by Sue Wilder
“Are you alright?” Max asked finally.
“I’m not sure.” Straightening, I swiped at my cheek, surprised to find dampness there.
“How long were you standing in the hall?”
“Too long. Connor was talking to Ethan. Luna was in the bathroom, and I took a chance, wanted to leave the gift bag on his desk as a surprise.”
“Ethan should have said something.” Max caught my attention through the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry you walked in on us.”
“I’ve walked in on Brand before.”
I stared at the ocean, passing in a blaze of reflected sunset colors, vermilion and rose, deep lavender and indigo. Then the sky drew me, sunlight glinting off a tiny silver dot and the twin ribbons of vapor—a plane was flying high overhead, off to some exotic location. Passengers, eager for adventure. For the escape.
“I can’t get it out of my head,” I told Max as the dot disappeared and the vapor trail drifted away behind us. “The sound of Brand’s voice. The horrible things he said, and how Garrett just sat there, sipping whiskey.”
“Garrett isn’t easily intimidated.”
I rubbed at my arms. “Brand won’t let it go. He’ll retaliate, go on the late-night shows and spin it like he’s a victim. Try to smear Ibiza. Ruin Garrett’s reputation.”
“He can try. See what happens.”
“You don’t know Brand the way I do. How ugly it can get.”
“Maybe I don’t, but you’re not angry at Brand,” Max guessed. “You’re angry at Garrett because he didn’t tell you.”
I looked away. “It’s not the first time. He didn’t tell me who he really was, even after I told him why I was here.”
“He said he wanted to talk.”
“I can’t listen to him right now.”
“Why not?” Max changed lanes, his hands moving smoothly on the steering wheel. “Earlier, you said everything didn’t have to be about Brand. It doesn’t have to be about you, either.”
My throat tightened. “I’m not making it about me.”
“Aren’t you?” Max glanced at his outside mirrors. “Maybe I’m not the best person to tell you this, but right now it’s easier to feel anger. You think Garrett lied to you. What he did was omit facts, not because he didn’t want you to know, but because that part of his life is something he doesn’t talk about.”
“It’s not that simple, Max.”
“It is that simple.” The Jag slowed to a stop at an intersection before pulling forward. “Problems are easy when they’re only about you. Don’t like a situation? Pack up your things and run.”
“That’s not what I do.”
“If you don’t listen, it’s the same thing as running. I know it gets complicated when someone else is involved. You have to see his side of things, and not just your own.”
“I appreciate your opinion of me, Max.”
“Soleil.” I heard the clicking of the turn signal before Maxton pulled off the highway and onto the bluff road. “My advice? Listen to him. Trust him.”
I scrubbed at my face. There was tension now. Maxton was aware of my secrets, and why I reacted the way I did. He’d been there six years ago.
“You know why I can’t let this go.”
“I do,” he agreed quietly. “Michael Blake lied to cover his marriage, and I didn’t always see it that way. But now I see the way Brand twists things, and I can understand how trust became an issue.”
I swiped at my face again. “It’s hard to trust when Garrett hides the truth.”
Max cleared his throat. “He isn’t hiding the truth from you. He’s hiding it from himself. Didn’t you ever wonder if, deep down, he knows it’s time to face his demons? But he needs a reason to fight, and Brandon Slate is a first step. Maybe that’s why he let Slate confront him, and why you shouldn’t blame him for not telling you.”
“Aren’t you just as bad, Max?” Bitterness entered my voice. “Using me to provoke Garrett?”
“You need him.” Max made another turn, then glanced at me again through the rearview. “He needs you.”
“He looked happy enough running his bar before I walked through the door.”
“Looking happy and being happy are two different things, Soleil.”
“Which isn’t an answer, Maxton.” My throat tightened. “Is that script really about Garrett?”
“Yes.”
I stared down at my closed fists and asked the question that bothered me the most. “Why doesn’t he talk about the accident?”
“Because he can’t.”
I wanted to be angry; I was sad instead, and my inhale grew unsteady. “I’ve seen the scars on Garrett’s back. They tell a story of violence—but not cowardice—and whatever happened, I won’t force him to talk to me.”
“Garrett struggles with guilt and regret the way you do. With lies and consequences.” Maxton slowed our speed as he followed the curving bluff road. “After that last mission, when he came home, something changed in his head. A light went out, and when you walked into his bar, he was determined to stay there, in the dark. He called, furious, refusing to help because he thought we were pulling him back into a life he left behind.”
I breathed through the pause.
“Garrett wanted you gone. Then I told him someone tried to hurt you, and he did the one thing he’s refused to do for eighteen months. He reengaged with life. The light came back on. If nothing else, take that into consideration before you walk away.”
Sunlight flashed off the ceramic urn in Marsh’s yard, and I stared at the wilted flowers while Maxton pulled into my driveway. He helped me from the Jag and walked through the house to be sure nothing had changed. No one hid in the shadows. Then he waited in the doorway, studying my expression. I stared back.
“You’re a lot like Luna,” he said. “And you’re also different.”
My lips twisted wryly. “Which one of us do you like best?”
He cocked one eyebrow. “With two beautiful women, you can’t expect a man to choose.”
“Well said, Maxton Wells.”
He crossed his arms against his chest. “Don’t leave.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant don’t leave after he turned the security system on. Or don’t leave Garrett to fight his battles on his own.
After a moment, Max tipped his head and walked away while I watched him retreat. The lethal way that he moved. And I thought about eighteen months in the dark.
◆◆◆
It was close to nine that evening when Garrett pulled into the driveway next to mine. I’d learned to recognize the throaty purr of his BMW. The house he’d commandeered after my accident was the largest of the bluff properties, fully furnished and used for summer vacation rentals or winter retreats. But his routine never changed. Once he was home, he stayed there, and the regular food deliveries at odd hours meant he didn’t cook.
I cooked. But since I was still unnerved by Brand, and the conversation with Max, I hadn’t bothered to prepare anything. When a car with a lighted pizza sign inched along the street, I turned off the security system and ran outside.
“Hey.” I waved. “Are you looking for 605 Agate Street?”
“Yeah.” The teenaged driver rolled down his window. “Got a large pepperoni and cheese, extra olives, no tomatoes.”
“Under Kincade?” I smiled like I wasn’t guessing. “The house numbers suck out here. Even I have problems in the dark.” I came close to giddy with success. “How much do I owe?”
“You paid when you ordered, but if you’re interested in a tip…”
“I like tipping.” When the driver opened the insulated carrier and pulled out a large pizza box, the aroma made my mouth water.
“Ummm.” I stifled my moan and slapped a folded twenty in his hand. He looked stunned before he drove away, leaving me to wonder if I operated on instinct or insanity.
I’d stolen a pizza belonging to a man who would definitely respond—because I understood the point Max made on our drive home. What ha
ppened with Brand involved Garrett as much as it complicated life for me, and I should listen to his perspective. He deserved that and more from me. Whatever his reasons for going after Brand’s film, or how powerful Ibiza was—I couldn’t hold it against him because I’d felt like a fool, standing in the hall listening.
He’d done what I did when I opened a script and saw my life distorted. Protected himself. It wasn’t about me, if he kept secrets. What mattered was the way Garrett steadied my life.
I could get lost in the way he twisted a whiskey glass, with a fallen-angel beauty that made my heart ache. I’d grown reliant on his strength. Overwhelmingly attracted. The physical side of our relationship was too new for deep secrets, but I admired him, honored his courage.
And I wanted the “talk” he wouldn’t start after the way I walked out, as if he didn’t matter.
With a nervous hop, I scurried back inside and slid the pizza box in the oven, set the controls to low. What I was doing was risky, but I refused to reconsider. It was better to go with the impulse. Treat the stolen pizza like a game I played in high school, when outcomes didn’t matter.
I picked up my cell, typing rapidly.
Mr. Kincade. I have taken your pizza hostage. Do not call the police. Do not tell anyone or I’ll kill the olives first, then knock off the pepperoni. It will be bloody. Do you understand?
I hit send.
A minute later, I heard the swooping sound of a response: To the kidnapper. You have my attention, but you failed to state your demands.
Anxiety kicked in. I wasn’t very impressive as a kidnapper if I hadn’t considered my demands. Anticipation had me typing: I’m thinking.
Seconds passed while my heart pounded. Then the text appeared: Is there a ransom?
I considered the options: I haven’t decided yet.
The response was immediate: Poor planning on your part.
It was an impulsive act. Impulsive, yes, and I really shouldn’t have started this battle of the texts. Or stolen his pizza. What was I doing? I shifted restlessly when the next text swooped through.
I demand a proof of life.
The way Garrett responded felt more like a seduction than a negotiation. He’d taken control, and a rush of tenderness made my hands tremble.
I hesitated before typing I can show you the box.
“Not good enough.” Garrett’s voice rumbled as he slid one arm around my neck, pulling me tight against him. With his other hand, he captured my cell and tossed it away.
“Why didn’t I hear you breaking and entering?” My giggle sounded strange with my lips pressed against his arm. “What are you—some kind of scary ninja?”
“Used to be my profession.” The dominance thrilled me. “Where’s the hostage?”
“In the oven, keeping warm.”
“You were so sure that pizza was mine?”
“I’ve watched you every night,” I admitted. “You always order in, so the easy bet was your pizza and not the guys across the street.”
“Forethought and planning, although you neglected the ransom.”
“Next time, I’ll be prepared.”
“There won’t be a next time.” His breath was warm against my ear. “All pizzas will have armed escorts.”
Garrett’s playfulness captivated me, and I squirmed until he let me go. Only a few lamps glowed from the side tables. Earlier, the chilly air prompted me to start a fire, not only for the heat. I loved both the ambiance and the way ruby light spread and danced across the floor. Couldn’t wait to see the embers glowing late at night.
My hair was still damp, loose after my shower. Garrett’s hair was also damp. I could tell by the way it spiked, as if he’d rubbed his hands through it recently. In the low light, his hazel eyes held a dark intensity. The loosely buttoned blue shirt and white cotton pants made the most of his muscularity, while his bare feet suggested intimacy.
In the silence, I felt clumsy, awkward as Garrett stared longer than necessary.
“I thought you were angry,” he said finally. “The way you left. You wouldn’t look at me.”
“Brand shocked me.” The admission was honest. “At first, his voice seemed so strange and I wondered why he was there. Then I couldn’t turn away, and I’m sorry, Garrett. I violated your privacy. But my mind blanked, and then filled with how small Brand looked compared to you. How petty and self-serving. I should have spoken up sooner. Defended you.”
Garrett’s beautiful mouth quirked. “You wanted to defend me, trouble?”
“I wanted to rip Brand’s throat out.” I chewed on my lower lip. “We should have talked then, but we didn’t, so I thought kidnapping your pizza was a way to get you here. And…” I moistened my dry lips. “You’re going to say it’s stupid.”
“Nothing you say is stupid.”
“I thought we could pretend I was cooking for you.”
He stiffened. “Soleil—”
“Call me trouble. You do it in your head, and since you won’t like what we talk about, it might be easier to listen if I’m trouble.”
“And what are we talking about?” he asked carefully.
“Brand.” I swallowed once. “And what I want to do. Need to do—only I know you’re going to argue.” I smiled wryly. “I can already hear you in my head.”
“Can you?” Gently, Garrett tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Maybe you should listen.”
“Maybe we should eat the hostage first. They say a hungry man is an angry man, but after he eats, he’ll sleep through anything.”
“Oh, is that what they say?” His mouth was too sexy to ignore. “And who is they?”
I shrugged. “People.”
Doubt flickered through his eyes, and the desire to comfort became a physical ache for me. I stepped forward. Wrapped both arms around him. Pressed my face against his shirt, aware of each rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
Garrett hesitated. Stiffly, his arms lifted, and he hugged me back with one hand pressed against my shoulder blades. The other settled at the back of my head. He held me close.
“What’s this for?”
“You’re important to me.” I rubbed my cheek against him like a kitten seeking comfort. “For months, I’ve been telling myself how I want to change, be someone else. But you, Garrett. You’ve become this anchor for me, and tonight, I need your strength.”
He fisted his hands in my hair, tugging my head back and into the position he wanted. Silently, he studied my face. I breathed in the scent of him, wanting it deep in my lungs to give me courage.
“I’m going to confront Brand,” I said. “Draw his attention away from you. It’s me he blames for everything. And it’s too hard, doing nothing while he takes his vindictiveness out on you.”
Garrett cradled my face, his palms warm. “I can’t let that happen.”
“Why?” The question throbbed.
“Because you’ve become important to me, too.”
He bent his head. I rose to my toes, meeting him with hesitancy. Gently, coaxingly, his mouth enticed mine until I kissed him back.
The contentment was like coming home. My legs weakened, and I curled my fingers around his nape, giving in to the terrible yearning I experienced every time I was with him.
The peace I recognized, finally belonging somewhere. With someone.
Slowly, I savored the first stirring pleasure. His mouth settled on mine with a promise of passion. The stroke of his tongue became erotic, arousing a torrid rush of heat that left me pliant. When he widened his stance, I accepted the invitation. Stepped closer. Pressed against him.
Behind me, heat from the fire stroked with warmth against my clothes. But I burned with the shuddering desire Garrett aroused. My hands were seeking. My fingers searching, kneading the material of his shirt, pressing against muscle and bone for some way to hold on. Not let go.
Pure eroticism flared between us. Garrett teased. Tongue against tongue. Quick, tempting licks. My lips grew swollen. I’d never met a man
who kissed like Garrett, with arousing nips, his mouth held out of reach when I nipped back.
I whimpered in frustration. He laughed, a deeply masculine sound that vibrated against my skin. I grew sensitive to the rhythm of his breathing. Knew his taste. His scent. The slow trailing warmth and moisture as he kissed from my jaw down to the base of my throat.
“When I looked up and saw you standing there today,” he said between nips. “Everything about you hurt—your beauty, strength. The defiance in your eyes. My heart stopped. I couldn’t get the air into my lungs and I thought… this woman. She’s brighter than the sun and I’m burning up right in front of her when she can’t see it.”
He stroked his fingers through my hair, playing with one blonde strand. “Then I thought—God, Slate was such a fool, to have had you once, and screwed it up so badly. I wondered why he couldn’t see you the way I did. And then I was glad that he didn’t. He doesn’t deserve you. Neither do I.”
Garrett stood back, releasing my hair and watching the strands drift between his fingers. My toes pressed down. Beneath the pads of my feet, I felt the abrasion from the Aubusson rug.
The texture was the rough-soft that comes from years of children, building blocks or lying on their backs, reading books, while the fire whispered with each sizzle and pop of the flames. The sudden crack of wood burning through, falling into the ash.
“In high school.” I breathed in. “We never dated.”
Garrett turned his head to the left; his mouth tightened.
“I wanted my first date to be with you,” I admitted. “My first kiss. First dance at the prom. But if we’d had sex in high school—like we did the other night—would it have been a one-night stand?”
The question needed a response, not silence, and I wondered if he thought I delivered lines like that to every man. I’d never had to ask about sex before, because I hadn’t cared before.
But with Garrett, my fears were different, and I wasn’t sure when I changed. When I realized isolation wasn’t safety, any more than it was empowering. And if what I fought so hard against was standing in front of me. If I didn’t at least try to reach out to him, then what purpose was there in all this? In talking to Luna, to Max, to wondering if there wasn’t a second chance for us, where we would fight our battles and come out on the other side.
