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Maybe Liz Harper had a heart beneath that bitter exterior after all. Maybe she’d just been too damaged by the loss of her beautiful son—a man who’d looked entirely too much like Lucas for my liking.

  Our eyes locked, and I felt self-conscious for catching her in such a private moment. Then she lifted her head and gave me the smallest nod. I couldn’t tell if it was approval or just, finally, acknowledgement, but it was enough, at least for now.

  Beside me, Raphael put his arm over my shoulder. “He was one of my best friends.” His voice was thick and raw. “Thank you for doing this.”

  LUCAS

  “Get your arm off her, or I’ll fucking break it.” He might be my cousin, but I’d never been more serious about anything in my life.

  “Lucas!” Aster gasped.

  But Raph . . . goddamn, he’d always been a shitty judge of when others had reached their breaking point. It was the reason he’d worn a cast on his arm our entire senior year—the year he’d started telling the girls in school that Jeff Schmidt was “rapey.” Didn’t matter that Schmidt deserved the label—at least three underclass girls claimed he’d roofied them and taken advantage of them. Anyone other than Raph would have known better than to fuck with dudes who were the size of small tanks.

  And now, rather than cutting his losses when I was threatening to break his other arm, Raph pulled Em in tighter. “Take it easy, Cuz. No need to break anything. Just thanking your little lady, here.”

  Emerson shrugged out from beneath Raph’s arm and gaped at him. “I hope you’re not talkin’ about me. I’m not anyone’s anything.”

  The slideshow was still running, and I’d walked up on the three of them, where the lighting was dim behind Raph’s equipment. Anyone with eyes, who wasn’t completely transfixed by the slideshow, could see there was something happening back here.

  Anyone . . . like one of Emerson’s brothers.

  “There a problem over here?” Seth asked, poking his nose in where it really wasn’t needed.

  “No!” Raph, Emerson, and I insisted at the same time.

  “Go away,” Em added, sounding even more pissed at her brother for interrupting than she was at me for threatening Raph. “I got this under control. Now, get lost.”

  “That’s good, then.” He turned his attention to Aster, acting like he hadn’t even known my cousin had just been pawing all over his little sister. “’Cause it was you I was hopin’ to catch a minute or two with, anyhow.”

  Before responding to Em’s brother, Aster shook her head at Raph, Em, and me in disappointment. She stopped short of clucking her tongue like a kindergarten teacher. But when she looked back at Seth, a different sort of expression drifted over her face—one she’d never given me before. She practically . . . glowed. “This seems like as good a time as any.”

  He held his arm out, Southern-gentleman style, and I remembered when I’d seen Seth, at his dad’s party, when he was wearing his quadruple-breasted, sister suit.

  What the fuck? Since when did Aster have a thing for Seth?

  I didn’t have time to ponder that before Emerson marched forward and wrenched my arm in a grip that said she wasn’t even close to finished with me. “Whatever you think’s going on, it isn’t. And now definitely isn’t the time to be having this conversation.” She dragged me away from the DJ stand and I let her, following her like a balloon on a string.

  She was right, of course. I was acting like a dick, bum-rushing her like that. But the moment I’d seen Raph’s arm around her . . . on her . . . I’d seen red. Actual pain was radiating from my own jaw where I’d been clenching it so hard as I’d stalked over to break him.

  Because he’d touched her.

  And so what if he had? It wasn’t like he’d been fondling her or anything. But he may as well have been. That’s what it felt like when I’d seen his hands on her.

  Why was that? What was it that had turned me full Neanderthal?

  Because . . .

  She’s mine.

  The realization staggered me.

  This wasn’t about Raph at all. This was about Em.

  I was possessive because . . . she was mine. I didn’t just want her, I needed her. And the idea of anyone else laying a hand on her . . . well, just thinking about it was like a ripping my still-beating heart out.

  Mine, that voice kept saying, even as I tried to convince myself that was bullshit.

  Because . . . she was. I needed her.

  I . . .

  This time, I stopped in my tracks, struck with so much force my heart felt like it might implode.

  I glanced up at an image I recognized all too well. On the screen, there was a picture of my brother and me, when Adam was in the hospital for the final time. There were tubes and monitors and electrical leads all trying to keep him tethered to this world, and everyone had accepted his fate except me.

  Because I refused to admit I would lose him.

  That’s how it felt with Emerson. She’d told me over and over and over again that this thing . . . with us, was coming to an end. But I refused to believe her. I refused to listen.

  Because . . .

  I loved her.

  “What?” she turned and glowered at me, her fingers still gripping my wrist tightly. Then she looked up at the screen and mistook the look on my face for agony. I mean, yes, there was agony that came with my realization, agony of the worst kind. But it was agony I could live with. Agony I wanted to live with.

  I smiled back at her. “Nothing,” I answered.

  EMERSON

  Before the gala, I’d wondered if any of these hoity-toity millionaires had ever eaten food truck food in
their lives. If they had the slightest clue the treat they were in for. Or if they’d thumb their noses at the delicacies we’d provided, because they were superior assholes.

  But as I wove my way in and around the tables in our makeshift ballroom, I got my answer. People were raving. Stuck-up people in fancy gowns. Some of the truck owners even told us they’d already been hired for private parties and corporate events.

  Dinner was an unparalleled success!

  I only had enough time to catch a quick bite with my family. They’d somehow managed to cram themselves into one of the round tables so they could all sit together. Everyone but Seth. No one had seen him since he and Aster had taken off together.

  I would have shuddered at the thought of them banging one out in some coatroom, except I seriously doubted uptight Aster would let anyone—even my brother, who “made her tingle”—bang her on anything other than a bed of white rose petals or a private yacht made of solid gold.

  Lucas acted like my parents and brothers flying in for the event was a big deal, but I guess that’s because he hadn’t been raised in the kind of family I had been. Sure, we fought like hellcats, but we were each other’s biggest cheerleaders too.

  I was glad they’d come, my mom especially. I’d spent days thinking about our lunch, about the things my mom had told me, and I’d had my own light bulb moment—what happened between her and my dad was none of my business. I guess that wasn’t exactly a groundbreaking conclusion, the realization that my parents were entitled to their own lives. Their privacy. My mom had fucked up and my dad reacted like a jerk. But in the end, they loved each other and they’d worked through it.

  It was just like Seth said: things weren’t always what they seemed.

  I took the seat next to my mom, to let her know the past was the past. If my dad could forgive her, then surely so could I.

  As far as Bitsy . . . I mean, what could I even say about Bitsy? After all the shade I’d thrown her way all these years, she’d turned out to be the real hero in this story. Not only had she kept my mom’s secret, but she’d put up with my special brand of crazy. And even after everything she’d been through, she’d swooped in to save the gala by delivering the motherlode in loot for our auction.

  Seriously, if we didn’t end up netting over a hundred grand tonight, I’d eat one of my Jimmy Choos.

  The only weird part of dinner with my family was Lucas.

  I was still pissed after the whole run-in with Raph, who, like Bitsy, was doing us a huge solid with his contribution. I was convinced that half the people here had come just to listen to him—at least the under-thirty crowd.

  And instead of thanking the dude, Lucas had gone full caveman, acting like he’d caught his cousin sticking his tongue down my throat rather than giving me a harmless side hug.

  Now . . . here was Lucas, sitting across the table from me, wrenched between Drew and Brock, staring at me like he’d banged his head extra hard on something.

  You okay? I mouthed, when he just kept watching me, all dopey like. He just nodded, which I guess I was supposed to take as he was, fine that is. But I wasn’t convinced. It was all that staring.

  Staring at me while I ate. Staring while I talked. He even stared as I tried to discreetly pick my teeth . . . at the exact moment I didn’t want anyone looking. And the entire time, we were being serenaded by Raph’s music, which was now being played on a track, so Raph could grab a bite too.

  “Do you mind?” I didn’t mouth it this time.

  He glanced away, but only for a second.

  Finally, I’d had enough. I shoved my chair back and went around to where my brothers were elbowing him, bumping him playfully and squishing him between them. Lucas barely seemed to notice. He was too busy staring at me.

  I grabbed his arm and hauled him away from the table.

  When we were far enough away I was sure no one could hear us, I tore into him. “What the hell? First, you act like a possessive jackass, practically assaulting our DJ. And now . . . ,” I threw my hands in the air, “you’re acting like you never laid eyes on a girl before. Do I need to call security and have you escorted out?”

  His dopey exterior cracked. “You have security?”

  I wasn’t in the mood for this. “You don’t want to test me,” I answered sharply. “You saw those boys the other day. All I have to do is tell ’em you’re giving me the creeps. They’d love nothing more than to haul you outta here.”

  The corners of his dark eyes crinkled. “Fine,” he conceded. “I give. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  Why did he have to be so damned handsome when he smiled?

  “Dance with me.” The low rumble of his request took me off guard, maybe because I hadn’t even noticed that the inner tables had already been moved aside and people were now moving to the music. Maybe because his request triggered a chain reaction that sent sparks shooting throughout my entire body.

  “I can’t . . . I have . . . I need to . . . the live auction is starting soon.”

  “It can wait.” I opened my mouth to say no again, but Lucas was already drawing me toward the interior, and before I could stop him, I was in his arms.

  We’d danced before, at The Dunes, and at a couple of bars we’d been to. But this was different.

  Lucas was . . . different.

  The song was slow, and his hand was at my waist, pulling me against him. Not like when we were alone . . . behind the privacy of locked doors, when we were desperate for each other. This was a different kind of pressure. Constant, steady, holding me in time with him.

  And it was hot.

  I leaned into it, letting him lead me. He was a good dancer, confident. I inhaled deeply, finally admitting, “You smell good.”

  “Thanks. I call it ‘soap.’” The boom of his voice against my ear made me dizzy. I’d missed this. Being this close to him. His fingers splayed, sent those sparks firing straight to my core.

  I’d definitely have to ditch the panties.

  “You should wear it more often,” I told him.

  “Anything you want.”

  I sighed, “You can’t say things like that. I thought we were past all that.”

  Leaning back, he cocked his eyebrow as he looked down at me. “I’m not past anything.”

  I dropped my head against his chest. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was trying to torture me. Why were we rehashing this again? Hadn’t we done enough to hurt each other already? Why did I feel compelled to make things worse? “That’s not what it looked like to me. The other night . . . when you were with that girl.”

  “Em.” It felt like his voice was coming from inside my own head. And when I didn’t respond, his thumb eased my chin up. “That was nothing. Less than nothing.”

  “Whatever, Lucas. You don’t owe me any explanations. We were never a thing, not really. Aster told me the two of you were over. But you were right—you and me, we’re better as friends.”

  His expression clouded over, closing off as his entire body stiffened against me. His hand closed around my wrist, and now he was hauling me in the opposite direction, away from the dance floor. Away from the party. “Where are you taking me?”

  “You and I need to have a talk.”

  “We can talk back there.” But he wasn’t having it. He dragged me past guests, past the DJ booth and the entrance to the rec center, down a hallway that led to the administration offices, where I worked.

  When we were completely and totally alone, he glared at me. He was looming over me as he backed me against a wall. He still had one hand on my wrist and the other was planted firmly above my head. “We’re not,” he stated with the kind of finality that made him sound like he was lecturing me.

  I blinked several times, trying to figure out where I’d lost track of the conversation. “Not . . . what?”

  His brow furrowed as he stepped in even closer, giving me no space to breathe. “Better as friends,” he snarled.

  He was standing too close. Making my head s
pin. “How . . . can you say that? All we’ve done is make each other miserable—”

  Before I could finish, his lips crushed mine, not at all the peck of a friend. Even if I’d had it in my head to play hard to get, I was lost the moment his tongue probed past the seam of my lips, demanding I part them. I didn’t struggle. I’d held back for too long already, and my passion matched his own. I arched against him, silently admitting I was his for the taking.

  “What about that?” he rasped, tearing his mouth away and leaving me breathless. “Was that miserable?”

  He sounded as frazzled as I felt. “Yes. Because it’s not real.”

  This time, he flattened me to the wall. He cupped one of my breasts hungrily, and despite my protests that none of this was real, my body strained to bridge the space between us. He kissed me hard. Hungrily.

  When he came up for air again, he panted against my lips, still squeezing my breasts over the fabric of my dress. “Tell me that’s not real.”

  I was coming apart from the inside out. “It’s not—”

  But he didn’t let me finish, his lips silencing me once more. His hands were everywhere, and I gasped when his large hand dipped beneath the neckline of my dress and his fingers closed around my nipple. “Real,” he insisted, kissing me senseless. Reality slipped away, and as much as I wanted to nod, to agree with him, all I could manage was to grind restlessly against his thigh, where he’d pinned me to the wall.

  His fingers tormented my nipple until the bud was stiff and throbbing. Then he dipped his head so he could scrape his teeth across it. I jolted. This . . . this was agony. I arched and threw my head back. I clawed my fingers into his hair to keep him where he was, and he rewarded me by slicking his tongue across the sensitive nub as I rocked forward, riding his leg like my life depended on it.

  This is real, I thought, even though the only sounds leaving my throat were whimpers of desire.

  But Lucas didn’t seem to notice or care whether I agreed or not. His hands gripped me by my ass as he dragged me up against him while he rocked, too, pulling me closer. We still had all of our clothes on—the only thing separating us—but even so, feeling his rigid cock . . . so ready for me . . . beneath his trousers . . . beneath me. It was like jumping into an electrified swimming pool.