Vital Sign (14 page)

“We’ll see about that!” I smile at him
, feeling so damn girly. It’s disgustingly sweet.

And
incredible.

***

Eight holes into the nine-hole course, it’s blatantly obvious that I suck at mini golf. Badly. So. So. Badly. Zander has had to hunt down my ball in the landscaping three different times. The only upside to my severe lack of skill with the putter has been Zander’s laughter. He’s been in stitches nonstop as he traipses off to retrieve the golf balls that have made their way into various bushes.

He bends over and places the ball on the green at hole nine
for me. I’m so glad this part of the day is about to be over. I’m a sore loser. I’ll admit it.

“Need lessons in putt-putt,” I mumble
, doing my best to “visualize the putt,” as Zander suggested.
What the fuck does that even mean
? He might as well have been speaking Greek. I nodded, then missed the shot so many times I snatched up the ball, marched right over to the hole, and dropped it in. Zander, of course, doubled over laughing. It was worth missing the shot. All eight of them.

“Well
, if you need lessons…” he says from behind me in a deep voice that seems to caress every inch of me.

I turn my attention to him. All laughter has ebbed
away. A lusty look has filled his eyes and my stomach flutters delectably. “I guess I do,” I mumble, barely loud enough for him to hear.

He leans his putter against the hand rail beside him and steps up behind me. “Don’t think.
Just feel.” His breath sweeps across the shell of my ear, making me want to say “huh” just so he has to repeat himself. His defined body moves close up against my backside. I have to fight my natural reflex to push back against him. His hands grip me by the shoulders and squeeze my muscles almost like a massage. His hands run down my arms from behind, effectively encasing me in him, my much smaller frame like a shadow beneath his. His fingers wrap gingerly around my hands and make adjustments to my grip as he goes. One hand falls away, splaying across my sternum just beneath my bra. I gasp at the intimate touch. Zander rights my posture and then runs his hand down my back. He taps his fingers low on my inner thigh, motioning for me to spread my legs a little. I adjust myself with his help. All the while he’s holding his other hand over both of mine, still gripping the putter.

“A little goes along way,” he breathes into my ear, this time much closer. So much closer that I’ve forgotten the damn golf and hole nine and the world. His hand joins
my two and his one on the grip of the putter. He squeezes gently. I close my eyes and end up holding my breath. The putter swings back then forward almost like a porch swing. No stopping. Just one fluid movement. I open my eyes just in time to see the wretched ball drift easily over the AstroTurf, slowing as it nears the cup then falls in with a “plink.”

Zander takes the putter from me
, sets it with his, and turns me to face him. “So simple you don’t even have to try. Just gotta let it happen.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Because it is.”

My own guilty conscience rears her ugly head
, snapping me out of my Zander-coma. Images of Jake flit through my mind and it’s a slap in the face. I step away from Zander, disappointed in myself not just for my internal tug-of-war but for wanting him so badly that I can nearly taste him. Zander makes no response to my sudden retreat. He just eyes me carefully, which only heightens my disappointment. This isn’t fair to him either. It’s not fair to Jake at all, but Zander doesn’t deserve this tension, this desire then a cold shoulder, but I just can’t go there with him. It’s wrong. 

“I know you feel this.” His words are simple but weighted. Zander steps closer to me. “You feel it like I feel it.”

I swallow hard searching my brain for the right move. A subtle nod is all I can come up with.

“Tell me. Say it,” he orders in a voice laced with pleading.

I can’t refuse him. I don’t want to refuse him. I’m so confused. So mixed up. So lost. “I feel it.”

“Tell me you want this like I do.”

“I want it.”

“Please don’t go back to Atlanta yet.”

“I’m not going. Not yet.” I make my promise and look closely at Zander. I see myself in him, I think. I know how lonely I am most of the time and it occurs to me that Zander is lonely too. I know the look. I know how it feels and it seems that when I’m talking to him, when I’m near him, the companionship that passes between the two of us is medicating. He pacifies a pain that being alone has brought me and I think I give him the same. Or something like it.

“Want to have lunch at my place?” Zander’s voice is still lusty and pleading. He makes me want to give him everything I can’t if it
means it will make him smile.

“As long as you don’t try to feed me enchilada casserole.” I give him a small smile
, hoping that it will please him like his smile pleases me. If my suspicions are even anywhere close to correct, then earning a smile from someone like him, like me, is definitely pleasing. It’s a small victory in a war against the worst parts of life.

Zander’s hand closes around mine and pulls me toward the parking lot. He doesn’t say anything and neither do I. I try hard to focus on him instead of my same old demons. I find myself wondering why he
’s so alone down here in his beach house. I don’t understand why he wants to be so closed off to the world. I can understand the need for isolation, though. Who needs to be around people when the crowd of thoughts in your head keeps you pretty busy? 

Zander stops in his tracks
, causing me to stop too. I look up at him to see his nostrils flaring. His jaw is tight and his eyes are brimming with anger. I follow his gaze to find him staring at a shiny black Lincoln parked across the lot from where his Jeep is sitting. Zander squeezes my hand in his then releases me.

“Stay right here, Sadie. Right here,” he reiterates in a serious, dominating sort of tone.

I can’t do anything but nod. I watch him stride quickly over to the vehicle. I can barely see the window roll down around Zander’s frame. He braces his palms against the top of the window and leans down to talk to whoever is in there. I can’t see who it is. Zander lifts one hand from the top of the window and it looks like he’s jabbing his finger at whoever is in the car.

“What the hell?” I mumble just as Zander turns on his heels and
marches back in my direction. The window begins sliding up and I catch sight of a man in a suit just before he disappears behind the dark tint.

“C’mon,” Zander huffs out
, taking my hand in his again.

“What was that?” I ask without hesitation
, glancing back over my shoulder one more time as he pulls me to the Jeep. If Zander is involved in something shady, I refuse to have any part of it. He doesn’t seem like the criminal type, but how in the world do you explain that gangster-looking shit that just happened in the parking lot of a place called Adventure Island? It’s not like we were at the grocery store or a bar or something and just happened to run into someone he knows. No. Whoever that person was, they came to find Alexander McBride.

“No one. It’s nothing,
” he grumbles with his jaw still tight, displaying a ticking muscle that tells me that it was definitely
something
.

He helps me in his
Jeep and stalks around to his side. He slides into his seat and the Jeep revs to life. I glance across to him. I can see him taking deep breaths. He’s trying to calm down.

“Zander, I don’t care what you have going on with whoever that was
, but I won’t be caught up in anything illegal or anything.”

The wrinkle between his knit brows relaxes and a small smile lifts the edge of his mouth.

“You think I’m some kind of criminal?” he asks, not doing anything to hide to amusement in his eyes.

“Well…” I shrug
, looking around and trying to think of something to say.

“No
, Sadie. It’s nothing for you to worry about. I promise.”

“Okay,” I say softly
, catching Zander looking nervous. And it is. It’s okay. I don’t know why he’s nervous and I don’t know what the hell the deal was with the black car, but I trust him. I don’t have any reason to and I don’t know exactly why I should trust him, but I feel more safe in his company than I’ve felt since the night that ruined my life. I feel safe and not nearly as lonely as I normally do.

My eyes face forward and I watch as his
Jeep eats up the road ahead of us. Thoughts of going home at some point enter my mind and I don’t like it. At all. Knowing that Zander, the man who got Jake’s heart, is down here all alone is an unwelcome fact. What if something happened and he needed help? Who would be there? A chill runs through me when I think about something awful happening to him. I’d lose him
and
Jake all over again. That heart that I loved to listen to, with my ear pressed to Jake’s chest, would be gone forever, and Zander, a familiar stranger who has captured my affections so easily would be gone too. He’d be another person to mourn. He’d leave and take my Jake’s heart with him on his way out. Sudden tears sting my eyes and I fight hard to keep them at bay. I’m so tired of fighting. The lighter side of life is so much better than the fighting side.

April 23, 2013

My br
akes creak as I stop and engage the parking brake. I kill the engine and get out. I want to run to her, but I use the short walk around the Jeep as an opportunity to watch her, to gauge her expression. She looks like she’s on the fucking verge of tears and it’s my fault. She’s upset about what she
thinks
she saw. I swear I could go back right now, find those motherfuckers, and rip out their windpipes for coming around to spook her and fucking snoop.

I get to her and want nothing more than to bring her close to me. I want to press her body to mine until whatever hurt is somehow expunged from her and transferred to me.

I refrain from being too forward. I lift her worrying hands from her lap and help her out. I enfold her small hand in mine and try hard to keep myself together. “Sadie, what’s wrong?”

“I-I just—
it’s nothing. Really.” Her eyes flit from me then to the ground then to the side.

I look at her
disbelievingly and wait, hoping that she’ll open up a little, that she’ll trust me enough with her pain. I hope she’ll share some of it with me and trust that I won’t judge her or hurt her and think any less of who she is. I make it a point to convey what I’m thinking with my eyes. I keep them on her. I focus on her. “Tell me. Please.”

“I was just thinking that you’re here alone. And…if something happened to you… Who takes care of you?” she asks
as she takes my hand and steps out of the Jeep.

She has no idea
that her words have caused my gut to flip. A feeling of optimism fills my chest, reminding me just how long it’s been since I’ve had anything worth looking forward to or worth being hopeful for. In the time span of just one week, Sadie has changed everything for me. She gives me hope. She gives me something to go after. She gives my lonely life reason. From the very minute that her email showed up in my inbox, my interest was piqued. An urge deep inside of me was born and it has no off switch.   

“Well…you’re here,” I whisper
, bringing her closer to me and battling my urge to take her to my room and drown that sadness in her eyes with everything that I’ve got to give. There’s so much that I want to do to her, say to her, give to her, but I’m afraid of spooking her. She’s like a scared animal. She needs small moves.

I’m not sure what to say
other than that. She’s here. If I had it my way, I’d have her here every day. All the time. I wish I could tell her more, but I can’t.

I can’t tell her that she’s the first person in two years that I’
ve wanted to be around, much less invite into my home. I can’t tell her that I ran away from my life back in Atlanta because of what happened. I can’t tell her who I am. I can’t tell her that when I came out of the bathroom yesterday to find that she’d left already, my first instinct was to panic, that I had to force myself to wait a few hours before taking her room key back to her.

I had thought about her walking alone back to Miss Dawn’s place and I flew down my steps three separate times, stopping myself each time. I was worried about someone following her. I was worried that if there was a reporter waiting for an opportunity to catch a picture or two, that my presence with her would only throw her to the wolves.
She’s running from life back home just like I am. I can’t drag her into my nightmare. I don’t know how I expect to do it, but I’ll protect her from my life back in Atlanta and hers too. 

When she left yesterday
, I wanted nothing more than to find a way to get her back to my house, and it wasn’t just because of my cock. I don’t fully understand it, but I want her here. I want her safe. I can’t lie and say that I don’t have selfish motives too. I do. She’d left yesterday and after I decided on staying put for a few hours, I found myself sitting at my computer and googling “Sadie Parker + Atlanta.”

Multiple search results popped up. Newspaper articles about her and her husband, the fallen police officer. I skipped over those articles
, deciding that my nerves were way to fucking frayed to read about what happened to her. The thought of her being hurt in any way made my blood boil. I found a link to her social media page and clicked on that. I was routed to a page that was obviously abandoned. The privacy settings let me scroll through everything freely. Condolence after condolence cluttered her page. It took me a while but I finally found her last post.

Starla
Winters has flown the coop again. Crazy cat! If any of you in the neighborhood see Her Majesty out and about please call or just swing by. Thanks, friends!

“
Starla?” I muttered to myself. What the fuck kind of name is that for a cat? Sounds like a stripper that I fucked in the VIP room once. I scrunched up my eyebrows trying to remember her name. “Starla? Sharla? Scarla? Scarlet? Charlotte? Fuck.” They all sounded familiar, if I was being honest. I’d seen my fair share of bare asses and legs spread wide to accommodate me.

I clicked on her profile picture
and her face filled my computer screen. My breath caught up in my throat at the sight of a woman smiling wide for the camera. Her chocolate brown eyes were lit up like I had imagined they would. The Sadie Parker that I met on the beach was a distant cousin to the woman on my screen. Both of them were stunning, but somehow Sadie’s grief made her even more gorgeous to me.

Growing warmth dragged my eyes from admiring the woman on my screen. I glanced down at myself feeling like a much bigger piece of shit for having a hard on while looking at her picture. My cock twitched and throbbed in my shorts. The sensation was hard to ignore.

I stood from my desk, taking one more look back at Sadie on my screen and made my way to my bathroom. It had been so long since I’d done it. Even longer since I’d been buried in the hot, tight wetness of a woman.

I grab
bed what I needed from the bathroom without looking at myself in the mirror. I still felt like a bag of dicks for doing it, but I couldn’t resist. I needed that release. I dropped my shorts and sat on the edge of my bed. My cock was rock hard and jolted subtly in sync with my pulse. I put the lubricant in the palm of my hand and curled my fingers around myself. My eyes slipped shut and I shuddered. I took one tentative stroke from the tip of my cock all the way down to my balls, where my other hand was massaging them. My next breath came as a hiss. My hand was hot, but not nearly as hot as the inside of a woman. My grip tightened around my cock. Strokes became faster and shorter. My jaw clenched shut. I could feel my cock get harder and swell. My shoulders quaked. My abdomen flexed tightly and my hips thrust forward, looking for a woman.

Looking for Sadie.

Hot spurts of cum jetted from the tip of my cock. I jolted and quivered then sunk down onto my bed, trying hard to catch my breath.

I had expected that getting myself off would be what I wanted, what I needed
, but the second that I came down from the momentary high of release, I felt even needier than before. I wanted so badly to see her there with me. It’s Sadie that I wanted to be buried in, not my fucking hand. I wanted to see her beneath me, safe and cared for. I wanted to care for her body like I want to care for her heart. Careful, devoted, focused, undivided. I wanted to watch her fall apart beneath me in hopes that maybe I can help her feel a little more
together
. I wanted to watch her watching me as I spilled into her.

I had
only made myself even hungrier for the one widow that is the most wrong to want.

I want her body. I want her mind. I want her heart. In many ways
, I feel like it’s already mine to claim. In my sick fucking head I feel like Sadie Parker has always been mine for the taking, like she was made for me, intended for me.

The realization that I want her, all of her
, only makes my guilt grow exponentially. I’ll just have to find a way to get the hell over that. I don’t want anything standing in the way of me claiming Sadie. Not my family. Not my past. Not her past. Not the reporters or tabloids. Not the string of scorned women that I’ve left behind me. Not even morals and values. The entire world can go right to hell. As long as I have Sadie, I don’t give a shit.

***

We’ve been on my balcony looking out over the ocean for hours now. With a makeshift picnic for us to pick at, we haven’t had to go very far except for to get a drink or use the bathroom. Sadie seems to like it most right where she’s at. She’s sitting beside me in one of my wicker chairs with a fleece throw draped around her shoulders and a glass of wine in her hand.

She
’s spent most of our time out here looking out at the water. I’ve spent most of it looking at her. She’s been slowly offering up little details about her life the more relaxed she gets. The wine may be to thank for that. I wish I could reciprocate, but I can’t. I can’t even think about all of my secrets much less speak them out loud to Sadie. She’d run and I wouldn’t blame her. They’re my goddamn secrets and even
I
run from them.

“Jake wrote a letter for me to read
,” she says with a sigh. “Before he died, he wrote this letter and I’m too afraid to read it so it stays in my purse.”

“Don’t you think you should read it
?” I’m quick to reply. “I mean, it’s been two years, right?”

“Well—yeah—I guess I should
, but it’s easier said than done, Zander.”

“No. I know. I didn’t mean it like that. I—shit
, Sadie. I’m an asshole. Sorry.”

She stays quiet for a long time. She’s thinking about her beloved husband and I’m thinking about the fact that I’m a fucking asshole.

“I just think that maybe it’s time to read the letter. Maybe it would help
, you know?” I add, sounding desperate.

“My parents brought me and my sister here when we were kids.
” She finally breaks the silence and I’m relieved to hear her change the topic. “I remember building things in the sand and searching all over the beach for sand dollars. I looked and looked and never found one. I was so devastated. Thought it was the end of the world that I wouldn’t have one to show Jake when we got home. Seems dumb now, right?” she asks, bringing her deep brown eyes up to meet mine, a wry smile tilting up one side of her mouth.

“It’s not dumb,” I answer
, never breaking eye contact. I hate that she’s so broken. Every territorial, protective male instinct in my body is screaming at me to guard her. To make her better. To help her. Somehow.

“
I’ve known Jake since kindergarten. We grew up together.”

I say nothing
, hoping that she’ll go on.

“
When Jake would hug me, he used to twirl my hair at the nape of my neck with one hand. The other would rub up and down my spine. It was light. Barely there.” She sighs breathily. “I think it was more for him than it was for me. It was his thing, something that made him feel safe. He never told me that, but I knew that’s what it was.” She laughs ruefully, staring out at the water, so broken and so beautiful at the same time.

“What
makes you feel safe?” I ask.

She seems perplexed by my question. Her brows draw up
, creating that little wrinkle that I always want to smooth away. “I haven’t felt safe in a long time, Zander.” The way she makes her admission tugs at my heart. She looks so ashamed and sad. “But…I kind of feel safe here.” She shrugs and looks toward the lighthouse. A little stain of pink colors her cheeks and I feel like I’ve just won the goddamn PGA.

“If you could have anything in the world right now, at this very second, what would it be?”
I ask, knowing that I’d give just about everything right now to know what would make her happy. If it’s something I can do, I will. I owe her that.

“To turn back the hands of time
,” she says, looking at me with one eye squinted in the setting sunlight. “Even if I was told that it was just temporary, that for sixty seconds I could go back, I would. I’d go back.” She nods again, sure of her answer.

“What would you do?”
I pry a little, hoping that she’ll open up to me just a little.

“I’d let Jake hold me. I’d let him kiss me and I’d soak it in so that when I had to lose him again, I’d be able to do it knowing that I soaked up everything that I could. Just to feel him again…”

It hurts. Fuck, that hurts, but what hurts more is seeing Sadie with that much sadness in her eyes. I want to help her. I want to fix it all for her. I can’t. I know that, but I can think of one thing that might give her some peace. Even if it’s only temporary, it’s worth it. She’s worth swallowing my pride for now.

I get to my feet and ease up to her. Her lost brown eyes peer up at me. There’s fear and trepidation in her eyes and I’m careful not to make her more uncomfortable than she already is. I hold out my hand and wait for her to take it.

Her soft palm glides across mine and I tug lightly so that she stands.

“Close your eyes, Sadie,
” I demand softly, careful not to scare her.

“
Zan— ” A wild look begins to fill her eyes and I know I have to shut that down.