Runaway Girl

by Bailey, Tessa

  I’m sexy. I’m ruinous. I’m a goddess in that moment. With a curl of my mouth, I invade myself with a finger, rolling my eyes back in my head. The rush of sensation that has been gathering inside me pops and I wail for God into the bedclothes, my body jerking as it is pummeled by spasms. One right after the other. Wetness lands on the backs of my thighs, my bottom, the strangled groans of the man behind me like the crescendo of a symphony. I reel hard, my lungs seizing as I draw frantic breaths, my lower body continuing to be a battleground for fulfillment and greed. More?

  Yes, I want more. I want him inside me, filling me, gratifying both of us.

  Another more startling realization is that I want him to gather me close and be my anchor just as badly. To hold me, rock me, fall asleep beside me. I want to forget the obligations I put on hold, let them become distant memories. That realization is what sends me flying back into the present where I’ve fallen limply to Jason’s bed, my panties bunched mid-thigh, the product of his hunger drying on my backside.

  I start to stand, stopping and closing my eyes as Jason dries me off with a towel and gently lifts my panties into place. Our breathing is still harsh in the sealed room, and Lord help me, the sound is already getting me turned on again. I have to get out of here before I’m tempted to turn this moment of weakness into a recurring mistake.

  Keeping my features schooled, I straighten, letting my dress flutter down around my thighs. “I-I…well…as I said, I thought you were injured—”

  His rumble of humorless laughter cuts me off. “Like I said, we were just two people getting off at the same place, same time.” His tongue presses to the inside of his cheek as he takes a step closer, close enough that the backs of my knees hit the bed. Warm breath ghosts over my face, a mixture of coffee and cigars. “Any time you want to accidentally make me come so hard that I can’t see straight again, baby, I’ll be right here waiting.”

  I walk out of the house in a trance on legs made of jelly. How am I supposed to get a moment’s rest with that offer on the table? Ignore it, Naomi.

  Before I walk into my apartment, I look back toward the house and find Jason watching me from his bedroom window. Ignore anything relating to Jason?

  Easier said than done.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ReadtheComments.com

  Username: LittleMissMorbid

  So, okay. Without getting too dark, has anyone tried checking the walls of the church for a body?

  Jason

  Today’s dive was an easy one. My group was experienced and didn’t need a lot of guidance, just someone to take them out on the water. I’m not talkative on my best day, so it’s a good thing the four men only needed a basic outline of the underwater landscape before dropping in with the instructions to be back at the boat within thirty minutes. If they were new divers, I would have brought a crew member to monitor oxygen levels from the boat while I joined the divers, but their experience let me remain solo in the boat today.

  Maybe not such a good thing, because the stretch of quiet gives me a chance to dwell on the hottest jerk-off session of my life. I could live nine lifetimes and never get the sight of Naomi out of my head. I almost wish I could forget her taut ass, her spread thighs. Her finger pushing into the smoothest, juiciest-looking pussy I’ve ever laid eyes on. Christ, even before she fingered herself on my bed, I was sick with lust from the moment I woke up until the second I fell asleep at night. Now I’m a walking, talking hard-on. She’s been avoiding me the last few days, but I can still feel her. Sometimes I swear I can hear her moving around in her bedsheets from across the driveway. Been sleeping with my window open hoping for it.

  When did I become such a masochist?

  I need this woman who is devoted to someone else. Someone whose idea of courtship probably doesn’t include having to wipe her down afterward.

  With a disgusted curse, I check my watch and cross the deck to make sure the oxygen levels are where they need to be. I make a quick notation on my dive log and resume pacing.

  Dating and women and sex are not foreign things to me. I’ve been in relationships, albeit short ones, thanks to my restlessness, inability to communicate and chosen career. During those brief blurs of shore leave while with the service, I met women. I’m not some wet behind the ears kid in the throes of his first crush. I’ve simply never had a woman get to me like this. I want to hold, kiss her and get inside her head almost as bad as I want to sleep with her—a mind fuck if I’ve ever heard one.

  Wedged in between the moments I’m thinking of getting her naked, I’m thinking of her breezing into my living room looking like a hot to trot housewife, bubbly and determined to make my sister’s first friend date a success. I think of her screeching like a barn cat and calling it singing. I think of her leaning across a table full of empty beer glasses and telling war stories.

  I’m going to admit it. I’ve got a serious thing for the beauty queen.

  And I have no goddamn clue what to do about it.

  The group of divers make their way onto the boat, one by one, and I guide the vessel back into the marina. I started this business because diving is in my blood and I wanted to stay in practice for when I redeploy. I deadlift in my garage, run, dive, stay focused, so I don’t miss a beat when I go back. Being a weak link is not an option for me. That’s what I am here. Maybe not weak, but I’m the link that doesn’t fit.

  You like to keep people safe. Don’t you think that’s nice?

  I mishandle a rope when Naomi’s voice tinkles into my mind like a crystal-clear bell. I’ve never thought of nice from that perspective before. Nice is making fancy drinks and smiling and picnics at the beach. Shit I will never find myself doing. But what if Naomi is right and I have my own way of being a…strong link for my sister? Right here in Florida?

  There’s no way I could ever be as effective here as I am overseas, but maybe I should try talking to Birdie more. It can’t hurt, right?

  Footsteps approach me from behind and I brace, checking the urge to reach for a weapon that definitely isn’t there in my peeled down wetsuit. It costs me an effort, but I turn slowly, non-threateningly, to meet whoever is coming—and I rock back on my heels when I see who it is.

  “Musgrave?”

  “Fuckin-A.” One of the closest friends I have in my assigned Special Forces group slides off his mirrored sunglasses, raising a shaggy blond eyebrow. “Took my life into my own hands sneaking up on you like that. Guess I’m missing the action.”

  “You and me both.” I put my hand out and we shake hard, a count longer than normal because we’re glad to see each other but definitely not comfortable with hugs. “What are you doing in St. Augustine?”

  “Don’t know. Can’t sit still—you know how it goes.” He rolls back his shoulders. “Decided to take a drive down from Nashville for the weekend. Get some air.”

  “Long way to come for some air. Something up?”

  “You going to pry into my affairs or buy me a fucking beer?”

  As recently as a couple of weeks ago, the prospect of going out into a crowd and sitting at a bar with my back turned would have given me a lot of pause. Sitting among strangers, no control over the endless variables. No weapon or plan. It would have made me sweat and probably suggest grabbing a six-pack and heading home instead. Yeah, having Musgrave with me makes it easier, but it’s more than that. Going to brunch with Naomi broke the seal. I got through it, even though the eggs had cilantro in them. I’m more capable now…thanks to her.

  “Beer sounds good.” I jerk my chin toward the dock’s locker room. “Let me go throw something on and we’ll head. Don’t steal my boat while my back is turned.”

  “You remember my specialty, then,” Musgrave says on a hearty laugh. “Hey, man. When you’ve got two minutes to meet the bird or get left in the weeds, you improvise.”

  “Never did return that boat to the owner, did you?”

  A lazy shrug. “Didn’t hear you complaining over the fast exit. Ain’t that the missi
on you took a knife to the back?”

  “It was.” Just acknowledging the injury makes the pulse beat harder in that particular section of my back, right above my left shoulder blade. “Did I ever say thank you for getting me to the medic?”

  He gives me a look to remind me I would—and have—done the same for him. “Fuck you, Bristow. Go change.”

  We’re both laughing as I move along the dock toward the office. I feel more like my old self than I did two minutes ago, just being around Musgrave who’s been the same places I’ve been. Skirted landmines, risked life and limb, engaged in hand to hand battles with men. Men just like me, fighting because we’ve been ordered to. Men with families just like me, but who I’ll never know beyond those brief, brutal encounters. It’s hard to be normal after that.

  I shoot a text to Birdie letting her know I won’t be home for dinner and to use the cash in my money clip to order a pizza. This isn’t the first time I’ve missed dinner, but it’s the first time I’ve felt guilty about it. I should be home with her, making more of an effort than I have been. Hell, I haven’t even really talked to her about the pageant. It’s the biggest thing in her life right now and I don’t even know if she’s nervous. Or optimistic. Doesn’t she need dresses for the competition? Have I funded those yet?

  Thirty minutes into happy hour with Musgrave and I’ve drowned most of those worries in Budweiser, but they remain nonetheless, reminding me I need to be home at a decent hour. Need to be up in the morning making breakfast for my sister. Need to be at the window when Naomi floats down the steps in whatever outfit she’s chosen to drive me crazy in for the day.

  “You heard from Wallace? Hirschberg?”

  I shake my head. “Not since I’ve been on leave. Then again, I don’t think any of us are on fucking Facebook. I’m assuming they’ll just show up some day like a rusty penny. Sound familiar?”

  Knowing I’m referring to his impromptu visit, Musgrave smiles. “Old habits die hard. I still don’t like telegraphing my moves.” His beer bottle pauses on the way to his mouth. “You know what I mean?”

  There’s a pinch in my middle. “Yeah. Doesn’t feel natural being in one place this long.”

  The other man seems deep in thought for a moment. “You still planning on going back?”

  “Always.” My answer doesn’t have quite as much conviction as it once did, I’m surprised to find. “Feels like I’m on duty sometimes and just ignoring orders.”

  “I was like that for the first year. Still am sometimes. I mean, I just drove half a day on a whim because life felt too comfortable.”

  “And bad things happen when you get complacent. I hear you.” We sip in silence. “My couch is yours for the night. I got a…tenant right now. Or else I’d offer you the apartment for as long as it takes to get right.”

  “A tenant?” He plants an elbow on the bar and turns to face me. “Have to say, that doesn’t sound like you, Bristow. You once made Wallace test your shampoo in his hair before you’d trust we didn’t put leg hair remover in it.”

  “Yeah. And he wouldn’t test it. Because there was leg hair remover in it.”

  His crack of laughter draws attention around the bar. “Still, you have to admit, you’ve got some trust issues.”

  Okay. So we’re going to have this conversation. “Her name is Naomi. She’s my little sister’s pageant coach.”

  “Former pageant girl or stage mama type?”

  An image of Naomi moaning into my mattress with her ass in the air forces me to clear my throat. Hard. “The former.”

  He waggles his eyebrows. “She single?”

  “No,” I answer on instinct. She’s off limits to everyone, including my friend. I don’t care if it’s rational or not. Acid churns in my stomach, though, because I can’t physically lie to my teammate. It goes against my nature and training. “Yeah, she’s single. But not in the traditional sense.”

  Musgrave studies my face for a moment. “Fuckin-A. Sounds complicated.” Humor flashes in his face. “Single or not, I’m getting a vibe from you that says if I flirt with her, you’ll rip my spleen out through my armpit.”

  “That’s eerily accurate.”

  He whoops a laugh and takes out his wallet, signaling the end of the night. “Well, hot damn. Let’s go meet her.”

  I know Musgrave too well. There’s no way out of this.

  Getting my own wallet out and throwing money on the bar before Musgrave can, I sigh and begin to wade through the crowd toward the exit. “This should be interesting.”

  I have no idea how right I am.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  EndoftheInternet.net

  Username: IGotAnswerz9

  Let me be plain. The only one with a motive to kill was Naomi’s father.

  She was threatening to expose his illegitimate child. Textbook!

  Naomi

  Body paint parade.

  Who knew such a thing existed?

  I scroll through the bright images of people—naked ones—in nothing but artwork to keep them modest. In some cases, painted flowers cover breasts. In others, elaborate designs wind head to toe, covering every inch of the subject’s skin. My mouth hangs open in awe. What kind of confidence would a human being need to walk down the street without clothes?

  I’m in a lull. I’ve been so focused on the pageant and taking baby steps in my quest to live on my own terms that time has become an issue. In other words, I don’t have enough of it. If I return to Charleston having mastered nothing more than buying my own shampoo, making tacos and eating in a restaurant without a reservation, this whole mission will have been for nothing. I need to try harder. I need something way outside my comfort zone. Maybe the body paint parade is exactly what I need. After all, I won’t be alone, will I? Thousands of people participated in Daytona Beach last year…and it’s only a couple hour drive from St. Augustine.

  Maybe getting out of St. Augustine for a day or two would give me some peace. I haven’t seen Jason since I…well, I can’t even believe what I did. Let him act as an audience while I touched myself. Honestly, Naomi. Shame is what I should feel. Unfortunately, every time I think about that afternoon, vines wrap around my thighs, climbing, climbing until I’m trapped in a pulsing, forbidden garden of need. It’s indecent and…I shouldn’t want to do it again. I shouldn’t lie in bed night after night, wishing my doorknob would turn, Jason would walk in and drop all that tattooed muscle on top of me.

  I frown when I realize I’m fanning my face.

  Yes, getting out of town for a while is a smashing idea.

  Resolving to make a pro-con list before the parade next weekend, I close the window on my web browser. I tap my index finger on the click pad for a few seconds, chewing the inside of my cheek, before opening a new window and signing in to my email.

  Four hundred and ninety messages.

  I almost shut the laptop, content to live in blissful ignorance for the foreseeable future, but something stops me. What if Elijah emailed me? Don’t I owe him a response?

  With a blown-out breath, I scroll all the way to the bottom of my inbox, recognizing the names of several friends and acquaintances, all of the subject lines overrun with question marks. News outlets and a couple of those ridiculous conspiracy theory websites are attempting to get in contact, too. But no Elijah. A thickness builds in my throat as I scroll back to the top to find a new email from my mother, subject line: Are you enjoying yourself?

  “We’ve moved into the passive-aggressive phase, have we?” I murmur. Knowing I’ll obsess about the contents of the message all night unless I read it, I click.

  Dearest Naomi,

  By all means, please take your time coming back to Charleston. Your father and I are faring well, despite the relentless questions from our friends and unwanted attention from the press. The important thing is that YOU are happy. Our quality of life is of little importance.

  I’ve been in close contact with Mrs. DuPont and been assured that Elijah is eagerly awaiting your r
eturn home but has elected to give you space to figure things out. Isn’t that the kind of unselfish behavior we all hope to see from our children?

  Signed,

  Your mother

  A tremor passes through me. “Right on target, as usual, mother,” I say with a tremor.

  I am selfish, aren’t I? All my life, everything has been handed to me. Walking down the aisle, despite knowing I bore my fiancé to tears, would have been my way of showing gratitude. For all my parents have given me. That would have been the behavior of a dutiful daughter, which is what I’ve been raised to be. I’d be married to a man who would give me everything…

  But no. I wouldn’t have been able to give Elijah everything. No excitement. Nothing unique. Isn’t that why I’m here? As much as I want to learn what I’m capable of, I want to return to Charleston with experiences under my belt. This time away is meant to break me out of the Mattel box I’ve been living in. So I can be a better wife, mother. Person.

  Though it hurts, I force myself to read the email from my mother again. Have things between Elijah and Addison gone south so soon? Disappointment sinks in my belly. With a bemused head shake, I realize somewhere deep down I must have been rooting for them. Lord, I am the least devoted ex-fiancée on this planet. I really must work on that before going home.

  For now, I can’t let my mother get to me. I do, however, need to make contact with Elijah. The note I left him at the church was pitiful and desperate—plus, I left it almost a month ago. He deserves to know where I am and that…I’m thinking about him.

  But when I open the fresh email and type his address into the top bar, it’s not Elijah I’m thinking about. It’s Jason. Goosebumps crawl up my neck, as if he’s standing behind me, observing me as I email another man. He wouldn’t like it. At all. Guilt has my fingers going still on the keys—for two reasons. One, my whole body reacts to the mere thought of Jason, my nipples gathering into painful peaks, my thighs shifting around on the seat. Not the kind of state I should be in while contacting my ex-fiancé and thanking him for being patient. Two, after what Jason and I did in his bedroom…I do feel as if I’m being untrue to my complicated employer. And that’s terrifying.