Unafraid (Beachwood Bay) Read online

  He sees it in me, what I sometimes can’t even see in myself. That man, who could have anything and anyone, wants me. For some crazy reason, he wants me, and he doesn’t show any signs of quitting yet.

  And for the first time, I realize: maybe I don’t want him to.

  After I take Brit home, I’m wound so tight I spend half an hour standing under the freezing cold shower jets, waiting for my hard-on to subside. It doesn’t help.

  Jesus Christ.

  It took everything I had not to ravage her right there in the stables, to just part her soft, pale thighs and plunge deep inside of her, over and over, until we both were gasping and lost to the world...

  But I can’t. Not yet. No matter how much I want her, or how far she pushes me to the edge. I can’t let myself get carried away and ruin everything in one reckless night.

  I owe her that much. I owe her everything.

  The ranch is too quiet, dangerously still, so I head back down to the stables and set to work cleaning out stalls for the new horses I have arriving this week. It’s tiresome, back-breaking work, the kind of thing one of my stable hands should be doing, but tonight, I welcome the distraction. I lift, and shovel, and sweat, until the darkest part of the night is over, and my body finally aches with something other than wanting her. Only then do I let myself even think of earlier tonight, and the way Brit looked, so goddamn sexy and effortlessly beautiful...

  She tasted like temptation. She felt like an angel. She was my darkest fantasy brought to life: wet and writhing and crying out for me to take her. And God, I wanted her. I thought I’d die, going a single second longer not inside of her.

  So what the hell are you waiting for?

  I catch my breath, sweating hard now from the work. Maybe it’s crazy. I don’t even understand it fully myself. But I know, deep down, that Brit isn’t ready for more.

  Sure, she says she is. Hell, just a few hours ago, she was begging me: her pale skin flushed with desire, so wet against my mouth I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I could have taken her, hard and fast and strong, and she would have loved every damn minute of it.

  But it would have been wrong.

  She wants me, but she doesn’t want to let me in. I can give her pleasure, but I can’t give her trust. No, that I’ve got to earn, day by day, until she’s ready to let me into her bed—and her heart.

  She thinks you’re a good man.

  I close my eyes, waiting for the memories, but it’s not Brit’s naked body that fills my mind. It’s her face: heartbreakingly beautiful, her dark eyes gazing into mine.

  Damn. It’s more powerful than a hundred cold showers, the way she looks at me. Even when we touch, and my desire goes from zero to five thousand in the space of a single heartbeat, it’s enough to keep me hanging on. That look in her eyes, like I’m good, and true, and perfect.

  I want to be that man for her, live up to her dream of me.

  What would she say if she knew the truth?

  No. I can’t think like that.

  I stare out at the dark fields, and feel a deep sense of rightness seep through me, as surprising as it is a blessed relief.

  This is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

  Coming here to Beachwood Bay gave me a direction, but knowing Brit the way I do now has given me something more than that: it’s given me a purpose.

  Because she makes me want to be a better man.

  From the moment I wake up in the morning to the second that sleep claims me at night, she’s always there, in the back of my mind. Reminding me that good things exist in this world, reassuring me that I can feel some hope again. I want so badly to live up to her illusions, be that man she sees in me, even if I can’t see it in myself just yet.

  I want to give her everything, all the things other girls take for granted: every romantic gesture, every sweet word. Right now she doesn’t believe she’s worth a man’s affection, but I’m going to show her she’s wrong.

  She deserves everything. And I’m going to be the one to give it to her.

  Because something’s telling me, if I can do that—put the past behind me once and for all and do my best to be the man she deserves—I won’t just be changing her mind, I’ll be changing mine too.

  It might be the only way I can find through this darkness.

  I finally toss the shovel down and head back to the house, stopping by the kitchen for a beer. But looking at the neon glare of the refrigerator––empty save a couple of six-packs and some leftover takeout––I pause.

  How many of these have I drunk over the last three years? How many nights have I wound up in a wasted haze, just to quiet the guilty whispers in my mind so I could fall into a dreamless sleep?

  Too many times.

  We all found our ways of coping. Mom’s got her society functions, scheduling every last minute in the day with charities and lunches. Dad’s working himself into an early grave at the office, driving Covington Investments to its high as one of the most profitable hedge funds in the country. And me? It was all I could do just the keep it together, numbing myself with beer and partying, stumbling through my time in college on the track they wanted for me, but hating myself every minute all the same.

  I meant what I told them, I’m done with their life. Not just the parties and prestige, but the denial too: downing my guilt and pain in the bottom of another drink instead of facing the shadows head-on. I grab the six-packs, and pop the tabs: pouring them down the sink, one by one, until there’s nothing left. No crutch to dull my pain, no easy way out of this. Done. I slowly climb the stairs up to the loft bedroom and strip off my jeans and shirt, falling back onto the bed. I’m wide awake, too damn alert, and without the beer haze lulling me under, the memories come flooding back. Of Jace, and that summer, and Brit. Always Brit…

  3 years ago…

  “You made it!” The party is already loud and buzzing when we hit the beach on the outskirts of town. A bonfire blazes in the firepit, and maybe fifty kids are drinking beers and dancing to the sound of the rock songs pumping through the speakers someone hooked up to their jeep. It’s the last night of the summer season, and Beachwood is sending it out in style.

  “What did you do, rob a liquor store?” One of the guys takes in our haul.

  Jace laughs, unloading our stash of six-packs and bottled beer. “Help yourselves.” he tells them, “Plenty to go around!”

  “Sweet.” They grab some, greeting me and Jace with fist-bumps and back-slaps as we move through the crowd.

  “Way to buy us some favor,” I murmur to Jace, amused.

  “Give the people what they want and they’ll love you forever.” he winks.

  And the people love Jace. When we first dropped by these beach bonfire hangouts at the start of summer, most of the kids gave us a wary side-eye. We’re outsiders, after all, and worse than that: rich summer kids. But they didn’t count on my big brother, and soon enough Jace had them eating out of the palm of his hand with free beers and his effortless charm. Nobody can withstand his good nature for long, not even suspicious townies.

  We reach a spot in the sand with a prime view of the party. Jace pops the top on a cold one and hands it to me. “Last night in town, little brother,” he says, surveying the scene. “It’s now or never.”

  “For what?” I ask, feeling the beer buzz work its way into my system. I needed this—to get away for one last night. Mom and Dad are already talking about my class schedule for the fall, and all the clubs and activities they expect me to take as the newest Covington ambassador at Yale. I thought that college would be a fresh start for me, some kind of freedom, but already I can see, it’s just going to be the same old story in a new town.

  “For your waitress,” Jace replies, pointing across the sunset beach.

  I see her there in the crowd, and I stop.

  Brittany Ray.

  I’ve been watching her all summer. I can’t help it. Something about that girl just screams out to be noticed. It’s not her crazy dyed hair,
or her mismatched, funky outfits. It’s something deeper than that, the furious challenge in her eyes.

  Danger.

  I’m not crazy. I know that girl is trouble through and through. So despite everything in me screaming to go say ‘hi’ every time our paths cross in town, I’ve managed to stay away, keep my distance. But here she is again: dancing in the firelight in a flimsy red dress, her dark hair falling, choppy in her eyes. Walking temptation.

  “I’m telling you, man up.” Jace punches my arm. “Go give her a beer. I’m sick of watching you drool every time she comes around.”

  “It’s not like that.” I argue weakly.

  Jace just shakes his head. “You’ve got to make that move sometime.” he teases. “Or one of these guys will beat you to it. Huh,” he adds, glancing back across the beach. “Looks like someone already has.”

  I try to play it cool, but I can’t help turning back to check out what he means. That’s when I see the two guys moving in on Brit. They’ve got her trapped between them, thrusting and horsing around. Even in the dim light of the fire, I can tell, she’s not laughing.

  Before I can think about it, I’m starting through the crowd towards them.

  “Back off!”

  I hear her protest as I approach them. “Get your hands off me.” Brit shoves at one of the guys, but he just catches her around her waist, pulling her in against him.

  “What do you say?” the meathead slurs to his buddy. He’s wearing an outsize football shirt, a red band of sunburn across the back of his thick neck. “Think she can handle the two of us?”

  “Fuck yeah.” He grabs Brit’s ass. “You like it crazy, don’t you, slut?”

  I see red.

  Without a word, I pull him around and smash him across the jaw, my fist connecting with bone in a satisfying crack.

  Someone screams, and then his buddy shoves Brit aside and comes charging at me. He lowers his head and tackles me hard, but I haven’t spent three years blocking on the football team for nothing. By the time we hit the ground, I’ve twisted on top of him: raining sharp punches down on his face and neck until an arm comes down around my throat and yanks me back up.

  I wheel around, breathing heavily. It’s the first guy, with a bloody nose now and murder in his eyes. He punches me hard in the stomach before I have time to brace.

  Fuck.

  The pain smashes through me, and I stumble back, bent double. I try to recover to meet the blows I know are coming, but before the guy can follow up, Jace is on him, yanking him back from me in an iron-grip headlock.

  “Enough!” Jace orders.

  “Are you kidding? He started it! He’s fucking crazy!” The guy yells, still swinging. Jace doesn’t budge.

  “And you’re an asshole, but here we are.” Jace looks over at the guy I left on the ground, now groaning on his hands and knees. “You OK?” Jace calls out.

  “I’m going to fuck you up!” The guy splutters, then spits out a mouthful of blood.

  “Sure you could.” Jace rolls his eyes, before continuing in an even voice. “But then I’d have to pile in, it would get out of hand, someone would call the cops. We don’t want that. How about I get you guys some beers, and we call it quits? Hunter will behave, won’t you bro?”

  I growl, fists still clenched at my sides.

  Jace gives me a warning look. If Douche and Douchier’s buddies pile on, we’ll be way outnumbered. “Fine.” I answer through gritted teeth. “I’m done.”

  “See? Go walk it off.” Jace orders me, helping the other guy from the ground. “Try that way,” he adds meaningfully, jerking his head towards the shore.

  That’s when I realize, Brit is nowhere to be seen. While we were fighting over here, punches flying, she just walked away.

  I don’t give the guys another look. I take off in the direction Jace is pointing, down along the shoreline until the party is way behind us and I can see the dark shadow ahead of me.

  “Brit!” I call. “Brit, wait up.”

  She turns.

  I catch up, my stomach still bruised and screaming from that guy’s punch. “You weren’t even going to stick around and see if I was OK?” I ask.

  Brit glares. “I didn’t ask you to come flying in and rescue me.” Her tone is bitter. “I had it handled.”

  “Didn’t look like it from where I was standing.” I bridle.

  “Yeah, well maybe you shouldn’t have been looking in the first place.” Brit’s expression is angry, but there’s something else there too, a haunting sadness in her eyes.

  I exhale. “Hey. I’m sorry, that came out wrong,” I tell her softly. “I just couldn’t stand to see them treat you like that.”

  “Maybe I liked it,” Brit shoots back, sarcastic. “Maybe you just screwed up the wild night I had planned with the both of them.”

  “Hey, what did I ever do to you?” I demand, finally pissed. “I was trying to do a nice thing back there, and you’re trying to rip my head off.”

  There’s a beat, and then Brit drops her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She says quietly. “You’re right, you didn’t deserve that. Thanks.” She turns and walks away.

  I catch up, falling into step beside her. “Where are you heading?” I ask. “You shouldn’t be wandering alone after dark like this.”

  A tiny smile tugs at the edge of Brit’s mouth. “It’s Beachwood Bay,” she point out in an amused voice. “What’s someone going to do, smother me to death in coastal charm?”

  I don’t point out that there are worse things lurking in the dark—especially with guys like those locals drunk and on edge. “Where are you heading?” I ask instead. “I’ll walk you.”

  “Nowhere, it’s fine.” Brit folds her arms, and I notice that she’s shivering from the breeze.

  I tug off my hoodie and drape it over her shoulders. “What a coincidence,” I say, “I’m heading nowhere too.”

  “You?” Brit smirks. “You’re heading straight to Yale. And then the White House, if what they say is true.”

  My heart plummets. I figured she must have heard of me; after all, Beachwood is such a small town. Still, hearing my résumé reeled off like that makes me feel the same way I do whenever my parents push me forward to introduce me, like my background and achievements are the only thing anyone needs to know about me.

  I wanted to be more than just a Covington with her. And if the look in her eyes is anything to go by, maybe Brit wants to be more than just her reputation too.

  I get a flash of inspiration. “I don’t think we’ve met,” I say, offering my hand with an exaggerated gesture. “I’m Bob. Bob Smith.”

  A giggle slips from Brit’s perfect lips. “Bob?” she repeats.

  “Sure,” I agree, keeping my hand out. “And you are...?”

  Brit looks at me cautiously for a moment, as if she’s deciding something. Then, finally, her face relaxes in playful smile that knocks the breath from my lungs harder than that townie’s punch.

  “I’m Susie,” she says.

  Fuck. I scramble for words. “A pleasure to meet you, Susie.”

  Brit tilts her head at me, inviting. Dangerous. “You busy, Bob?”

  I shake my head. Hell, I’d break my plans with the Devil himself, if it meant spending another minute with her.

  “Come on,” Brit hold out her hand. “There’s someplace I want to show you.”

  I sleep better than I have in weeks, lost in a blissful haze of memories from the night we first met. Sweet. Innocent. Safe. But when I wake up the next morning, the fresh images come slamming back into my brain: Hunter, the stables, what he said to me on the porch…

  I force them aside and go downstairs to make coffee. It’s early, and I’ve got a whole day to kill before my shift at the bar. Part of me just wants to go back up to bed and replay my night with Hunter in glorious, Technicolor detail, but the other half of me knows that would only lead me further down a dangerous path.

  Don’t get your hopes up, Brit. Haven’t you learned by now?


  I reach to pour my coffee, then stop. My wrists are red: a delicate web of bruises cutting across the skin where, last night, the leather bridle bound me tight.

  I flush, a surge of heat spiraling down my body.

  No. I force myself to look away, chasing the hot, dirty images from my mind. I can’t get caught up in desire, not with my heart on the line here: a ticking time-bomb, just waiting to destroy everything I’ve worked so hard to keep safe.

  I take my coffee into the living room, and settle in with my sketches, but after sitting for twenty minutes staring at a blank page, I let out a groan of frustration. The dress is the furthest thing from my mind, and every time I pick up my pencils and try to conjure up a vision of the cut and folds, it’s Hunter’s face I see instead. The chiseled line of his jaw, the vivid blue in his eyes.

  The ripples of power in his muscles, looming over you. Dominating you…

  My phone rings, breaking through my fantasy. I snatch it up, eager for the distraction.

  “Hey Brit-Brit,” The voice on the other end of the line is a welcome relief.

  “Hey Jules.” I let out a sigh of thanks, sitting back in the chair. “What’s up?”

  “Your brother’s driving me crazy, that’s what’s up.” Juliet laughs, and a moment later, I hear Emerson’s voice in the background. “Hey, hands off!” Juliet tells him, muffled. “This is girl talk, get out of here.”

  There’s laughter, and then a moment later, Juliet’s voice is back. “Sorry about that. Em says ‘hi’, he can’t talk right now, he’s doing dishes. Or at least, he is if he knows what’s good for him!” That last part is louder, clearly directed at him.

  I smile, comforted by the sound of their happiness. I can just picture them, bickering in their new apartment in the city. “Is he good?” I ask.

  “He’s great,” Juliet replies, her voice full of affection. “We found a space that might work for a restaurant. It’s right downtown, in kind of bad shape, but Em thinks we can fix it up, no problem.”

  “That’s awesome,” I exclaim.

  “We’ll see,” Juliet hedges, her cautious nature coming out. “But what about you? How have you been?”