Always Box Set

by Ward, Susan

  Always

  A Second Chance Romance Series

  4-book Complete Affair without End Series

  Susan Ward

  Copyright © 2017 Susan Ward

  Cover Illustration Sara Eirew

  All rights reserved.

  All Rights Reserved. In Accordance with the US Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher or author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table Of Contents

  One Last Kiss

  One More Kiss

  One Long Kiss

  One Forever Kiss

  Excerpt

  About The Author

  One Last Kiss

  One

  1980

  I storm out of the house and push my way through the swarm of drunken students. Somehow, I missed the rowdy cheer that followed the announcement that the cops have sealed off the roads, and the only way left out of this college town nightmare is the beach.

  It’s nearly impossible to navigate a path through the mob. A stream of beer hits my cheek and I hold up my hand to ward it off. The guy at the keg shoots the hose at me again and his buddies erupt into laughter. I reach the wooden steps over the cliffs and quickly descend to the beach.

  Damn Rob. I should never have come to Santa Barbara with him. Spending Halloween hitting the college party scene was a definite mistake. It might be a good way to promote Rob’s band, doing a gig at the biggest college town bash of the year, but it never stood a chance at being a good thing for me.

  Why does Rob have to be such a jerk? We’d only been at the party an hour before he decided the band should take a set break so he could sneak off with another girl. And the jerk doesn’t even care that I caught him.

  I sink into the sand and stare at the water. What do I do now? I could go back to the party and snag myself the first cute guy who looks at me and then rub it in Rob’s face.

  No, it’s probably a better idea to take the car and ditch him here. Let him drive back to LA in that overcrowded, stinky van with the band. I should dump his clothes on the side of the road and get the hell out of Santa Barbara and back to the real world.

  “Linda, what’s wrong? Why did you run out of the party like you were being chased by demons?”

  I look up to find Jeanette standing above me. So, she noticed my humiliating flight from the frat house.

  I shrug. “Rob being Rob.”

  She shakes her head with an aggravated exhale that sounds like a growl.

  She sinks down on the sand beside me. “God, Linda, what do you expect? You know how guys like Rob are? You need to get over this thing you have for musicians. It’s not healthy. They all treat you like crap.”

  My eyes round and I fix on her a back-off kind of stare. “Thanks for the pep talk. We should do this again sometime real soon.”

  Jeanette shakes her head again. “I’m just saying you’re better than the guys you date.”

  I spring to my feet and start to brush the sand from my legs. “I’m going for a walk. Don’t follow.”

  I plod through the sand until I’m at the surf line.

  “Linda, don’t be this way. You can’t take off at night alone on the beach. It’s not safe. Let’s just get the car and get out of here. Forget Rob. I’m not driving him back to LA after being such a jerk to you. You can do better.”

  I pretend not to hear her and continue to walk.

  “Linda! Don’t be this way.”

  I hurry down the coastline and Jeanette doesn’t follow. She’s knows better than to follow me when I am in one of my moods and I really don’t want another chapter of her relationship advice. What does Jeanette know about being me?

  She is beautiful; I am not. I’m sort of pretty, but I wouldn’t say drop-dead-gorgeous like Jeanette. She is rich and I am not. She comes from a great family, and while Doris, my mom, is a pretty OK mom—no grievances there—I wouldn’t call her “a great family.”

  My mom works as a waitress in Encino and still suffers from the delusion that my dad might return someday. He’s been gone since before my birth.

  I push my frizzy black hair from my face. Damn ocean air, the unavoidable frizz machine that can ruin even the best hair day. I’ll look like Annie if I walk much longer, but I definitely don’t want to go back to Jeanette and hear another of her lectures.

  She thinks that my wayward trek through the LA musician population is just me trying to fill the hole left from being raised without a father. According to my roomie, I date loser musicians because my dad’s music career was more important to him than me.

  Nope, don’t want to hear Jeanette’s theories about my alleged abandonment issues.

  I look over my shoulder and see that Jeanette must have gone back to the party. Wrong again, roomie. I date only musicians because I’m trying to find my dad.

  The sounds from the party become fainter with each step and I begin to slow my pace. The moon is high, brilliant and full, and the tide is low. It’s one of those rare fogless nights and I’m grateful for it because I’m really not dressed for a dose of chilly ocean mist.

  I wonder how long low tide lasts. If the tide starts to come in, I will never make it around the points along the coastline to get back to Isla Vista and Jeanette. I realize that I’ve walked so far that I’ve left the public beach and am now in an area of beachfront estates.

  I look up at the massive homes on the cliffs, fully illuminated in the darkness. What must it be like to have enough money to let an entire house full of lights stay on through the night? Doris would get angry if I left lights on in the kitchen for five minutes.

  I stop myself there, not wanting to dredge up the less pleasant parts of my childhood. I live in the dorms at USC thanks to my scholarship. I won’t ever have to go back to that tiny condo in Reseda where I was raised.

  The house ahead of me looks the length of an entire city block. I’ve never seen a house so big before. It’s beautiful in Santa Barbara, like another world, happy and wealthy and safe. Yes, that’s how it feels even walking alone at night on the beach. Small town, rich town safe. LA never feels this way, but then I never get beyond the parts where nothing ever looks like this.

  I feel myself calm inside even though I haven’t a clue what to do next. I don’t even know where I’m walking to, but with the ocean on my right, it means I’m walking south, so at least I know I’m going in the right direction. LA is south.

  I’ll just sit for a spell, sort through what I want to do next about Rob, and then return to the party. I just don’t want to go back. Not yet.

  Up ahead of me, I spot two eucalyptus logs in the sand, resting close against the cliffs. The sand becomes deeper and more difficult to walk through away from the damp shoreline, but I stomp across it toward the weather-beaten logs.

  I hear a sound. I freeze, scream, and jump back. The smaller log is moving.

  Why is that log moving?

  I see it isn’t two logs; it’s one log and one man lying in the sand. I try to get a better look at him in the darkness.

  Is he OK? What is he doing here?

  He moans. Maybe he fell on the stairs and banged his head. I hear what sounds like a bottle hitting wood. I exhale in heavy annoyance. He’s drunk. The last thing I need to deal with tonight is another drunk male. Rob is enough drunk male for any one woman to have to deal with in a single lifetime.

  I stare at him thro
ugh the darkness. What am I supposed to do? I can’t just leave him here. He looks pretty wasted, but only a stupid girl would try to help a drunk man on a beach, all alone, at night.

  “Are you OK? Are you hurt?” I call out from a careful distance.

  No response. I cautiously move towards him and peek over the eucalyptus log blocking him from clear view. All the muscles in my throat spasm at once.

  Oh my!

  This is no random, drunken bum. The man half-lit by moonlight is so perfect he looks unreal. He has golden waves of hair and, while it’s longer than how most men his age wear it, I can tell it is neatly tended. His body is fit, long limbed, and tall. He looks like he must be over six feet.

  It’s then I notice he’s lying just a few feet from the base of some poorly lit stairs that zigzag down from the cliffs. Does he live up there, in one of those magnificent houses overlooking the sea?

  He’s casually dressed—shoeless, a loose cotton shirt, designer jeans—but I can tell his clothes are expensive. A rich, gorgeous drunk out for a late night walk who passed out in the sand on his own private beach.

  I take a step closer to him.

  “Do you need help?” I ask.

  Silence. I creep around the log until I’m closer. I must have blocked the moonlight before, because now I can see his face more clearly. My heart stops.

  Oh my god, either my sanity has finally left me or that guy is a dead ringer for…

  I shake my head to chase away my thoughts. It couldn’t possibly be really him. There isn’t a girl on earth who has ever been born lucky enough to find him alone on a beach. And I am anything but a lucky girl. It can’t be him.

  I sink down on the sand beside him. “Are you OK?”

  “OK?” Dazzling blue eyes look up at me. “Of course, I’m OK. This is my beach. Why wouldn’t I be OK?”

  The perfection of his face makes the breath catch in my throat even as my face colors from the unexpected harshness in his voice. I shouldn’t take offense. This man is more than a little drunk if the way he slurs his words is any indication.

  I arch a brow and make a face. “Really. How lucky you are. I thought all the beaches in the California were owned by the state. Since you don’t need help, I think I’ll just sit here for a while and enjoy the crashing waves.”

  I hug my knees with my arms and I can feel him studying me.

  “Who are you?” His eyes do a fast once over of the sheet tied around my body. “Or maybe I should ask what are you? A ghost? Why are you wearing a sheet?”

  I have somehow forgotten I was dressed in a makeshift toga for the party. I fix my gaze on my sand-sprayed toes.

  I shrug. “Perhaps I should ask why you are alone on the beach in the middle of the night drunk.”

  He eases up, balancing himself on his elbow, facing me. There is something innately sexy in the casual arrangement of his long body parts. The blood starts to pump even faster through my veins.

  “Perhaps we can skip that part,” he says in a hopeful way, more than a little charming.

  I laugh. “Sure thing. It’s nothing to me. I’m just a girl in a toga who wandered onto your beach. You don’t owe me any answers.”

  He starts to laugh, brushing the golden blond hair from his face. “You’re very funny, whoever you are.”

  I hold out my hand and smile. “I’m Linda.”

  He holds out his hand. “Jack.”

  The touch of his fingers sends a current rocketing through me. Jack? It can’t be. It has to be some kind of crazy coincidence.

  I study his face more closely and begin to feel even shakier inside. Whoever this man is, he is gorgeous.

  “So is this what you’re going to do tonight? Just lie here alone on the beach?” I ask.

  Those silky golden locks dance in the air as he shakes his head. “I’m not alone. I’m with you. A much better plan than I had twenty minutes ago.”

  There’s just enough caress in his voice to give me butterflies. “And what was your plan before me?”

  “I don’t remember.” He laughs and lies back against the sand.

  I spring to my feet and give in to an impulse I’m certain isn’t one of my wiser impulses. I hold out my hand to Jack.

  “Why don’t you let me take you home?” I point at the stairs built into the cliff. “Do you live up there?”

  Jack’s blue eyes begin to sparkle. “You want to take me home? Plan getting better each minute.”

  I roll my eyes. “I don’t plan to stay there. I’m dropping you off and going on my way.”

  “In a sheet? Which way would that be? I might want to go your way instead of mine.”

  A smile teases at the corners of my lips. “I’m making sure you get home safely and then I’m going back to LA.”

  He grimaces. “Bummer. I hate LA.”

  He takes my outstretched hand and I have to roll my weight backward to help pull him to his feet. As he drops his arm heavily around my shoulders, we nearly crash to the ground. I realize his mind is working better than the rest of him.

  I nod toward the stairs. “Up there?”

  “Up there. Are you sure you can manage me? We could just sleep on the beach in your sheet.”

  I give him a stern look, but I can’t completely contain my smile. “You’re not the first drunk I’ve ever had to deal with tonight, so keep your hands to yourself and don’t be smart with me.”

  “No.” He crosses his heart. “For the beautiful lady in the sheet, I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” He pauses at the base of the steps, moves a finger to my chin and turns my face so I can meet his eyes directly. “Unless you don’t want me to be.”

  Oh lord.

  This man is positively dangerous in how appealing he is in all moments, even this one, which definitely shouldn’t make him endearing. And damn, if he doesn’t know exactly his effect on women.

  A touch of irritation mingles with the more pleasant sensations inside me. Whoever this man is, he is certainly a man-whore. He can run his game on a woman even drunk.

  That puts him at the bottom of my list, even lower than finding him on the beach did.

  I arch a brow and say in my best not interested voice: “I’ll let you know when I get you the top of the stairs. My opinion of you might change after this, but I doubt it.”

  He laughs in a loose way. “I’m not going to ask if that means change for the better or worse.”

  “Smart move.”

  I help him up onto the first step, struggling to stay beside him. We do it again, up another step. The stairs are dimly lit, almost impossible to see, and yet somehow he can manage them well enough for the both of us not to go tumbling back to the beach.

  By the time I reach the top, I’m breathing heavily, but Jack looks as if the climb hardly fazed him. My gorgeous drunk is definitely fit.

  My eyes round as I stare at the single story Spanish mansion blazing with lights and the magnificently landscaped lawn. It’s like Eden here. Jeez, what does this man do?

  “This is your house?”

  Jack laughs. “Yep. I’ll introduce you to the neighbors on our second date.”

  “This is not a date.”

  “OK, we’ll have it your way. I just wasn’t sure what to call this encounter.”

  Encounter?

  “This isn’t a date. This isn’t an encounter. Is there anyone home at your place?”

  He gives me a teasingly hopeful look. “No. Why?”

  I start guiding him forward toward the house. “Because if someone were home I’d just dump you on the lawn for them to find and take care of.”

  He laughs. “No you wouldn’t. You’re not that kind of girl.”

  “How would you know?”

  He shakes his head. “If there is one thing I definitely know, it’s women.”

  I decide not to probe that remark and to get away from Jack quickly. He is very alluring and I’m shocked to realize I’m attracted to him. But this is
too weird of an adventure to pursue, even for me.

  Though I must admit he is a remarkable find. One doesn’t usually run across male prospects like this in the LA club scene. I can’t recall the last time I ran across a man who was sexy, handsome, and obviously rich. I wonder what’s wrong with him other than the drinking. There must be something, there always is.

  I shake my head, frustrated with myself. Why am I critiquing him? He’s just a drunk man I found on the beach. Besides, I’m not even certain he’s serious, interested, or coming on to me. It might just be flirting. Handsome men flirt so much. It’s in their DNA.

  We half walk, half stumble, across the lawn. The feel of his weight on my shoulder is painful and the movements of his legs become less sure with each step.

  I find the French doors into the kitchen unlocked and slide it open.

  “Is there someone I should get for you?” I ask.

  Jack shakes his head. “No one here. I told you that already.”

  I study his face. “Is that why you drink? You’re alone in your big, fancy house?”

  Jack gives a groggy laugh. “Not alone. Never alone.”

  His bloodshot gaze fixes on my face.

  “God, you are beautiful,” he whispers, touching my cheek.

  My eyes widen.

  Oh no.

  I need to dump him in his bedroom and get out of here quickly. By the way he’s looking at me, I can tell he’s more than casually checking me out. Drunks are the most difficult kind of men to fend off and anything short of passed out drunk means I shouldn’t assume he’s unable to fuck.

  “Let’s just get you to bed,” I say. We take a few more steps into what must be the living room. “Where is your bedroom?”

  His shoulder hits me as he points down a hallway. His body sends me into a glass case and I grab onto it to keep from falling.

  I freeze and stare. It’s a guitar case and, even if I wasn’t a fiend about the music history of the ‘60s, I would have recognized that famous CF Martin preserved in the glass case.

  Lily, the guitar Jackson Parker took to Woodstock. My heart drops to my knees and then begins a frantic race. It is him! Really him…