Waiting for the One

by L. A. Fiore

  “Saffron.” With a second of profound relief, he turns deadly serious. Pulling his phone from his pocket he calls for an ambulance.

  “Does it hurt anywhere, baby?”

  “My head and back.”

  His grip on my hand is nearly painful. Gwen and Mitch appear next to Logan. They must have been in the other car.

  “Oh my God, what happened?” Gwen’s crying, Mitch looks rattled, but my focus is completely on Logan because the expression on his face scares me. If I had to put a word on it, I’d say resolved. But resolved about what?

  Hearing the sounds of the sirens and knowing that Logan’s with me, I succumb to the darkness that’s been threatening.

  Two days later, I’m home. I have a neck brace due to whiplash and some bumps and bruises, but other than that I came through my ordeal intact. My friends take turns staying with me, making me meals, walking Reaper, and keeping me company. And though it isn’t necessary, I am glad for the company because they help to keep my mind off Logan.

  He has not left my side since the accident and, as wonderful as he’s been, something is still off. He’s distant, the best I can express it, like he’s an observer. In the nine months since we’ve been together and the six before that when we circled each other in silence, there was never a barrier.

  Asking him about it, about his change, gets me nowhere, even though I’m only looking for confirmation, since I already suspect what’s going on in his head. Sheriff Dwight arrives to talk to me and that’s when I get my confirmation.

  “Saffron. How are you feeling?”

  “Achy but, considering how much worse it could have been, I’m great.”

  “About that. Need to ask you some questions.”

  “Okay.”

  “Have you noticed anyone paying you specific attention? I realize with your engagement and who Logan is, you’ve had more attention on you than you’d like, but does anyone stand out specifically?”

  “Not since Darla.”

  “Have you seen anyone poking around your place, your car?”

  “What’s this about?”

  Rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, he takes a minute to reply. “Your brake lines were cut.”

  I could not have heard that correctly. “I’m sorry, could you say that again?”

  “Got a call from Jake after we had your car towed there. It’s standard procedure to have the car examined after an accident. It wasn’t mechanical failure. Your lines were intentionally cut.”

  “Does Logan know?”

  “Yeah, I intended to wait until I could tell you, but the man can be very insistent when he wants to be.”

  Fear slices through me. Knowing Logan as I do, he’ll feel responsible and he’ll take steps to ensure I’m not put at risk—and thinking about what those steps will be terrifies me.

  “So have you seen anyone poking around?”

  “No, I haven’t. Since no one has attempted to kill me before, I’m guessing you and Logan are both under the impression this threat on me stems from my association with him.”

  “Most logical answer.”

  Damn.

  I’m home for a week when the proverbial other shoe drops. I’m in the living room with Reaper going over the report from the contractor for Dupree House when Logan appears in the threshold. He makes no attempt to step farther in the room—distancing himself from me, both physically and mentally. If I’m being completely honest, in my heart and my head I know what’s coming, have been fearing it for some time.

  “I can’t marry you.”

  Even knowing those words were coming, I’m still eviscerated. A welcoming numbness spreads over me—I’m guessing it’s my body’s way of protecting me from the trauma his words have inflicted. And though I know argument is futile, I try anyway.

  “Don’t do this.”

  “I can’t marry you.” Stronger this time, more force behind his words, more determined.

  “Why?”

  And then the floodgates open and I am no longer looking at emptiness, but rage and fear so savage it’s frightening. “Someone fucking cut your brake lines. You could have died and when I approached your car I thought you were dead.” He comes at me, a more primal Logan. “My beautiful, wild and alive Saffron, dead because some sick fuck has a hard-on for me. No, I will not marry you, I will not live in a world where you don’t. I love you, I love you enough to leave you be.”

  “And then what? I get to live safe but alone?”

  “I need to know who came at you, I need to protect you. When the threat is gone, I’ll be back and I hope that when I do, I’m not too late.”

  “Too late? Like I’d move on? You’re the fucking air I need to breathe. Are you speaking your own feelings out loud?”

  He’s on me, my papers torn from my hand as he yanks me from the sofa and crushes me to him. His kiss is violent and so full of need and desperation. Feeling the same, I rip his shirt up over his head, my mouth on him, licking, tasting, before I sink my teeth into his shoulder, marking him. Grabbing my thighs, he lifts me, my legs coming around his waist, his mouth closing over my breast through my shirt. But it’s not enough, we need skin to skin. Moving to my room, he drops me to my feet and removes my clothes as I frantically remove his and then we’re tumbling on the bed, all legs and arms, mouth tasting and touching every part of each other we can reach. My legs spread and he drives into me. The pace we set is almost brutal, my fingers raking down his back, his teeth marking my neck and shoulders until my orgasm nearly splits me apart. He’s relentless, pounding into me, but when he comes he scoops me up, cradling me against his body, the gesture beautiful, almost reverent, and unmistakably a good-bye. I burst into tears. He holds me until I fall asleep. When I wake in the morning, he’s gone.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  For the two days Logan’s been gone, I’ve done nothing but sit on the beach looking toward the horizon. He left me. I know why he left, understand what motivated him, and can honestly say if the roles had been reversed, I’d have done the same. In my head, I get it, but in my heart, he left me. With all the pain churning through me, I should at least have the right to hate him. But I can’t, because he didn’t leave me, he just left me to keep me safe.

  “You’re not sitting out here for another day. If Logan saw this, he would not be happy, particularly since the only reason he left was to keep you alive. This isn’t living.” Tommy sinks down next to me on the sand.

  “Yes, but maybe if I wallow long enough, he’ll drop the chivalrous bullshit and come home to me.”

  Tommy takes my hand, shifting my focus to him. “He thought you were dead. Seeing your car mangled, he thought you were dead. How the hell did you think he was going to react? Saffron, you could have died in that accident.”

  A shiver works through me as it does every time I think about what-if. “You’re right. My head totally gets it. But he’s gone, Tommy. I have a wedding dress being made I don’t even know if I’ll ever wear. The man I want to marry, the man who wants to marry me, is off trying to find out who tried to kill me. What the fuck? I think, under the circumstances, I can have a few days to be pissed and sad and angry and lonely.”

  “A few days and then you’re getting your ass back into your life,” Tommy says with tenderness. “Logan will be back and you’ll be married during the Swordfish Festival, which I think you’re completely insane for even thinking. Your life will go on. Give him this. He feels responsible. He needs to do this.”

  Resting my head on his shoulder, my gaze turns back to the horizon. “How did you get so smart? Did you, like, eat smart people’s brains?”

  “Well, if I did, you’d certainly be safe from me.”

  My laugh feels really good. “Love you, Tommy.”

  “Back at you.”

  As the days turn into weeks, the female population thins. David is gone and so are the groupies and unwanted cameras. Not that they don’t take a few parting shots, seeming to enjoy the juicy tidbit of our broken engagement.
The common thread is that David was slumming but has finally come back to his senses. I sit in my pretty little living room with my dog at my side. I don’t deserve such cruelty from people who don’t know me at all.

  A moving van drove past a few days ago; Elise apparently really had been here only for the story and she didn’t even say good-bye.

  Hearing my phone, I go into the kitchen to grab it. I’m more than a little disappointed to hear my mom. This is the first time she’s called since I left them the message about my engagement.

  “Saffron, is it true you are no longer engaged to David Cambre?”

  Way to stick the knife in. “Yes.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well, you must have done something to make him go. Why can’t you be more accommodating? Why do you have to be so hardheaded? You’ve been like that since you were a small child. Always had to go your own way, never listened, never followed, always charging ahead without thought to consequence.”

  “Why is it that every time we talk, you’re finding fault? Why don’t you ever call to say, ‘Hey, Saffron, how are you doing?’ or, ‘Saffron, so sorry to hear about your breakup. Are you okay?’ You only ever find fault with me. Why can’t you just offer love and support without censure?”

  “I wasn’t aware you felt that way about my parenting.”

  “You don’t see it?”

  “No, I hear an ungrateful girl who’s whining because she wasn’t kissed more on the head. Sometimes I wonder if babies weren’t switched at the hospital, because I just simply don’t get you. Being your mother has not been easy, Saffron. You should be thankful for what it was we did give you.”

  “What exactly? Love? No. Support? No. Understanding? No. I got all of that from Frank. Hell, Dad can’t even get on the damn phone for the ten minutes you allot me a month. If being my parent is such a burden, I can make that very easy for you. Lose my number, because I intend to lose yours. I’ve spent my life seeking your approval, hoping for just one pat on the head, but I know I will never get that from you and frankly I’m just tired of the whole pretense.”

  “If that’s how you feel, fine.”

  “Oh, and in my opinion, any bitch in heat can have a kid. Being a mother is an entirely different scenario. You were never my mother.” I don’t wait for a reply and hang up.

  “Saffron.”

  At the sound of Logan’s voice on the phone, my heart takes off into a gallop. “Logan.”

  “Can you talk?”

  “Yes.” I turn the heat off on the stove where I had been boiling water for pasta and settle on the stool by the bar. “How are you?” I ask.

  “Miserable, and you?”

  He sounds like I feel. I chuckle. “The same. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

  “Just because I can’t be with you, can’t fucking marry you . . .” I hear the inhale, his attempt to calm down. “I needed to hear your voice.”

  “I’m glad you called, ecstatic is probably a better word.”

  He chuckles. Well, that’s better than him being pissed. “I’m sorry I left the way I did, sneaking off in the middle of the night. If I’d waited until morning, I would have lost my resolve and I really do believe you’re safer with me away. Speaking of which, has there been any more trouble?”

  “Not the kind you’re worrying about, but somehow I think you already know that.”

  “True, the sheriff is on speed dial. What other kind of trouble is there?”

  “I had a falling-out with my mom. I told her to lose my number.”

  His concern comes through the line and wraps around me. “Are you okay? As sad as it is to say, I think that outcome has been in the making for a long time.”

  “You’re right. It’s just taken me this long to finally reach my limit. In the long run, it’s for the best. I’ll never measure up and now I won’t be setting myself up for the inevitable hit.”

  “They don’t deserve you. How they can see anything but the incredible woman you are is totally fucking beyond me.”

  “You’re swearing an awful lot,” I tease.

  “Pent-up frustration does that to me.”

  It’s my turn to chuckle because he sounds so disgruntled, a sound I am not used to hearing from him. “How are you? What’s happening with your investigation?”

  He’s silent for a moment and, when he does answer, I don’t get the sense it’s a full answer. “I’m making progress—something from my past, but I’m dealing with it.”

  “Will you tell me about it?”

  “Do you remember we talked about crazy fans on our way to Salem? Well, I’m pretty sure that’s what we’re dealing with. I’ve got investigators confirming a few things for me.”

  “And then?”

  “I’m going to confront her.”

  “Is that smart? Seems to me if she’s unstable enough to cut my brake lines, then there’s very little she won’t do.”

  “I have to try, Saffron.”

  “You know who this is. She’s more than just a fan. Is she the one who broke in to your house?”

  Silence meets my observation for a few beats. “You really do know me so well. Yeah, I do know her, but it isn’t the woman who broke in to the house.”

  “Who?”

  “I’d rather not say until I know for sure. If I’m wrong, then I’m defaming someone’s character and that makes me no better than the assholes who have taken shots at us.”

  “Fair.”

  “If I am correct, though, my decision to leave was right, because this person has a history of mental illness, so there’s no telling what she’ll do. Reasoning with her may not work, so I’m hoping her family can convince her that she needs to seek help but how long that will take, who the fuck knows. I want to be with you, but I suspect the moment I set foot in Harrington, or you come here, it’ll set her off. Maybe even crazier than before because she’s thinking she’s broken us up.”

  I want to know who this person is and at the same time I really don’t. Fear traces my spine at his words. “We’re safer apart for now, but she isn’t going to keep us that way.”

  He doesn’t miss a beat. “Agreed.”

  The weeks turn into months and before long the Swordfish Festival heralds my wedding day. I stand in my room staring at my wedding gown. It’s beautiful, perfect, and I’m not wearing it.

  “You’ll get to wear it. It’s just a matter of when. Besides, if you had worn it today, it would have picked up the smell of the swordfish.” I know Josh is trying to help, but I don’t think there’s enough banter in the world to make me smile today.

  Gwen walks into my room with Chastity. Her presence momentarily pulls me from my funk.

  “Chin up, Saffron. This is a minor setback, nothing more. I mean, hell, with the time and expense Logan put in to ask you to marry him, the boy loves you. He’ll be back and until then it’s festival time.”

  “I’m blackballed, remember.”

  “I’m going to lift that considering the circumstances.”

  “Great, that’s a real pick-me-up.”

  She turns serious, and it’s the look of genuine concern that snaps my mouth shut from any further sarcasm. “Getting out among your friends, this day in particular, is exactly what you need. It may not be the day you had planned, but life does go on. Find happiness in the day despite your disappointment. And to help with that, I’ve officially included the food fight as part of the activities.”

  “Really?” Josh is as surprised by that as me. “Why?”

  “Because people flooded me with e-mails saying they wanted it in.” She cocks her hip. “So, you think you can get yourself motivated to come fling cakes at your neighbors?”

  I can’t believe I’m smiling.

  That night I’m in bed when the phone rings and, seeing it’s Logan, I answer on the first ring.

  “How was the Swordfish Festival?” There’s humor in his voice.

  “Chastity nailed me with five cak
es.”

  “Payback.”

  “And that’s why I let her.” Didn’t really want to ask, but I did want to know. “How’s it going with the woman?”

  “I really don’t want to talk about that tonight. We should have been married today and this would have been our wedding night.” Silence, then he says, “I miss you—seeing your smile, hearing your laugh—and I ache for you. Are you in bed?”

  My entire body clenches. “Yeah.”

  “I want to try something. If this makes you uncomfortable, just say.”

  I have a feeling I know what he wants to try and already I’m aching.

  “Touch yourself, wet your finger and rub it over your nipple.”

  The ache moves to between my legs.

  “Are you touching yourself?”

  I lick my finger and brush it over my nipple. “Yes.”

  “Twist it, pull, and move your other hand down your body, slowly. Imagine it’s my hands on you, running over your ribs and stomach, slipping under your panties. Touch yourself right on the nub that’s aching. Are you touching yourself?”

  My moan is involuntary. “Yes.”

  “That’s my mouth sucking on your nipple and it’s my fingers moving through that wet heat between your legs. Tilt your hips and push your finger inside, slowly, and imagine it’s me.”

  Yanking my panties off, I spread my legs wider and push my finger deep. “I want to touch you. Wrap your hand around your . . .” the word gets stuck in my throat.

  “Say it, wrap my hand around what?”

  “It’s crude.”

  “Say it.”

  “Cock, wrap your hand around your cock and imagine it’s my mouth, taking you deep, sucking hard. Are you stroking yourself?”

  His pleasurable moan is answer enough. “Push another finger into that sweet, wet heat, and pull them out slowly until your body clenches for me, begging me to bury myself deep inside you. Push them back in. That’s me in you, feeling you tightening around me. You’re wet, so fucking wet.”