And full it is. It positively consumes my mouth, covering, opening, tasting. I need hard and fast, even punishing, but this kiss takes its time. Surrounded by scruff, it is still butter-smooth and, in its thoroughness, ten times better than I remember.
Only when it ends, when I draw back with my fingers still in his hair and look into eyes that are electric gray, cheeks that are flushed above the stubble, lips that are moist, do I realize how close our bodies are. My breasts are crushed to his chest, while his hands on the small of my back press my lower body to his. Jack Sabathian is well-endowed, and I feel every inch.Thisis punishment for my leaving. He is showing me everything I lost.
“Don’t say it,” I beg, breathing too fast.
But he can’t help himself. It’s the honesty that I love about him, the honesty that I hate. “Stay, sweetheart. Stay in Bay Bluff.”
Shaking my head, I say, “Too late.” My voice is too loud, but I need it to drown out the stubborn hum in my body. Knowing I’m losing my grip on what little of me remains when I’m in this place, I break away. Running through the kitchen—yes, running, which is what you do when you’re scared—I go out the back door to thesmall deck at the top of the stairs. There I stop. I breathe in. Deeply. Of the night ocean, of sand, of marine life that I can’t begin to see.
Far out, a boat moves through the waves, single lights front and back. Though the sound of its motor is swallowed by the shush-and-break of the surf, not so the hooks that jangle on the dock closer in or the breeze that stirs the tall grasses on this side of the bluff.
I hear all of this, then the quiet opening and closing of the door, and feel Jack beside me, even before he speaks.
“I was wrong, the things I said back then, Mal. I was taking it out on you that your father was there and knew what happened.”
Hadherecovered from that little kiss? If so, he was stronger than me. The sweet salt air has stabilized me, but arousal is still just a thought away. Consciously pushing it farther, I ask, “But does he? He’s been consistent from the start. He was fighting to control the boat in a squall, and when he looked back, she was gone. You want to blame him—”
“—but I can’t. I accept that. Something was going on with my mother. I just wish your father could explain it.”
“I’ll keep asking.”
“But you’re only here a week. What if that isn’t enough? What if he doesn’t say anything? Will you still run away to New York?”
I shoot him a warning look. “Careful, Jack. If I run to New York, it’s to my home. My life is there. My daughter’s life is there. I cleared things to come here for a week, but next Saturday is booked. I have people lined up. If I’m not back, the realtors I work with will go elsewhere.”
“No loyalty?” he asks, part inquiry, part scorn.
But I understand my clients. Many have become friends. “It’s about the bottom line. I work with high-end realtors who have high-end clients. They want results and they want them now. Besides, I love what I do.”
“It shows. Your pictures are top-notch. I love what you do.”
Closing my eyes, I drop my chin to my chest. “You’re not helping.”
“Only because you don’t want to hear what I’m saying,” he insists.“You’ve stayed in New York all these years because no one was arguing against it. You choose to raise Joy there because being alone means you’re the one in control. You grew up trying to please everyone else, but when you’re there, there’s no one to please but you and Joy. The decisions are yours.”
Of all the things I’ve considered, even discussed with Chrissie, the idea that I chose New York for that reason isn’t one. I never thought of myself as controlling. Never thought of myself as wanting to be.
“Didn’t consider that?” he asks. “Not in twenty years?”
I don’t take offense. He’s overlooking one major factor. “I wasn’t exactly sitting around doing nothing. I made a home for myself. I built a career. I made friends. I raised a child.”
“An amazing child.”
“She is,” I agree, and because he’s said that, I admit, “You may be right about why I stay in New York.” Turning, I lean back against the railing. “But that doesn’t change things. Why I did what I did is beside the point. It’s done. My life is there, yours is here. My father is here, your mother is gone. Two people went out on the boat that night, only one returned. I can badger Dad, but we may never learn anything more. What then?”
He stands right-angled to me. “Then we move on.”
“Can we? Here?” I gesture at the darkness behind. “I look at the dock and remember that night. I look at the firepit and remember two families around it. When I think of summer, it’s all of us on the beach. When I think of the Fourth of July, it’s both families in town. The memories won’t go away. And then there’s the way we fought. We said horrible things—”
“—that were angry and vengeful and wrong. So we botched it once—”
“—not once. Multiple times. We had three weeks of fights before I left.”
“One. We had one. It just went on for three weeks.”
I have to smile. Standing on principle is classic Jack Sabathian. “Fine, one that went on for three weeks, but I couldn’t get throughto you and you couldn’t get through to me. It was our first big fight, and we failed.”
“It was about catastrophic events.”
