by Angela Smith
“Have you been drinking?”
With Lillian, it was always have you been drinking? Any emotion he showed that didn’t include worshipping her meant he must be drinking. She thought something was wrong if men weren’t falling at her feet, and Jake had disliked her the moment he saw her true colors.
“You know I haven’t been drinking. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I’m telling you if I find out you had anything to do with this, I’ll—”
“You’ll what, Jake? Kill me?”
“I’ll do whatever it takes.” He heard the rasp in his voice, but he couldn’t control it.
“And I’ve been doing whatever it takes to keep my little girl safe. And to find whoever killed Brandon.”
“Then you’d better look in the mirror. But make sure Dillon is standing right by your side, just like he always has.”
“You’re crazy, little man. You need to go to the loony bin. If you try anything with me, I’ll make sure that happens. Amy may go so far as to say you did it. And when you did it, maybe you did far worse.”
Jake had no doubt Lillian would do anything to make him look like the bad guy, even frame him for murder, and brainwash Amy. He wouldn’t put it past her to do something as crazy as accusing him of child molestation just to get him behind bars.
Jake knew his anger might net him trouble. Lillian was good at playing the damsel. He’d already gone to the police and told them what he knew, but they didn’t believe him then and they sure wouldn’t believe him now that Amy was found and Lillian was televised for all the world to see her pretty face and hear her pathetic cries.
“You can’t keep Amy away from me,” he said.
“I’m her mother. I can do whatever I want. And the way you’re sounding, you shouldn’t be near her right now.”
Lillian slammed the phone down so hard, it rang in his ear.
He gripped the phone before slowly lowering it, urging anger to escape from his breath. He tossed the phone on the bed, hurling out negative emotions with the force.
Control yourself.
He’d spoken the mantra for years, especially when the temptation for a drink arose. In the old days, a drink was the only way to mask his emotions. He didn’t want to feel, didn’t want to experience the world. Didn’t want to hurt again. At first, the addiction was all in fun. Lots of partying, lots of people who meant nothing to him, lots of wasting time so he didn’t have to dwell on the time he’d wasted.
But he had to control himself, for Amy’s sake. She wasn’t safe with Lillian.
He did jumping jacks, pushups, and squats over and over until sweat poured from his body. But the familiar hunger that haunted him for years continued to spread and branch and fester into the need for something far worse.
Taking that drink would damage his soul.
He didn’t know what to do next. The idea of a run no longer appealed to him. He was tired of being alone. Tired of feeling like the most isolated man on the planet. He knew he should pack his car and head out to see Amy, but he doubted Lillian would let him in. She’d already threatened him with false accusations, and he wouldn’t leave without a fight. She’d call the cops, and he’d likely land his ass in jail. No matter how hard it was, he knew he had to be patient.
Best to stay away for a bit. Let Lillian cool down. Stop outright accusing her.
Maybe he could ask Winona to go with him to provide a buffer. He still wasn’t sure he wanted to give up on Winona taking the job. Amy had been found, but had she been rescued? He was convinced she wasn’t out of danger. He still hoped Winona would take the job and investigate Brandon’s death.
He needed to see Winona again.
He couldn’t claim that desire related only to the job. He craved her mouth like he craved a drink. Her taste, her touch. He wanted to experience her. But it would be wrong and improper if he hired her to investigate Brandon’s death.
Wrong and improper and way too complicated.
Fuck it. He walked to Air Dog, but saw neither Winona nor Chayton when he entered the bar. He ordered vodka on the rocks and sat at a table, starting at the glass as the condensation coated it like a barrier that wasn’t near strong enough.
He’d ordered it mainly to test himself. To punish himself. At first, he had no intention of drinking it. He just wanted to watch it. Watch the ice melt and clink in the glass as the vodka took hold, swallowing and destroying everything around it.
But the ice didn’t melt fast enough. It fought to keep from losing, as he’d fought over the years. As he watched the ice battle with the alcohol, he finally convinced himself one drink wouldn’t hurt.
Maybe he could stop at one. How could he know? He’d never tried it. What was wrong with just one? He deserved it. Besides, he’d chosen vodka over whiskey. Whiskey was his vice. He could handle vodka.
He could have a drink and return to his normal life tomorrow, whatever normal was now. He would try to go see Amy tomorrow, but tonight he wanted to wallow in the misery he’d been trying to ignore.
He took a sip. Fire burned through him. He slammed the rest down, his throat aching and head exploding, the drink fueling him in a way nothing else could.
Fraudulent. Alcohol wasn’t fuel. It was poison, scamming everyone to believe it would heal their problems, at least temporarily.
Time go back to his room. He’d had a drink. His head was still on straight. The bed and breakfast had no bar. He’d made sure of that before he’d rented it.
Within seconds, the bartender sat another drink in front of him. It wasn’t her fault. She had no idea he couldn’t handle two.
He wrapped his hands around the drink and stared, the condensation on the glass building like the regrets of his life and coating his hands with shame.
One more drink would hurt. If he gave in, it would prove he had no self-discipline. The key was to control the craving, and if he didn’t go home now, he would fail.
• • •
Winona stepped out of Chayton’s office and skimmed Air Dog, a habit she’d formed to check the patrons and see how they were holding up with their drinks, and a routine she’d developed over her years of investigations to safeguard herself and those around her. Her gaze landed on Jake.
An immediate danger to her equilibrium.
He had his back to her as he sat at one of the tables away from the bar, but she knew it was him. His coppery blond hair flaunted gold under the dim lights of the bar. Tousled, like he’d just crawled out of bed. Something possessive zipped through her. Something she had no right to feel, because he was definitely not hers.
His head was down, his shoulders hunched over, his whole body slumped. Until he straightened, threw back his head, and slammed down the rest of his drink. Then he returned to his position over the table.
Simone approached with a new glass of whatever he was drinking and set it beside him. It was a clear glass, clear liquid, so it could have been water and lime.
She doubted it.
“What’s he drinking?” Winona asked Simone when she’d returned behind the bar.
“Vodka, on the rocks.”
Dread twisted in her stomach, followed by disappointment and fury.
“With a twist of lime,” Simone added.
“How many has he had?”
“That’s his second.”
“Thanks.” She hadn’t meant it as gratitude but said it so Simone wouldn’t stand around and wait for her to continue talking.
It wasn’t Simone’s fault. Simone had no idea of his former condition, and it wasn’t Winona’s place to tell.
She stood there a moment, letting the anger wash over her and hoping it would fade. But it didn’t. She took a deep breath and marched over, grabbing the glass from the table. His head snapped up. His eyes narrowed when he saw her.
“Hey,” he said.
“What are you doing?”
“Having a drink. Isn’t that what most people do in this bar?”
“Most people in this bar probably aren
’t recovering alcoholics.”
“Well, most of them probably aren’t in mourning, either.”
Winona slid onto the seat opposite him. “We’re all in mourning for something. The true test of life is how we handle it and get over it.”
“I’m tired of being tested. One drink won’t hurt.”
“I know for a fact it’s at least your second drink. And one is all you need to fall off the wagon. Is this how you want to celebrate your cousin’s memory?”
Jake clenched his jaw but didn’t reply. His eyes turned glacial and he glared, nose flaring, as she sipped his drink.
“Besides,” she said as she scrunched her face at the taste of the harsh liquid, “this drink could count as four by most people’s standards.”
He didn’t reply. She knocked back the rest of the drink and slammed the glass on the table before meeting his glare. Fire burned behind her eyes, but she didn’t blink.
“Go ahead,” he finally said. “Rub it in. I’m a loser. I can’t drink, but you can. I can’t handle it, but you can.”
“I never thought you were a loser. I just think you’re down on your luck and having a pity party.”
“Maybe I am having a pity party. What’s wrong with that?”
“Take it from me. A pity party is not something you should do alone. And definitely not something you should do with alcohol.”
“I’m not alone now, am I?”
Winona kept her gaze on him. His eyes were steady as he returned her glare. His mouth slightly rose as if he had his own inner joke. Warmth pooled in her limbs.
“Well, if you’re going to feel sorry for yourself, let’s go back to my place,” Winona said before having a chance to think about those consequences. And now that she’d said it, the consequences didn’t seem so bad.
“And do what?”
“Have a pity party together. I don’t know. Play Monopoly. Watch a movie. Fuck.”
She knew she’d shocked him by the way his eyes flickered and his forehead crinkled. He glanced down a moment and when his gaze slid back to meet hers, his was steady, tantalizing, hungry.
“Okay.” He stood and laid two twenties on the table. “I trust the bartender will take care of this,” he said.
Trembling, she picked up the twenties and signaled Simone. Simone came around and asked, “Do you need change?”
“No.”
“That’s way too much money,” Winona said as Simone nodded her thanks and walked away.
Jake shrugged and planted his hands on the small of Winona’s back.
“I’m gone for the day,” Winona called to Simone, her skin burning at Jake’s touch. Fire feasted in her belly, her thighs trembling as she walked to the door. It was three o’clock in the afternoon. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had sex, much less at three o’clock in the afternoon.
Her eyes swept the room, observing who might be observing her. She tried to look inconspicuous as she left, throwing one last glance behind her to see if Simone was paying attention. Thank God she was talking to a customer and had no idea what was going on in Winona’s world right now. If she did, she’d probably tell Chayton, and Chayton would throw a fit. Hell, Winona wouldn’t be surprised if he stormed over later and demanded she behave.
She smiled and nodded to a few people she knew who were coming in as they were going out. She hoped she didn’t have horny written all over her face. She hoped Jake didn’t either.
She didn’t know what had possessed her to invite him back to her place, but there was no backtracking now. Loneliness had been squeezing all sense of joy from her mind, and she was afraid if she didn’t stop it now, depression would take root. Seeing everyone around her so happy sucked. She was happy for them, but it had made her loneliness more palpable. Adrenaline spiked through her at Jake’s touch. She felt a connection with him she couldn’t explain, and she wasn’t about to ignore this temporary oblivion.
“We’ll take my motorbike,” she said.
“Only if I can drive.”
Winona laughed. “It’s not like the bikes you’re used to.”
“Oh, I think I can handle it.”
His sonorous voice deluged her spine with shivers, eclipsed by molten lava in her loins. She envisioned the videos of him pounding through the water, droplets of water on his half-naked body. Then on his bike, his legs throbbing in power as he raced alongside other bikers, sweat pouring from his body and accentuating his long and lean muscles.
Her heart belly-crawled into her stomach, pounding her gut as she straddled the bike first and padded the seat for him to sit. Instead of sitting, he leaned over, curled his fingers behind her neck, and kissed her.
Her breath whooshed out of her. Hot waves of desire coated her skin and slammed into her thighs. She moaned as she returned his fervor, his tongue filching away her cautiousness. As much as she wanted this, anyone could see them right now.
She stationed her palms on his chest and straightened her spine, backing away. “That’s enough. Let’s go before somebody sees.”
His right eyebrow shot up. “Why do you care if anyone sees?”
“Because it’s a small town, and we’re practically making out on my bike.”
He shrugged. “So?”
“So. Reputation is everything in a small town.”
“Okay.” He placed her helmet on her head, turned and straddled the bike, then kickstarted it. His butt brushed against her thighs and she moved back for him to have room to sit. Before she even had time to think, he sped off.
She left her helmet on and resisted the urge to wrap her arms around him. He wasn’t going fast enough to have her steady her body against his anyway. Around town, she rarely wore her helmet. They only had two blocks to go to get to her condo, but he didn’t go in the direction of her condo. She didn’t say anything, just let him drive.
He stopped at the B&B where he was staying and killed the engine. She removed her helmet but he was off and helping her before she had a chance to move. He took her hand and they walked up the stairs to his room.
He opened the door and paused. Winona halted behind him, suddenly feeling shy. Awkward. Unsure what to do next. She could use another dose of alcohol to lower her inhibitions.
• • •
Jake’s whole body quivered, his need for this woman dominating him much like the need for a drink.
Clenching his fist in an urge to maintain control, he faced her. She palmed his chest, pushed him out of the doorway, and slammed the door behind them with her foot. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled his face to hers.
He grasped one hand behind her neck, one on her lower back, and they stood together, nose to nose. He didn’t kiss her just yet. Once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop. Lips within inches of each other, he breathed in her scent. She licked her lips, eyes heavy as she met his gaze and awaited his kiss.
Her scent, like honeydew and watermelon, made him dizzy with need. His heart pounded as he prolonged the wait. He lifted her, hands gripping her ass, and braced her on the door. She laughed as she fenced her legs around him.
“This is how we’re going to do it?” she asked, her silken voice tightening every pore of his body.
“We’re going to do it every which way we can. Does it bother you?”
“No.”
He captured her lips, taking her mouth in an urgent need to taste and explore. He ground her against the door, his hardness pressing against her open center, as she returned his kiss. Their tongues tangled and suckled. He swallowed her moan and pressed her harder into his body.
He felt strong and weak at the same time, tight and loose. Desire coiled in his gut. She clenched her thighs tighter around his waist as his mouth explored hers. She swept her hands all along his body, igniting fire everywhere she touched.
He was drowning. Drowning in the need to bury himself in the warm folds of her body.
Reeling her around, he dumped her on the bed. As he inched over her, she pulled at his shirt, r
aking nails up and down his chest before tearing his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor.
His mouth swooped down on hers again, the urge to taste surpassing any other need. He swept his hand under her bra, pinching her nipples as her fingers danced along his spine.
She unbuttoned his pants. He groaned as his hardness sprang free, nearly losing it when she grasped him. He clenched her wrist and stopped kissing her, his breath heavy.
“No, I … I’ll lose it.”
“Then lose it. We can take longer later.”
“Fuck.”
He kicked off his shoes and removed his pants. She helped him finish as he tore at her clothes, daylight from the window frosting her smooth body. His fingers delved into her moist heat, and he felt her clench and unclench around him.
She rained kisses on his neck and ear. “I want you inside me now.”
His body throbbed as he moved away just long enough to dig his wallet out of his jeans, hoping it would be the last time he had to be away from her.
He pitched his wallet to the floor and kissed her again, his tongue taking and exploring. She ground her moist heat along the length of him. God, he wanted to bury himself in her, but he couldn’t risk it without protection.
He ripped the condom opened, and she squeezed his balls as he sheathed himself.
“Fuck, woman.” He thrust himself inside her.
She cried out, and he stopped.
“Don’t stop.” Digging her nails into his back, she lifted up to meet him thrust for thrust.
He filled her, the pressure making it impossible to stop. When he thought he would erupt, he wheeled her around so she straddled him, hoping to prolong the pleasure.
He clasped her by the waist as she moved up and down on him. He felt her orgasm, turning and churning and holding out for his. He thrust harder, deeper, his body reeling as she closed around him, then moved out almost too far before closing around him again.
He bit his lip, reaching up to meet her for a kiss. Their mouths explored each other, taking and giving. Their bodies danced together in an age-old rhythm until she arched away from his lips and sat upright.
