Abel leans in, his warm breath sears over my ear. “We’re simply dancing.” His hips touch over mine, and I groan with an appreciation of this gorgeous man gracing me with his body.
“I’m all for simplicity. Thank you, by the way. I can’t remember the last time I danced with anyone.”
“A beautiful girl like you?” One of his dark brows creates a hook over his eye. “It sounds like that ex of yours was pretty lousy to begin with.”
A laugh bubbles from the deepest part of me. “Never was there a bigger truth. You pegged him correctly. How about you? Are you ever the charmer? Disarming women with liquor and a little fancy footwork before taking them back to your room to have your way with them?” Please God let it be so. “I’m betting you use that tie of yours to bind them in all the right places.” A girl can only hope. “Nothing wrong with utilizing soft restraints. I’m not judging.” I might have judged him if I even thought it would be true. Abel is too much of a gentleman to pull out the whips and ball gags. But if he’s up for a night of bound up fun, who am I to stop him?
“I’ve never hogtied anyone, but if the opportunity arises, I might consider it.” His lips twitch toward the ceiling with wicked intent. Maybe I’ve pegged Abel all wrong.
“Something tells me the opportunity is arising.” Subtlety isn’t my thing, never was, and that in a nutshell is what’s landed me in Loveless.
Abel pulls back and examines me as our bodies move slow in time. “Tell me honestly. Did you sleep with Caleb?”
Dear God, never have I felt so glad not to have slept with Caleb.
“Are you kidding? That boy wouldn’t give me the sexual time of day.” I bite down on my lower lip hard enough to spike blood. Thank God he didn’t ask about Warren. Thank God. But then, Warren is much further removed than his brother.
“That’s good to hear. He and Kennedy are pretty solid.”
Don’t ask about Warren. Do not ask about Warren, you nosy fucker.I grace him with my sweetest smile.
“And Warren?” He shakes his head as if begging me to deny it.
“Warren who?” I meant to answer truthfully, but that toxic iced tea coursing through my veins refused to cooperate.
Abel belts out a laugh and spins me. He tucks his face close to my temple, and I feel the soft waves of his breathing, the scent of scotch my new favorite everything.
“You don’t have to tell me anything, Zoey,” he whispers steady. His deep voice rumbles straight through my bones and warms me. “For sure you do not have to confess your sins or your pleasures. I’m not here to judge you. I’ve given up on judging people in general.”
Then in a moment a veil lifts and I can see all of the hurt, all of the heartbreak Abel McCarthy is hiding from the world. Elizabeth, whoever she might have been, may be miles away from Loveless, but the memory of her is dancing right here between us.
“Thank you,” I whisper into his chest.
“For the dance?”
“For not judging.” I tug on my lip with my teeth. “I’ll try to do the same.”
A warm laugh trembles from him. “How long are you in Loveless?”
“Forever. And you?”
He pulls back as if stunned by the fact anyone would willingly choose to live here, and ironically everyone does. Unless, of course, he’s underwhelmed with my current living situation in the boathouse, the thimble that’s only a small improvement over a casket. And there it is, the first judgment cast.
His cheek twitches. “I’m here for a while. Two months at most before everything turns to shit.” He offers a peaceable smile, and his dimples ignite. “Hell, it already has.”
We share a soft laugh. “To shit!” I nod as if toasting him. “So tell me. What does someone who’s been through the crapper supposed to do in such a short amount of time? Other than wash their sins away in the lake at night.”
Abel’s mouth opens then closes. “I’ve had an audience all these nights?”
“At rapt attention.”
He grimaces, eyes to the ceiling as if he were reliving his nightly nude jaunts to see if there were anything incriminating taking place. “I’ll try to make the show more entertaining going forward.” His left eye comes shy of winking as if he wasn’t on board with his own flirtation. “And to answer your question, I’m writing a book.”
“On how to hide a body?” Elizabeth perhaps.
“No.” His entire face brightens as if he’s amused. “Why? Do you have a body to hide?”
“I could arrange it.” Holder bounces through my mind—twice in one night, and now it feels as if I’ve summoned a demon. But then, I did have a body. One I didn’t get the chance to bury. “On second thought, I’d much rather stay away. And you probably shouldn’t pen a missive on post-homicide etiquette if you’re planning on doing something felonious to your ex.”
