Finding Summer

by Rice, Rachel E.

  Finding Summer

  Rachel E. Rice

  Copyright © 2014 by Rachel E. Rice

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. No reproduction of this book part or whole is permitted. This book should not be scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the author’s permission.

  Books by Rachel E. Rice

  Historical Romance

  The Captain and The Virgin #1

  The Pirate and The Captain’s Lady #2

  The Captain’s Revenge…#3

  Seduced By An Earl #1

  The Naked Countess #2

  Contemporary

  Obsession: Warm Bodies, Cold Hearts #1 (Obsession Series)

  Naked Obsession # 2

  Burning Obsession # 3

  Tamika Jade: The Case of the girl with the Rose Tattoo # 1

  Erotic Romance

  The Incredible Mr. Black #1 (Blackstone Series)

  Temptation In Black #2

  Submission To Black #3

  Stand Alone New Adult Romance

  Finding Summer

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  About the Author

  Prologue

  A blast went off in a distance. Shook the ground and tore through flesh. It appeared as if everything was in motion and he heard nothing, saw nothing, and he couldn’t speak or move.

  He drifted through a maze of light and darkness. Sometimes he would smile; sometimes a flash of a frown would rest on his youthful, unshaven face. The young woman brought in scissors to trim his beard on her visits. After a sigh of accomplishment, she sat back and viewed her masterpiece. How handsome he appeared lying there immovable like a Ken doll, she thought.

  “Lieutenant…can you hear me.” She called out to him but he didn’t answer.

  And with the Ken doll she adored, she refused to desert the young handsome man lying helpless in front of her. She made time to visit him each morning, holding his hand, reading to him, hoping for a miracle. Noticing he had no visitors, she wondered why. Someone had to miss him. He must be someone’s son, husband, or father, she thought.

  The young man lay in a coma for months; his rugged handsome face hidden by a beard.

  Lying wrapped in clean white sheets, unaware of his surroundings and the world he inhabited, his eyes struggled to open.

  When he finally broke through a wall, he woke. His blank, dark stare focused in the direction of a sound. A woman sat reading and holding his hand. He heard her voice; it was familiar and soothing. Perhaps it was his mother, but her voice and touch was not that of a mother. She could have been, had she not ignited a feeling of sexual pleasure as she read to him, a love poem. He heard the words before but his mind couldn’t grasp the author, or what was said.

  He struggled once more, questioning and searching for familiarity. Where am I? His mind asked. Who am I? Who belongs to that voice? Why is she here? Why is he here, for that matter?

  Fighting to open his eyes, he finally willed his brain to complete a difficult task. But with the help of the girl sitting and holding his hand and her soothing voice, his eyes opened, but through the imaginary light he came to another wall. One filled with darkness.

  He shut his eyes tight. The girl wasn’t holding his hands any longer. He griped the railings on his hospital bed.

  The reality of it washed over him: he was blind.

  Chapter One

  It was an attraction that could not be described in the usual way. The only way he understood it was that it was white hot. The kind of heat that smolders and appears to be cool but when you connect with it, it sears your skin, sears your bones, and then envelops your soul. It was like that for Jackson. He felt it when a bomb exploded near his body, and he felt it whenever the young woman came near his bed and touched him. His skin and body reacted to the cool, yet searing, heat of her touch.

  Her touch was that of loving, caring, and kindness that he hadn’t experienced for a long time. Every day she visited him and read to him. And because of her he came back to the land of the living.

  He couldn’t see her face, but he could imagine it just from her presence and the soft ease of her voice: he was in love with her.

  He hadn’t known this feeling since he first met a girl in high school, whom he had been attracted to from the second he first laid eyes on her and obsessed about her.

  It was an alien feeling for Jackson because he was not the kind of guy who would fall for one girl, and beyond that one obsession, he had never been in love. Why would he? He was young, a football star, and rich.

  Now he was lying in bed in a hospital ward in Houston that specialized in treating wounded veterans. While his magnificent body was intact, his mind and vision had suffered from the devastating trauma caused by a blast that had left him in a coma for several months.

  Knowing there would be more months of therapy ahead of him, he would have plenty of time to think and piece together the illusion of a teenage girl and the feeling he held in his heart for her.

  Ever since he came out of the comma, he had searched his memory for her name and her face, but there appeared to be a black hole—only shadows with a blank face and blank eyes.

  Maybe it was all a delusion and he had dreamed of this teenager. It had been years since he was in high school. But how many years, he questioned. All this was a bit confusing. His mind contained snippets of what he thought the young girl looked and felt like. It became a game to imagine who she was and why she appeared in his subconscious mind. At first he thought it was just a dream, or perhaps his imagination clinging to some wish for the perfect girl he might fall in love with. . . .

  Was she real? He wasn’t certain because he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember who he was. He had no past. And, therefore, his future was in jeopardy.

  Jackson was eighteen then and an arrogant young football jock in his senior year of high school when he first met her. A star quarterback and the richest teen in San Francisco. He had inherited a fortune from his fraternal grandparents, who were in oil, banking, and technology. When they died months of each other, all of their money went to him, their only grandson, against the wishes of his parents. Jackson had said that it was a broken heart that killed his granddad, after his grandmother died of a heart attack in his granddad’s arms.

  His grandparent’s will had a stipulation that Jackson wouldn’t have access to all the money until he turned twenty-five, but he gained access to some of the money when he turned eighteen. With that, he purchased a home and cars in his senior year of high school without telling his mother and father.

  With his home tucked away in San Mateo County, it became a party house where he and his friends indulged in teenage girls, young women, and drinking, often hooking up for sex and downing shots of tequila. All of the student body was privy to the goings on in the canyon, where an invite
secured them a place with the popular girls and boys.

  After each football game, they would party. And when football season was over, then they would party all the time. Whereas all of Jackson’s team members were exhausted after nights of drinking, he could consume beer and booze before a game and never have a hangover. While his teammates were sometimes in bed, missing classes and trying to recuperate, Jackson never missed his classes or practice. He was strong and towering.

  He stood six feet three with a powerful muscular body, and his hands, large with long fingers. He could throw a football to make pros envious. Every pass of the ball met receivers’ hands as if it dropped out of the sky from heaven.

  He received scholarships from big name universities when he was only fifteen and by the time he was in his senior year of high school, major league football scouts knocked at his door, trying to convince him to go pro in his second year of college. The coaches never had to bring in a substitute for him. He was able to win every game that season. He was described as a juggernaut. His reputation on the field made the Jaguars the most feared team in high school football in the Bay area.

  No one messed with Jackson, not teachers, football coaches, or administrators. He came and went as he pleased. He was a brilliant student and a brilliant football player. Despite all the abuse his body suffered, he somehow maintained an A average. If he chose, he could go to Stanford, his father’s school, or Harvard, which his mother hoped he would choose.

  Nevertheless, Jackson had one flaw, and that was pure arrogance and an obscene need for female adoration and companionship. He would start a relationship with girls just as casually as he would start a book. Once he found a girl boring, he discarded her after one night of sex.

  He also had very little loyalty to his friends when it came to their girlfriends. His best friend David would brag about his virtuous girlfriend and that she was a virgin and she would never date or sleep with another guy, especially Jackson. But Jackson saw this as a challenge.

  He even went after David’s girlfriend and presented the contract to her. Jackson called David’s girl and arranged a meeting at his home. After a few kisses (and he knew how to kiss), she had signed the contract agreeing to see a doctor to certify that she was a virgin.

  Girls were lined up waiting for him to give the green light and they would be there when he wanted and where he wanted. He enjoyed sex in his two-seat convertible sports cars. His requests of girls were that they were of the age where they could have consensual sex. There was too much at stake—his inheritance, his football career, and his partying. He would even take the time to tape them and have them sign an official agreement drawn up by his lawyer, stating that they were virgins, and they were on birth control pills before he agreed to date them.

  He covered his basis with everyone but one. It was the vision of a nameless and faceless girl who kept swirling around his mind.

  When he first met her, it was a spring day and football season was over. Jackson’s team won their championship game. He deserved a rest. He planned a party because it was his final year and he would be off to college soon. He had to decide whether he wanted to go to Harvard Law School, or play football at Stanford. He considered not going to college altogether. Maybe tramp around Europe and see the world. Give up football. He had enough money; why did he need to go to college? He could spend that time sampling different women, which was a good thought for a young man, but his father had other plans.

  “It’s a time when a young boy becomes a man,” his father reminded him. “You have to make a decision and stop what you are doing. If you don’t want to go to college or play major league sports, then take a wife and run your grandfather’s company.”

  But Jackson wanted to continue his partying and womanizing, never thinking about the consequences of his actions. His father argued. “A man like you needs a wife to keep him grounded because you think with your dick. You will find all sorts of trouble and the wrong woman. Get a wife,” his father shouted.

  That was the last time Jackson remembered a conversation with his father. He told him that he had his own place and that he was moving out.

  And it was the next day that he met her: the girl of his dreams.

  ***

  Jackson stood at his locker throwing his books in, his glance shuttled up and down the hallway as his buddy, Sidney Grant, discussed the pros and cons of stocking the party house with hard liquor. Jackson’s eyes wandered further and zoned in on a small figure walking alone. She had mounds of glowing auburn hair that floated down her back and lay in long soft curls on her shoulders.

  She was dressed in a checkered skirt and white blouse with black leggings tucked in a pair of combat boots, which caused him to swirl around and look twice. She stopped, put in her combination and opened the locker. He had time to scan her from head to toe. Something must be wrong with me, he thought. Why hadn’t he seen the fresh new face with the tempting parted lips, all this on an incredible looking body? Hot was only one of the words to describe the girl. He knew by the way she dressed that she was hiding something. She was shy and didn’t want to stand out, but she caught his eyes. He saw past the skirt over her knees, he saw past the white blouse buttoned so tight it appeared to choke her and cover up her perky full breasts.

  He saw past the layered clothing that said I’m a virgin and I want to stay that way and he saw past her combat boots that signaled that she had style. He liked what he saw. His first thoughts were that he had to feel her naked body next to his. He had to kiss her nipples until they rose in his mouth. He had to lie on her and feel his penis enter her.

  The thought of what he wanted to do to her sent waves of sexual pleasure through his body.

  Just a brief conversation with a girl, and he could determine whether she was easy or hard. And looking at the way she dressed all covered up, she was hiding something. It peaked his interest and that charmed him. Intent on not letting her get away, he waved Sidney off. “Yeah, do whatever.”

  He gave Sidney a shove in the side, pointing to his next conquest.

  Leaning against the locker, Jackson ignored Sidney’s endless chatter, his eyes focused on the girl who might be all of sixteen, hopefully seventeen. He couldn’t resist the idea that there was a new, desirable body he hadn’t touched or made love to.

  Distracted and with his hormones raging and playing a serious game of mating, he said, “Yeah, Sidney, you’re in charge of the beverage and food, do what you want.”

  Sidney stood watching Jackson’s long stride and silent footsteps marching in the direction of the new girl.

  When Jackson caught up with the girl, he touched her on the shoulder and he felt a surge of heat. It was that strong and that compelling. The girl didn’t seem to notice. She kept walking until his long legs stepped in front of her to stop her, and that’s when he saw her soft pouty lips. There was warmth in them and a natural color of red like a strawberry.

  “You’re in my way and I’ll be late for class,” the girl said, looking into his warm blue eyes and thinking, how handsome and tall. When a smile burst on his face, her pulse raced.

  “Just tell your teacher that Jackson Van Hughes stopped you to ask a question.”

  “And what’s the question that’s so important, Mr. Jackson Van Hughes?” The girl asked with a soft coy tone to her voice, wondering why a boy like him would waste his time on a girl like her. But deep inside, she enjoyed the conversation and she liked the attention.

  “Your name. What’s your name?” he asked, looking down with his hands above her head, with his palms placed on the wall above her, as if he could hold up the building with his muscular arms.

  “That’s the question?” she queried, smiling and taking in his jacket with his name and the colors of the high school. She gave a nervous glance at his face with his strong jaw and perfect white teeth.

  “Well?” He put his arms out to the side, waiting for an answer.

  “My name is Summer.” And Summer walked around Jackson, wit
h his eyes scanning her movements, and she turned to the left and headed for her class.

  “You’re going to be mine someday,” he shouted as she turned the corner.

  Summer, affected by his last words ringing down the hallway, put her head down, placing her hands over her mouth and smiled. She had never had a feeling like this before.

  And Jackson couldn’t believe that he would say something as lame as that to a girl. He was too cool to make that kind of mistake.

  Summer felt a jolt ring through her body when he said those words. It was inconceivable that a handsome guy, a football jock would be interested in her. She usually she didn’t care much for jocks and had less tolerance for them because they were full of themselves, she thought. Some of them never read a book if it wasn’t a comic book, or saw a play, or spent time at the movies unless it was something like Dumb and Dumber. What could they discuss, then, if she even did entertain a notion to talk to him?

  Yet she couldn’t forget his smile. It spread heat through her, causing her to feel excited. She had never felt like that before.

  Summer knew what he wanted, though, and it just wasn’t going to happen. She had to graduate high school and go to college. She had no time to date and besides, she was only seventeen and couldn’t date a senior boy until she made eighteen, which was a week away. By that time, she would probably be gone from that school in a week. So she put aside any notion of having a long-term relationship with any boy, let alone this arrogant, hot football star.

  He probably had so many girls at his beck and call that it would be a waste of her time even thinking of him, but think of him she did.

  “You are late, Summer Winter,” her English teacher stated in her usual strict manner. On hearing her name, some of the students looked up and few of them laughed. Who names their only child Summer Winter, she asked herself, lowering her head and proceeding to her seat at the back of the class. She thought of dropping Jackson’s name just to stop the girls from laughing at her. However, it was not her style to name drop, and she didn’t even want anyone to know that he spoke to her because she would bet he had quite the reputation.