Tight (18 page)

“Got anything new, Rick?” I called, dipping down the aisle.

“New ones are on the end caps.”

We finally—taking our time, nothing left of the town to see—decided on
Die Hard
, grabbing some candy and microwave popcorn packets off Rick’s shelf. Brett paid and we returned to the car, cracking open a box of chocolate peanuts for the ride home. I had just pulled out when Brett chuckled from the passenger seat, turning the DVD case over in his hand.

“What?”

“I was just thinking about our first dinner in Aruba. When you asked me to name a movie with singing in it.” He held up the case. “Doesn’t Bruce Willis sing in this? Some Christmas song while he’s running around?”

I tilted my head, thinking. “I think you’re right. Another shining example of your poor answering ability.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think Jerry Maguire endeared you a little to me. Cracked my tough guy exterior.”

“Tough guy exterior?” I laughed. “Please.”

It was odd, being in my normal environment with him beside me. The two of us—out of luxury, no palm trees or ocean waves in the background. My air conditioner blew hot, our burgers got slightly burnt, and the DVD skipped every time things got interesting, but the night was a success.

That night, his body curled around mine, Miller’s body warm on my feet, I fought off sleep. I just wasn’t ready for the day to end and him to fly away in the morning. I had been so nervous about the weekend, the wedding, and all for nothing. Brett had been perfect, complimenting the girls, dancing most of the night on the floor, jumping on stage with the band at one moment and showcasing an impressive ability to—of all things—play the guitar. I’d fallen deeper in love with him at every turn, with every introduction, with each wink he gave me and kiss he stole. It was as if his profession of love had opened a floodgate in my heart, and my body was finally allowing a hundred powerful emotions to pour forth and link my soul to his. I had pulled aside my father early, his gruff exterior becoming even more rigid when I ordered him off of Brett.

“It’s my job as your father to protect you. You’ll understand it when you have a child.”

“I won’t ever get to that point if you scare off any potential suitors,” I had said pointedly, my hand gripping his shoulder. I’d looked up at him and begged with my eyes. “Please, Daddy. Just let me have this one relationship and trust me that I know what I’m doing. Please.”

His eyes had softened and he’d pulled me close to his chest. “You know I love you, Riley.”

“I know, Daddy. Now prove it by trusting me.” I spoke into his shirt, his hand pausing in its pat of my back.

“If that’s really what you want, pumpkin.”

I pulled back and beamed up at him. “Thanks, Daddy.”

“Now, where is this man? At least let me give him a warning glare.”

I had laughed, looping my arm through his and leading him to Brett. Dad had postured, straightening to his full height and gripping Brett’s hand with a strength that had to hurt. Brett had smiled, easy and confident, his eyes direct on my father’s, soft on my mother’s, his head tilting when he listened to her speak. He was, simply put, perfect. And they didn’t fight it, Mom beaming at me, Dad actually clapping Brett on the back near the end of the night, his mouth curving into a rare smile. If I could replay the evening a hundred times, I would. Especially our last dance, the music slow, our bodies close, his hand stealing into my hair and tugging at the pins there. I hadn’t protested, I’d just rested my forehead on his as I felt the fall of curls on my bare back. “I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you,” he’d murmured. I’d said nothing, just released a soft sigh and taken his kiss when it’d come.

I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you.

The best sentence in the world.

“You know that she’s dead.” Nicole kicked off her shoes and leaned back in the chair, bringing her feet up and sitting Indian-style.

I flinched. “I thought therapists were supposed to be gentle.”

“Therapists may be. I was probably gentle with you two years ago. But I’m a psychiatrist now. And that gives me the ability to do what needs to be done.”

“And to overcharge me,” I grumbled, loosening my tie and pulling it off.

She laughed in response, catching the tie when I threw it at her. “I work for practically free. I get my payment in other ways.”

“You’re a godsend,” I lowered myself into the chair across from her.

“No, but you were.” Nicole straightened, picking up a stress ball, and spun slightly in the chair. “Back to Elyse.” Her voice had flipped, business-like once again, and I wondered, for a moment, what her other patients saw. Was it the light-hearted tease or the serious doctor? Or did they see what I did, an infectious blend of the two?

I closed my eyes. “Back to Elyse.” It always came back to Elyse. It couldn’t not. Not when so much of my daily life revolved around, or was because of, her. She had touched me in life and stolen me in death. Stolen me, pulled me into this madness and wouldn’t let me leave. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to leave. Not when we were changing so many lives.

“I feel like you are letting Elyse jeopardize your current relationship.”

“I paid for your grad school for that?” I joked, opening my eyes and lifting my head.

“You need to tell Riley.”

I shook my head. “It’s too dangerous. I can’t bring her on the trips if she knows. If she said something wrong, gave it away—I’ve worked too hard on my cover.” And I had. A pile of money spent burying any trace of Elyse on the Internet. False documents, backgrounds, and paper trails in place. If someone researched Brett Jacobs, they found me. If someone investigated Brett Betschart, they found next to nothing. Certainly nothing about Elyse. Certainly nothing that would link the two identities.

“Think on it.” She pressed.

“I have.”

She held firm, holding eye contact, and, for a brief moment, I realized how proud I was of her. An egotistic thought. “You are allowed to be happy, Brett,” she said quietly. “You can let that happen.”

“I know that.”

I did know that. But it still felt wrong.

3 months before
Caribbean Sea

I stretched out, my red toenails peeking at me as I propped my feet on the deck railing, the cushion beneath me warm against my wet skin. Around us, navy blue water as far as the eye could see.

“Happy?” I felt his hand tug through my hair before he played with the strands. I looked up to see Brett looking down, a smile on his face.

“How could I not be?” I patted the cushion beside me. “Come lay down.”

“Sunbathing isn’t my thing. I don’t like to turn on all the seagulls.”

I laughed, rolling over and running my hand down his stomach, his abs hard beneath his T-shirt. “Then ... why don’t you turn me on instead?”

He squatted, bringing his face level with mine, and leaned in, pressing his lips to mine, his hands running up my arms and to my neck, my bathing suit top undone and stolen before my mind had a chance to catch up. He stood, smiling down at me, my hands tight to my chest as I lay on my stomach and glowered at him. “Give that back,” I hissed.

“You’re missing the benefits of yacht ownership. We are fifty miles from anyone … just you and I on the boat.”

“So?” I looked around furtively.

“So...” He pulled off his glasses, then the T-shirt, his hands quick as he unbuckled, unzipped, then ditched his shorts, his body completely exposed. “So, I want to fuck you in the sunshine.”

He stepped closer, leaning over me, his cock pressing into my shoulder as I felt his fingers pull at the strings of my bikini bottom, the material falling away as he rolled my reluctant form over, my hands rising to cover myself, his touch gentle as they pushed my hands away, proof of his attraction growing thicker and stiffer before my eyes. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” He leaned over, crawling onto the cushion and on top of me.

“You say that to all of the girls,” I scoffed, running my hands down his chest, his cock bare as it bobbed between us.

“I’ve never said that to anyone.” He parted my legs, wrapping them around his waist, his eyes on mine when he cupped his hand over me, his thumb against my clit as he pressed his fingers inside, his other hand fisting his cock. I moaned, arching my back and pulling at his neck, wanting him closer, wanting him everywhere.

“Let me get a condom,” he whispered.

“Not yet,” I begged. I squeezed with my legs, ground against his hard cock, and watched his eyes darken with need, his hand moving faster, his fingers inside me quicker, the soft pant of his breath the most erotic thing I had ever heard. I ran my hand through his hair, and he bit my neck. I lost my breath in the start of an orgasm and finished with his groan in my hair. I felt his control break and loved that power belonging to me.