I look around desperately for Brody, needing him to save me from his mother, even if I am annoyed as hell with him currently. My eyes finally land on his figure leaning against the bar. He is smiling and speaking to a tiny blonde little waitress. Her slim figure is clad in all black with a white apron tied around her waist. My husband pulls at the strings of the apron, his fingers grazing her ass. My annoyance flares into full on fury. She looks horribly uncomfortable. And I am done.
“Then I’ll just excuse myself and let you ladies get back to it.”
Before anyone can say another word, I spin on my toes, marching the length of the room and out the French doors that lead to the back yard. I don’t even look back to see if Brody makes progress with the waitress.
I am absolutely furious. And embarrassed. And definitely lost.
I’d stormed out of the party to get some fresh air and walked into the wildness of the island beyond. I’d angrily wandered, replaying the conversation in my head, and not paying attention to where my legs were taking me. And now, I am lost. And the sun is setting. Fast. I am freezing my ass off.
I turn to look back the way I’d come from. A steep slope of wild grasses and brush lay behind me. I have no phone, no coat, and no way to climb back up in these shoes.
Fuck.
I wonder how long it’d take for someone to come looking for me. Will Brody even notice I’m gone? Or is he already balls deep inside the waitress? I picture them in a back closet, him panting into her neck, kissing her, holding her, truly looking at her with lust—all the things I’ve been missing. Bitterness twists inside me, a dangerous seed of distrust blooming into flowing resentment.
Suddenly, a noise catches my attention. There is someone, or something, just around the bend. I can’t see clearly what it is from where I am positioned behind the shrubs, but it sounds like it’s coming from down by the water. Maybe it’s someone with a boat who can give me a ride back to the dock.
I round the corner of the hill and see a small sailboat dragged up on the sandbank below. A man is bent over on the boat, facing away from me. His back is to me, and despite the long black shirt he’s wearing, I can see the muscles of his back tense as he hauls something across the deck. My mouth goes dry as I watchhim. His dark hair falls just against his shoulders, which are also thickly muscular. It is unreasonable for someone to be that defined and attractive. I feel a pang of guilt for checking out this stranger, but it’s quickly dashed when I picture Brody, hands groping, mouth attacking the little blonde waitress.
The man suddenly stands, turning and wiping beaded sweat from his brow. As his face spins, our eyes meet, and my jaw falls open.
“Are you following me?” I shriek as I take in the sight of my coworker standing on the shore below me.
Gabriel Parsons looks up to where I’m standing with my hands on my hips. His cool gaze is fixed intensely on me. Finally, a smirk kicks up at the corner of his mouth.
Smug asshole.
“You’re sneaking up on me. If anyone’s stalking someone, it would appear to be you, Ali.”
“It’s Allison. And I’m not sneaking up on you, I’m lost.”
His throaty laugh is deep and rich like whiskey. It makes my thighs clench slightly and my chest constrict. Why is this man constantly showing up and turning me into a nervous wreck everywhere I go lately?
“Are you asking me to save you, Princess?” he finally asks when he stops chuckling. His eyes bore into me intensely, the blue in his irises swirling dark and deep. Something about it sends a shiver down my spine.
I narrow my eyes at him and glare. The way he spoke has the hairs on the back of my arms standing erect. The nickname triggers something in my mind. A memory placed deep in the recesses of my unconscious mind trying unsuccessfully to surface. I swallow down my unease.
“What are you doing out here, Mr. Parsons?” I ask as I take a subtle step away.
He eyes me curiously for a moment, as if there is somethinginteresting about my gnawing discomfort, before a smirk graces his expression. His simmering intensity dissipates instantly, as if it was never there at all, replaced by the same kind facade he’d shown at work. I wonder if it was just in my mind, the cold and isolation playing a trick on me.
“Taking a leak.”
“Excuse me?” I ask as I try to process what he is saying.
“Peeing. I needed to pee, so I brought the boat up over here to pee, and I was getting ready to head back out when you oh so sweetly approached me.” His tone is light and slightly embarrassed. I feel my own cheeks flush.
Shit. This poor guy is out here just trying to pee, and here I am interrogating him and imagining him threatening me. I need to get my head on straight. The man in my yard,
my wandering husband, my missing coworker—it’s all getting to me.
“Why not just go in the ocean? Isn’t that one of the joys of being a man—peeing wherever you please?” I say before I can stop myself. My cheeks flame quickly as my nervous word vomit spits from between my lips.
“I don’t like peeing in the ocean,” he mumbles as he uncomfortably shrugs his shoulders and rubs the back of his neck.
“Why?” I question.
Damn it. That’s personal. What a strange question to ask a near stranger. Why can’t I just shut my mouth and stop talking?
