by Charli Webb
The first time Skylar and Rowdy give themselves to each other completely--heart, mind, body and soul--is also the night Skylar disappears without a trace. Rowdy promised to love her forever. But forever is a long time when you’re only seventeen.
After years of waiting, Rowdy gives up on Skylar and tries to purge her from his memory with cheap tequila and one night stands.
When Skylar finally returns, Rowdy is no longer the shy, sweet boy she fell in love with. He’s bitter, angry and determined to protect what remains of his shattered heart. She’s determined to reclaim it, but first she has to put it back together.
~***~
What early reviewers are saying about Naked Edge…
“I didn’t want the story to end. Loved it from start to finish.”
“I couldn’t put it down! 5/5 stars. Can’t wait to see where Charli goes from here.”
“Naked Edge fills a gap that I didn't even realize I had in the New Adult books I've been reading…I felt for Skylar and Rowdy. I cheered for them. I ached for them.”
“If Rowdy is out there somewhere, please let me get stranded on the side of a mountain...Good lord that man is yummy, and perfect. Yup. Perfect.”
“Naked Edge has a great balance of angst and love, longing and affection, sexy and scary to satisfy most romance reader's needs. If you like your romance with less angst and more drama, this book is for you.”
“Naked Edge is one of those amazing stories where you want to be friends with the characters.”
“The sex scenes got me hot and bothered. I was definitely in the mood after the passage was over.”
Chapter One
Skylar
I wipe the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand. Even with the windows open and the ceiling fan set on high, Boone’s house is a convection oven. It’s at least ninety degrees in here. I know it’s a ‘dry heat,’ nothing like the sweltering humidity of New Orleans. And it could snow tomorrow. But anyone that claims you don’t need air-conditioning in Colorado is a freaking liar. “Call him again.”
“I’ve already left two voice mails and a text.”
“Please, Boone.” I slip my hand into the front pocket of my jeans and wrap my fingers around my rescue inhaler. The fan churning dust in the air isn’t the best thing for my asthma, but it’s my burning desire to see Rowdy Daletski that’s got my chest trapped in a giant vise. “I need to talk to him.”
“It’s been four years, Sky. Things change. People change.”
“Is Rowdy involved with someone?” The vice tightens.
Boone grimaces, confirming my worst fear.
“Is he married?” Please, god, don’t let him be married. Anything but that. I’ll fight for him if he’s engaged, but I won’t break up a marriage.
Boone leans against the rough-rock fireplace. It’s the end of May but there’s still a pile of ashes under the grate. He traces a finger over the dusty frame of Aunt Lori and Uncle Will’s wedding picture on the mantle. “Rowdy hasn’t spent more than a few hours with the same girl since you left.”
I can’t help the relieved oh that escapes with my breath. I press a hand over my pounding heart and smile.
“Skylar.” The hardwood floor creaks as Boone crosses the room to sit beside me on the old leather couch. “That’s not a good thing.”
“Of course it is.” It takes a second for his words to hit me. “Wait. Are you saying shy, sweet Rowdy’s a player?”
“Your disappearance, as devastating as it was for all of us, wasn’t the only trauma Rowdy suffered that night.”
“What happened?”
“That’s not my story to tell.” Boone closes his eyes for a second then gazes at me with profound sorrow. “Even though it wasn’t your fault, when Rowdy needed you most, you weren’t here. He’s still trying to put his life back together and there’re more than a few missing pieces.”
“I can help him—”
“You aren’t listening to me.” Boone takes my face in his hands and forces me to look at him. “Rowdy’s with a different girl every night.”
I pull Boone’s hands off my face and stand up to pace across the worn carpet runner in front of the couch. The rabbit-shaped stain where I spilled a pitcher of cherry Kool-Aid ten years ago tugs at my heart as I remember how Rowdy peeled off his shirt and tried to soak up the crimson liquid. He was so afraid I would get in trouble. I also remember the little round scars all over Rowdy’s back. He’s the one that got punished when he went home with a stained shirt.
“So he dates a lot of girls. So what? That’s better than being tied down with a girlfriend.” Or worse. “I didn’t expect him to become a monk after I disappeared.”
“Rowdy doesn’t date girls. He fucks them.”
“He’s not like that.” I can’t keep my voice from trembling. “We were friends for years before we were a couple and then it was another three years before we made love.”
“Rowdy uses women to deal with…stuff.”
My hands curl into fists. Every time Dennis got caught with another woman, he’d blame it on stress and his ‘addiction.’ I still can’t believe Mom let him get away with that. “Is Rowdy a sex addict?”
Boone laughs then covers it with a cough. “Rowdy’s a slut, but I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a sex addict. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think he even looked at another girl until after Mom and Dad died. I know for a fact he didn’t start drinking until then.”
I sink down on the couch next to Boone. “Rowdy’s drinking?”
Boone takes my hands and gazes at me with wide eyes. “I still love him like a brother, but Rowdy’s not the right guy for you. Not anymore. Please tell me you haven’t spent the past four years locked away in your room, pining after him.”
“I grieved for Rowdy as if he’d died when I was forced into WITSEC. But I didn’t waste away like some tragic heroine in a fairy tale.” I tug my hands out of Boone’s grasp. “We’d only been in the program a little over a year when Mom got diagnosed with cancer. I felt so guilty for wallowing in self-pity when she was fighting for her life. I had to move on, for her sake as well as mine. I didn’t think I’d ever see any of you again. I started new hobbies. I made new friends. I even tried to fall in love with someone else.”
“Tried?”
“It didn’t work.” I couldn’t force myself to love Ethan any more than I could force myself to stop loving Rowdy. “When we learned that Mom’s last round of chemo failed, I started making plans to leave New Orleans.”
“Did you tell her?”
“I didn’t tell anyone until after her funeral. Not even Ethan.”
“Ethan?”
“My ex-boyfriend.” I press my palm over the ache in my chest. Even though I was never in love with him, I care about Ethan, deeply. You can’t be with someone for as long as we were together and not care about them.
“How did he take your decision to move?”
“Not well.”
“It sounds intense.”
“I broke his heart, Boone. I didn’t mean to, but I did.”
“Does he know where you are?”
“No.” I blink back tears as I relive our emotional farewell. “Ethan only needs a few more credit hours at Tulane to graduate, but he would have dropped out of school to follow me.”
“Maybe you guys can patch things up once he graduates.”
“He needs to forget about me and move on.”
“I’m so sorry, Skylar.” The tenderness in Boone’s voice is nearly my undoing.
“It’s okay. I’m okay.” The familiar surroundings comfort me. “I can’t believe I’m really here.”
He slings an arm over my shoulders and gives me a sideways hug. “I can’t believe you talked the witness protection people into letting you mo
ve to Eldorado Springs.”
“I didn’t.” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I opted out of the program.”
Boone grabs both my shoulders. “Are you in danger?”
“Mom never married Dennis so she and I were never in any danger.” I take a deep breath to fight the ever-tightening sensation around my lungs. “But, I didn’t know that until I met with our WITSEC Inspector to submit my relocation request.”
“What happened?” Boone’s fingers loosen their grip, but he doesn’t let go.
“Taking Mom and me with him was part of the deal Dennis made with the Department of Justice.” I dig my fingers into the knotted muscles of my jaw, trying to unclench my teeth before I crack a molar. “When Mom chose to enter the program with that scumbag, I got dragged into it as well.”
“You could have stayed with us.”
“I would’ve if I’d been given the choice. But I wasn’t.” Mom’s betrayal is still too raw. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I don’t know how to deal with all this rage on top of her death. Anger and grief is a confusing, toxic brew. I can’t believe Mom destroyed my life to stay with that cheating, lying, murdering son of a bitch.
I can’t change the past or bring back the dead. But I’ve been given a second chance with Rowdy and I’m not going to waste it. It’s time to quit feeling sorry for myself and start living again. I stand up and square my shoulders. “Let’s go climbing.”
Boone arches his eyebrows. “Now?”
I can’t think of a better way to begin the process of reclaiming my life. “Why not?”
“Well, for starters,” Boone ticks the reasons off on his fingers. “You just got here. You aren’t acclimated to the altitude. You don’t have any gear. And it’s hotter than hell.”
“We don’t have to climb The Naked Edge our first time out.”
“Why don’t I take you to the gym where I work? It’s a great way to get back into climbing. It’s air-conditioned. It’s safe—”
“I’ve done nothing but climb in gyms for the past four years. I need a mountain. I’ll even settle for The Governor’s Climb. It’s what, a five point two? Single pitch? Please.” I’m not above begging.
“You’ve been working out at a climbing gym?”
“Three times a week.” I flex my arms to prove it. “And I brought my gear with me.”
Boone arches an eyebrow, obviously not impressed by my firm, but extremely lean, biceps. “Fine. But The Governor’s Climb is for pussies. Think you can handle The Bastille Crack?”
I throw my arms around his neck. “Thank you!”
~***~
I grab Boone’s wrist before he can take me off belay. “I’m tired of shooting pictures of your butt. Let me lead this pitch.”
“No way.” His grin morphs into a frown, making him look more like Uncle Will than the fun-loving cousin I grew up with.
“Come on. It’s only a five point four. I want to get a shot of your face just before you summit.” I also want more of a challenge. Adrenaline is my drug of choice and rock climbing is my favorite way to get it. Pulling the crux on the first pitch gave me my first hit. Just getting to it is a bitch, especially for someone with a small wingspan like me. And it’s dangerous. People have died attempting it. It gave me a good rush but it’s long gone.
I stare down the sheer, red face of The Bastille, trying to psych myself out a little. South Boulder Creek looks like a discarded shoestring. The cars in the parking lot look like toys. The climbers at the base, waiting for their turn on the wall, look like ants. And none of it looks real.
The sky is a brilliant shade of turquoise. Even though the sun’s heat beats down on my shoulders and radiates off the red sandstone cliff, the scent of evergreens gives the air a sense of sharpness.
It’s peaceful up here. Too peaceful. And it’s killing my buzz. Leading a climb is much riskier than seconding it. “Have a little faith, Boone. This isn’t the first time I’ve led this pitch.”
“It’s been more than four years. And trad climbing The Bastille is a lot different than sport climbing in a gym.”
I pat the rack of gear attached to my harness. “I’ll sew it up so tight it’ll be bombproof. I’ve got this. I wouldn’t ask to lead if I couldn’t handle it.”
He finally nods, one quick dip of his chin. “All right. But I want you clipping in every five feet.”
I scamper up the chimney, placing nuts and cams like a damn gumby. But if that’s what it takes to make Boone feel comfortable, I’ll do it.
I’m almost to the top when I decide to exit out a little to the right, over a small roof. It’ll require a short traverse, but it’s a much more challenging climb.
I shove my last cam into the crack then top out. I want to get some shots of Boone coming out of the chimney but I can’t do it from here. I call out for more slack and edge my way back over to the left and build an anchor.
When Boone gets close to the top, I yell at him to wait. “I’m going to lock off the belay.”
“Did you say ‘off belay?’”
“No.” I probably could have worded that better. “I’m using a mule knot so I can go hands free for a second.”
I snap off a half-dozen shots. Looking at Boone through the lens gives me the emotional distance I need to see him as something other than my goofy cousin. Even if we weren’t related, I wouldn’t be attracted to his Abercrombie blond-tipped hair, honey-brown eyes and pretty-boy face. I prefer a more rugged, darker, masculine look. A more Rowdy Daletzki look.
“Skylar? What the hell did you do?” Boone’s obviously not happy with the way I ran out the route.
“You’re the one that insisted I place pro every five feet. I ran out of cams.”
“No. I mean the traverse.” He points at the rope that’s angled sharply to the right. “Jesus.”
“Hang on. I want to get a few more shots.”
“How much longer?” Boone dips his fingers in his chalk bag then switches grips and shakes out his right arm. “I’m getting pumped.”
I loosen the mule knot then brace my feet on the edge and lean out over it.
“What are you doing?” Boone’s voice is tight, higher pitched than normal.
“It’s okay. I’ve practiced this stance a hundred times.” It was in a climbing gym twenty feet off the ground instead of three hundred, but the principles are the same.
Boone’s expression of pure terror is priceless. He’s a skilled climber, but he’s afraid of heights. Go figure. I fire off another series of shots. If I can get one of my photos on the cover of just one climbing magazine, I can justify pursuing an art degree instead of the more practical Business Administration. I don’t have the luxury of pursuing a ‘fun’ career unless I’m sure I can support myself with it.
“Sky, back off, now. This isn’t safe.”
“I’m fine.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Okay. Sorry.” I bend my knees and reach behind me so I can pull myself around with the rope. I realize it’s the wrong move, even as I do it. But it’s too late.
I slip on the loose gravel, lose my balance and tumble, headfirst, over the edge. My foot catches the side of Boone’s helmet as the rope flips me right side up with a bone-jarring jerk. I watch in horror as he pops a nut then pendulums to the right. He screams when he slams into the cliff.
“Boone! Are you okay?”
“Fuck!”
“What hurts?”
“My ankle. I think it’s broken.”
“Anything else?” I don’t see any blood, but he’s pressed against the wall, so I can’t really tell.
“No. Just my ankle. But it really hurts.”
“You’re okay. Try to stay calm.” I love Boone like a brother, but he tends to be a little overly dramatic. At least that last cam held.
Someone below yells, “Hang on. Help’s coming.”
I check my watch every few seconds, so even though it feels like it takes forever, I know it’s only been ten minutes when
a sun-kissed, ruggedly handsome face peers over the ledge. It’s been over four years since I’ve seen Rowdy Daletzki, but I’d recognize those ice-blue eyes even if it had been a hundred.
My stomach clenches as heat floods my cheeks. Damn. All I can see is his chiseled face and broad, muscular shoulders, but my imagination fills in the rest. His helmet hides his coal black waves but I’ll bet his hair is just as silky as it ever was. My fingers tingle with the desire to find out. It’s clear that Rowdy’s even hotter at twenty-one than he was at seventeen. Much hotter.
“Are you injured?” Rowdy’s voice is still smooth as velvet, but it’s deeper than I remember.
I blink and lick my lips as heat floods my body. It takes a few seconds for his words to cut through the haze of lust clouding my brain. Jesus, what’s wrong with me? What sort of a slut gets turned on during a rescue?
It’s obvious Rowdy’s checking me out, but it’s purely clinical. He acts as if he doesn’t recognize me. Sure, my hair’s shorter now. It only reaches my shoulder blades instead of my waist. It’s darker too, more of a mahogany brown instead of a sun-bleached, chestnut red. I spent the last three years indoors with my sick mother instead of surfing with my friends in San Deigo so the sun didn’t have a chance to lighten my hair. I’m a size six instead of a size two. My boobs are a solid C instead of barely a B. But I haven’t changed that much.
My eyes are still hazel and too big for my face. There’s still a cleft in my chin. I still have the same full lips Rowdy could never get enough of. There’s no way he doesn’t know who I am. “I’m fine. But Boone thinks he’s hurt.”
Rowdy’s gaze unlocks from mine. His brow furrows. “Boone? Are you okay?”
“I’ve been better.” His voice is soft, quiet. No longer frantic. And that scares me. Maybe he really is hurt.
I shouldn’t have pushed Boone to let me lead. I shouldn’t have gone off route. I should’ve tied Boone off into the anchor instead of keeping him on belay while I traversed back and forth trying to get the best shot. This is my fault.
