by Mari Madison
Yes, I’d had other women overseas. But no relationships. Not one lasting for more than a few nights, a passing fancy. I used to say it was because I was married to my job. But that was a lie. I just couldn’t imagine myself with anyone but her.
And now, here she was.
“Oh God, you feel so good,” I groaned as her nails dug into my back. I shifted against her, so aroused it was starting to hurt. In my fantasies, clothes had always just disappeared into thin air. Real life was proving to be a bigger struggle.
I reached up, cupping her breast with my hand, dragging a finger over the tip, which sharped in response to my touch. She squirmed, a gasp escaping her lips as she pushed against me, clearly as lost in the moment as I was. Encouraged, I dropped my head, nipping at the nipple beneath the thin fabric of her blouse, cursing the man who had invented bras. I wanted to feel skin on skin. Her skin on my skin.
And I wanted it now.
She nodded, as if I’d said that out loud, her breath now coming in short pants. I reached down to slip my hand under her blouse and skim her smooth, taut stomach and bony hips. She was skinny—far skinnier than I remembered her and for a brief moment I longed for her soft milky curves. But that was ridiculous. She was still Sarah. And Sarah was amazing.
My hands moved upward, her skin feeling alive under my fingertips. Hot and electric and pulsing with desire. I reached up, ready to tear off her bra if I had to so I could really feel her—
Ding-dong.
I froze, the sound echoing through my ears. At first I wasn’t sure what it was; then my fuzzy brain managed to pull it together.
It was the doorbell. Someone was at Sarah’s door.
sixteen
TROY
I opened my eyes to find Sarah—to tell her to just ignore it and maybe they’d go away. We didn’t need any Girl Scout cookies and I didn’t need anyone to help me save my soul. And she probably already had a vacuum—or at least a cleaning service that did.
But the jokes caught in my throat as I recognized the fright in her eyes. Eyes that said, with no subtext, What the hell are we doing? And while I desperately wanted to answer—to tell her it was all going to be okay—she was already climbing down off of the couch, yanking down her skirt. Smoothing her hair.
Half of me wanted to beat her to the door—cut her off. Open it myself and tell whomever it was to go away. Kick the crap out of them if they refused. After all, this was my Sarah. And I wasn’t big on sharing.
But that would be stupid, I scolded my brain. Crazy even. After all, I had no claim on her. She wasn’t my girlfriend. She wasn’t the fantasy I’d lived with for three months in a cave. Hell, before this week I hadn’t spoken to her in five years. I should probably be grateful we were saved by the bell before we dove into something we would live to regret.
But still. It was tough. Tough to just stand here, half in a daze, as she opened the door. Even tougher to recognize the man on the other side. Carl. Her father’s sleazy little lackey. Back in the day he’d been my number one cock block when it came to hooking up with daddy’s little princess. It appeared he was still aces at the job.
His eyes flickered to me, narrowing in disapproval, though not surprise. Then he turned back to Sarah. I hid a smile as I suddenly realized how flushed and ravished she looked from our all-too-brief encounter. Carl was an asshole, but he was no fool. He’d realized exactly what we’d been up to.
Take that back to Daddy, you douche bag.
“Sarah,” he said. “Your father sent me to retrieve you. He heard the news broadcast about what happened at the theater and is very upset.” His mouth twisted into a scowl. “Why didn’t you call me immediately? And why haven’t you been picking up your phone?”
“Um.” Sarah winced, looking like a scolded child as she glanced guiltily back in my direction. I shook my head. She was a grown woman; she had to make those decisions herself. She didn’t need to answer to this creep. “I was going to call,” she stammered. “But then Troy took me home and . . .” She trailed off, her skin reddening again. It was all I could do not to slam the door in the guy’s face.
“We got a little busy,” I finished with a smirk, leaning against the doorway. Let him take that as he would.
Carl gave me a disgusted look, clearly realizing how things had gone down. For a split second I wondered if he was going to take me out himself and school me in appropriate manners when it came to the boss’s daughter. But he only shook his head, instead. Probably because he knew I’d easily kick his ass if he tried.
Instead he turned back to Sarah. “Princess, you need to start taking this threat seriously. You could have been hurt.”
She sighed. “I know, Carl. And we talked to the police. They have no idea whether the guy was even aiming at me. It could have nothing to do with the threat Dad got. It could have been some kid, even. With a bad idea of a practical joke.”
“You talked to the police?” Now Carl’s voice had taken on an incredulous tone. “Sarah, you know you should never talk to the police without your father’s lawyer present.”
“Fine. It won’t happen again,” she shot back. “Now, I think you’ve made your point. Thank you for stopping by. I’m sure you’re a very busy man, what with all that licking of my father’s boots you have on your plate. I wouldn’t want to keep you.”
I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. Carl glared at her, steam practically coming from his ears. Then he switched his focus back to me, as if I were dog shit, found on the bottom of his shoe. Clearly he blamed my presence for the princess’s sudden obstinacy. And hell, maybe he wasn’t wrong. After all, back in the day I had helped Sarah stand up to her father many times. Causing Carl no end of annoyance.
Finally, he drew in a breath. “I don’t think you understand,” he said in clipped voice. “I’ve come to collect you. I’m supposed to bring you back to the La Jolla house. Go ahead and pack a bag if you like. Or I could send someone to collect your things later if you’d like to get going now.”
Sarah froze, the teasing look fading from her eyes. I watched as she bit her lower lip, garnering courage. “I think it’s you who doesn’t understand,” she replied in a cold voice. “I’m not going anywhere. With you or anyone else.”
“But your father—”
“Is welcome to come out here and attempt to drag me back himself if he really sees the need,” she finished. “Now step back so I don’t hit you when I slam this door in your face.”
I stifled another grin at this, loving the look on Carl’s face. This was the Sarah I remembered. The girl may have been a spoiled socialite but she was also a total badass when the occasion called for it.
Carl stepped forward, looking as if he might try to grab her himself. But I was too quick, stepping in between them. “You heard the lady,” I said. “She’s staying here. Now, I suggest you get off her property—before I go after you with a lot more than a door.” I clenched my fist to my side in case he didn’t have enough imagination to catch my meaning.
For a brief moment, he just stood there, then took a hesitant step backward, as I figured he would. He had a reputation for being an asshole to women, but when the boys came out to play? Georgie Porgie ran away.
“Your father is not going to be happy when he hears this,” he declared. But he was already backing up, almost tripping over a potted plant in his haste to get the hell out of Dodge.
“Yeah, well, he’s used to it,” Sarah replied. Then she turned, shooting me a mischievous grin before slamming the door shut. It closed with a satisfying bang.
I laughed. “Now there’s the Sarah I know and love,” I teased, then blushed as I realized what I’d just said. “Maybe you haven’t changed as much as I thought,” I added quickly.
She shrugged. “Or maybe you bring it out in me,” she replied. “I mean, to be honest, I’ve actually been a good little girl lately. This is my first act of open rebellion in ag
es.”
“Well, I’m honored to have borne witness to it.”
She sighed, her shoulders drooping. Then she walked over to the couch. I watched her go, dying to follow her. To crawl on top of her and continue where we’d left off, this time without interruptions.
But Carl wasn’t the only one who had come to the door. Common sense had also barged in. I could see in her eyes that she wasn’t going to be up for a replay. And the last thing I wanted to do was push her into something she wasn’t ready for.
Something I shouldn’t have been ready for, either, as the case might be.
“Look, you’re clearly exhausted,” I told her. “Why don’t you go take a nap? I’ll stay out here. Guard the door against any bad guys. Or, you know, your father’s men.”
“Six of one . . .” She snorted. Then she sobered. “Are you sure? I mean, I’m sure you have better things to do than babysit me.”
“Actually I don’t,” I said simply. It wasn’t a lie. “And to be honest, I don’t like going home. It’s . . . too quiet there. Which . . . brings back a lot of memories.”
I let the words hang out there for a moment, hardly able to believe I’d just spoken them. Since I’d been back I’d never said anything close to this out loud to anyone—even the shrinks. And now, here I was, in the home of my ex-girlfriend, a girl who, by all rights, shouldn’t have even let me through the door. Stripping myself down, laying myself wide open, naked and vulnerable before her. Allowing her access to a part of me I thought I’d locked up and thrown away the key to.
Was it just because she looked like my dream Sarah? The illusion I’d talked to endlessly in the dark hole? Or was there still some kind of nebulous connection existing between the two of us in real life? A thread that I had somehow managed not to sever five years ago when I broke her heart?
I swallowed hard. She had every right to throw this back in my face. To laugh at me and tell me the tables had turned. That I had gotten what I deserved.
But the look in her eyes now told me that was the furthest thing from her mind. And instead of laughing, she put her arms around me and gave me a hug. Then she handed me the remote and headed off to bed.
seventeen
SARAH
After showing Troy how to work the remote, as if it were normal as anything to have him sitting in my living room watching TV, I headed back into my bedroom, presumably to take a nap. But though I was indeed exhausted by the stress of the day, I knew in my heart there was no way I was getting any sleep. Not knowing that Troy Young, of all people, was playing knight in shining armor in the next room. Hell, it took everything inside me not to walk to my door, open it, and beckon him to come in here with me. To my room.
To my bed.
Oh God. My hand involuntarily flew to my mouth, my fingers tracing the outlines of my still swollen lips. Lips that just minutes before Troy had ravished in a way that was both completely new and all too familiar. It was almost as if I were some amnesia patient who had been offered her memory back. Not all of it, mind you. Just enough to appreciate the way his tongue licked at the seam of my lower lip, the way his hands had hooked onto my hips and dragged me to him. That feeling—that electricity—his erection pressing against my core. That memory of the two of us doing this same dance five years ago, though back then without any clothes on.
We may have had five years apart, but our bodies remembered as if it were yesterday. And they clearly wanted a rematch.
But that couldn’t happen. I had moved on. I had become strong. I had worked hard to create this new life. Sure, Troy looked innocent now, almost vulnerable the way he admitted how hard it was to be alone. But deep down he was the same man. The man who had tricked me. Used me. Broken my heart.
And then run away.
It had taken me five long years to get over him. And I wasn’t about to throw everything I’d worked for away for some passionate romp in the sack.
But oh, what a romp it would be. I rolled over, staring up at the ceiling, my mind replaying the scene from earlier. I’d hooked up with plenty of guys since he’d been gone. But none had ever made me as crazy as Troy could—with just a simple touch.
It was a good thing Carl had come to the door when he had. Stopped the madness before it went too far.
But oh, how a part of me wished it would go even further. Maybe even all the way.
• • •
I eventually did fall asleep somehow, and when I woke I was surprised to see how dark it was outside. I frowned, glancing at the clock, realizing it was past midnight; I’d slept all afternoon and into the night. I must have been more tired than I thought.
Usually I was a terrible sleeper, always waking at the slightest noise. But somehow, for once, I had slept deep and dreamless. I wondered if it had anything to do with knowing Troy was outside my door, keeping me safe.
Troy! He probably wanted to go home. He’d offered to stay for a nap, not the whole night. Guiltily, I swung my legs out from the bed and stepped down onto the floor. Grabbing my bathrobe, I slipped it on and headed out into the living room.
As I entered the room, my eyes darted to the couch. The TV was still on, playing some random infomercial at low volume. Troy was on his back, shirtless, his magnificent chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. Not going to lie—I watched this for a good long minute, which I told myself was so I could determine whether he was actively sleeping. But let’s be honest, I was just ogling that six-pack of his.
Seriously! I drew in a breath, shaking my head. Was this man really once my boyfriend? I mean, sure, he was always good-looking. Lean, toned. But this guy. This guy looked as if he were carved out of freaking marble. Like one of those Greek god statues or Channing Tatum in Magic Mike. How many hours did one have to clock in at the gym in order to achieve such a physique?
He was locked in a prison for three months, something inside of me nagged. What else did he have to do but work out?
The thought sobered me and I felt a sudden heaviness in my chest. It was hard to remember sometimes, looking at him now, what he must have gone through over there. He hadn’t given many details as to what had happened when he was in that hole—at least not from my Internet research. But I wasn’t stupid. I’d read my share of journalist-kidnapping stories, and I knew what usually went down. Troy would have been interrogated. Maybe tortured. Definitely told he was going to die.
And yet, he had worked out. As if he still believed he had a future. As if he refused to give up hope.
My heart squeezed way too hard in my chest and I forced my eyes away, suddenly feeling guilty about analyzing him while he slept. Instead, I tiptoed into the kitchen, opening up the refrigerator, then wincing at the squeak the door made when it opened. I could hear him shift position, but thankfully he didn’t wake up. And so after waiting for a moment, listening for his breathing to steady again, I pulled the bottle of wine out of the fridge. After pouring myself a glass, I left the rest on the counter. I’d deal with it in the morning—when I didn’t run the risk of waking him. It’d probably been a long time since Troy had had a good night’s sleep, too.
Glass in hand, I started to tiptoe back into my room. But before I could reach the door, Troy let out a loud, sudden cry that made me nearly jump out of my skin. I whirled around, realizing he was still asleep, but no longer slumbering peacefully. Instead, he was thrashing around on the couch. As if he were trying to fight someone.
“Get the fuck off of me,” he growled, his hands waving madly in the air. “I told you—I don’t know shit. Just kill me if you’re going to. Get it over with!”
Oh my God. I froze. My heart wrenched in my chest at the fear and anger that rang in his voice. I shouldn’t be hearing this. He would be horrified if he knew I could hear this. But what should I do? Let him sleep through it? Wake him up?
He shifted again, letting out an almost inhuman groan. As if he were in physical pain. I
couldn’t take it anymore. I had to wake him. I couldn’t let him suffer.
I crossed the room. Turned on the light. Then I stomped my feet a few times. Dropped a heavy book on the floor. But he didn’t come to. So much for me tiptoeing when I first walked into the room. He was like a hibernating bear.
Finally, not sure what else to do, I approached him. Standing above him, I poked him gently in the shoulder, praying I didn’t startle him too much. Once, twice. Harder the third time.
“Wake up, Troy,” I begged. “You’re . . . having a bad dream.”
His hand jutted out, grabbing my leg and squeezing it tight. I cried out in a mixture of pain and surprise, trying to pull away, but his grip was too strong. The pressure increased. Not sure what else to do, I smacked him upside the head.
“Dude! You’re hurting me!” I cried. “Let . . . me . . . go!” I belted him again. This time using my fist.
His eyes flew open. He stared at me, at first unseeing. Then his vision seemed to clear. He looked down at his hand, still clamped around my leg, and his expression morphed from confusion to horror. He dropped his hand, revealing a large, ugly red welt that was sure to leave a massive bruise.
“Oh my God,” he whispered. He looked up at me and my heart ached at the dismay on his face. “What did I do to you?”
I shook my head, dismissing it quickly. “It’s my fault,” I assured him, my heart still pounding a gazillion miles a minute. “I tried to wake you. You know what they say—let sleeping dogs lie. Uh, not that you’re a dog, obviously. In any case, you were clearly just protecting yourself from a crazy ex-girlfriend.”
I tried to keep my voice light, like it was no big deal. But inside I was terrified to the bone. Terrified of Troy, of all people. Of course he’d been asleep. He had no idea he was attacking me. Still, try as I might I couldn’t seem to calm my racing pulse or steady my breath.
He rubbed his eyes, sitting up in bed. I could see the torment still warring over his face as he fought for full consciousness. He turned to me. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “You know I would never—”
