Amber to Ashes (The Torn Heart #1)

by Gail McHugh

  Feeling like the queen of bitches, I see nothing but sincere remorse, not a shred of judgment, behind his eyes. “I’m sorry for jumping down your throat. I just—”

  “No. Please don’t apologize,” he states through a whisper. “That’s some pretty heavy shit.”

  “It is, but I’m good.” Yet another lie. I’m not good. I’m sure I’ll never be. Either way, I’m finished talking about my shit-stained past. “So you and Hailey Jacobs had something?”

  A grin quirks the side of his mouth. “Quick change of subject.”

  “Well, she approached me while I was waiting for you to finish up practice.” I shrug, trying to play it cool despite desperately wanting to know their story. “She made it seem like you two have some kind of past. One I’m positive didn’t end on a good note.”

  Anger flashes across his face, washing his expression into something that disturbs yet intrigues me. “What the hell did she tell you?”

  A hard tug on my line pulls my attention away from him, my gaze flitting to the water. “I don’t know. Some shit about you appearing to be the way you want everyone to think you are. That it’s all an act and, within time, I’ll see you for who you really are.” A second tug, this one violent. I jump to my feet and attempt to reel in whatever’s on the other end.

  Brock hops up and positions himself behind me. Large hands seeking mine, his chest is pressed tight to my back, his chiseled jaw cushioned against my cheek, as he aids my fight with what I’m sure is Jaws. Though I’m trying hard to concentrate on the task at hand, every nerve ending fires, heat simmering in my bones as we continue to brawl with nature. A second goes by, and the line snaps, sending us both flailing backward onto the pier with a thud loud enough to shake the wooden structure.

  Staring up at the cloudless sky, lying on top of Brock’s chest, I giggle. He bursts out laughing, the sound heaven to my ears as I take in the unexpected moment. Still giggling, I attempt to get off him, but with viperous speed, Brock stops me by resting his palms on the flat of my stomach, gently tugging me back down onto him.

  “No,” he whispers, his nose buried in my hair. “I want to stay like this for a minute. I’m digging the way you feel in my arms.”

  The drowsy cadence of his voice slips through me, centering deep within my belly. I swallow, acutely aware of his soft fingertips dragging up my bare rib cage, our breathing turning into lyrical notes of want punching from our lungs as I digest his words.

  “Turn over,” he says, his tone soft but authoritative. “I want to see your beautiful face.”

  Not an ounce of rebellion runs through me as I obey his request, adjusting my body to his. Chest to chest, his gaze devours me, stroking between my eyes and lips. Brock’s hands find my cheeks, his touch causing a delicious fog to overrun my mind, their warmth expelling every fear I had about opening my heart to him. My entire being focuses on the way he’s staring at me, his dark rain forest eyes dominant with urgency to taste my lips, but still patient as he waits for permission. Sparks whisk through my nerves as I melt into the sensation of his fingers sinking into my hair, their adept movements eliciting a violent tremble deep within my core. I nearly go liquid as he lifts his knee, wedging it between my legs.

  “I’m gonna kiss you, Ber.” His words come out as a husky whisper as he lifts his head, pulling my face a breath away from his. “And it’s gonna be a kiss you won’t soon forget. It’s gonna be a kiss I want burned into your fucking memory whether or not we get together. One that’ll make you hate every other kiss from anyone else after me. You’ll have no other choice but to think of this kiss when another dude gets his lucky chance. Cool?”

  Nervous, I nod, my pulse thudding in anticipation as our gazes connect with a sizzle right before he brings his lips up to mine. The kiss starts off soft and slow, a sinuous trail of desire testing limits and exploring unknown turf. Brock’s lips are silk, the taste of his tongue tinged with mint and beer.

  I love the parallel between the two.

  A primitive groan rocks from his throat as he pulls me tighter to him, one hand caressing my nape, the other buried in my hair. My nipples awaken, my heart stuttering like a worn-out engine. Ecstasy floods me, washing away the world around us. I barely register the hum of boats, birds, and people as the intensity of our want explodes, unleashing a string of harder strokes from our tongues. Brock moves his hands down my rib cage, his thumbs kneading the sides of my breasts along their journey. His touch is gasoline to my fire, fueling the maelstrom inside me as a soft symphony of moans fall past my lips. My head’s dizzy, my body high from his touch, its rapture for him already an addict.

  “You taste so sweet,” he growls, nipping at my lip as his hands find their way back to my cheeks. The sticky air stirs with the sound of our heavy breathing as he pulls me closer, tighter against his chest. He licks into my mouth, his kiss reverent, skillful, one I’m sure will hold its weight against future contenders. “So fucking sweet.”

  “You don’t taste too bad yourself,” I purr, twining my fingers through his hair.

  He smiles against my mouth. “Do I taste better than . . . Twizzlers?”

  “Now you’re pushing it, buddy,” I playfully warn. Brock chuckles as I move my lips to his jaw, teasing my tongue over his stubble. “And I want to keep tasting you, but you still haven’t answered my question.”

  “What question?” he probes, dusting additional mind-fucking kisses along my neck as he settles his hands on my waist and squeezes. “Seeing that I’m preoccupied with something insanely delicious right now, something I plan on repeating as often as possible, I don’t recall you asking a question.”

  I shiver, close to trembling in the midday heat. God, this feels so good. He feels so good.

  “Hailey,” I remind him, smiling angelically. “You two had something?”

  He rests his head on the pier, a shadow of aggravation passing over his face. “You sure know how to kill a mood, eh?”

  “That’s not fair.” I frown. “I asked the question before we wound up in this position.”

  With a grin, one I’m sure he’s wearing in an attempt to distract me, he cups my cheeks. “We barely had something.”

  “Define ‘barely,’ because nothing about the way she acted made it seem like you two were a ‘barely’ kind of thing.”

  Grin holding steady, he fishes his iPhone from his pocket and taps on it. After a second, his eyes light up with mischief. “Barely. It says here that it’s an adverb. It also says ‘hardly’ or ‘scarcely.’ People use it to say that someone or something only has a specified small size, age, length, etc.” He draws up a brow. “Just to make things very, very clear, I’m small in neither size, girth, nor length. At. All.”

  Giggling, I yank the phone from him. “Did you seriously just look up the definition?” I glance down at his phone. Yep. The wiseass looked it up.

  A megawatt smile twists his mouth. “You said ‘define barely,’ no?”

  I set his phone on the pier, and with a mock scowl, it’s me who cups his cheeks. “Yes, I did, but I’m being serious, Brock. She was . . . weird about you. I’m gonna ask the questions, and you’re not allowed to do anything but answer. Got it?”

  With a wink, he salutes me. “Yes, Miss Ber.”

  I roll my eyes, knowing I better get used to his formal nickname. “How long did you two date?”

  “We never dated,” he whispers, leaning up and slowly kissing my lips.

  I pull back to look him in his eyes, mine narrowed. “You’re trying to seduce me.”

  “Is it working?” He drags his lips to the hollow of my neck, letting them linger there. “Because if not, I can do better.”

  It is working, my body screaming to pull down my shorts, yank his off, and take a long test-drive on what he claims isn’t small in size, girth, or length. However, I’m not about to let him know my thoughts, so I do what’s necessary to get
the answers I seek.

  I give him a proper mash to his forehead with my palm, an innocent shrug following suit.

  With eyes as wide as balloons, he laughs. “Holy shit of all fucking shits. I’m making you mine. You know this, right?”

  “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

  He grins, tightening his hold around my waist.

  “Now you say you never dated, so you two just . . . fucked?” I ask.

  “Mm. Blunt. This here Southern boy likes.” He nods, his lips twitching in amusement. “Correct. We fucked. She was a classic booty call. The I’m drunk and feel like getting laid hookup. The mutual this-is-going-nowhere fling.”

  “Mm-hmm,” I hum, eyeing him suspiciously. “So I’m assuming that’s why you don’t care that Ryder’s hitting that now?”

  It’s his turn to shrug. “Ryder can do what he wants. I’m completely cool with him tapping my seconds. Sharing is caring. And besides, what are friends for, right?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I hum again, watching him carefully. There’s a gleam in those green eyes that I can’t quite decipher, something that’s telling me there’s more behind his statement.

  Brock leans up and brushes his mouth against mine. “Do you have any more questions for me?” He snags my lower lip between his teeth, gently sucking. “Or am I still under interrogation?”

  “You’re still under interrogation,” I confirm, trying to catch my breath, the ache between my legs threatening to explode as he threads his hands through my hair.

  “Well, there’s no denying you’re a sexy detective.” He smirks. “Continue on, my little vixen.”

  “You have secrets.” I lift my face away from his, going with my intuition. “And I think they’re the kind that can hurt me.”

  “We all have secrets,” he whispers, bringing my lips back down to his.

  He stares at me long and hard before kissing me deep, each stroke of his tongue unraveling everything I’ve ever known myself to be. Without breaking the rhythm of our kiss, Brock cocoons me in his embrace, gently rolling me onto my back.

  A shocked gasp fights past my throat as he hooks his arms under my knees, drawing my legs up around his waist. Scarlet heat covers me from head to toe, perspiration dripping between my breasts as Brock pulls back, slowly eye-fucking every inch of my body.

  “And none of my secrets will ever hurt you.” He kisses the slope of my neck, his words muffled against my sweat-slickened skin. “I promise you that. Swear it on my life.” Hands cradling my head, he brings his gaze back to mine, his expression serious as his thumbs make a pass over my lips. “You’re gonna be mine, do you hear me? No matter what I have to do, I want you to be my girl.” He kisses my nose, cheeks, and forehead. “I won’t take no for an answer, and whether or not you want me to, I’m gonna find your pieces so I can put you back together.”

  His promise steals my breath as he crashes his mouth to mine. My lips part on a moan, and I grip his shoulders, my nails clawing into his golden flesh as I writhe beneath him, ignoring the pain of the splintery wood at my back. Our flavors fuse together, an intoxicating blend of beer and urgency. I kiss him hard, his sweet, musky scent invading my nostrils like a potent aphrodisiac.

  And just like that, the loud ringing of his phone jolts our attention away from each other.

  Brock swipes it from the pier, glances at it, and, with frustration hardening his jaw, he groans. “I have to take this.” He swathes my lips in a quick kiss and stands. “I’ll be right back.”

  I nod and push up onto my elbows, trying to cool myself down. Try as I might, I can’t escape my body’s need to fuck. On a sigh, I get to my feet and attempt to eavesdrop on Brock’s conversation. Not only has his voice disintegrated to a heated whisper, but he’s walking toward the Hummer. After a while, annoyance grabs me tight. Before I allow it to talk me into hitchhiking home, Brock pockets his phone and saunters over to me.

  “I apologize.” He cups my cheeks. “I was waiting on an important call.”

  “Secrets,” I mumble, looking at the pier below us.

  “No,” he says softly. Lifting my chin with a gentle finger, he presses his forehead to mine, his eyes imploring. “Prior commitments. That’s all.”

  Seeing pure sincerity in his expression and feeling somewhat embarrassed that I actually said that to him, I nod. “Okay. Do you have to get out of here or something?”

  “I do.” He sighs, wariness all over his face. Sliding his fingertips down my arms, he pulls in a slow breath. Tingles scatter along my skin as he brings my hands to his chest and rests them over his heart. “I know my prior commitments kind of fucked up our day, but I’m hoping you’ll give me another shot at proving I’m really not an asshole.”

  “I don’t think you’re an asshole.” I’ve dealt with my share of assholes over the years and, as of now, thankfully he hasn’t earned that title.

  “No?” he says, somewhat shocked.

  I smile as he lifts my hands to his lips. “No.”

  “So since you don’t think I’m an asshole,” he says, still holding my hands to his lips, “I’m wondering if you’ll let me take you out on an official date.” He pauses, his eyes gleaming pure mischief. “I mean, considering we came close to showing each other the way we really feel about being together—right here on a public pier, no less—I’m thinking we can get something to eat or some shit. But, hey, it’s up to you. No pressure, Ber.”

  I shake my head, my smile spreading. “I know I’ve said it a few times today, but has anyone else ever told you that you’re a wiseass?”

  “Never once,” he deadpans.

  “Well, then I’m happy I’m your first.”

  Expression softening, Brock kisses my right then left hand. “You wanna know what I hope for?” he whispers, winding his arms around my waist.

  “Sure,” I all but stutter, my concentration split between his warm fingers caressing the small of my back and the primal look in his eyes.

  “I hope that you’ll become my first for a lot of things.” He dips his head, barely touching his lips to mine.

  I shiver, my mind wiped clear of everything but the here and now. With his lips still teasing mine, Brock continues to seduce each of my senses in ways I never imagined possible.

  “I hope that I become everything you need in your life.” He kisses my cheek, his grip tightening around my waist. “I hope there never comes a time when you think I’m an asshole. I hope that at least once a day, even if only for a second, I can make you smile.” He pulls back, and stares into my eyes, his voice a soft hum of promise. “I hope that nothing I ever do makes you cry, and most of all, I hope that some part of you eventually trusts me enough to let me into your heart. Really let me into it.”

  From the depths of my shattered soul, I feel his words drift over me like a warm blanket on the coldest of nights. Still, an anxiety so powerful against commitment of any kind blossoms to life within my gut, reminding me where this could lead.

  Where this could ultimately end.

  Yet above everything, I can’t deny he’s jolted something loose inside me, cracked a few codes. I take a nervous breath, unable to ignore the voice in my head telling me he’s already captured a tiny piece of my heart. It’s whispering to me that he’s about to hold my hand, guiding me with care along a fork in a road I never intended to walk.

  I just hope my warped past and the ghosts who still visit me don’t make either of us stumble down it . . .

  Praying that I don’t mess up my chance at something resembling happiness, I flatten my palms against Brock’s chest, push up on my tiptoes, and seal my lips over his, dipping my tongue inside his mouth for a kiss I know neither of us will soon forget.

  CHAPTER 5

  Ryder

  I’D KNOW THAT ass anywhere.

  Sitting in my car in front of a diner in Laurel, I whip off my sunglasses and, with a chuckle
, relax into the scene unfolding across the road. I’m fairly certain there is a God, and he loves me today.

  Amber Moretti, clad in jean shorts that barely cover her perfect ass, is leaning over the opened hood of her shitty Honda Civic. Smoke’s billowing from the engine, mixing through a hint of a breeze. Unknowingly giving a peep show to not only me but several male commuters, Amber swipes a frustrated hand across her forehead—which is no doubt dripping with sweat.

  It’s hot as hell.

  That is, the weather. But I can’t deny Amber, who’s now furiously kicking the tires of her shitty car, isn’t adding to the sweat gathering on my neck. I smile a little while I wait for the air conditioner to cool down my car. Her rich ebony hair’s piled on top of her head, allowing me an unobstructed view of her tits. Her gorgeous tits, which are also most likely sweaty under her barely there pink wifebeater. I lick my lips and imagine sucking on them.

  “Down, boy,” I mutter to my dick, which is currently demanding Amber’s attention.

  I have a couple of options. I can let Amber suffer in the Indian summer heat, which has my balls stuck to the side of my leg, while she waits for someone to pick her up—probably Brock or a fat tow-truck driver named Harley who’ll definitely try to fuck her.

  Though it’d be a shitty thing to do, I really don’t need any company.

  My stomach’s full from having an early dinner with some married chick, Layla. I fucked her on the new carpets I installed throughout her mansion while her lawyer husband won a case against some degenerate. After a few mediocre fucks, we got hungry and came here. I paid the bill; she slipped me her number and took off in her Mercedes. No strings attached—just my type. I might call her. Either way, it’s been a pretty decent day, and adding Amber to the mix could flip the script on it.

  My other option includes getting Amber into my vehicle by turning on my charm, which seems to throw her into a frenzy. The charm I’ve been graced with comes naturally under circumstances such as this, but convincing her won’t be easy. Besides my not having seen her since the day she visited Brock at practice nearly a week ago, as usual, Amber will fight our sexual attraction. But the air-conditioning and my concern for a damsel in distress should do the trick.