Chapter 1
There are few things in life as tantalizing as that first drink.
The way my mouth used to water as the bartender filled up my glass with my favorite bourbon. My heart hammered in my chest as I watched the golden-brown liquid trickle into its holder, filling it. My fingers itched to wrap themselves around that glass as I consumed that first sip as if it were a lifeline. And for me, it was.
Nothing in my life had ever been more seductive than that first drink. No matter how many times I swore the shit off, it called me back like a moth to a flame. It burned me just as badly, too.
Yet, here I stand, feet away from the only other seduction that calls to me as much as alcohol.
“I’m so sorry, Deirdre. I should’ve done more,” she says to her dead sister as she crouches over her grave.
Desiree’s voice is a mix of sadness and desperation. Like somehow, if she could apologize hard enough, it might bring her sister back.
I should be ashamed for spying on her like this and for intruding on such an intimate moment. However, the part of me that has kept me away from her for so long has given up. I knew before I got out of bed for my morning run that this graveyard was where I’d end up.
As I ran down the familiar streets of my route, I parted ways with the road about three miles in. My steps lightened as the pavement changed to gravel and then dirt, leading up a trail where the bulk of the graves reside in this cemetery.
My breathing remains faster than usual, and my heartbeat continues to thrum along as if it still needs to perform for my cardio session, though I’m standing still. This is the same reaction I always have whenever she’s near. The same reason I waited for so long to approach her.
As I inhale deeply through my nose and let the air exhale fully through my mouth, I glance up at the grey skies overhead. Overcast. Not unusual for this time of year in the Northwest. Though weather predictions have the temperature reaching the mid-sixties, unseasonably high for October, the smell of rain is in the air.
To my right, I spot one of the Douglas fir trees that pepper the graveyard. I inch my way behind one of them, preventing the woman kneeling before the headstone from seeing me. Pushing out a deep sigh, I stare, watching her.
Something warm fills my chest and courses down the length of my body. This feeling has absolutely nothing to do with the four miles I ran before entering this Townes Graveyard. It has everything to do with her.
Desiree Jackson.
I knew she’d show up here today. It’s October 3rd.
My fingers twitch to caress her shoulders and pull her body into mine for comfort. Instead of letting them have their way, I slide my hands into the pockets of my running shorts, reminding myself that she needs this time. This is her grieving process. Her annual visit to this grave to mourn the sister she lost.
The heaviness of the memory of her loss settles into my chest, making it difficult to pull in my next breath. Shutting my eyelids, I force my lungs to release the breath my body wants to hold. When I open my eyes again, it’s to see Desiree swipe a tear from her cheek. Even in her kneeling position, still twenty or so feet away from me, I can make out the tremble in her body.
My eyes rake over her profile. The smooth, warm brown skin of her face, and the dark, almost jet-black, curly hair that today is pulled up into a high bun, emphasizing her high cheekbones. Though she’s dressed in a pair of jeans and sweatshirt, the outfit does little to hide her curves. It’s impossible to hide them.
I take a step closer, moving from behind the Douglas fir, as if pulled by an invisible force, summoning me closer to her. I suppose this was inevitable. This is the third year in a row I’ve watched her on this particular day.
Something new emerges from the depths of my soul. The yearning I could always keep a lid on out of respect for Desiree’s grief refuses to be shackled any longer.
It’s been long enough,it says as if this need had just been biding it’s time, deciding when and where to make my approach.
“I’m so sorry, Deirdre,” she says again, through tears.
“There was nothing you could’ve done.”
Inhaling sharply,I turn to see the man who just spoke. My eyes widen when I see him. Blinking, I do my best to wipe away the moisture from my eyes, both out of embarrassment and to be able to get a clear sight of him. My mind has trouble processing that Neil McKenna stands here in front of me.
For almost a full minute, there are no words exchanged between the two of us. Only stares. I observe the way his long hair falls to his shoulders, the tips folding over into unruly curls, the thick, slashing eyebrows that appear slightly darker than the hair on his head, and the beads of sweat that trail down his straight-edge nose, dripping down to soak the strawberry blond hairs of his beard.
These features combined would make for a beautiful picture in and of itself, but the kicker is his eyes. The golden color is pretty, sure enough, but what elevates his appearance to breath-taking is the intensity in them. The depths in his eyes make you feel as if he were looking through you, right to your very soul. At least, that’s what I feel whenever I see him.
“Mister McKenna.” His name pours out of my mouth on a breathless sigh, sounding both titillated and relieved to find it’s him and not some random stranger standing behind me.
A small frown appears on his pink lips. “We’ve been through this, Desiree,” he responds, sounding disappointed. “Call meNeil.” He emphasizes his first name as if I’d somehow forgotten it.
I start to shake my head, but his frown deepens, as does the penetrative look in his eyes, and I stop myself. Clearing my throat, I respond, “Neil.”
His nostrils flare, and his head dips just an inch or so, approvingly.
