by J. Haymore
"But not now…not after…not after Emily."
"I know that. I was in mourning, and I couldn't even think about being with anyone—"
"I know."
"But I'm ready to move on now. Is that so bad?"
He looks back up at me, and…shit. His eyes glisten. I've seen Kyle cry only once, and that was at my bedside just after I woke up at the hospital and he and Aunt Jo told me about Emily.
"I've…been…waiting." He sounds as if it takes a huge effort for him to say every word.
"Waiting? For what?"
"For you to be ready."
"For what?"
"For me."
I stare at him, bewildered.
"That asshole doesn't love you, T." He gestures roughly in the direction of the bridge. "But I do. I love you so much. I think I've been in love with you forever."
There's a gasp from the direction of the stairs that lead down to the starboard cabins. Both our gazes snap in that direction.
Nalani stands in the shadows, her face as pale as the moon.
Oh, shit.
To be continued...
***This Ends Volume 1 of Swept Away.***
Swept Away is a 4-part serial novel. Volume 2 will be available on November 3, but it is currently available for preorder: Swept Away, Volume 2 (the link will take you to Swept Away 2's page at amazon.com).
Please continue reading for a sexy scene from Volume 2. Caution: This excerpt includes spoilers. If you don't want to read any spoilers or scenes from the next book, please stop here and go grab Volume 2 instead.
(Oh, and just to warn you—Swept Away, Volume 2 is chock-full of danger, revelations, and lots and lots of sexy heat between Ethan and Tara...)
For more information about Swept Away, as well as sneak peeks, giveaways, and more, please sign up for J’s newsletter.
Swept Away
Volume 2
by
J. Haymore
Ethan Williams is the worst man for me. The dangerous choice. The choice most likely to hurt me. Ethan will never give me the long-term happiness I yearn for.
Of course I choose him. He's the bigger risk. The man I know very little about. The man who's almost guaranteed me that he'll do nothing but hurt me. That's the one I want.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I was falling in love with Ethan—even though he was going to walk away from me forever in less than three weeks.
I wasn't going to think about that, though. I'd enjoy this time we had together on the open ocean, then, once we got to Hawaii, I'd let him go. No regrets.
But Ethan's secrets were deeper and darker than I could have ever imagined. I'd put my trust in someone who gave me almost nothing of himself. And if I wasn't careful, his secrets could kill me.
Enjoy the Following Excerpt from Swept Away, Volume 2
"He's jealous."
"Ahhhh…I don't know why he'd be jealous," I hedge. And is that the right word for what Kyle's feeling right now? I honestly don't know.
"Because he's in love with you."
The words hit me like a slap. "Oh God," I whisper. Is this some kind of warped nightmare? "How did… Did he tell you that?"
Ethan gives a short, harsh laugh. "No. But I know he is."
"No," I groan, all about denial because I can't face this right now. "Kyle is confused. He isn't in love with me. He just—"
"He's been in love with you for a while." His eyes flicker away from me, back to my cabin door again. "At least since that first day I saw the two of you together. Nalani has sensed it too. She's having a big problem with it."
My jaw drops. If he knew, if Nalani knew, how could I have missed this for so long? What were the signs? Am I really this naive?
Yes. I'm clearly ridiculously sheltered and incredibly naive. Otherwise, I would have realized my best friend's fallen in love with me at some point in the past year and a half. I would have somehow seen it—done something about it before it reached this point.
Ethan heaves in a breath, and when he looks at me again, the ring of blue around his eyes is black in the dim light of the cabin. His spine has straightened, and his shoulders go square.
"Is there any chance that you might reciprocate his feelings?" He means the question to be emotionless, but there's a sharp edge to it, a razor blade of feeling he's trying to hide.
His expression is also calm, also emotionless, but his gaze is so direct, so intense, it's as if he's peeling me open like an orange, determined to see if the fruit inside is sweet or sour.
I shake my head and tell him the truth. "No. He's my friend. My close friend."
"You know each other well."
"Yes."
"You're very physical with each other."
"Are we?" I try to act unaffected by his observation, but then it hits me. Oh God, he's right. Kyle and I are more physical with each other than normal friends. We're more physical than brothers and sisters. We hug and we lean on each other, and sometimes, when we're watching a movie at home, we lie pressed against each other under a comfortable blanket. But it's never, ever been sexual.
Not for me, at least.
Was I unwittingly giving him hints that it was? Did all that comfortable closeness translate to me leading him on?
"Yes, Tara. The two of you are very physical."
"I…" I push out a breath through my closed lips. "Yes. But it wasn't that kind of physical."
"But you could fall in love with him." Ethan's words come out tight and biting. The force of his stare prickles under my skin. "It could happen."
All this sudden emotional intensity must have something to do with him being jealous of Kyle, like Kyle seems to be jealous of him. I'm considering this when he throws my assumption out the window by saying, "You should."
"Should what?"
"Love him." Ethan is dead serious, but his words don't compute. They don't make any sense.
"What do you mean?"
"He would be good for you. He'll protect you. He loves you."
He doesn't say it flat out, but his words imply it. I won't protect you. I don't love you.
"What about you?" I whisper.
He shrugs, but it's not the casual movement I think he intended it to be—it's a tense, tight raising and lowering of his shoulders.
"I can't," he says through flat, white lips. "I told you before—I can't—won't—do long-term relationships. And you deserve one. You deserve someone who can love you in the way you should be loved. Someone who—"
He breaks off suddenly. Something flickers in his eyes as if he's lying, or as if he's cut himself off from telling me something he doesn't want me to know. If we were in a poker game, I'd call his bluff and go all in.
But maybe he isn't lying. He's probably being completely honest with me, again, and I'm reading something that I want to be there but just isn't.
"I can't give any of that to you," he says quietly. "It's impossible."
The hurt that slams into me feels like it's crushing my windpipe. I wrap my arms around my knees and stare at the opposite wall of my cabin, trying to find my breath. He touches my shoulder, and as much as I don't want him to see the emotions that must be written all over my face, I turn back to him anyway. I'm evidently incapable of telling my body not to react to Ethan's touch.
When he sees my expression, his softens. His voice gentles. "Tara…"
The tears I hold at bay blur my vision.
"I want to be all these things to you," he murmurs. "But as much as I want to, I've told you I can't. He can, though. Kyle can be everything to you."
"No," I rasp out.
"Yes. He loves you."
"It doesn't matter. It's…he's…he's not you. You're the one I can't stop thinking about. You're the one I want…the one I need—"
Ethan rears back, a stunned expression on his face. It's like I've slapped him. Slowly, he shakes his head at me. "Don't," he whispers.
"Don't what? Don't fall for you? It's too late—you know, you know I alr
eady have."
"It can't last."
My teeth gnash together, hard. I am so tired of hearing him say that. "I know."
"I don't want you to miss your chance with him if you choose me over him now. You shouldn't do it. You should make the right choice and—"
"Why are you trying to get rid of me?"
"I'm not!" His palm slams down on the built-in chest of drawers beside my bed. His face is alight with some kind of emotion I can't quite pinpoint. Is it anger? Frustration? Anguish?
I clutch my pillow to me like a shield.
"I just know Kyle is better for you." He grinds out the words as if it's physically painful for him to say this to me.
Good. Because it's physically painful for me to hear him saying it.
"Kyle isn't you," I repeat firmly, because it's true. There's only one man who can bring me happiness right now, and that isn't Kyle. It's the man sitting on my bed, trying to convince me to fall in love with someone else.
A part of me agrees with him completely. He's absolutely, one hundred percent right. Kyle has never treated me as flippantly as he does his "bedmates," and I know he'd never, ever hurt me. He's an open book. He's the safe choice. I know exactly what I'd be getting from him.
I'd be getting…a lot. All of him. For Kyle to say he loves me… God. I know for a fact he's never said that to anyone else. A new kind of hurt swamps me, threatening to drag me under into darkness. What am I doing to him? To my best friend in the world? Why can't I just love him back?
Why do so many women choose the man who's the worst for them? The most dangerous choice? The choice most likely to hurt them? The one who refuses to give them the long-term happiness they yearn for?
Of course I choose that one. The bigger risk. The man I know very little about. The man who's almost guaranteed me that he'll do nothing but hurt me. That's the one I want.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I dig around in my head, trying to conjure some feeling for Kyle, but all I can come up with is that sisterly, bestie love that I've always felt for him. But maybe…if I tried…
There's so much good to see in Kyle. He's the best man I've ever known. He's gorgeous. He's fun, and he makes me laugh.
I think of walking with him on the beach. We've walked on the beach together a lot, but this time, we'd be holding hands. Kyle would be wearing his wetsuit peeled down to his narrow hips. Drops would sparkle over his tanned chest and on the wave tattoo on his arm. Our heads would be tilted toward each other, and we'd be laughing.
It's not an unpleasant image. At all.
"Kyle can make you happy," Ethan tells me softly.
I look up at him, and all thoughts of being with Kyle vanish, wiped away by the image of Ethan as he stares at me as if trying to convince me what he's saying is true. As if he's pretending he really wants me to agree with him, but deep inside, he can hardly bear to lie to me like this.
His straight blade of a nose. His slashing black brows. His high cheekbones and cheeks with their persistent dark stubble. His soft, kissable lips. His hot gaze. The way his lips feel on mine, and the way his body feels against mine. The way he holds me and talks to me and touches me…
"I can't help it," I say softly. "You're the one I want. Nothing can change that."
He releases a long, harsh breath. "Fuck."
And then he plucks the pillow out of my arms. His arms wrap around me, and he jerks me toward him. His mouth crashes against mine, hot and hard and possessive. His tongue dips into my mouth, and I capitulate with a little gasp, letting him in, my body opening like a blooming flower ready for more. Wanting more.
His lips move from my mouth and travel hungrily up the side of my face. His hand splays over my lower back, then pushes up my spine until my nape is in his palm and his fingers are digging up into the roots of my hair. I press harder against him, and his steely erection pushes against my stomach.
"I know it was the right thing. I know I had to do it," he murmurs as he kisses me. He licks my lower lip, then sucks it into his mouth. "Try to convince you." His lips move over my cheek, over my hairline and into my hair. "But the thought of you with him…with anyone… I'm too damn selfish, Tara … Fuck. I don't know what's happening, but I can't stop it."
A shudder that seems to come from deep in his bones makes his body vibrate against mine. He holds me steady by the back of my neck as his lips move to my eyebrows. They press over my closed lids and down my nose and then across my other cheek. It's as if he's marking every inch of my face, claiming my skin as his own. And I let him. I want him to claim me as his. I can't remember ever wanting anything more.
"I'm sorry," he whispers against my cheekbone.
I just groan, because I don't want to talk. I don't want his apologies. I just want him to keep kissing me.
"He's better for you. I should have convinced you."
"No," I growl out, pressing myself tighter to his erection, shifting so I can feel that bit of friction as he moves against me, "you couldn't have. Nothing could convince me."
He shudders again. I've never seen him so uncontrolled, so open. His whisper is rough, erotic, and full of emotion. "I'm done. I'm done trying to convince you. But I don't want to hurt you."
"Then don't," I say simply.
* * * * *
Curious about Justine?
Here's a little more from her from Swept Away, Volume 2:
September 30, 2005
My old roommate Ginny's back. I swear, she's like a little parasite that won't let go. The games I play with her were entertaining at first, but now they just bore me.
She bores me. No…it's more than that. She's so damned empathetic, so incredibly, condescendingly understanding. And her friendship with Ethan… God, I don't know how much more I can take.
Of course, we're roommates again. Did I mention how parasitic she is? Daddy bought a great house for me in Palo Alto, which I pretend to rent along with my three housemates. Katie and May are good little housemates who mind their own business. But Ginny? No. She squirmed her way into my house by being kind and wonderful and such a "good friend." (Gag.)
She's always asking me questions, and they're ridiculous ones, like, "How did that make you feel?" and "What did you feel the need to do after that?" I am always tempted to tell her I felt the need to snap her neck, but I know better. My life is good. I have Ethan. I'm not about to mess that up.
I wish I could just live with Ethan, but Daddy's having none of that. Once I graduate, maybe I can talk him into it. I've got nine months more of this… I just have to endure till then.
I wish Ethan had asked me to marry him over the summer. He didn't, and I know he probably wants to wait until I'm done with school, but he can't know how anxious I am to marry him. To further tie us together, under God, under the law. It's not an unbreakable tie, I know—in fact it's probably not as meaningful as Ethan's involvement in Triton… Well, maybe it's just the idea. That once upon a time and happily ever after every little girl wants. Even me, I guess.
Anyhow, back to Ginny. I do not like how she is always around when Ethan's over. It annoys the shit out of me. Worse, she and Ethan have become friends of sorts. They seem to share a common interest in the psychology of business, a topic I find ridiculously dull. I don't like their easy camaraderie. I don't like their joint interest. I really don't like Ginny getting near him at all.
This is life. I know this. Ethan will have women friends throughout the rest of our lives, and I need to be okay with that. I'm trying to view this as a learning experience for the future, a way to learn to cope with inevitability. But I can't let go of the rage, Dear Diary. It's so damn hard. And every time I see Ginny and her petite little body and her russet-brown bouncing bob and that sickly sweet smile, the rage grows. I want to crush her like a bug.
But I won't. I will control it, like I've learned to do. That's the hardest thing in the world for me, Diary. But I'm doing a good job. I'm strong…stronger than anyone will ever know.
By the way, have I ever told you about Susanna? I don't think I have.
Susanna was a girl in my elementary school. She was rich and smart and pretty and bossy, and everyone viewed her with a kind of reverent fear. She was the most controlling little bitch, and I hated her.
She showed up at my sleepaway camp when I was twelve. It was my camp! I'd been going there for three years already by then, but she showed up and began to try to control everyone and everything, including me, in her typical way.
All I could think about was how I had to get rid of her. I was young and not very smart, and I didn't take the time to thoroughly think through the steps of getting rid of an annoying pest. Instead, I jumped on the first idea that came to mind.
I dared Susanna to come swimming in the lake with me at midnight. I intended to drown her—it seemed an easy enough method, given the convenient, large body of water. But the girl was stronger than I expected, and she had the lungs of a banshee. She screamed so loud before I got a good grip on her that people came running. By the time they arrived, I'd been holding her down for less than a minute, and they were able to resuscitate her.
And even though she was screechy and nasty and a complete bully, I was the one punished for trying to silence her. I spent the next year in and out of hospitals, seeing countless shrinks and doctors. The only thing they could come up with was that I'm bipolar. Sure, fine, bipolar, whatever. I've taken my meds like a good little girl. But the meds don't take away my annoyance with humanity in general. And they don't take away my rage.
In fact, I don't even understand why I do take them. Originally it was to placate my "team" (stupid word for the people breathing down my neck to make sure I was being a good little psych patient). But I'm a big girl now. No point in continuing. I have nothing to prove to anyone. I will graduate magna cum laude from Stanford. I have the best father and the best boyfriend in the world.
