Soaked (The Water's Edge #2) (18 page)

“Why doesn’t she just leave?”

His expression hardened. “Because that Italian princess has never worked a day in her life to earn a paycheck, and her income is dependent on her either living at home or being married.”

“So why doesn’t she get a job?”

“Because that would actually require her to work, Sadie. And she doesn’t want to do that.” West sounded exasperated that he was having to spell it out for me. “She’s perfectly happy to flit about manipulating people, pulling strings behind the scenes, making people think they owe her favors.” He paused. “She really ought to consider going into politics, huh?”

I turned his explanation over in my head, searching for flaws, but only finding an ugly truth.

That I was just collateral damage.

But still . . .

“Why not tell me this weeks ago? And what’s that got to do with her being in your arms in Charleston?”

“I didn’t tell you weeks ago because I didn’t think she was a problem, and I had better things to do when I was with you than talk about
her.
” Frustration colored his tone and his fingers tightened around mine as he spoke. “I’ve known for months, hell, maybe years, nothing serious was ever going to happen between me and her. I thought that was enough. I didn’t realize you were actually threatened by her.” He stopped, laughing a little. “I mean, Sadie, have you looked at yourself in the mirror? You’re gorgeous. It’s like comparing . . . I don’t know—a hot Krispy Kreme doughnut to a picture of one. I want the one that’s real, that I can touch and bite and lick and get messy with. She’s a two-dimensional caricature of what a man wants. You,” he let his gaze trail down me before meeting my eyes again, “you’re my fucking dream come true.”

My heart leapt at his words, pounding furiously within the cage of my ribs. Maybe it wasn’t every girl’s fantasy to be compared to a pastry, but when he started using words like
lick
and
get messy with,
I could get on board with the analogy. Lord knew I liked the way he devoured me.

“Hell, you’re the dream I didn’t even know I had until it happened. I’d never cared about waking up next to a girl, or trying to figure out how to make her smile, or wanting to show her all the things I loved until you tried to rescue me out in the waves that day. You did save me. I just hadn’t realized it yet.” He freed his hand to cup my cheek, and I leaned into his touch without thinking. I was drowning in his words. He ran his thumb across my lower lip and my tongue snuck out to steal a taste, pulling a tortured groan from West.

“And Charleston . . .” His fingers trailed down my neck before intertwining with mine again. “I hate to say she planned to sprain her ankle on my boat, but I wouldn’t necessarily put it past her either. Regardless, once it happened, she milked the situation for all that it was worth. Her piece of shit dad couldn’t be bothered taking his daughter to the clinic and slipped me an extra hundred to take care of that little chore for him. I’m sure he saw it as a way for us to get closer. Maybe he was hoping I’d feel protective or something, I don’t know. And as much as she makes me crazy with her little stunts, I wasn’t so heartless that I was just going to abandon her at the marina when she couldn’t even walk.”

He wasn’t. And the way he loved his friends, was there for them when they needed help, was one of the things that made me fall for him in the first place.

But fucking Aubrey could take a long walk off a short plank and I wouldn’t miss her.

A drop of water dripped from the rag I was still holding to his eye, tracing an icy path down my forearm. I shivered and lowered my arm.

His eye looked terrible, and bruises were starting to purple his torso and jaw beneath the scruff. I’d never had a man actually fight on my behalf before.

And it was fucking hot.

But I’d trusted Asher with my whole heart once, too, believed every pretty lie he’d spouted at me. And look where I’d ended up. Even though I knew West wasn’t Asher, it didn’t make trusting him any easier.

I ghosted my fingertips over his injuries, wincing as he pulled away when I brushed a tender spot on his ribs. “You should probably get some x-rays or something,” I murmured. “Or at least some decent painkillers.”

He rolled his shoulders, all those delicious muscles flexing and moving under his tanned skin. “I’ll live. I’ll be a bit stiff tomorrow, but it’s nothing you can’t nurse me through tonight.” He snuck a hopeful glance at me when he said that last part.

Through the night?

I couldn’t help my eyes from straying to the mound of pillows on the king size bed.

Or the way my palms grew damp.

Or stop my tongue from darting out to slick my parted lips.

I can’t stay.

I repeated the phrase like a litany until my thighs relaxed from the way they were pressing together.

“You know you want to.” His voice was a husky dare.

I do . . .

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“No. I don’t know exactly what we are—if we’re anything—but staying the night isn’t the solution.”

“It’d fix one of my problems,” he said, glancing at the obvious bulge in his pants.

Holy hell.

I rubbed my palms over my jeans and he cursed softly, watching the motion.

“Sadie.” My belly fluttered at hearing him say my name. “I’ve missed you. I haven’t seen you in two weeks. Are you really going to make me sleep here alone—knowing you’re two doors down the hall?”

“I think . . .” I took a measured breath. “I think I just left from cleaning up the mess that happened the last time I trusted a guy. And I’m not sure I’m ready to trust another one yet. Not the way you want me to.”

Disappointment flared in his eyes, the brightness that was there a moment ago dimming. “I’m not
him.
” Conviction threaded his declaration.

“I know. And while your wounds are visible, that doesn’t mean I don’t have some too. I need some time.” Tears burned my eyes, and I blinked rapidly to hold them at bay. Rising from the bed, needing to escape, I gestured at his battered-but-still-beautiful body. “Do you want me to at least find you some ibuprofen before I go?”

His laugh held no humor. “No. Ibuprofen isn’t what I need.” The stark need in his eyes rooted me to the spot. “You are.”

MY FINGERS WERE
wrapped around the door handle when the heat from his chest pressing against my back seared through my thin shirt, his palm shooting out to keep the door closed.

“One last thing before you go.” Hot breath fanned my neck, and my nipples tightened.

I dropped my head down, resisting the urge to turn around and throw myself into his arms, but I couldn’t help leaning into him just a little. He removed his hand from the door and traced a finger down my bare arm.

“What?” I whispered.

Gripping my waist, he nudged me until I gave in, slowly spinning me around until my spine was against the door and his hips were snug against mine, his arousal hard against my stomach.

“I need you to look at me when I tell you this—so you know I mean it. So you know this isn’t some game to me.”

I lifted my eyes, peering at him from under my lashes.

He chuckled, tipping my chin up further. “Stubborn.”

A helpless grin came and went, because it was obvious from the affection in his tone, he meant it as a compliment.

When we were face-to-face, inches apart, his expression turned solemn, but his eyes stayed soft. “I love you. And I’m never letting you out of my sight again without telling you. Without you knowing how I feel.”

I swallowed down similar words clawing at my throat—needing for once to play it safe.

“You can leave, I won’t stop you. Just know you’re taking a piece of me with you.” He leaned closer, tugging me against his chest. “You’re running because you’re scared. Just like you are with the damned ocean. I know trusting what you can’t see isn’t something you do easily.” His lips were so close, the words fell against my mouth. “You’re worth waiting for. You’re worth everything.”

He erased the last millimeter separating us, but I turned my head, my heart beating so hard he had to feel it against his own. He kissed the corner of my mouth, lingering—the moment so achingly exquisite I wanted to cry.

My fingers curled into his chest and held him against me, neither of us moving. It was too much and not enough, and I was torn between needing to escape and never wanting to let go.

With a cry, I jerked free and slipped out the door, not allowing myself to look back. Rue should be back with my purse and room key by now.

I needed time.

To break down.

To breathe.

To think.

To quiet my mind and feel my heart.

I couldn’t find my way back to him until I sorted through the broken pieces inside me and reassembled myself. Separated the anger and the hurt from the embarrassment and the pain. Gave hope and truth a chance to repair the foundation and see if it was still strong enough for love to stand on, or if the damage was already irreversible.

CONDENSATION COVERED T
he mirror and the bathroom was thick with steam by the time I finally emerged from the shower, my tears washed down the drain along with my cheap watermelon shampoo. While my time in there hadn’t magically produced all the answers I sought, I felt cleansed clear down to my core.

I’d forgiven myself.

For loving with my whole heart, even when Asher couldn’t see that for the gift it was. For letting that same trust in him blind me to what was really happening. And for running away when I found out the truth.

I stood a little straighter as I toweled off, realizing that this whole trip to Nashville was really about me—not him. It was about regaining my own self-respect by not allowing him to walk all over me, continue to use me for his own selfish gain. And I’d done that.

Well, Rue had helped.

And West had pounded the message home for good measure.

But I’d done it.

I’d closed the chapter of my life with Asher’s name in the heading and accomplished it with decisiveness and confidence.

And, most importantly, on my own terms.

But this was the kicker. The realization that knocked me on my ass.

I could trust
myself.

I wasn’t broken beyond repair or unlovable or only destined for heartbreak.

I’d made a choice, invested my all, and when it turned sour, I’d saved my own damn self.

And I could do it again.

The mistake would be in living half-heartedly. Running scared. Letting fear hold me back. Not experiencing the full range of emotion life was waiting to clobber me with next.

My nerves hummed with excitement, and my mind jumped repeatedly to the room two doors down, where West waited in a room identical to this one.

After pulling on the first clothes my hands touched from my suitcase, I twisted my hair into a messy bun, not wanting to waste valuable time trying to dry it with the crummy hair dryer attached to the bathroom wall.

Adrenaline rushed through my veins, making my nerves sing, as I slipped on some rubber flip flops.

West.

I had to see him. Talk to him. Touch him and see if my pulse raced and my breath caught and my skin prickled. Let down my guard and see if he still sparked that part of my soul where it felt like I could never get enough and he was the only thing who could make it better.

The addiction and the cure rolled into one potent package.

I wanted to listen to the rumble of his words, run my hands over all that new scruff, and taste his sincerity.

I wanted to explore new beginnings and rekindled passion.

I wanted to believe that tomorrow would be better.

After jotting down a quick note for Rue, who’d left to get some dinner to give me some space when she discovered me sobbing in the shower earlier, I slid the extra room key I’d gotten from the front desk downstairs into the back pocket of my jeans and hurried down the hall.

Eager. Smiling. Ready.

I knocked impatiently, somehow surprised he hadn’t read my mind and flung open the door when I stopped in front of it. I strained to hear his footsteps, but only silence greeted me.