Page 67 of True Abandon

“Good.” She sighs in relief. “He’s so excited. It’s scary.”

I lean in with a smile. “It’ll be fine. Have a good time at the bonfire, screw his brains out, and you’ll feel better.”

Lani laughs, and it causes me to join in, too. We’re both lost in the moment when the sliding glass doors to the pool area open.

Wearing his hot pink, hibiscus bathing suit, giant flip flops, and a snorkel pushed up onto of his head is Jax—sopping wet, fresh off the bay.

His large feet make slapping sounds on the marble. His fist is clenched, and his eyes are so damn determined I have a hard time keeping mine off of them.

He walks up and slams his hand on the countertop. When he lifts it, my rose pendant and chain remain on the desk with water droplets all around it.

I look up from the pendant and back to him. He doesn’t say anything—just stares at me. His face is flush, and his eyes are widening despite his furrowed brow. The way his lips part slightly as he looks at me indicates I have the answer to his unasked question. And then the features of his face soften as he conveys a message his mouth cannot. It’s not harsh nor one of hate or trickery or anger or confusion.

It’s a simple message.

He’s still here.

I inhale a shaky breath with my mouth slightly agape. I can’t do anything but match Jax stare for stare, breath for breath.

Without another word, he turns around and walks toward the elevator. As he walks away, the bright red of his back from spending the day in the bay looking for a necklace appears, and it looks painful.

There are guests around, each watching the strange sight of a man, covered in tattoos, walk through a hotel wearing snorkel gear and leaving a trail of water in his wake.

And all I can do is look down at my necklace in disbelief that he found it.

…

“May I come in?” I knock on the door of Jax’s suite and wait for him to answer.

When he does, he’s wearing nothing but a white bath towel around his waist. From the front, I get a spectacular view of the dragon, all brightly colored in hues of green and purple with the red and orange flames bursting from its angry mouth.

He turns from the door, and I get another glimpse at the ink on his back—the dragon’s wings still vibrant beneath the sunburn.

“I brought you some medicine.” I hold up the bottle in proof I came bearing gifts.

“Thanks.” He nods to the table by the door, his look a mix of hopefulness and despair. I can’t take it, so I motion toward the couch.

“Lay down,” I command.

“You can just leave it—”

“Just do what you’re told for once.”

He obeys my orders and walks to the sofa.

I kneel down beside him, open the bottle, and squirt some on his skin.

“Ah, cold!” He bares his teeth, and I quickly apologize.

“Rookie mistake.” I put more lotion in my hands and then rub them together, warming it up before gently caressing his back.

My hand glides over the rippling muscles, and I feel every divot and glide up to his wide shoulders. I don’t want to aggravate the burn, so I put more lotion on my hands before I travel down his spine, and to his sides, feeling the way his waist narrows with two indents at the base.

Up and down I allow myself to roam the landscape of his back, the place where he’s carried years of burden.

“You were just a kid,” I whisper. My fingers tracing the dragon’s wings and then the feathers that span its width. “You didn’t know what you were doing.”

“Trish…” He starts but doesn’t say anything more.