by Jill Shalvis
“No, he doesn’t.” Her eyes filled. “Damn it. I fell hard for that jerk. It was the real thing too. True love.” She sighed. “At least for me.”
“You were okay with falling in love?”
“Are you kidding? Yes. Look, I know we both come off so tough and independent, but the truth is, while you’re the real deal, I’m not. I want to share my life.”
Summer had seen how love worked. She’d watched it bloom like a new rose between her mother and father every day of her life. It’d been the can’t-eat can’t-sleep kind, heart-wrenchingly real to the point where for Camille and Tim, little else had been able to penetrate. Little else had mattered.
Summer had lived with that, knowing she was an afterthought, a result of their bond but not really part of the circle. She even understood it, though she’d never really felt such a bond herself. And she’d decided life was too big, the possibilities too endless to tie herself down to one person to the exclusion of everything else.
She’d been told more than once that she had a rather masculine approach to relationships. She was fine with that. Had always been fine with that. Until now. Being here reminded her how nice it could be to have those ties she always avoided like the plague. Being here reminded her that love could be a nice, warm, sort of fuzzylike emotion that maybe could grow on her quite nicely.
At the thought, a little tiny flicker came from deep inside. Maybe she could want to belong to a specific place rather than roam, be part of a group that didn’t change with each trek she took, to be a part of a relationship that mattered, that stuck. “You’re definitely the strong one here,” she said to Chloe. “Being able to admit what you want, being able to go for it.”
“Wow, look at us,” Chloe said. “Bonding. Who’d have thought?” She tipped up the glass, downed it, then slapped it down to the bar. “We should go get inked together next time.”
“As in tattooed?”
“Yeah.”
“Um…thanks, but no.”
Chloe shrugged and topped off their glasses with the last of the pitcher. “We could go get a Brazilian wax. I’m due.”
“Ouch.”
“You get used to it.”
“Really?”
“Well, no. But then I reward myself by getting a massage and Sven is so gorgeous…”
Summer choked on her drink and Chloe’s grin nearly split her face.
“And you think I’m crazy,” Summer said.
“I’m plastered,” Chloe said cheerfully.
“I can tell.” Feeling superior, Summer pushed her empty drink away, then swayed. She put a hand to her head. “Whoa.”
“The drinks were doubles. And we had two. Or four. So that’s like…” Chloe began counting on her fingers, weaving a bit in her chair. “A lot.”
The bar had begun to fill up. People shifted in closer, and Summer wasn’t so far gone she couldn’t focus on the faces. An unmistakable desire to giggle overcame her. “Uh oh.”
“Huh?” Bleary-eyed, Chloe took a look and gasped. Braden was heading purposely their way, his mouth grim, his face granite.
Nothing unusual there.
But his eyes. Those dark, usually unreadable eyes blazed with hunger, with need and temper and heat as they lit on Chloe and no one else.
“Chloe,” Summer said carefully, enunciating each syllable. “That’s not the look of a man who doesn’t give a shit.”
“I know. Oh God, I’m sweating. Look at him, he’s so pretty. And I can’t hardly see straight, I’m drunk.” Chloe sounded panicked. “What do I do?”
Summer had never seen her cousin look so open, so vulnerable in her life, and her heart swelled in sympathy. “Well, I think you should stay seated, for one thing.” She glanced at Braden, and her heart started to beat faster for Chloe. God, to be looked at like that. Joe had, when he’d been buried deep in her body, so deep she’d lost herself in him.
She’d loved it. Why hadn’t she told him she loved being with him like that?
“What do I do?” Chloe whispered desperately.
“Smile?”
“I don’t know if I can. I want to cry.”
“No. Crying would be a mistake. Don’t let him see how much this means to you. Suck it up,” Summer demanded.
“Okay.” Chloe forced a smile that hardly quivered at all. “How’s that?”
“Good.”
“I’ll just keep remembering he wants to throw me away simply because it’s time to move on.”
Summer didn’t respond because she’d thrown plenty of good people away simply because it was time to move on. The wrongness of that was something she’d have to live with.
Braden wound his way through the other customers and came close without so much as a glance at Summer. And the cool, bad, tough Chloe threw her arms around him and buried her face in his neck.
Braden stared down at her, his cool visage nowhere in sight as he hauled her up from her bar stool, wrapped his arms around her and held on tight.
“I thought you were leaving,” Chloe murmured.
“I couldn’t go without seeing you again.” The look on his face broke Summer’s heart. He did love Chloe. He loved her with everything he had.
So why was he leaving at all? Feeling like a voyeur, Summer slipped off her bar stool. She wobbled and had to blink to clear her vision. Wow. Strong drinks.
The bartender was watching her. She hitched her chin toward Chloe, who was now kissing Braden as if their tongues were fused. “Make sure he drives her home, okay?”
“Will do,” he promised. “How about you?”
“I’m going to call for a ride.”
“Good idea.”
She made her way outside. Night had fallen, and it was still drizzling. She leaned carefully against the building and pulled out her cell phone. It was midnight. Later than she’d thought.
Who to call? She hit the ON button and dialed Tina.
But the very male, sleepy “hello” that resonated through the phone into her ear and through her body was not Tina’s. It wasn’t Bill’s either.
It was Joe’s. Huh? Stupefied, Summer clicked the phone off. She glanced at the number she’d dialed and groaned.
Her fingers had dialed Joe without her brain’s approval. Bad fingers. She tried again with the slow precision of a person who’d had three double strawberry daiquiris. This time she went for the twins’s cell. Sure they enjoyed hating her guts but this was a family emergency, and even dysfunctional families stuck together. The rain sifted down over her like cooling fingers on her hot face as she waited.
“Are you going to hang up on me again?” asked a slightly bemused Joe.
Ohmigod. What was the matter with her fingers? “Sorry,” she said quickly. “Dialed wrong.” She hit OFF and touched her forehead with the phone. “Concentrate, damn it!”
Before she could call her mother next, the cell vibrated in her hand. Knowing what she’d see, she peeked at the caller ID, then winced. “Hey,” she said casually.
Joe no longer sounded sleepy. “What are you doing?”
“Sorry I woke you.”
“You don’t sound like yourself.”
That he knew her so well no longer surprised her. That it made her want to cry did. She wasn’t going to get mushy over just the sound of him, she wasn’t. But why hadn’t she called a cab? The answer was rather revealing she decided shakily. “Look, I dialed wrong.”
“Twice.”
“Huh?”
“You dialed wrong twice. Who were you trying to call this late?”
“I don’t know.” She tipped her face up, closing her eyes as the rain soothed her. “I’m a bit off my center here.”
“Yeah. Join the club.”
The utter weariness in his voice cut right through her happy little fog. “Joe?”
“Good night, Red.”
He was going to hang up. Panic gripped her. Not her typical kind of panic attack, where she couldn’t breathe, but a new kind, a vice on her heart, squeezing out ter
rifying emotions that she nearly choked on. She imagined him sitting in his bed, all rumpled and sexy with it, maybe without any clothes on, and her body tingled. “I got a phone call tonight. It threw me off. And then I drank Chloe’s stupid pitcher and it turned out to be doubles, and now I can’t—”
“You’ve been drinking? Where are you?”
“Outside of Tooley’s.”
“By yourself? In the rain?”
“Yes, but—”
“Get back inside. I’ll be right there.”
“Joe, wait. I—”
But he’d already clicked off.
“Fine.” She sighed. “I’ll wait.”
For him, she had the feeling, she’d always wait.
Chapter 17
Joe hung up the phone, got out of bed, and staggered into clothes. Ashes lifted her head from her spot at the foot of his mattress and eyed him sleepily.
“Come on,” he said, and she jumped down and ran happily to his feet, ears flapping, tail wagging.
She was always thrilled to be with him, no matter what was going on. Odd how nice that was. He scooped her up because it was faster than waiting for her to try to keep up, and they headed off the boat, down the marina, and to his car.
The rain came down steadily, looking like silver sheets beneath the streetlight’s glow. Joe took I-5, heading toward O.B., and pulled into Tooley’s. Before he could get out of the car, Summer appeared at the passenger side. She put both hands on the window, fingers spread wide, then grinned at him. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself.” He came around for her, and bent to open the door, but she had all her weight planted as she leaned on the window. She was staring at her fingers. “You got here fast.”
“I had visions of you deciding to jog home,” he said dryly.
“Nah. I already ran tonight.”
“You did?”
“After you wouldn’t jump my bones.”
He hardened himself to her dubious charms. “I thought you were going to wait inside for me.”
“I knew you’d come fast.” At that she lifted her head and grinned at him again. “No pun intended.”
At that, he had to laugh. “I have no defense.”
“Well, actually, you do. By the time we ended up on my floor that night, we were both charged, lit, and ready to go off like a firecracker.” She grinned. “Hey, you outlasted me.”
“By about two seconds.” Her casual recount of what had been one of the most memorable two minutes of his life, both aroused and embarrassed him.
“Joe,” she said simply, and set her forehead to the window. Then she straightened and leveled him with her eyes. In them there was a lingering amusement, but also a sadness that nearly brought him to his knees. Reaching out, he stroked a wayward strand of hair from her eyes, and then because he was a glutton for punishment, let his fingers trail over her cheek just for the sake of feeling her soft skin.
Closing her eyes, she pressed her lips to the palm of his hand, and then without another word, let herself into his car, where Ashes mauled her with lashes of her tongue.
Joe came around, slid behind the wheel, and hauled the puppy off her. Summer smiled at him as she reached for her seat belt. Her hair lay in soft fiery wet waves about her face, which was slightly flushed. Her eyes were glossy, too glossy, and she couldn’t match up the seat belt fastener to click it in. “It’s broken,” she said.
He took it from her and popped it into place.
“So strong, Superman Joe.”
“Cut it out.” He revved the engine and drove out of the parking lot.
With a smile, she leaned back and closed her eyes. “I love this car. All powerful muscle, like its owner.”
He glanced at her but she didn’t open her eyes. Hair whipping around her face, she wore a small, secret little smile on her lips that said she’d have a good time no matter what was going on because life was too short. She’d learned that lesson long ago, and so had he.
Ashes hadn’t learned anything but the joy of sticking her head out the window and drooling on the glass.
“Nothing beats this,” Summer said after a few minutes. “A nice drive, a nice, rainy night, a nice…” At that she opened her eyes and looked at him. “Friend?”
He nodded, and she relaxed again, closing her eyes.
A nice friend. It’s what he’d promised her, though it was going to kill him. She was going to kill him. He pulled onto her street and turned off the engine. “Wait here,” he said, and was rounding the trunk of his car when she opened her door and tripped getting out. She sat on the wet curb and grinned up at him as Ashes bounded from her seat to Summer’s legs.
“You never listen.” Joe bent and scooped Summer up in his arms. “Ashes, come.”
Summer sighed a dreamy little sigh, slipped her arms around his neck, and settled her face against his throat. “Love it when you do the he-man thing.” She pressed her lips to his skin.
“Stop that,” he said.
“Okay.” She bit him instead.
The feel of her teeth sinking into him shot arrows of heat straight to his groin. “Red—”
“I love the way you say my name.” Pulling back, she smiled at him. “All thick and husky. Like you’re turned on.”
He was, but it was more than that. It was the warmth and affection in her eyes, the way her right eyetooth was slightly chipped from that headfirst fall she’d once taken off the monkey bars in third grade, the light smattering of freckles across her nose. It was the way she held on to him, like he was the most important thing in her world, at least at the moment.
She laughed a little, and he looked into her face and thought, you are the silliest, more adorable, sexy drunk I’ve ever seen.
“You have the prettiest eyes,” she sighed. “All four of them.”
Asking her for her keys would be useless, so for the second time he let himself in the back door of her cottage. “You should lock this thing up better.”
“I know. But then how would you tuck me in? You are going to tuck me in, aren’t you?”
He didn’t bother to answer that question because in all truth, he had no idea what the hell to do with her.
“I want a bubble bath.”
“You’ll drown yourself. Maybe a shower.” He took her into her bathroom and set her down. When her feet touched the floor, she weaved and sat down right there on the tile. “I think I need help.”
Oh no. No, no, no. No.
She removed each sandal with the exaggerated care of the elderly or the extremely inebriated. Then she began to wriggle out of her loose sleeveless dress, which took her a long moment, several curses, and finally a giggle as she got stuck with her arms tangled in the material, stretched over her head, her belly softly jiggling as she laughed breathlessly. “Uncle.”
He stared down at her, having to laugh too. God, he wanted to gobble her up.
She flopped to her back. She still wore her coral tank and black biker shorts, and according to the muffled snorts he could hear beneath the dress covering her head she was still cracking herself up. With a sigh, he bent and grabbed the soft dress and pulled, freeing her.
“Only a few more garments to go,” she said, grinning stupidly at him from flat on her back.
He stood over her, his hands now jammed in his pockets to keep them to himself. “You’re on your own, baby.”
With a big huff she rolled over and got to her knees. “If you could start the water.”
He flicked on the tap and turned back to her, immediately closing his eyes because she’d wriggled out of her tank and was shoving down her shorts.
She wore nothing beneath either and her glorious long tough body imprinted itself on his brain as she stood.
“You can look,” she assured him, stepping toward the shower, doing a little shimmy that made his eyes cross and all the blood drain out of his head for parts south. “And you can touch.” She waited a second, standing there free as a bird and more beautiful than any single mischievous drunken minx
should ever be allowed to look. “Please touch.”
“No.”
She looked so disappointed he might have laughed but he had no working brain cells left. “Get in the shower, Red.”
“All right.” She opened the glass door, then weaved for a second, forcing him to leap forward and grab her. Hands full of naked woman, he gritted his teeth, steadied her, then shoved her into the water.
Her scream pierced the air and made him smile grimly.
“It’s cold!” she shrieked.
“The better to sober you up,” he said, suddenly enjoying himself immensely, and left the bathroom. Ashes was asleep on the couch, curled up with a pillow like she belonged there.
The wind had picked up again, and branches of the trees alongside the cottage brushed the windows. The lights flickered a few times as he paced the living room. He needed to get home, needed to be at work early in the morning, but he didn’t want to leave until the water turned off, until he knew Summer was in bed and safe.
She was a grown woman, he reminded himself. There was absolutely no reason to tuck her in, to make sure—
“Oh, good,” she said softly from the doorway. She was wrapped in a light peach terry cloth robe, her long hair combed and dripping, her feet bare, her eyes unusually dark and solemn. “You’re still here.”
“I was just leaving—”
“I think the power’s going to go.”
Indeed, it flickered and she looked around uneasily.
“You’re used to being without power,” he reminded her. “You’re outside for weeks at a time.”
“Yeah.” She bit her lower lip. “But it’s not exactly the dark I’m afraid of.”
Against his better judgment, he moved close. She had a light sunburn on her nose, and a small smile on her naked lips. Even as he looked, her tongue darted out and nervously dampened them. Her eyes were clearer now, her earlier joviality replaced with far more complicated things. “What are you afraid of?” he asked quietly.
“Being alone.”
A drop of water ran from her jaw, down her throat, and into the robe. He thought about the body beneath the terry cloth and felt his knees wobble. “Look, I’m trying to be the good guy here. You’re under the influence—”
