by Sarra Cannon
The Moment We Began
By Sarra Cannon
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Sarra Cannon
eISBN: 978-1-62421-017-4
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover designed by Sarah Hansen @ Okay Creations
Find Sarra Cannon on the web!
http://www.sarracannon.com
To Tonya
You've always been like a sister to me.
I honestly don't know what I'd do without you.
Chapter One
I pour another shot and throw it back, my fingers trembling as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. The tequila burns my throat and I squeeze my eyes shut.
I lean against the edge of the sink, my head down as I breathe in and out, trying to steady my heart.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. He always does this. Every time I think Mason and I have a real moment—something that gives me hope for a future with him—he does something to prove he’s not interested in monogamy.
Why would today be any different?
I look up. My eyes are full of fear. Hurt. Anger. My forehead is wrinkled with worry. Not exactly my best look. I need to get it together. Sure, I’ve loved this guy pretty much all my life, but I’ve seen him with other girls a hundred times. They never stick around for long. I’m the only one he keeps coming back to.
I push the air from my lungs, then turn the bottle over again. This is the last of it. No more excuses to hang out in my stateroom, avoiding the inevitable. I pick the crystal shot glass off the counter, hold it in my hand for a long moment, psyching myself up. With a quick jerk, I down the shot and slam the glass against the granite.
My head swims.
My heart aches.
I want him with everything that I am, but the harder I try to hold on to him, the more violently he pulls away.
I’m so tired of watching him parade these bimbos around like trophies. I’m tired of the anger that consumes me every time he puts his lips on someone else’s. And it’s always someone else. Someone new.
I don’t want to be mad anymore. I don’t want to have to pretend I’m not wanting him every single second of every day. I don’t want to have to laugh at his stupid jokes and pretend I’m happy when he’s with someone else.
I just want to be the one he’s kissing.
I close my eyes and think about last night. My fingers run across the softness of my lips, remembering how it felt to be in his arms with his lips on mine. They’re still sore this afternoon from kissing him for so long. I kept telling him to shave, but he never did, and I didn’t really care. He looks so sexy with that little bit of stubble growing after a couple days.
I’m smiling at the memories, but the second I think about the blonde he’s got upstairs on the sun deck right now, my stomach twists with disappointment and regret.
When he walked onto the yacht, his arm around her, his eyes searched mine for a long moment. I felt it straight down in the core of my heart. He wanted me to understand that he doesn’t belong to me. He’s free.
Message received, Mason Trent. Loud and fucking clear.
I turn the bottle of tequila over again, but only a few drops fall into my glass. I toss it into the trash can.
I wonder how drunk I’d need to be to stop caring about the girl in his arms.
I wonder if I’m there yet.
Someone knocks on the door to my room, and I study myself in the mirror. I run two fingers under my eyes, sweeping away any stray eyeliner left from when I’d been crying. My eyes are a little red, but I can easily blame the alcohol.
I expect it to be Bailey or Summer or Krystal. Someone coming to get me to tell me to get my ass back to the party.
But when I open the door, my breath catches in my throat and the world around me spins in circles.
“Mason,” I whisper.
Chapter Two
Mason’s eyes drink me in. He takes his time, his eyes traveling from my newly painted toes upward to the tiny red bikini that barely covers my breasts.
The look is hungry and it awakens an ache deep within me.
“What are you doing down here?” I ask. I want to be unaffected by him, but he caught me by surprise and it takes me a few seconds to recover. “Is someone else babysitting your date for you?”
He swallows, then meets my eyes. He doesn’t react at all to my comment about his date. “I came down here for you.”
His words take my breath away, and for just the tiniest heartbeat, I think he means he’s come to tell me he made a mistake and that he wants to be with me.
But then he follows up with, “Preston asked me to come find you. He wants to know if there’s anymore champagne. Trina wants me to make her a mimosa.”
I push the hope back down like I’ve done too many times to count. “Trina?”
He shrugs. “The girl I came with,” he says, like it’s not a big deal. Like he wasn’t just with me in this room—this bed—a few hours ago. “She said she’s dying for a mimosa, but Preston can’t find the champagne. He thought you might know where there was more.”
I straighten my shoulders. “No, sorry,” I say. “I think that must have been the last of it.”
I’m lying, of course. I know where there’s an entire case of champagne in the store room, but I’ll be damned if I’m lifting a finger to make Trina more comfortable on my boat.
“That’s too bad,” Mason says, but he doesn’t really look upset. His gaze keeps dipping to my breasts and when he meets my eyes again, I know he wants me.
What I don’t know is why he denies it every chance he gets.
For the past year, Mason and I have been playing this game. Push and pull. Love and lose. We’ll spend a passionate night in each other’s arms, but in the morning, he’s always gone. His body says there’s something more between us. I see it in his eyes, too. But in a crowd, I’m never the one on his arm. Out there, I’m just a friend.
And that’s exactly how he likes it. He wants to have it all. He tells me he doesn’t want to be tied down to any one girl, and how am I supposed to object? If I do, he’s not going to change his mind. He’s just going to stop being with me.
I can’t let that happen. I need him like I need air to breathe.
So if this is how I get him, I have to learn to live with that.
There’s a part of me that hates myself for allowing him to hurt me over and over again. I want to be the kind of girl who stands up for myself and takes the high road, but when he looks at me like that with those green eyes, his dark blond hair slightly longer than normal and messy on top, I can’t deny him.
He’s my addiction.
The one drug I can’t ever get enough of.
“Aren’t you going back up?” I ask.
He’s wearing nothing but a pair of black swim trunks, and I have to stop myself from running my hand across his tanned, muscular chest. He’s been working out more than ever and it shows. His abs are perfectly cut and my eyes follow the trail of fine blond hair as it leads toward his waistband and beyond.
“Yeah, I need to get back up there.” He says the words, but his feet don’t move.
He’s several inches taller than me, and I have to lift my chin to meet his eyes. When I do, his lips part slightly and his breathing speeds up.
I know I should tell him he’s an asshole. I should send
him away and tell him I never want to see him again. That he’s a jerk for bringing a date to a party after what happened between us last night. After he held me in his arms for hours and talked about everything from music to movies to fantasies about the future.
But I can’t. I’m powerless when it comes to Mason. I want him any way I can get him.
Even if it means my heart will break a thousand times. I know when he kisses me again, he’ll put it back together.
I step forward and place my hand on his chest, just over his heart. It’s racing just as fast as mine is.
“Kiss me,” I say, and he obeys.
He leans down, his lips meeting mine in a fiery kiss. He pushes me back and steps into the room. The door shuts behind him and he lifts me up, pulling me close against him. My legs wrap around his body and he turns, backing me against the door as he crushes his mouth against mine.
I whimper, a throbbing need gathering inside me.
The alcohol and passion mix and I let go of all reason and logic. I don’t care about the party upstairs or the girl he brought. I don’t care about the fact that he’d rather keep this a secret than tell anyone he’s been with me. All I care about in this moment is possessing him.
I move my hands over his body, exploring him as if it’s the first time. Or the last.
He moans and kisses me harder, our mouths opening and closing, tasting each other with a furious need. He’s holding me up with one arm, but the other hand cups my breast, then travels down and hooks on the string of my bikini bottom. With a swift motion, he unties it on one side, then pushes it aside just enough to give him access.
I lean my head back as his fingers plunge inside me.
He kisses my neck, then bites as he moves his fingers in and out.
“I want you,” I say, my voice a gravelly whisper.
I press one hand flat against his chest, following the rock-hard muscles down to his waistband. I tug his swimsuit down, then wrap my hand around his fullness.
He pulls his head back and his eyes meet mine. They are stormy, filled with a dark passion. He’s at war within himself, I think, wanting me but not wanting me to have this power.
I make the choice easy for him, lifting my body and positioning him at the edge of my wetness. All he has to do is move his hips forward, but he hesitates for the briefest moment as our warm breath mingles in the space between.
I want to scream at him. I want to know why he’s holding back. What I’ve done wrong. What I could possibly do to make him fully surrender himself to me.
Instead, I hold his gaze, waiting for him to make the move. To let me know that despite his pulling away, he can’t resist me any more than I can resist him.
He enters me all at once, taking my breath away. My nails dig into his back and I move my hips forward. He thrusts hard, slamming my back against the door. My heart beats wildly against my chest and I pull my legs tighter around him, wanting him deeper, harder.
And when he comes, I cry out, clinging to him with my entire body.
Never wanting to let him go, but knowing he won’t stay.
Chapter Three
“Will you stay here with me tonight?” I ask Mason as we’re heading back up to the sun deck.
He pauses on the stairs, then turns back to me. “You know I can’t, Pen,” he says.
I want to be able to let it go at that and act happy, but I can’t. After a year of being with him in secret, I’m ready for more. But I have no idea how to get it.
I put my hand on his and he pulls away.
“So you just fuck me when it’s convenient for you and who cares what I want, right?” I absolutely didn’t mean to say that out loud, but it comes pouring out anyway. I blame the alcohol.
“That’s not fair,” he says.
“Fair?” I feel the anger brewing inside, and I can’t control it. I already know I’m in the danger zone, but I can’t stop myself. “So what is fair? You think that being with me one night and then bringing someone else onto my boat just a few hours later is being fair to me? Or are we only talking about you, here?”
He glances up the stairs, then walks me back down to the main deck. I can hear voices coming from the direction of the galley, but we’re in a small hallway and no one can see us. Just the way he likes it.
“I never promised you more than this,” he says. “I have always been open and honest with you about what I wanted, haven’t I?”
“Yes,” I say. “You’ve made it crystal clear that you don’t want anything beyond a physical relationship with me.”
He closes his eyes and runs a hand across his forehead. “You make it sound so cheap,” he says. “We both know there’s more to what we have than just a physical relationship.”
“Then what’s the problem?” I ask. I put my arms around his waist, but he pulls me off and steps away.
“The problem is exactly how much more you want,” he says, shaking his head. “I love you as a friend, Pen, I really do. I like hanging out, and you know I love the physical part too, but I’m not looking for a girlfriend. I need to have my freedom right now.”
“So many girls, so little time,” I say. “I completely understand.”
He narrows his eyes. “Look, if you aren’t happy with this, maybe we need to just stop seeing each other for a while.”
A lump forms in my throat, but I push back any threat of tears.
“Is that what you want?”
“I want you to stop asking me for more than this,” he says. “I told you a year ago that this was the most I could offer. If it’s not enough for you, then maybe we should stop.”
My memory flashes back to a little over a year ago when we slept together for the first time. It was here on my family’s yacht after a party one night. Mason and Preston had decided to stay afterward with me and Bailey. Bailey ended up going home after a couple of hours and Preston passed out in his stateroom on the lower deck.
Mason and I stayed up most of the night watching movies and talking. We’d been flirting more and more over the past several months, but I knew it meant more to me than it did to him. We were playing cards and drinking. It didn’t take long before any inhibitions were gone, and the next thing I knew, we were kissing.
He told me up front that he wasn’t the kind of guy who falls in love. I told him I was okay with that.
Two days later, he showed up at the beach with another girl on his arm. That’s when I realized for the first time that I was in love with someone who would never love me back.
“Maybe we should,” I say, and I can’t believe the words have left my mouth. Panic shoots through my veins like lightning. I want to take it back, but it’s too late.
“Fine,” he says. The only sign he gives that he’s not fine is a tightening of his jaw.
My heart falls to the pit of my stomach. Can he really let me go that fast? Just like that?
“Great,” I say, my voice trembling. I feel the sting of tears, but refuse to let him see that I’m upset. I take a deep breath in and force a smile. “There are a few guys I can think of who will be glad to take your place.”
I breeze past him and smile for real when his hands tighten into fists. He doesn’t follow me right away, and I don’t dare look back.
When I get up to the sun deck, the party is raging. The music is loud and fast and a lot of people are dancing, their bodies grinding under the canopy. Several people are gathered in the hot tub and around the deck. Preston is behind the bar mixing drinks for a crowd of mostly women.
I want to keep walking until my body falls down deep into the water, disappearing beneath the surface and floating down into the darkest depths. I want to end this pain in my heart.
But instead I smile and greet my friends and play the part of a proper hostess.
I slip behind the bar and give my twin brother a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
Preston laughs. “What was that for?”
I shrug. “Just wanted to let you know I love you,” I say. “Thanks
for mixing drinks.”
“Did you find the champagne?” he asks.
I lower my eyes and raise an eyebrow. “For Trina? Do we really want to waste our good champagne on yet another of Mason’s temporary amusements?”
Preston makes a face at me. “You’ve got to learn to let that go,” he says. He’s clueless about what’s really been going on between me and Mason. My brother believes I have some schoolgirl crush on the guy and that it’s nothing serious. “What about Braxton?”
I shake my head. “Who?”
“Braxton. The guy mom was trying to set you up with,” he says. “He’s Danielle Sullivan’s youngest son. I guess he’s transferring to Fairhope Coastal this upcoming semester.”
I stick my tongue out. I need another of my mother’s setups like I need another hole in my head. She keeps trying to send me on blind dates with her friends’ sons, and every time I say yes, I end up spending the evening at the country club with another boring guy in a suit and tie who wants to talk about my trust fund.
Preston rolls his eyes. “You never know,” he says. “This could be the one. You’ve got to start going out some, Penny. You’re too young to be heartbroken over some jerk who can’t see how great you are.”
I laugh. “He’s your best friend. Are you really supposed to call him a jerk?”
“When it comes to you, yes,” he says. “Do you want something to drink? I’m going to make a few more, then go see if I can find a date of my own for next weekend.”
I stare down at the bar. I most definitely want something to drink. Something strong.
I pick up the bottle of tequila he has set to the side and his eyes widen.
“Oh no you don’t,” he says, taking the bottle from me. “You remember what happened last time you drank tequila? You went totally off the rails. I think you should stick to something tame. Like rum or wine.”
I snatch the bottle back from him and search for a shot glass.
“I don’t remember,” I say.
