I can feel my face getting hotter. “We had a fight.”
“You, too?” She shakes her head, lips twisting sourly. “Men.”
I merely grunt.
After storming out on Reyes, I’d sat on his sprawling porch trying to enjoy the gorgeous scenery while waiting for Bruno. As soon as he arrived, I’d wasted no time hopping into the backseat of the Bentley. Before we could pull off, Reyes came stalking out of the house carrying a small brown paper bag with handles. He’d marched up to the car and knocked on my window. When I buzzed it down, he’d shoved the bag at me and muttered roughly, “Bon appétit.”
Before I could refuse the fragrant food, he’d stormed back up to the house and slammed the door.
I scowl at the memory.
Zoe reaches over, picks up the bag and peers inside at the fancy black plastic containers. “Mmm. Smells good. What is it?”
“Lamb chops and some other stuff.”
“Ooh, yum.” She licks her lips and eyes me hopefully. “Since Liam and I never made it to the restaurant—”
“Knock yourself out,” I say with a careless wave of my hand.
As Zoe makes a beeline for the kitchen to heat up the food, I head to my room to change out of my dress. I can still smell Reyes on me, and my pussy feels tender and stretched from his overwhelming thickness.
I shiver at the memory, closing my eyes with a shaky inhalation. Having sex with him was a huge mistake, but I couldn’t have stopped myself if my life depended on it. Even now, standing in my closet, I still want him like crazy. And the worst part is, there’s no cure for my addiction. If anything, it’s gotten worse.
I add the wrinkled dress to my dry-cleaning pile, though I’ll probably never wear it again after what happened tonight.
I change into an old shamrock T-shirt and gray yoga pants, then twist my hair into a loose topknot and return to the kitchen just as Zoe is carrying two steaming plates to the breakfast table.
I frown. “I’m not hun—”
“Shut up and grab the Moscato from the fridge.”
Scowling, I retrieve the bottle and two glasses then join her at the table. As I pour our wine, she gives me a rueful smile.
“Not exactly the romantic evening either of us had in mind.”
“Not exactly.” I sigh and raise my glass. “Sláinte.”
“Sláinte,” Zoe echoes.
We clink glasses and share a pitiful grin.
Then Zoe takes a big swig of wine, puts her glass down and picks up her fork, surveying her plate. “This looks amazing.”
I drink my wine, watching as she cuts into her lamb chop and slides the fork into her mouth.
“Oh, my God,” she moans. “That is fucking delicious.”
I’m almost disappointed. “It is?”
“Hell, yeah,” she raves. “It’s got this crispy caramelized crust on the outside, and the meat on the inside is so juicy and flavorful!”
My mouth waters against my will.
“You have got to try it.” Zoe motions to my untouched lamb chop. “Go ahead. What’re you waiting for?”
I glare balefully at my plate.
With an exasperated snort, Zoe cuts me a piece and holds out her fork to me.
I hesitate, frowning stubbornly.
She grins. “C’mon, Em. Just try it.”
I grudgingly accept the forkful of lamb. A traitorous groan escapes me as the succulent meat melts in my mouth. “Oh shit. That is good.”
“Told you!” Zoe forks up another bite and moans. “Is there anything that man can’t do?”
My whole body warms.
Seeing my blush, Zoe grins lasciviously. “Did you fuck him?”
I almost choke.
She laughs at me. “The wrinkled dress totally gave it away.”
I grab my glass and take a gulp of wine.
Zoe leans forward, wiggling her eyebrows at me. “So how was it?”
“Hot,” I admit, staring into my glass. “I’ve never come so hard in my life.”
“Well, damn!” Zoe laughs, fanning herself.
I swallow more wine, set the glass down and pick up my fork.
Zoe pops a stuffed mushroom into her mouth and hums appreciatively, her eyes twinkling at me. “Where’d you guys do it?”
I cut into my lamb chop. “The kitchen.”
Zoe hoots with delight and slaps the table. “That’s my girl!”
I blush, chewing the tender lamb. Reyes really is an exceptional cook, damn him.
“So what the hell happened?” Zoe demands, staring at me. “You had crazy hot sex and then argued?”
I feel my throat tighten. “Pretty much.”
“What did you fight about?”
“The past,” I say so quietly that she probably doesn’t even hear me.
Her eyes probe mine for a long moment. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you two?”
I swallow hard and pull one leg up onto my chair, fiddling with the stem of my glass before I begin speaking softly. “Reyes and I have known each other most of our lives. I met him when my family moved down the road from his family’s ranch. I used to hang out there all the time,” I reminisce, smiling quietly. “Our little one-story house sat on an acre while the Malones’ ranch was huge and sprawling with cattle and horses and dogs. There was always something fun to do, and I loved being around him and his family. I had a secret crush on him for years, but we didn’t start dating until eleventh grade.” I pause, chewing my bottom lip. “I wasn’t that popular in high school. I mean, people knew me because I wrote for the school newspaper and played on the softball team. But I wasn’t a superstar like Reyes. Everyone knew him.”
I smile a little more, swirling the wine in my glass. “Junior year was the year I decided to show everyone that female jocks could be just as sexy as cheerleaders. Our Catholic school had Casual Dress Days, so I showed up one day wearing a tight leather minidress with stiletto boots.”
“Holy shit,” Zoe laughs in disbelief. “You are such a badass.”
“I certainly thought so,” I say with a satisfied grin. “I waited until I got to my locker before removing my coat. Some of Reyes’s friends saw me and ran back to tell him how hot I looked. Naturally he came looking for me to see what they were talking about.” My grin widens. “He was fucking pissed, and we had a big argument right there in the hallway. He tried to make me wear his letterman’s jacket to cover up, but I refused. We caused such a commotion that the principal showed up, and I got sent home for violating the school dress code. My mom was furious, and Reyes’s friends told me he was so mad he almost killed them for perving on me.”
Zoe laughs. “I can imagine. I haven’t forgotten the death glare he gave your dance partner that night at the club. If looks could kill . . .” She shakes her head and eats a forkful of salad, grinning at me. “So what happened after that?”
“We started dating. Seeing me in that outfit apparently made him look at me in a different light.” I grin. “Guess he couldn’t keep treating me like his platonic bestie after I starred in his wet dreams.”
Zoe throws back her head with a delighted peal of laughter.
I chuckle and take a sip of wine before continuing. “By our senior year, we were totally inseparable. At the winter rodeo, Reyes won the bull-riding competition for the first time, unseating the state champion. I’ll never forget how excited he was. He ran over to the stands, scooped me up and spun me around and around.”
I remember the exhilaration on his face that night, his beautiful eyes glowing beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. I remember the heady magic of his kiss as fireworks erupted in the sky above us.
Zoe gives me a knowing look. “Judging by your smile, I’m guessing that’s not all that happened at the rodeo.”
I shake my head, running my finger around the rim of my glass. “As soon as we were alone, he asked me to marry him. I said yes without hesitation. We didn’t want to wait until summer, so we decided to run off and elope.”
<
br /> Zoe sucks in a breath, her eyes widening. “Seriously?”
I nod. “Our senior class trip was to Disneyland, and we would be gone four nights. We pretended to sign up for the trip and then snuck off to Vegas. We were both eighteen—the legal age to marry in Nevada. We didn’t tell our parents our plans because we knew they’d try to talk us out of it. As far as they knew, we were partying in Cali with our friends, enjoying one last hurrah before graduation.”
I pause to take another sip of wine, lubricating my painfully tight throat. “We were both attending Stanford in the fall. I was going to major in communication and Reyes was pre-med. He’d received a football scholarship and planned to request married student housing so we could live together. He wouldn’t be able to work during football season, but he promised to provide a good life for us once he was drafted by the NFL. If that didn’t pan out, he would either go to med school or return home to help run the family ranch while I worked for the local paper. If all else failed, we’d live off his trust fund until we could stand on our own two feet.” I smile a little sadly. “We had our whole future mapped out.”
“Wow,” Zoe marvels, shaking her head at me. “You guys were so young—”
“It didn’t matter. I mean, yeah, we talked about the challenges we would face as young newlyweds in college. But we didn’t care. We were madly in love and we couldn’t live without each other. It was gonna be us against the world.”
Zoe’s expression softens. “So what happened?”
My father. I don’t say the words, but they’re etched in my heart. My father is what happened.
“I . . . I got cold feet.” The lie tastes like acid in my mouth. “On the morning we were supposed to get married, I told Reyes I couldn’t go through with it.”
“Oh, Em,” Zoe murmurs sympathetically.
Hot tears swim into my eyes. “He was stunned. Absolutely devastated. I’ll never forget the way he stared at me . . . that look of utter betrayal. It still haunts me to this day.” I drain my glass and pour myself more wine, hand shaking. “I didn’t want to give him any false hope that I would change my mind. So when we got back home, I told him to go to Stanford and forget about me. I’d also been accepted into Princeton, so I went there instead—which you obviously know. I thought living on opposite coasts would make it easier to get over him. But it didn’t. Not by a long shot.”
Zoe reaches over and covers my hand with hers. “I am so sorry, Em.”
I sniffle and swig more wine, trying to wash my misery away.
“I can see how much you’re still hurting,” Zoe says gently. “But as painful as it was for you to break up with Reyes, maybe it was for the best since you were both so young. Maybe the timing was all wrong. Fast forward eight years and you’re both older, wiser and established in your careers. Not only that, but you’re both single. Maybe you can try to pick up where you left off.”
“It’s not that simple,” I mumble.
“Why not?”
“Because he despises me,” I say miserably. “Every time I think he’s starting to warm up to me, he turns cold as ice. He humiliated me that night at the club, and tonight he basically hate-fucked me.” My heart hurts just thinking about it. “He’s never going to forgive me, Zoe.”
“I don’t believe that,” she counters quietly. “You broke his heart and wounded his pride, so it might take him a while to come around. But he’s here, Em. Of all the places he could have gone, he came to Piedmont Bay. Something tells me that’s no coincidence.”
I already know it’s not a coincidence. What I still don’t know is what he’s after. Does he want to reconcile with me? Or is he out for revenge?
If his goal is to make me suffer for hurting him, he’s off to a smashing start.
Chapter Twelve
REYES
I’m still in a foul mood when I wake up the next morning. The sheets are twisted around my legs, my head is pounding and my mouth tastes like dog shit.
After Emerson flounced off last night, I’d uncorked a bottle of whiskey and chugged the whole thing. I don’t know if I put any food in my stomach. I’m too fucking hungover to remember.
Cracking my eyes open, I wince at the bright sunlight slashing through a wall of French doors. The real estate agent had raved about the master bedroom receiving “heaps of natural light.” It sounded good at the time. Now, not so much.
My phone rings on the nightstand, the sound jabbing into my brain like hot knives.
I grimace and roll over, getting more tangled up in the sheets. Cursing in frustration, I kick my legs out to free myself before swiping the phone off the nightstand. The sight of my grandmother’s number makes me groan and fall back against my pillows.
Fuck. I’m not in the mood to talk to her. But when am I ever?
The phone goes silent for a few seconds, then starts ringing again. Of course. She always calls twice.
I reluctantly press the answer button and wait for her to speak.
“Good morning, dear,” Victoria Malone says in her regal tone. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, I’m up.”
“You sound groggy.”
“I had a late night.” I scrub a hand down my face and summon my manners. “How are you, Grandmother?”
“I’m well, thank you. We just returned from Sunday service. Reverend Hollister’s sermon was about the Lord’s perfect timing. It made me think of you coming home to Piedmont Bay where you’ve always belonged.” She sighs. “I wish you’d been there to hear the sermon yourself. You would have enjoyed it as much as we did.”
I don’t respond. I know what’s coming next.
“It’s unfortunate that your father insisted on raising you Catholic,” she says censoriously. “You and your sister should have been brought up in a Protestant church like Brooks was. Entrusting your faith to another religion was irresponsible of him.”
My jaw clenches. I don’t bother telling her that faith and I parted ways after my mother died. We were already on shaky ground during the long, excruciating months of her chemotherapy. Once she was taken from me, I gave faith the middle finger and said adios.
“Anyway,” Grandmother continues, “the reason I’m calling is to invite you to Sunday dinner. We’ve hardly seen you since you came back. I know you’ve been busy unpacking and settling in, but I had hoped you would visit more often now that you’re close by.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. No one does guilt trips better than a southern grandmother.
“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” she says. “A lovely young woman who works for the family law firm. Her name is Mallory.”
I shake my head at the ceiling. I’ve barely been in town two weeks and she’s already trying to marry me off.
“She’s an Ashford,” Grandmother says, as if that’s supposed to mean something to me. “I invited her to dinner this evening. It would please me greatly if you joined us.”
I open my mouth to politely decline. But then an image flashes in my mind: Emerson’s head thrown back, her legs clamped around my waist, her body trembling hard as she comes around my cock.
A jolt of lust sucker punches me in the groin, and I scowl.
“What time is dinner?”
“Six o’clock.” My grandmother sounds delighted. “Please be punctual. And wear a jacket and tie—”
“Yes, ma’am. I know the drill.”
She giggles, such a rarity that I almost smile.
“See you at six, Grandmother.” I end the call before I can change my mind.
Almost immediately my phone rings. It’s my childhood friend Greer Knox.
“I’m taking the boat out on the water,” he says without preamble. “Wanna come?”
Needing a distraction, I grunt a yes.
Then I hang up the phone, stagger to the bathroom and puke my guts out, cursing Emerson’s name until I’m empty.
Greer’s parents worked for my grandparents when we were growing up. The Knoxes lived in one of the serva
nts’ cottages on my family’s estate.
Greer and I played together during my dreaded summer visits to Piedmont Bay. After I helped him with his chores, we’d sneak off to go swimming or fishing, sometimes hitching a ride somewhere to get into whatever mischief we could find. We were thick as thieves, and he was more kin to me than Braxton could ever be.
After putting himself through college, he decided to get a pilot’s license. That led to him starting a private jet charter company. Shuttling wealthy clients around the world proved to be extremely profitable. Now, at twenty-six, he’s a self-made multimillionaire with all the material trappings to show for it.
Two hours after his phone call, we’re cruising down Piedmont Bay in his twenty-meter Hinckley motor yacht. His party boat—a Benetti superyacht—is docked at a private marina.
It’s a perfect day to be out on the lake. The Carolina skies are bright blue and clear, the warm afternoon sun sparkling on the water.
The fresh air and sunshine should have relaxed me, but I’m wound tighter than a junkie in rehab. A junkie who has no hope of kicking his destructive habit.
Sitting in the captain’s chair behind the wheel, Greer deftly steers the boat across the lake while I lounge beside him in the passenger seat nursing a cold beer. As if I need any more booze sloshing around in my veins.
Greer hitches his chin at me. “What bug crawled up your ass?” he calls out above the loud purr of the motor.
I scowl at him from behind my wraparound sunglasses. “I don’t have a bug up my ass.”
He snorts. “Bullshit. You’ve been in a crappy mood since I picked you up. What gives?”
“Damn hangover,” I grumble.
“Well shit. Why didn’t you say so?” As the boat bounces along the foamy white waves, he throws me a sideways look. “You’re not gonna be sick, are you?”
“Nah. I’m good.”
He laughs, shaking his head at me. “You always did have a cast-iron stomach. Remember that time in Mexico when you chugged an entire bottle of tequila with a handful of jalapeños?” He grins. “I don’t know how the hell you kept that down. Anyone else woulda been blowing chunks all over the place.”
Get Over You (Dare Me Book 1) Page 12
