by Jillian Neal
“Brock Camden? Oh, my God! Look at you. How could you possibly have gotten even sexier than you were in school?”
All of Hope’s previous feelings of sexiness and feminine power froze right along with her soul. No. It couldn’t be. Please, please let it be anyone else. But her pleas to the ether were answered with a resounding, “No.” Walking towards them was none other than Hope’s mortal enemy, the girl that had viciously bullied her all through school, Hannah Powers.
Eight years seemed to have only amped up Hannah’s beauty. Her breasts were larger, and her cleavage was on display in the tight shirt she was wearing. Skin-hugging black jeans showed off her lower curves, and her jet-black hair was just as perfect as always. Her icy blue eyes had zeroed in on Brock like some sort of homing device. She looked like Snow White, but had the personality of the wicked queen.
Despite Hope’s best effort at commanding her mind and her body not to, they proceeded to revert instantly back into her ninth-grade self. She withered. Terror flooded her body despite the fact that she hadn’t had to endure Hannah Power’s cruelty since graduation day.
One of the happiest moments in Hope’s life had been when Julie had informed her that Hannah was moving to Raleigh. A thousand crushing memories immediately replayed in Hope’s mind. They’d had gym class together every single year. Hannah constantly taunted Hope about everything from her cotton brief-panties, the only kind her aunt would ever allow her to own, to her short stature, to her lack of boyfriend. When Hope had unexpectedly started her period in the middle of gym class freshman year, while wearing the Wellsley High required white P.E. shorts, Hannah had announced to everyone within ear shot that Hope had shit her pants. She’d made fun of Hope at every available opportunity all four years of their high school life. Hannah’s father was the superintendent of schools. She was untouchable, and she knew it. She never got in trouble, but always got just what she wanted when she wanted it, and no one could stop her.
Instinctively, Hope reached for Brock. He took her right hand in his left and wrapped his arm over her shoulders protectively.
Brock’s entire body braced for an incoming attack from the one and only Hand-Job Hannah, who was sauntering towards them with her sights zeroed in on him. He fought not to vomit. She’d earned her nickname by giving Matt a hand job in the back of the bus on their way to play Kimball High. She made herself available to most anyone with a letterman jacket, and she was rarely turned down. She was the captain of the cheerleading squad and fit the cliché—you can always tell who’s head cheerleader by her dirty knees—to a T. She worked her way through all of the starters on the football team; everyone except Brock.
He’d made it a point in his life not to hate anyone, even his asshole of a father, but he made an exception for Hannah Powers. He despised her with a vengeance. She was a bitch to most everyone that wasn’t part of her clique, but her cruelty towards Hope was absolutely unforgivable. He refused all of her endless advances, which only made her more hateful towards Hope.
When Brock was a senior, Hannah had broken into Hope’s locker and located a letter penned by Hope when she was only twelve or thirteen. It contained raw, bitter pleas to her deceased parents to come back for her, to explain her world to her, and to not make her live with her aunt. Unable to read the letter himself, Brock had grilled Claudia Shellis on its contents. She was Hannah’s best friend and happened to be filling the spot of Matt’s ‘girlfriend of the week’ at the time of the incident. Pretending to go along with the plan, he’d gotten to listen to Claudia and Hannah read several passages out loud through their despicable laughter.
Hope had placed it in a copy of one of her favorite books and had left the book in her locker. Hannah’s plan had been to run the letter in the school newspaper along with all of the Senior Last Wills and Testaments, the only copy of the paper everyone always actually purchased.
After Matt and Claudia had gone home, Brock cornered Hannah. After threatening to inform the principal, coaches, and her father of her preferred afterschool activities and what she’d done numerous times on the buses to away games, which would have effectively gotten her kicked off of the cheerleading squad at the very least, she’d backed down. Brock had managed to sneak the letter back into Hope’s locker without her ever knowing that it had been read. Right back into the old copy of Little House on the Prairie. He’d stared at the cover long enough that afternoon, when he was the only one in the school, to make out the title. Several years later, Hope had run across a copy in a garage sale they’d stopped by at a house he’d roofed in Wilmington. She’d explained that it was one of favorite books because it was the last book her mother had read to her before the accident.
“I can’t believe you’re here. I was going to have to go back to Raleigh all sad because I hadn’t run into you yet. How are you? I swear, you get better looking every year,” Hannah drawled flirtatiously.
“We’re great, Hand-Job, uh, Hannah. How are you?” Brock narrowed his eyes hatefully, daring her to make one single remark to Hope.
Hannah scowled at Brock’s intentional slip of tongue, but a moment later her eyes moved to Hope and scanned her body with vicious intent. Her haughty laughter filled the available air in the smoky bar. Brock felt a slight shiver work through Hope. He tightened his grip.
“Uh, Brock-y baby, you know we’re out of school. You don’t have to cheat off of her papers anymore. She really isn’t necessary. I’m here with Claudia and a few other people from school. Why don’t you come hang out with us? We’re heading to the boardwalk after we eat.
“Eight years and you still haven’t grown up, I see. How sad is that?” Brock menaced. “You and Claudia have fun. There’s no one else on earth I’d rather hang out with than my wife.” There was something to be said for lying your way through life. You did get rather good at it. Hope turned to stare at him, completely dumbfounded. As long as she played this off, they were golden. Hannah was staring at him like he’d just announced he was running for president.
“You’re … married? To … her?”
“Yeah, I’m surprised you didn’t hear. She’s my everything.” He brushed a kiss on Hope’s top lip as her mouth was still hanging open in shock and he couldn’t access both of her lips at the same time.
Hope! Close your mouth. Close it. There, that’s good. Now, turn and smile at that complete bitch and pretend you’re actually Mrs. Brock Camden. With her mind spinning frantically, Hope managed to follow her own orders. She smiled and brushed a kiss along Brock’s jawline. “Yep, I’m the luckiest girl in the world.” They both kept their left hands in Hope’s lap, so there was no chance of checking for rings, though Hannah was giving it a great deal of effort.
“Well, how come no one told me you two had gotten married?” she huffed.
“Oh, I’m sorry. We weren’t aware you needed to be updated on what happens on the beach since you left. If I were you, I’d file a formal complaint with whoever is in charge of that, but more importantly, why do you care, Hannah?” Brock’s tone bled quickly to a snarl. Hope was quite certain she’d never deserved a best friend like Brock Camden.
“Trust me. I don’t.” Hannah spat. “I’ll see ya later, Brock.” She sauntered back over to a group of her friends standing at the bar.
Hope stared after her. Hannah immediately began whispering to Claudia. When she saw Claudia adamantly shake her head, she knew Hannah had asked if they were married.
Brock stood and jerked Hope up with him. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” She stumbled slightly, but he caught and steadied her.
“We’re dancing. You want to show off. Let’s show off.”
He guided her into his arms on the dance floor. They weren’t close enough for Hannah to hear them, but she could most certainly see them.
“Brock, I’m not a very good dancer,” Hope pled.
“Just follow my lead, sugar. I’ve got you, and we’re about to thoroughly piss off Hand-Job Hannah. It’s high time you got a li
ttle revenge.” He grasped her ass and slammed his hips against hers in a thrust to the beat of the lurid music blaring from the speakers.
With the prod of his body against hers and the thrill of finally being able to stick it to Hannah Powers, Hope did as she was told. She let the music work through her and rolled her hips against Brock’s. When she felt his cock respond, her confidence bloomed as well. She spun and moved her body with the beat. He ground against her ass and ran his hands from the sides of her breasts down to her hips, giving the impression that his hands resided on her body quite often.
“That’s it.” He gave another heated thrust against her. “Just one second and then turn back around for me.” He instructed in her ear. She spun, and he grasped her backside and guided her body in rhythm around his thrusts. She wound her arms around his neck and moved with him. Her heart flew as she noted the hunger playing in his eyes.
“Who says you can’t dance, sugar? You’re hot as hell. Now, let’s really do this right.” He guided her lips to his with his right hand while his left trailed under the skirt of her dress. He kept the top of her thigh covered, but Hope was certain that Hannah and her crew noted that his hand was fully concealed as well.
Guiding her leg up his just slightly, he aligned her pussy with his cock. Her dress swayed to the rhythm he set.
Brock was well aware that the entire bar was watching him grab hearty handfuls of Hope’s ass, and for what it was worth he didn’t give a damn that his raging erection was likely rather noticeable as well. He lightly sank his teeth into her bottom lip and nipped before turning his head and kissing away the slight pain he’d given her. God, he wanted to take her home and have her over and over again. Hannah could go to hell. This wasn’t for her. This was all for him.
Hope moaned in his mouth as his tongue continued to explore hers.
When the song finally ended, Brock pulled away slightly, but kept his eyes locked on hers. Damn, but she was beautiful. Her face was flushed and the tips of her hair were dampened from the heat emanating between them, and her emerald eyes were still dancing as if the song had never ended.
Discreetly, he gestured his head back towards the bar. Hannah, Claudia, and whomever else they were with seemed to be trying to recall how to join their lower jaw with their upper before they turned to leave. Brock led her back to their table.
“Thank you for doing that,” Hope popped another kiss on his cheek.
“Anytime. Bitches we went to high school with not required.”
“She’s kind of sad, really. If she hadn’t been so horrible to me in high school, I think I’d feel sorry for her. She hasn’t changed at all. She doesn’t seem to understand that everyone else grew up.”
“You should never feel sorry for her, Hope.” He couldn’t bear the thought. Hope knew nothing about the letter scheme, and he would never tell her. She’d laid out raw, pre-teen, heartfelt emotions. No one else was ever meant to read that. She was a terrified little girl that had all but been abandoned to a heartless aunt. It was the stuff fairytale princesses endured, not real life human beings. He couldn’t fathom how even Hannah Powers could’ve been so cruel.
A moment later, their food arrived, and he dug into his steak, anxious to get Hannah off of his mind.
Hope gave him a mischievous grin.
“What?” he managed between bites of steak and shrimp.
“That was some pretty showy showing off there, cowboy.”
“Yeah, well, you should already know I’m full of shit. Never believe a word I say. And all bets are off when it comes to that little skank-ho.”
“Brock, that’s a terrible thing to call her! She was mean to me. Why do you hate her so much?”
Staring at her in abject disbelief, he couldn’t believe Hope Hendrix had asked something so painfully obvious. She was a freaking genius. “You just answered your own question.”
“I did?”
“I hate her for several reasons, but one of the main ones is that she was such a bitch to you. How do you not get this, Hope? I love you … and now that we’re sleeping together that probably sounded weird. You know I didn’t mean it like that, right? I love you as one of my closest friends. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t freak me out. I knew what you meant. That was really sweet. I love you, too, in a you’re-my-best-friend kind of way.”
Brock drew another long sip of his beer before he continued. “I know you’re supposed to be the bigger person or take the high road or whatever, but sometimes you need to stand up for yourself. You need to believe in yourself. Don’t let her intimidate you. We need to work on your backbone a little. She doesn’t hold a candle to the person you are, and you need to remember that.”
“Thanks.” Hope forced a smile. It was probably easier to believe in yourself if you’d ever actually done something worthy. Brock wouldn’t understand that. He was a star athlete and had made a name for himself in Ryan’s construction company, which was quickly becoming the go-to company for anything anyone in the area wanted built. She’d remained trapped most of her life. Standing up for herself in any situation never seemed to be an option. She’d gone from being trapped into studying to keep up her GPA to being trapped inside a bookstore with more debt than she could quite manage. Desperate to prove to herself that she could take on the demands of owning her own store, she’d taken a chance. One solitary chance, and had made the purchase of Bandana Books. It had not only taken all of her savings, but all of her internal resolve as well. She loved the books, but she was beginning to wonder if she’d willingly allowed them to trap her as well just because she wanted desperately to have something that belonged only to her. The feeling that her beloved books were becoming something of a captor pinpricked her prior conviction.
When Brock returned to his meal, Hope began an internal debate about her disappointment in their platonic situation, her life in general, and if she was somehow more like Hannah Powers than she cared to admit. She fought not to gag at the thought, but had she really grown up, or was she still that scared little girl that was afraid to try anything at all? Had she changed since high school? I told Brock I wanted to sleep with him, didn’t I? I have grown up. She was determined. Tonight was about sex and more of that exhilarating heat that thrummed between them whenever they touched. Tonight, she was going to let go of all of that ridiculous fear and actually live.
Eight
As the moon rose higher in the sky giving a romantic glow to the beach, the huge bay doors of Blue Surf were opened to their expansive decks, and the band toned it down into soft, sultry, beach tunes.
When they finished eating, Brock guided Hope back to the dance floor. This time, he wanted to sway her slowly against him. He needed to make her feel completely secure in his arms. He needed her trust and her hunger and wanted to reassure her that he would always take care of both. He desperately needed her to know that he accepted each and every part of her, even the ones she was ashamed of. He knew she was afraid of most everything. All he had to figure out was how to make her understand that he would always protect her.
The sea breeze gently whispered through her hair as he drew her into his arms and began to sway to the rhythmic roll of the ocean waters and the music. She melted into him, burying her face against his chest. He strengthened his hold. “You okay, darlin’?”
“Just kind of nervous I guess. I want you to like tonight.”
Brock halted mid-sway and lifted her chin delicately with his fingertips until she had no choice but to stare into his eyes.
“Hope, you have nothing to worry about in that department, okay? We’re gonna take it nice and slow. I want to show you how you should always have been loved. I already told you I’m gonna worship your body. Relax for me. By the end of the night, we’re both going to have thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Honestly, I can’t wait. I want you to have the full experience. Dinner, dancing, the whole deal, but I’m so damn anxious to get you home. All I’ve been thinking about is how swee
t and sexy you are, and how lucky I am to get to see you primal and hungry for me. I’m going crazy out here, but I swear I’m trying to be patient.”
“Can we go now? I don’t need the dancing. I really just want you.”
She didn’t have to ask him twice. He sure as hell wasn’t a saint. “Let’s go, sugar.” He took her hand and guided her out to his truck. His entire body was hot wired for hers. Damn, if he didn’t get it together he was gonna blow long before he was ready. He had the truck unlocked and her up in the seat in record time.
He attempted to draw steadying breaths, but recollections of his hands on her pert, sexy ass as she rocked her body against him on the dance floor fed the craving blood running hot and thick through his veins. The salty air and car exhaust of the parking lot gave way to the confection of her scent as he climbed in the driver’s seat.
When he cranked the truck and back out, she laced her fingers through his and laid the back of her hand on her thigh. He needed more. Like a man possessed, he unlatched their fingers and grabbed her thigh instead. He began to knead her soft, silky skin. The heat of her arousal drove him closer to her panties. Gently, he traced his fingertips over the damp satin crotch. He pressed the accelerator harder as she spread her legs further apart. “Every time you spread your sexy legs for me, you make me crazy, Hope. You make me so fucking hard. God, you’re so wet aren’t you, darlin’? So hungry.” His words blended into a husky groan.
She scooted closer and traced her fingertips down his chest and over his chiseled abs. Hesitant, almost afraid, but she kept going. She seemed to be working up her courage as her hand moved closer and closer to his package.
Brock’s heart thundered against his rib cage.
