Swept Away (27 page)

No, definitely not. I never make the same mistake twice. She was counting on that.

By ten after, though, her stomach hurt—nervous fear. Please show up, please show up. She wanted him so much. He had to want her back, he just had to.

When another set of headlights appeared, she thought they might belong to a Mustang. Her
heartbeat doubled. As they neared, she cautiously pushed back to her feet and watched,
watched until finally the car—an older model that glowed silver beneath the light of a
streetlamp—slowed to a stop, lifting all the worry from her chest to replace it with excitement.

Glancing inside the open passenger window, she smiled. God, he was hot.

“Hey,” he said quietly, leaning toward her. He wore another black T-shirt, his usual fare, and
seemed to fill the car with his masculinity. She couldn’t wait to climb inside.

“Hey,” she said, then reached for the door handle—only to see him push down the button that
clicked the lock into place.

Her heart dropped to her stomach. “What’s wrong?”
“This isn’t gonna happen tonight, kitten.”

It was like being punched in the gut, and she had to press her palm against the car to keep her
balance.

But don’t panic. Maybe something just came up. Maybe he was simply postponing—in his
usual gruff way—and she was misreading it. “Another night then?” she asked, trying to hide
how unsteady she’d become.

He shook his head. “ ’Fraid not.”

She drew in her breath. Don’t faint. “Why?” She boldly met his gaze, unable to believe he was
really going to humiliate her again.

“Just not gonna happen, that’s all.”

“You owe me more of an answer,” she snapped, then even banged the flat of her hand on the
car.

He let out a tired-sounding sigh. “I’m leaving town, okay?”

She suddenly couldn’t breathe. “Leaving? When?”

“Now.”

She blinked. “As in right now? This very minute?”

“Yep.”

How could this be? “But where are you going? When are you coming back?”
“Don’t know. And never.”

Now she really couldn’t breathe. He was telling her she was never going to see him again? She
could barely absorb it. She started shaking her head. “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

“Look, it’s none of your business, all right.”

“It is my business,” she said, deciding not to back down just because he was being brusque.
But unfortunately, her voice went softer without her permission when she added, “You were
supposed to give me a birthday present. Remember?”

“Guess you’ll have to get it somewhere else. I’m sure you’ve got a whole country club full of
little boys who’d love to get under that dress.”

It wasn’t much worse than other things he’d said to her, but at the moment, the words clogged
up everything inside her, making her feel at once frozen and empty. Unable to move, and like a shell of the person she’d been just a few minutes before, all giddy with hopes for some magical
summer with a guy who—when all was said and done—barely knew she was alive. It had
taken stripping to her underwear just to get his attention—and even that hadn’t been enough.

“Look, I have to go. The only reason I came at all was because I didn’t want you standing out
here all damn night.” And she would have, too—probably. Pathetic that he knew that about her. Even more pathetic that, in spite of everything, she was silly enough in this moment to hope it
meant maybe he cared about her in some way, just a little.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” she said numbly, without meaning to.

“Well, believe it, kitten,” he said just before the car shot forward, leaving her behind, literally in
his dust.

She stood there, watching until the little square taillights disappeared, and for a long while after,
too. The air around her stood still, and she could have sworn she felt the humidity creeping back in, stealing her ability to breathe freely. He wasn’t coming back, which made her
heartbreak and simultaneous humiliation complete now.

Theoretically, she thought she should be able to go back to the party, put on a happy face, and
act like nothing had happened. She should be able to be her regular fun-loving self. After all,
only she and Brock—and Nina—knew what a fool she’d made of herself. And only she—and
she alone—knew that it was about so much more than losing her virginity; only she knew
she’d stupidly fallen for him.

But that was enough—her knowledge alone.

She hated him.

And she loved him.

And she didn’t know what to do with life at the moment, how to deal with anything.

Finally, she wandered forlornly back up the drive, toward the party. When she arrived, the pool
was busy—her friends splashing about, some knocking an inflatable beach ball around, and the
DJ her mother had hired was still spinning tunes.

But for her, she realized quickly, the party was over. She couldn’t pretend to be happy right
now, and it hardly mattered since no one had even noticed the birthday girl had gone missing.

She was trying to remember where she’d left her purse, ready to find her keys and quietly
depart, when a familiar hand touched her arm. She looked up to find Scott Powers in a pair of bright yellow swim trunks. He looked good in them—his chest was a little broader and more
muscular than she’d have suspected. His eyelids had gone heavy, his expression striking her as
one of drunkenness or lust. Probably both. “Where’s your bikini, Kat?”

Still feeling numb, detached from the situation, she pointed vaguely toward the pool house.
He let a small smile unfurl. “Need me to help you with it?”

She tilted her head, bit her lip, and thought about the fact that she wasn’t wearing panties. And
that Brock Denton was an idiot. And that her heart hurt so bad she couldn’t think straight.

And at least somebody wanted her. A ton of girls would give their right arms to have Scott
Powers coming on to them, after all.

“Actually,” she said, “I’m not really in a swimming mood.”
He cocked his head slightly. “What kind of mood are you in?”

She looked him squarely in the eye and said, “I’m in the mood to show you what I’m wearing
under this dress.”

His eyebrows shot up. “And what’s that?”

“Nothing,” she said, then grabbed his hand and headed for the pool house.

Chapter Ten

The smell of wet earth still pervaded as Kat and Brock sat quietly, waiting. She missed his
warmth but wouldn’t dare ask for it back.

Her mind replayed what she’d done the last time Brock had let her down—she’d made the mistake of giving that most important part of herself to someone who didn’t matter at all,
someone she didn’t even like.

Afterward, she’d tried to feel so strong and grown-up, like the sexual princess she’d wanted to
be. And she’d acted the part just fine, played it off cool—acted to Scott like a total vixen, utterly
carefree. And when he’d asked her out the following week, she’d turned him down, playing
the, “it was fun, but just a one-night thing” card as if she were mature enough to truly feel that way—when, really, she’d simply thought she’d rather stick a needle in her eye than let him put
that part of him inside her again. She’d never quite thought through it so clearly until now,
maybe even pretending to herself that it had been cool, but deep down she’d always felt a little
sick whenever she remembered Scott Powers or her eighteenth-birthday party.

What a letdown it had been—to have all these sexual feelings and spend them on the wrong
guy, a guy who’d left her thinking—Eh, that was it?

And what was a girl to do after such a letdown? Try, try again, of course. Only it had never
gotten much better. Some better, with some guys, but no one, to this day, had ever lived up to
her expectations.

Ian will. He has to. And I do love him enough. I do.

Of course, at the moment, she was leaning up against another guy and had just let him kiss her,
touch her. Had imagined letting him do a whole lot more than that. Brock, just now, would
definitely have lived up to her wishes and expectations, no doubt, and no use denying it. But
she shoved the thought away before it could weaken her resolve.

Besides, what had happened a few minutes ago was just due to the heat of the moment. The danger factor. It happened in books and movies all the time—people turned passionate when
they feared death. In fact, maybe those thoughts about not loving Ian enough for him to hurt
her had been trauma-induced, too. Nothing that had happened in this ravine meant anything.
Nothing at all.

“What are you thinking about?”

She ßinched at Brock’s deep voice behind her. “Ian,” she answered simply, turning toward
him.

She couldn’t help thinking he looked a little disappointed. “Oh.”

She was considering reminding him again that Ian was her fianc, so that of course she was thinking about him—when Brock grabbed her wrist and lifted a finger to his mouth, silently
saying, Shhhh.

That’s when she heard the rustling of leaves, louder than before because the whole forest was
wet, heavier, the dampness seeming to envelop them. She tensed, her stomach churning, her
eyes locking on Brock. All had been quiet so long that maybe she’d begun to relax on some
level. Now, their peril felt imminent again, and fresh fear stretched through her like a rubber
band ready to snap.

As the sound of someone meandering through the wet ferns and greenery grew closer, Kat
realized it was coming from the opposite side of the ravine, but she didn’t look, too determined to stay still, and maybe too afraid of what she’d see.

“Mr. Government Man, come out, come out, wherever you are. I know you’re here. I can smell
you. I can smell your fucking fed carcass.”

She suppressed a shiver upon recognizing that this wasn’t “the nice one”—it was the whack
job again.

“Or maybe I smell something else. I hear you got you a girlfriend, Government Man. Hot—
yes, Carlos?”

“Real hot,” Carlos answered, and—oh God—this meant both of them were nearby.

The whack job gave an evil chuckle. “Bet she’d be some fun on the ride back after I blow your
brains out, fed.”

Kat and Brock remained eye to eye, and this time she couldn’t stop the shiver. His hand still
circled her wrist, and he ran his thumb softly back and forth on her skin, clearly trying to calm
her.