by J. S. Scott
Over the next few days, I had to hide the fact that Xander’s pain was tearing my heart to shreds, sending an excruciating ache through my chest in empathy. I hadn’t broken down and cried until I’d gotten safely into my bedroom, after he’d shared why he thought his parents had died and how he still shouldered the blame.
I had to stay strong, even though I was actually hurting in a million different ways from seeing Xander vulnerable. Yeah, he was screwed up, but nobody could handle that much heartache without coming out of it a different person. I knew that from experience. Something I could also recognize from his words was that he had to stop feeling so damn guilty. I needed to pry him open somehow, let him see what was real and what wasn’t. He was wallowing in a vat of shame that didn’t exist. I’d talked to Julian enough to know that he’d never blame his younger brother for what had happened to their parents. And I was willing to bet Micah wouldn’t, either.
Reality doesn’t matter to him right now. I know how that feels, and what it’s like to take on the guilt for something beyond my control. I’ve done it, and I know the guilt Xander feels is real for him, even though it isn’t his fault.
The double murder had been nothing more than a painful, horrible, tragic event, and was caused by the actions of somebody who had been completely and totally mentally disturbed.
Unfortunately, Xander didn’t see things the same way I did. His reason wasn’t functioning, because he was drowning in guilt. He was the one who’d been traumatized when he’d seen his parents murdered right in front of his eyes. Honestly, I couldn’t imagine how devastating that had to have been for him, to watch the parents he’d loved his entire life die an extremely violent death.
The last few days had been tense, and I hadn’t pushed Xander to talk again. We’d eaten our meals together, and I’d been pleasantly surprised to see that he had cleaned up the glass he’d broken in the family room. Other than sporadic small talk, we’d both been silent. Occasionally, I could feel him watching me, and I sensed that he wanted to say something, but he’d kept his silence on anything emotional or painful.
I sighed as I pulled a cover-up over my bathing suit, then picked up the towel I’d tossed on the bed. I’d spent the day working, organizing the house, then putting food in the Crock-Pot for dinner.
Having avoided the lure of the beach since I got here, I’d finally decided to take some time off. I needed the peace and serenity of the beach.
After putting a floppy hat on my head to keep my sensitive skin from burning, I gathered up a beach bag and made my way downstairs.
“Where are you going?” Xander called from the family room.
I smiled at him as I stopped at the entrance of the space he was occupying. I noticed the room had stayed fairly clean, and he was starting to pick up after himself. It was a subtle change, but I was hoping he was starting to take pride in the beautiful home he owned. “I’m going to head to the beach for a while. Julian said it’s wide enough to use here.”
“I wouldn’t know. I never go there.”
“Do you want to come?”
“There could be people there,” he mentioned. “I don’t like people.”
“I suppose. But I doubt it. We’re pretty far out of town.”
“What if there are guys down there? Amesport gets a lot of tourists. Not all of them are safe.”
Certainly he wasn’t afraid for my safety here? We were in small-town America. Yeah, it was a beach town in the summer, but we were so far out from the main beaches that nobody was going to be around. The odds that there was some psycho hanging around on a beach in the middle of nowhere were phenomenally in my favor. “I’ll be fine.”
He stared at me, looking me up and down. “You don’t know the area.”
“Then I’ll get to know it. It’s not like I’m going to get lost.” Holy hell. How was he going to feel when I wanted to go explore the town? “Xander, I lived in New York City. I think I can handle Amesport, Maine.”
“You lived in New York?” he asked, sounding startled.
“Yes. I’ve lived and worked there for years.” I guessed I’d never mentioned where I’d come from during some of my chatter about useless knowledge.
“Shit can happen anywhere,” he grumbled.
“Yes, it can.” He was right. Things did happen, even in small towns. But I wasn’t exactly worried about that. I’d learned a long time ago that I couldn’t live my life in fear. “Do you want to come with me?” I invited again, pretty certain he’d refuse.
He hesitated. “Maybe.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Let’s go. I’m not going far.”
There was nothing I wanted more than to get Xander outside of these walls, a place where he obviously felt trapped because he was afraid the world wouldn’t accept him.
He got up and turned off the television that he’d muted when I came downstairs, then followed me silently outside as we exited his home.
I could smell the ocean as soon as we left the house, and I stopped to inhale deeply, enjoying the warmth of the late afternoon. It was peaceful and quiet, the only sound the crashing of the waves in the distance. “It’s so beautiful here,” I said contentedly. “I’m not sure how you manage to resist the ocean. I’d be out there every day if I could.”
He fell into step beside me as we crossed a short portion of his front lawn before we found the path down to the beach.
Xander shrugged. “I used to like it. Now I don’t.”
I wasn’t in the mood to argue with him, so I kept on walking through the trees, stopping abruptly when I finally saw the ocean. “God. It’s gorgeous.”
There was only a small beach, but it was big enough. Not a single person was on it, and the warm sand beckoned me as I started moving forward again.
“If you like the beach so much, why do you live in New York? I’m assuming you don’t have water views there,” Xander questioned.
I looked at him and rolled my eyes. “We can’t all afford beachfront property.”
“Or New York housing,” he countered.
“I had a pretty modest one-bedroom rental. And definitely no water view.” My apartment hadn’t been cheap, but it was nothing compared to the sprawling mansions, acreage, and beachfront owned by the Sinclairs in this charming New England beach town.
I spread out my beach towel near the water, and sat down, waiting for Xander to join me. “I think sometimes we get so caught up in life and surviving that we forget the things we really love.”
He sat down on the sand next to the towel. “Were you just surviving in New York?” he asked in a curious tone.
I looked out at the water, considering his question. “I liked it there, and I miss my friends, but yeah, maybe I was. I’d forgotten how much I missed Maine. My grandmother used to have a beach cottage in a town just north of Amesport. We went there every summer. My grandma died when I was just entering my teens, and we never came back. My parents sold her place, and I slowly just forgot what it was like to relax next to the ocean.” I paused as I remembered those summers with Gran. “She made the most amazing cakes. I’ve never been able to replicate them, but I’m still addicted to cake. Maybe because it brings back those happy memories.”
“Like the cake you made yesterday?” he asked. “Jesus! That was one of the best things I’ve tasted in years.”
I shrugged. “That one was a simple lemon cake, but I’m glad you liked it. Gran used to make a Maine wild-blueberry cake that would just melt in your mouth. I’d really like to try making one someday.” My cake obsession never let me forget that I hadn’t had a piece of wild-blueberry cake since I was an adolescent.
“They have fruits at the farmers’ market. Kristin and Tessa sing praises about the event and the fresh fruit and vegetables all the time,” he said.
I nodded. “I hope I can get there eventually. Right now, I’m just enjoying the warmth of the sun and the ocean.”
“I used to love the water,” Xander shared. “I had a place on the ocean in Cali
fornia, and I never got tired of hearing the water or looking at it. I’d go out fishing when I could, and I surfed with my buddies when I had the time.”
“I love to fish. Were you good on a surfboard?” I’d never had the chance to learn to surf well. My time on the water had been limited, and surfing took a lot of practice.
“Depends on what you consider ‘good.’”
“Could you stand up on the surfboard?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you were good,” I retorted. “I tried several times. I could never even stay on the board, much less stand up.”
He shrugged. “It takes practice and patience.”
My heart tripped as I turned my head to look at him. His dark hair had a mind of its own, and it ruffled in the breeze. Xander looked more relaxed than I’d seen him since I’d first gotten here, and it was nice to have him share even small things with me. After what had happened a couple of days ago, I was wary of pushing him too hard. The last thing I wanted was for him to pull away completely.
“Do you miss your music?” I knew I was treading in dangerous territory, but I wanted to know.
“I can’t play or sing,” he answered huskily. “I tried. The music isn’t inside me anymore. I told you that I’m empty.”
“It’s not gone,” I answered carefully. “It’s just taking a break right now.”
There was no way he could lose the talent he’d had. Xander had just lost the desire to play and sing. In a conversation with Julian, he’d told me that there was no physical reason Xander couldn’t perform anymore. He was just . . . blocked when it came to his music.
Xander laughed, that humorless sound that I’d come to dislike. “God, you’re forever the optimist. I’ve tried. There’s nothing I can do to bring it back.”
“I have a reason to be optimistic,” I replied. “I was a huge fan.”
He turned his head to look at me, studying me for a moment before he asked, “Were you, or are you just humoring me?”
“Why would I do that? I have no reason to lie to you about loving your music, and I don’t exactly make a habit out of humoring you. I was a fan. Quiz me. I know every song you ever recorded.”
He raised a brow skeptically as he recited without actually singing the lyrics:
I’ll never go back.
I have to move forward.
My new life is ready to get on track.
I recognized the lyrics immediately. It was one of my favorites.
“‘Destroyed,’” I said, naming the song. “From the CD of the same name, 2011.”
He looked startled as he rattled off some more lyrics, and I named the song and year without even thinking about it.
“Damn, girl. You were a fan,” Xander admitted.
“Actually, I still am. Your music never died, Xander. Your songs got me through some of my darkest days. Your music still exists, and it still touches lives.”
He didn’t answer as he turned his head to look out at the water. Finally, he ventured, “Maybe it does. The old stuff is still there. It still sells. Why did you have dark days? Did somebody break your heart?”
I was silent, unable to tell him about my own private tragedies. I shrugged. “It was a long time ago. But your music did help.”
He nodded. “Good. Glad it helped somebody.”
It was one small step, but my heart started to race as I took a deep breath. Everything wouldn’t be accomplished in one day, but little by little, I was hoping he’d regain some of what he lost. I reached into my beach bag and pulled out my phone. Scrolling through the artists, I picked a CD I liked, although I didn’t play Xander’s music. I didn’t think he was quite ready to deal with that yet.
As the sound blasted from my phone, I put it down on the blanket and started to pull my cover-up over my head. It was pink and lightweight, little more than a very long T-shirt.
“Oh, no. Hell, no,” Xander growled as he picked up my phone. “That band sucks.”
I snorted. “They’re good. Leave it.”
“They’re fucking sad. I swear they don’t know more than two chords.” He scrolled through the music on my phone.
I reached for the phone. “Give it back.”
“I’m changing it. The lead singer beats the hell out of his wife, and the drummer is a head case.”
We wrestled playfully for control of my phone until I literally tackled him to the ground, then swiped for my cell. “I like their music.”
“I hate their personalities,” he countered, holding the phone out of my reach with one long arm.
“I’m not dating them.”
“Thank fuck!”
“Xander,” I warned as I straddled him.
Neither one of us was serious, or at least I hoped he wasn’t. It was a teasing disagreement, and it felt so good I hated to see it end.
My hair was loose, and I had to flip it off my face as I stretched harder to regain control of my cell, the music still blasting from the device.
“Jesus, Sam. You’re so beautiful.”
I stopped abruptly as I looked down at his face. He was watching me now, his eyes caressing every inch of me that was visible to him.
“Xander . . .” What could I say? That I didn’t want him to touch me? It wouldn’t be true. I still wanted him, maybe more now than I had when he’d slammed me against the wall for a two-minute fuck. But I didn’t want it that way again. It had completely crushed me.
“I’m sorry for what I did, Sam. I’m sorry I’m an asshole. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me right now. I never meant to hurt you.” His dark eyes were entreating, and I couldn’t look away.
“I’m not sorry. I’m glad I’m here with you,” I confided in a mesmerized voice.
His eyes were all molten heat, and it triggered a volatile reaction. My nipples were hard, stiff, and aching. My core flooded with warmth. And my heart was squeezing like it was caught in a vise.
“Forgive me?” he asked coarsely, like he wasn’t used to using those words.
“I already did.” I leaned down and kissed him because I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t bear looking at the pain in his eyes for another moment.
A pulsating stream of energy ran down my spine as I let my lips linger for a moment on his, my heart in my throat.
“Samantha,” Xander rasped, running his hands up and down the bare skin of my back.
“Xander,” I answered in a sigh, the warmth of my breath hitting his lips.
I was on my back in just a few seconds as I urgently fisted his hair in my hands to keep him close. The kiss turned desperate and needy as Xander took control, his mouth plundering mine with a madness neither one of us could control.
The embrace was everything that sex with him could have been . . . but wasn’t. This intimacy was passionate, desperate, and so arousing that I wrapped my bare legs around his waist, trying to get closer to him.
His hand was behind my neck, holding me possessively while his tongue boldly and thoroughly explored my mouth.
It was real.
It was carnal.
And it was extraordinary.
I moaned against his lips as he surfaced, then nipped at my bottom lip.
I didn’t want to let go of him, but I had to as he sat up, then pulled me up with him. “Holy shit! That was better than getting off,” he said in an unhappy tone.
I bit back a smile. “Much better,” I agreed. “I think I need to cool off.”
I stood slowly, my body nearly in flames. I needed to hop into the cold water before I climbed Xander’s sexy, masculine body and begged him to fuck me.
“Sam?” he questioned in a hesitant voice.
“Yeah?” I answered.
“After what happened, do you still want me as much as I want you?”
He sounded so uncertain that tears sprang into my eyes. I touched his mouth gently. “I do, Xander. But we’ll take things slower. It was just too soon.”
He shook his head. “I’m too fucked up. It wasn’t too soon. I wanted
to nail you the minute I first saw you.”
I let out a startled laugh. It was probably one of the sweetest things I’d ever heard, even though it was pretty crude. But coming from Xander, I knew it was supposed to be a compliment. “Xander, maybe I was wrong about being able to fuck without emotion. I think I need . . . more. I’m not asking for flowers and romance, but I need to feel some kind of connection.”
He lifted a brow. “I want us to be intimately connected,” he answered huskily.
Not exactly what I meant!
I smiled because I couldn’t help it. “Let’s just take it one day at a time. I need to cool off right now.”
The talk of intimate connections and that sizzling-hot embrace were getting to be too much for me. After feeling the passion that Xander was capable of, I ached for so much more.
“There are currents out there, and the water is pretty damn cold. Be careful. Don’t go out too far,” he warned.
As I stepped into the water, I noticed that the music on my phone changed. Xander had obviously found something he liked better than the band I’d chosen.
I couldn’t help but grin at the reasons he hated the band’s music. It was nice to know he was fully into boycotting wife beaters and assholes.
Once the water rose to my thighs, I dove headfirst into a chilly wave, feeling better than I had since I’d arrived in Amesport.
CHAPTER 8
SAMANTHA
Over the next few days, I was relieved to discover that Xander didn’t seem eager to pull back from talking about small, personal things, even though he hadn’t revealed anything more about the traumatic murder of his parents. He started suggesting daily trips to the beach, and we’d joke around, but to my disappointment, he didn’t try to kiss me again.
We settled into a regular routine. He worked out early in his home gym, so I cooked breakfast at about the same time every morning, and then he’d wander into his office to use the computer, or turn on the television while I did whatever cleaning I needed to do. By lunch, I was almost always done tidying up, so we ate something easy, then headed to the beach. Strangely enough, he started joining me while I cooked dinner. He usually offered to help, and I let him. I gave him the simple tasks, and slowly taught him to make what he liked to eat. I didn’t care if he was a billionaire who never had to lift a finger to do anything for himself. Basic cooking was important, and if he didn’t want anybody in his home, he’d need the skills when I was gone.
