That perma-smile melts right off his face once again, and his gaze shifts just past my shoulder shooting out somewhere farther than the walls of this bar.
“No, it’s never about me, Zoey. I can promise you that.”
“Wow, that was dark.” I take an anxious sip and watch as his chest expands wide as a door with his next breath. “I grew up in Loveless. Everyone knows your cousin Warren.” I leave out exactly how well I’m familiar with him.
Abel cringes and lifts a finger as if to stop me. “I hope you don’t judge every McCarthy based on Warren’s colored past.”
“Nope,” I’m quick to assure him. Our knees brush over one another briefly, and a hot ache lingers in that very spot, traveling up my thigh until it hits home and I have a tiny tremor right here in the bar. Our eyes lock again, and my face heats ten shades. “Sorry.” I move my legs out of the way lest I sit here all night having orgasms while talking about Warren McCarthy—a lethal combination by anyone’s standards. “But don’t worry. Your brother arrived last summer and redeemed your entire clan. I’m Gavin Jackson’s little sister. Caleb helped—”
“Yes.” His eyes brighten as if I just took away the question mark hanging over my head all evening. He inches back slightly, appraising me in this new light. A part of me wonders if the wordslittle sisterwere off-putting. I’ve demeaned myself in his eyes, and now I regret it. “I’ve met Gavin briefly. He’s a great guy. You obviously have a great family.”
“Thank you. Most of them are dead, but they were great nonetheless.”
His features darken, eyes still smiling, a neat trick if you can pull it off. “I’m sorry to hear it.”
“My parents died in a horrific car accident when I was just a kid. Gavin’s wife—Demi, her father was in the other car if you can believe it. Strange.” I suck down half my iced tea until I can feel the buzz and enjoy the splendor of that first fuzzy moment.
His affect darkens on cue. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you.”
I blink a wry smile. Not going there. “I worked for your brother up until last winter.” I consider myself a seasoned pro at changing the subject. “But I got tired of driving down the hill.” I shrug.
“You were at the office?” He looks genuinely distressed by this.
“I was Caleb’s personal secretary. I’m the one who kept her head down and filed her nails from nine to five. There’s a great salad bar on the first floor in the event you haven’t discovered it yet.” It’s doubtful. If I had to guess, he’s all about the steak and potatoes. He’d have to be to keep up that granite build.
He barks out a laugh, and his teeth illuminate the darkness like rows of tiny lamps. I’m not sure what it is about perfect teeth, the brighter, the whiter, the hotter I am for their owner, but there is something demonically wicked and vexingly delicious about Abel McCarthy’s smile.
“Now I feel like an ass. We were within shouting distance. I should have reached out and said hello.” His brows dive down toward to a hard point, and my insides heat at the sight of him. It’s probably just the dim lighting, the alcohol-fueled iced tea, and the mood music playing in the background but, dear God, every last ounce of me is crying out for his body to cover mine. Bathroom sex suddenly sounds a lot more enticing than it ever does seedy. “We should have met at least a dozen times. How does that happen?”
“Timing, I suppose. My entire life is a string of bad timing, so I can’t say I’m too surprised by this. I bet you were more than a little busy yourself.” I give a little wink, and his expression sours as if I’ve hit the hammer right over his busy head. “I’m betting whatever kept you busy drove you to Loveless, too. People don’t just walk out their door one day and decide to show up on the shitty end of the lake for no good reason. There’s always a reason, and it’s never a good one.” I knock back the rest of my drink, and the bartender is kind enough to furnish me with another before I swallow the last sip. “So do tell, Abel. What has you holed up in a boathouse that I’m sure was the size of your walk-in closet back home? And where is home exactly?”
“Collingsworth—downtown high-rise. No walk-in.” He tilts his head as if he bested me. “I’m taking a break from law. Once upon a time I hated law with a passion, then my father convinced me it was my ticket to a new life, so I bought it—only the new life never really materialized. Truth is, I don’t mind it that much, but I need some time away from it.”
There’s a sadness dripping beneath that manufactured smile he’s begging me to buy into. Something or someone has traumatized this beautiful man, and he’s limped up to Loveless like a wounded animal. I’m sure all those nights he’s been baptizing himself in that inky black lake he’s been trying to wash off the scourge of whatever it is that’s damaged him.
“What chased you up this mountain, Abel? More to the point—what was her name? It wasn’t difficult to guess. I can practically see her ghost hovering between us.”
Abel’s chest bucks with a quiet laugh. His eyes close briefly, and he knocks back his drink before banging the glass over the bar demanding another one.
His eyes magnetize to mine, those crystalline sirens that might as well be spinning and screaming the way he’s glaring at me—but the smile still lingers like hope in a storm. I’ve hit a nerve—a raw, pulsating, aching-all-night nerve that I’m sure he would do anything to excise.
The bartender replaces his glass, and Abel brings the brown liquid to his lips, his gaze still set to mine. “Her name is Elizabeth—the first and last I will ever speak of that.” He pumps a short-lived smile. “And what washisname?”
A heated moment thumps by, just Abel and his precision laser stare locked over me, but I’m still fixated on the fact he referred to her as that.
I swallow hard. For so long I hadn’t brought the vileness of his name to my lips, and here I can feel myself ready to vomit it out right at Abel McCarthy’s feet.
“His name is Holder Gleason—and that’s the first and last I will ever speak about that.” I raise my glass, and he does the same before we drink to that little moniker-inspired horror. It’s comforting to know he could see my unwanted ghost as well.
The music switches to something warmer, slower, far more laced with innuendo than the raucous noise it burped out just a moment ago. I watch as the ladies of the night all stagger from the dance floor, disappointed that there’s no one to sway with. A few couples migrate over and take advantage of the moody blues.
“Come on.” Abel empties out his second drink and takes me by the hand. His fingers are warm and thick, and his spiced cologne, the way his shirt stretches over his chest has me hypnotically entranced. I’d go just about anywhere with Abel McCarthy tonight, sexually speaking or otherwise. Regardless, Loveless is smaller than a teacup. There are not a lot of places he’ll be able to hide from me.
“Where we headed?” I tip off the stool I’ve perched myself on and follow him to the heart of the room as his arms wrap carefully around my waist.
“Right here.” His eyes smile for him in lieu of his lips, and he offers the quickest wink known to man as if this were a joke on some level. My stomach bottoms out because I’m afraid it might be. I’ve been a joke before—more often than not. I’ve put myself in the position to be viewed that way more than once, and, like a flood, everything that transpired at Port comes flooding back like a living shitstorm. But I push it away and take in this beautiful man who has his arms locked over my body.
“What are we doing?” I laugh as the room spins in a dizzying delight.
