Breaking Bennett

by Anne Jolin

  During the day I work at my family construction company wearing a variety of different hats and at night, I write! I had never thought about writing books before, but after a few suggestions that I should try, I decided to give it a go. I loved it instantly! Having always been a creative person, it felt amazing to harness all that energy and use it to tell a story. Now, quite frankly it’s all I can think about, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m grateful to have developed my love of reading into a passion for writing. You’ll be seeing many more books from me in the future!

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  Website – www.annejolin.com

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  Xo.

  Daulton

  “END OF THE ROAD, BUDDY,” the stranger grumbles, startling me from my thoughts.

  If only he knew. It truly is the end of the road. Not in an awful ‘my life is ending’ sort of way. But more of an ‘I’m now an adult, so fun times are over’ way. In a couple of weeks, I’ll be right back home, following in my father’s footsteps and embarking on a career as an attorney at his firm.

  I look over at the old man with the salt-and-pepper stubble scattered all over his face. “I appreciate the ride. Do you know where I can stay around here?”

  He chuckles and it reminds me of my grandfather. “Best place around these parts is The Saltvand Rose. It’s a quaint little B&B at the end of Nordentoft gode. I’ll warn you though. They’ll put you to work. But a strapping young man like yourself won’t mind. Tell them Jesper sent you.” He’s pointing straight ahead, so I assume that’s the direction I should head.

  “Thanks again for the ride.” I try to hand him a wad full of kroner for his help, but he waves it away.

  “The company was thanks enough. I ride back in to Copenhagen on Sundays, so when you’re ready to head back, have Soren ring me and I’ll pick you up.”

  I don’t stick around to ask who Soren is. Instead, I slide out of the truck and retrieve my backpack from the bed. After a quick wave, I turn and take in the breathtaking view. The ride from Copenhagen was long and hot in the truck with no air conditioning. The North Sea is calling out to me with each crashing wave, so I kick off my flip-flops and pick them up before trudging through the sand towards the water.

  This summer has been the best ever. After graduating from law school, I took a much-needed break to backpack across Europe. Alone. My best friend, Brody, had offered to come with me, but his fiancée had thrown a bitch fit because she couldn’t be away from him for two months. As disappointed as Brody had been, I’d been okay with it. I had looked forward to the isolation and inner reflection.

  Denmark is the last leg of my journey. I have two weeks before I catch a plane back to New York—back to reality.

  I look up and down along the beach and find it dead aside from a runner and someone walking a dog. The sand between my toes is relaxing as I truck my way to the edge of the water. After dropping my backpack into the sand along with my flip-flops, I toe the water to test the temperature. It’s a little brisk, but I’m hot as hell, so I think I’ll live. I quickly yank off my shirt and toss it with my stuff.

  As I step into the water, I try to push away the anxiety that lies beneath the surface of my mind. I’m about to run with the wolves—my father being the leader of the pack. It’s what I’ve worked tirelessly to achieve, but deep down, I wonder how fully it will satisfy me.

  When the chilly water hits my hips, I suppress a shiver. It feels great to cool off and wash away the grime from my trip. I’m about to dive in and fully submerge myself when I hear high-pitched screams.

  I turn my head in the direction of the sound to see the runner from earlier hauling ass down the beach toward me while frantically waving her arms in the air. My first instinct is sharks. Nervously, I glance around me and breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t see any sea monsters.

  “Get out of the water!” the woman calls out to me.

  I pause for a moment to watch her long, blond ponytail swish from left to right as she runs. My eyes drop to her breasts, which are encased in a tight, black sports bra. With each step, they bounce beautifully. Thank God for this cold-ass water.

  There doesn’t seem to be any immediate threat, so I turn away from her and dip farther into the water until the coolness slides its icy fingers around my ribs.

  “Do you have a death wish?” the feminine voice yells.

  I turn to look at her in confusion. She now stands at the edge of the water, huffing with exertion, her tiny hands on her curvy little hips. Now that she’s closer, I can really admire the view. The woman is only about five foot six, but her black yoga pants somehow make her look even taller. However, even though she’s stunning as hell, I’m not one for responding well to being told what to do.

  “I’m going swimming. So unless Jaws or the Loch Ness Monster is creeping around under the water, I’m not getting out.”

  I’m about to tell her to run along when a strong current slides around my ankle and yanks me under. Momentarily, I’m stunned, not having expected the water to be so powerful.

  But swimming is my thing.

  I’m built from years of competitive swimming and know what to do in these situations. Hell, I was a lifeguard every summer aside from this one since I was sixteen. I start swimming with the current, making my way toward shore. I’ve just pulled myself from the tentacles of the wicked current when I hear a shriek.

  My heart sinks when I turn just in time to see a blond ponytail get pulled underwater.

  What the fuck?

  Seconds later, I see the woman resurface and begin thrashing as she fights the pull of the current. My heart speeds up as I realize we have only a few seconds of her struggling against it before it will consumer her.

  “Swim with the current!” I yell to her as I start swimming toward her.

  She jerks at my command, and I see her desperately attempting to do as I’ve told her. I push through the water until I’m near her and snatch her bicep as she rushes by. The water is violent, but I pull her hard until she’s safe in my arms.

  “Are you okay?” I demand as I retreat toward the safety of the shore with the slight woman in my grasp.

  When she doesn’t respond, I panic. Quickly, I race out of the water with her in my hold until I collapse onto the dry sand, landing on top of her. Her plump lips are slightly purple and I’m unsure if it’s from sucking in a lungful of water or the cold of the ocean. I’m about to perform CPR when she coughs and spits out some seawater.

  “Thank fuck you’re okay,” I sigh in relief. My hand, with a mind of its own, strokes a blond strand of hair out of her eye.

  She blinks several times before speaking. “You saved me.”

  I can’t stop looking at her lips as they quickly turn pinker with each passing breath. God, she’s even more beautiful up close.

  “I saved you as you were trying to save me. Let’s leave the rescues to me. We’ll leave being cute to you.” I wink at her and my lips curl into a smug grin.

  “Ugh. Americans,” she sighs in feigned annoyance.

  Every moment in my life has been calculated, routine, scheduled. But today, I feel spontaneous. Today, I want to do something that’s not me.

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I dip my head down to hers and softly kiss her lip—the bottom one I’ve been eyeing. She tastes like apples and cinnamon—like a mix of heaven and home. Just one taste and something becomes very real.

  I’m already addicted to her.

  Lene

  MY MIND ATTEMPTS TO NEGOTIATE with me, to find a reason why kissing this stranger isn’t a good idea, but it’s a weak battle at best. There’s something electric I’ve never felt before today in his kiss. I can’t help but want more.

  I run my hands up his bare chest, tangling my cold fi
ngers in his dark-brown hair. His lips have warmed since our dangerous entanglement with the water, and I whimper as his tongue enters my mouth, deepening our kiss.

  I feel entirely lost to reality, as if it’s all a dream and it will suddenly all be gone.

  “Er du okay!?”

  He pulls his lips a mere inch from mine as the sound of the voice coming down the beach intrudes on our private moment. My stranger’s eyes are the palest shade of green and utterly captivating as they stare into my own blue eyes. There’s something there, something in his eyes. It reminds me of how a caged animal would look if suddenly set free in the wild—adventurous and uninhibited perhaps.

  The pad of his thumb brushes over my bottom lip and I shiver, not entirely from the cold.

  When I close my eyes as he leans down to touch his lips to mine again, I’m rewarded by a far messier kiss than I expected. My eyes spring open just as Tobias’s wet tongue slaps the side of my face again.

  “Er I totalt skøre?”

  I turn my head to the side to find an upset Rikke glaring down at us, asking if we are totally crazy. “Han ved det ikke, Rikke,” I respond, letting her know that my handsome stranger was unaware of the dangers The North Sea presents. It’s beautiful but deadly, killing at least a handful of visiting tourists in the riptide every year.

  Rikke’s eyes skitter across our outstretched bodies on the beach before she quirks an eyebrow. I instantly blush at the thought of what we must look like: a tangled mess of wet bodies in the sand, with bruised lips and passionate eyes.

  “Jeg tror ikke at han taler dansk.” Rikke smirks at me, gesturing towards the man above me before calling Tobias and retreating down the beach towards her home.

  I blush again, feeling rude as a peek back up into his eyes. “I’m sorry. You don’t speak Danish, do you?” I ask him softly.

  He chuckles, wiping a strand of hair that has escaped from my ponytail off my face. “No, darlin’, I don’t, but I would learn if you were teaching me.” His lips curl into that heart-stopping grin again, and he leans down, covering his chest with mine.

  I suddenly find it entirely too difficult to breathe as he cups my face in his left hand.

  “You’re beautiful. What is your name?” he asks.

  “I can’t…” I struggle to speak. “I can’t breathe,” I gasp out.

  His grin widens. “Well, this is a bit cheesier than I would usually dish out on a first date, but you took my breath away the moment I saw you screaming at me down the beach,” he confesses.

  “No. I can’t…” I try again. “You’re on top of me. I can’t breathe,” I manage to get out, gently shoving his chest with my hands.

  My stranger’s eyes widen and he quickly rolls onto the beach beside me. I suck in a deep breath of air.

  “I’m sorry! Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes frantically running over my body in a panic.

  I smile at his concern for my wellbeing and reach out to touch his arm. “I’m perfectly fine. You’re just a little heavy”—I gesture towards him—“and I think you were crushing my lungs.” I laugh into the wind at the absurdity of our encounter.

  He chuckles, reaching out his hand. “Daulton Bishop, the”—he smirks at me—“and I quote you here”—he rolls his eyes dramatically—“’Ugh. American.’”

  I stifle a laugh again, rolling to my side and propping my head up on my elbow. “Lene Kirkegaard,” I say, placing my small hand in his much larger one. “The cute Dane.”

  He stands up, pulling me up along with him. “Nice to, uh”—he runs a hand through his messy, brown hair—“meet you.”

  I smile at him. “Nice to meet you too. Where are you staying?”

  “Actually, I was going to ask. You wouldn’t happen to know where The Saltvand Rose bed and breakfast is, would you?”

  I giggle at his mispronunciation of Saltvand, and he playfully narrows his eyes at me.

  “Yes. I do imagine your Danish could use some sprucing up,” I tease. “I know where it is.” I point to the road across from the beach. “See the large, white building? It looks like an old dairy building.” I wait for him to nod before I continue. “That’s the main house. The redbrick building to the right is the bed and breakfast.”

  “Thank you, Lene.” He runs his knuckles over my arm. “Do you think I can see you again?”

  “I imagine you’ll be seeing me much sooner than you’d expect,” I tease him before blowing a kiss and jogging back down the beach.

  Daulton

  LENE.

  I watch her cute little ass bounce in her tight, now-wet yoga pants as she makes her way back down the beach. Shit, that woman is mesmerizing as hell. She laughed at the fact that this is a small town and she’d probably see me around. I’m thanking my lucky stars for that fact because I’m going to stop at nothing until I have her back in my arms.

  But first I need to shower and settle down for a bit. The trip here was long and tiring. And after a near drowning, which was followed by an immediate rescue mission, I’m exhausted.

  I pick up my T-shirt and shake the sand from it before putting it back on. It would be nice to wash what I have in my bag considering I’m on my last clean pair of underwear. After I heave my bag over my shoulder, I don’t bother putting my flip-flops back on and instead opt to hold them while I trudge my way down the beach.

  Lene.

  I can’t get that girl out of my head. In high school and college, I pretty much landed any chick I set my sights on. Problem was that I never wanted any of them. It wasn’t like I was gay or anything. There just wasn’t ever a girl who “did things to me,” as Brody called it.

  But Lene. After just one chance encounter, my heart is pounding around in my chest like it’s about to explode. It makes no sense, but I can’t deny the thrill she sent through not only my body, but my heart as well.

  “The beach is always washing up something worth looking at,” a playful woman’s voice calls out to me.

  I didn’t realize how far I walked, but now, I pause to admire the charming redbrick building Lene described, which I’m now standing in front of.

  “The Saltvand Rose?” I ask, still looking for the voice.

  An older woman stands from behind a bush. She’s beautiful despite her graying hair and slightly wrinkled face. When she smiles, I know without a doubt she was a head turner when she was younger.

  “The one and only. We take in all the strays.” She winks and I can’t help but smile back at her.

  “Got any room for a wanderer like me?”

  She squints at me as she approaches. I flinch in surprise when she stands uncomfortably close and squeezes my bicep.

  “You’ll do. Are you ready to earn your keep?”

  I grin as I remember the old man from the truck telling me that they’d want me to do just that. “I’m more than a pretty face,” I joke and flex my muscle.

  She blushes and playfully swats at me. “Soren will tan your hide for flirting with his old woman. I’m Bridgette, owner of this place.”

  I shake her hand and try to ignore the grumble in my belly. Unfortunately, she hears it and gasps.

  “Oh, no, sir. We don’t go hungry around here. Come on. I’ll show you to our only vacant room at the moment. After you clean up—because Lord you stink—I’ll fix you something to eat. Then I’ll put you to work.”

  I immediately warm to this woman. She reminds me a lot of my nanny, Gertie.. Gertie was my mother in every since of the word. My real mother, even to this day, treats me as a possession she can show off to her hoity-toity friends.

  “Lead the way, B.”

  She blushes again and shakes her head. “Americans are so flirty. Soren owns guns and he’s not afraid to use them,” she chuckles as I follow her into the building through a rickety screen door that squeaks in protest when we open it. Even though the outside is fairly plain and nondescript, the inside is stunning.

  Bridgette doesn’t give me much time to take in the beautifully decorated space because she hurri
es—much too quickly for someone of her height—down the hallway toward a flight of stairs. I have to stride to keep up with her.

  Once we reach the landing to the second floor, she takes me to the fourth door at the end of the hallway. She pushes open the door and enters a quaint room with a queen-sized bed. I expect the room to be floor-to-ceiling floral print as most of the ones I’ve stayed in while in Europe have been. However, I’m amazed at the sheer modern feel to it.

  The walls are painted a dark grey, nearly the color of the ocean, and white crown molding finishes with a clean look as it lines the ceiling. Modern pictures in simple frames scatter the walls. An antique globe sits proudly on a stack of old books on the desk in the corner. A grey duvet neatly covers the bed and a crème colored decorative pillow adorned with metal beads sits proudly at the top.

  “Wow, Bridgette. This place is amazing and by far the nicest room I’ve had in two months,” I praise.

  “Oh, Hans, we have the best decorator. And get this—she works for free.” Her eyes twinkle. The woman is slightly eccentric, but I already love that about her.

  I walk over to the bed and toss my bag down. “Where can I shower?”

  She points over to the closed door in the corner. “There’s a small shower and your own private toilet in there, Hans. See you for supper at five.”

  Hans.

  “Bridgette, I’m Daulton. Don’t mind my awful American manners. I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier.”

  She laughs and pats my shoulder as she walks toward the door to leave. “It’s a good thing I like your rude American ways, Hans.”