by A. R. Hadley
Both.
Because it was better now.
His gaze held treasure — open chests — valued at more than she’d ever thought possible. The night she’d met Cal, Annie never could’ve imagined a more intense look would beam from his eyes, but it was there now, staring straight at her and into her without mistake. Better, more, and different because those fucking green eyes contained the unconditional love inside him and all over him.
And he wore it better than any clothes he could’ve ever put on.
Her view of Cal became obstructed, and now a guest stood before her. A man. A stranger. And he smelled of cheap cologne and rum. Dressed like the rest, he tried too hard to impress with his artificial smell, his clothes, and his smile. The stranger engaged Annie in small talk: weather, places, people.
But Annie wanted Cal.
Her eyes wandered to the ocean — a haze of leftover colors tinted the sky — as the man with the cheap cologne continued to speak, but it was his sudden silence that got Annie’s attention.
A chill ran from her toes to the top of her spine, and as she turned her face back toward the formerly chatty acquaintance, she realized why there had been a deafening pause and shiver.
Another man stood next to her.
And that man smelled organic. Like beach and whiskey and cotton. His presence electrified. It seemed even the rum-tongued stranger had picked up on Cal’s dominant energy. Hell, the entire outside of the castle couldn’t miss it. Or that suit.
"You have a beautiful wedding ring," Cal said, at first eyeing the strange man, giving him a hefty dose of his picture-perfect confidence as he grabbed Annie's left hand and held it up. He then gave his full attention to his wife, where it belonged. “It looks custom. One of a kind.”
Annie bit the insides of her cheeks. She wanted to play the game. But her stomach did flips, and it hurt not to smile.
"Is your husband here tonight?” Cal gazed into Annie's cockamamy eyes, trying to act as if he didn’t know his own wife, but the intimacy with which he did burst at the seams. “Have I met him?"
Annie stared into Cal's pools-in-the-desert eyes, attempting desperately to keep from grinning wide, but her eyes nevertheless lit up, and her insides blazed.
Poor rum-cologne guy. He fidgeted in his stance. "What makes you think I'm not her husband?" the Pirates of the Caribbean man asked, clearly out of his league.
Cal looked at the man, and then he stared at Annie. "Oh, God, I'm sorry. Is he your husband?"
Annie released her smile from its chamber and shook her head. She peered at her wedding ring while turning the band around her finger. As she looked back at Cal, a few strands of hair blew across her blush face.
"No, my husband isn't here tonight. I'm alone," she said, her tone insinuating she was anything but.
Cal emitted an intoxicating, yet whimsical, arrogance that was beyond appealing, but it must have been quite loathsome to poor … what was his name over there? Johnny Rum Depp. Annie had always admired Prescott's complete control, and right now, it swallowed her from head to toe.
Cal scratched his temple, glanced out at the ocean, and then he took a deep breath and looked back at his wife.
"You’re beautiful." Cal peered only at Annie, never breaking his gaze.
If the stranger hadn’t been perturbed before, he was now. Annie peeked at the man's face, taking note of his bewildered expression before he walked away, and then she looked back at Cal and started laughing.
"Did you see that guy’s face?" she asked.
Cal's intrepid expression hadn’t changed. He inched closer to Annie's body and stared into her eyes. He wrapped his hand behind her neck, bunched her hair, and put his other hand on her waist.
"No, Annie,” Cal whispered, voice solid and firm and full of love. “I only see yours."
The party was now deserted although it was full.
Cal didn't take his eyes off her, or his hands, or his breath.
“Dance with me.”
“There’s no music.”
“There’s always music,” he said, and they both were thinking of each and every song they’d shared. “It’s here.” He tapped his chest and pulled her into his arms. She leaned her head against him. He began to sway. “Listen to my heart. It beats for you.”
They skirted the deck for several minutes, dancing to their own rhythm, making it up as they went along, taking a cue from fate and winks from the stars.
“Look at me,” he said, and Annie glanced up into his beautiful eyes, green as a sea … and wet like one. "I love you, Annie Rebekah Prescott.” He swallowed. “Forever."
"I love you, Calvin Warner Prescott."
Her heart was full beyond measure. A two-liter bottle of Coca-Cola shaken then opened. A volcano. Her mind was clear as crystals.
The I love yous off their tongues weren’t empty. They weren’t formality or duty. The words were packed with meaning. They stood for everything Cal and Annie were and everything they would be. Their love was shown in each and every detail of their lives.
It defined the people they were.
Each emotion they shared needed the other.
Sex without love was eventually empty. Love without sex was only friendship at best. Love without compassion was worthless. Love without respect fostered resentment. Love without forgiveness would eventually breed hate.
Every feeling had its place, and they all needed each other. They all needed harmony. Perpetual motion. Life was a series of snapshots. A variety of still frames. Endless waves.
A continuum.
Cal and Annie's love could only be as strong as the sum of all its parts, and their sum was full and complete and loyal, ready to meet the test of time.
As Annie stared up at her husband — suspended in his gaze, his grasp, and his energy — she realized out of all the words Cal had ever said to her, out of all the words he would yet say to her, none could be as beautiful or take the place of those three simple words.
Annie always liked simple.
Annie always liked easy.
Annie liked truth.
In her mind, nothing — nothing — could cut straight to the heart of a matter like the words I love you.
THE END
Cal gets his time in the sun. Read his story next.
The Ocean in His Veins
Coming soon.
Signup for my newsletter to be notified of new releases, and find an excerpt from Cal’s book near the end of this novel.
Also by A. R. Hadley
The South Beach Connection Trilogy
LANDSLIDE (Book 1)
WANDERLUST (Book 2)
CONTINUUM (Book 3)
THE OCEAN IN HIS VEINS (Book 0.5)
Standalones
BODHI
Acknowledgments
with gratitude…
There’s always THAT book, or parts of a book, where the writer places something of themselves inside the fiction and hopes no one notices.
Or we do.
But it makes us vulnerable.
It also makes us relatable.
And human.
There are pieces of me and you and them in all my stories.
But there are several places in this one where I grasped certain matters deeply. And I’m grateful for the platform to express these feelings and emotions. And I’m grateful you want to read it.
Thank you.
THANK YOU to every blogger and person who read and reviewed, critiqued, shared a post, or made one! Oh. My. Gosh. You guys are awesome!!
And … my family.
My husband. Because of you, I know the kind of love I wrote about in this story. I cried many times when penning the words and editing them. Big, fat, ugly tears. But beautiful. All of it a reminder of the many things we’ve shared over the last twenty-five years. We’ve shared lyrics too, a passion for songs … and children.
All three of you make many sacrifices. You listen to me talk about fictional characters every single day, support me, and suppl
y me with Mexican food! I’m so incredibly grateful.
My son and my daughter, thank you for loving me. You make me proud! I love seeing the world through your eyes.
Mom, Gar, Harlow. Michell (also a nod to you in these books *wink*).
I love you all!!
Listing people in no particular order. Except we’ll do the professionals first. Then the peeps.
Pros:
Monica Black = gem. You’re hard on yourself (tell me if I’m wrong, I know you will). And you’re amazing. You clean and polish my words, and you’re not afraid to give it to me straight. And you understand my style. I can’t wait for you to meet Cal — fully and completely! Oh my gosh, what a ride!
Jenny: The first editor who saw my work ... when South Beach was one long story. And she handled it with grace and care. She also respected my voice and style. She continues to inspire confidence in me to this day. And her smile is infectious. Thank you, Jenny!
Cassie Robertson-Cox and Devon Burke: Proofreaders extraordinaire. So thorough. I’ll say the same damn thing every damn time. I like repetition. So damn good. Hire them.
Erica Alexander: A very cool formatter! You are organized, skilled, and kind. You answer my silly Facebook messages. You insert fancy doodads into my manuscript and give my chapter headings my title font. You make sure my poems are placed exactly the way I want them. You add links to my back matter. Thank you!
Najla Qamber: Staci Brillhart recommended you. And thank God I met her, and thank God I met you. This cover had me in tears the moment I saw it. I hope you all (yes, you) look closely at everything in it. Najla had to blend several photos together to make this concept fly … and the result is pure MAGIC. It’s everything. When I look at it, I see Cal and Annie. It’s them. They’re real. They’re alive.
Speaking of Staci Brillhart … she’s pretty fucking awesome! Thank you for all your advice!
Peeps:
Kate Heywood: I impressed you. I’ve waited my whole life (well ... not really that long) to hear you say those words. And I hope I continue to blow your mind. As I know you will mine. I can’t wait to see where this writing journey takes us, and I want to stay on the path with you. Alpha, beta, wingman. Thank you for telling me to give you more scene with this third book. It needed it. And I’m grateful for your friendship and advice.
Renee: A friend who is there for my every freaking text message ... even when little old me is asking you asinine questions. You never make me feel stupid. You’re the teacher I wish I had and do. You’re the friend I’m thankful to have met (virtually). Your love and knowledge of literature is astounding. Thank you for sharing it with me.
Sarah: Oh boy. We have secrets we will never share with anyone! This is my best friend. An extraordinary woman I met later in life. A beautiful mother and friend. My Thelma and Louise gal but without that ending! Waiting for Brad Pitt to appear! Hello! Thank you for reading my words before anyone. And for being my cheerleader. I love you.
Amanda: You treated me with grace after all this time... I’m glad we’ve reconnected. The love you had for these characters couldn’t have come at a better time in my life. Thank you for reading my words and loving me. And unbeknownst to you, you were the muse for Tabitha. The long hair, the oceanic eyes, the sass!
V.K.: If it weren’t for you, I don’t know if this particular story would exist. Hard to admit … but possibly true. The mind works in mysterious ways. The universe is fascinating. I feel such an energy about things like this. And I won’t set it aside for people who might think I’m crazy. Your eyes are what I see when I close mine and summon Cal. The look, the intensity. The feelings. So much can be conveyed in the silence. Thank you for sharing your own gifts.
Leslie McAdam: I was at Target when you messaged me about Landslide. I never want to forget that moment. You are an inspiration for many reasons. Your bravery and vulnerability inspire me. Your kindnesses I will try to pay forward. You have an impact on so many around you. Never stop.
Brittney Sahin: Thank you for always listening to my very long and rambling Facebook messages… Thank you for supporting me and reading the words and answering the questions! I admire all you do to succeed, your drive, your big heart! So glad to have met you!
Becky: You gave Annie her middle name, the biblical spelling. Or I stole it. Ha! It’s my nod to you and our friendship of almost forty years!
Mellie Callahan: I’m so glad we’ve connected! I only wished you lived closer, so we could be old movie buddies … and talk books over a meal! Your enthusiasm is contagious. It’s beautiful actually! Thank you for reading and reading and reading! I love all your voice messages too!
And to anyone who knows what life is like living with anxiety or depression of any kind — my heart goes out to you. We are not alone. Let’s end the stigma surrounding mental illness. NEVER be afraid to reach out or seek help — in whatever way you see fit! Thank you for being courageous and strong. Depression is not a weakness. XOXO
I hope I haven’t forgotten anyone. There are many I’ve connected with, and I’m so honored to get to know all of you in this writing community! I’m grateful for the support of all my friends and family!
Thank you!!
First chapter excerpt from The Ocean in His Veins.
Copyright © 2018 by A.R. Hadley. All rights reserved. Unedited and subject to change.
THE OCEAN IN HIS VEINS
“There are lots of things I can teach you—"
"What? You don't knock when you enter a house you've never been in before?” she asked the moment he stepped over the threshold, eyeballing him with a sensuality she normally had to stifle, a gaze she’d never dared uncage during their prior engagements. Her words were that way too. Sexy, low-key, playful. “Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"
Cal wondered if this was how the evening was going to proceed.
She wanted to play games...
And if his mother had taught him anything, it was manners.
Except tonight, it felt only natural he made himself at home. It hadn’t been a concern or a question. The familiarity he’d already established with her over the last several weeks made it so.
"You told me to pull right into the garage." He eyed her backside — her waist, her curves, her ass — then glanced at the lavender boomerangs decorating the countertop where she stood. Dull, white wood cabinets surrounded them. It was a quaint box of a kitchen.
"You shut the garage door?"
With eyes like a hawk, Cal watched her breeze past him in her long, red dress — she opened the fucking house door anyway. He hadn’t driven across town to be checked up on or doubted.
"You left the light on," she said, about to switch it off when she paused on what had to be his old, black roadster parked inside her two-car garage. "Do you always drive that thing?"
"When it runs.” He kept his voice low and full of innuendo — a trademark he’d learned but rarely used.
The light flicked off, and then she closed the door to the house and faced him — head-on — for the first time this evening … wearing a smile that made her bare lips shout.
It was a beautiful girl of a smile, warm and friendly but overflowing with a subtle sexuality not present on any girl he’d ever met. A million requests and hints spilled from it and blended with the pouty curve of her mouth. It even reached the brown caverns of her eyes, haunting them.
After a few seconds of staring, she turned and made her way back to the countertop full of boomerangs, where she popped a few grapes into her mouth and finished tending to her drink.
Cal took two steps, reached his hand into the bowl, and broke off several pieces of fruit for himself — only putting one globe at a time into his mouth, though — without asking because, as he’d said earlier, he would make himself at home.
He would also take his time.
Not rush.
The best was yet to come.
Starting with her scent.
Less than a foot away, he could smell every inch o
f her body. Lemon zest. A flower that only bloomed in the spring. And sex. Maybe she had been touching herself...
"What year is it?" she asked, glancing at the confidence he’d made sure to plaster across his chiseled face. “Your car? Is it yours?”
"A '32."
"You're not worried your board will get stolen hanging out of the back like that?"
"You worry about too many things." He shifted his eyes from her girly, motherly, and sensual gaze. A trifecta. How could she be so many goddamn things at once?
"Do you want a drink, Cal?" Her finger dipped into her freshly made one. He wanted to twist that wet digit into his mouth and lick everything off it until there was nothing left but sin.
"No," he said instead as he grabbed a few more grapes. Leaning against the counter, he crossed his ankles, stared, and ate.
"You don't drink?"
"I don't want a drink tonight.” Not the kind that would come in a glass anyway. He craved a swallow of her. He wanted to taste her, lick her — fuck her — until the sun came out.
