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Freezing water closes over my calves and rushes up my thighs. My silk skirt is soaked in seconds, but I keep going. Before I can throw myself headlong into the Atlantic, strong, implacable arms seize my waist.

“Let me go!” I grab his wrists, desperately trying to dislodge his hold.

“Fuck no. What the hell is wrong with you?” He raises me clear of the water as a strong wave hurls into us. He curses and struggles to keep his footing and me from landing in the water.

Still clutching me in his arms, he walks us backward toward dry land.

Tears prickle my eyes, fill them and begin to spill down my cheeks. I keep my head bent. I don’t want him to see my despair and shame.

He doesn’t. He’s too busy cursing and striding to the outdoor shower near the steps leading up to Zach and Beth’s house.

I’m not exactly lightweight, but he carries me as if I weigh nothing, his steps sure and confident in the sand. He reaches the shower and places me on my feet, one hand clamped around my waist to keep me there while he switches on the jets and waits for the water to warm up.

I can feel him staring at me, but I keep my head down, for the first time in my life almost afraid to look another human being in the eye.

God, what’s wrong with me?

That’s what he asked me, and what I’ve asked myself most of my life.

Foolish question, really. I know exactly what’s wrong with me.

I did the unforgivable six years ago. And unlike the fairy tales expound, time doesn’t heal all wounds. It makes it worse. Time bloats the pain, feeds it until you’re one huge walking piece of agony.

“You react like this every time a guy tells you he’s interested in you?” Gone is the amusement in Rusty’s tone. Instead his voice is hard, almost sinister. I feel the bite in it slash over my skin, as if his voice is a living abrasive brush.

“I told you to leave me alone.”

“So what, you could drown yourself? A little selfish on your part, don’t you think?” he snarls.

My head snaps up, tears forgotten. “Excuse me?”

“You pick today of all days, at your supposed best friend’s engagement party, to drown yourself?”

I breathe in slowly, not sure whether the emotion moving through me is anger or humiliation or a combination of both. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are but?—”

“It doesn’t really matter who I am. What matters is that you understand that if you want to pull a shitty stunt like this, you can fucking wait until tomorrow to do it. There are two people up there who’ve been through hell and back—one of whom is supposed to be your goddamn friend—who deserve not to have their night fucked up because you’re drunk and a little sad that your poor sex life is in the toilet.”

Anger. Definitely anger. “Who the fuck do you think?—”

“Get in.” He cuts across me, dropping his right hand to his side after testing the water temperature.

“No,” I return coldly, reminded all over again why I detest domineering men.

He doesn’t say a word. In the next second, I’m lifted off my feet and placed beneath the hot spray. Welcoming warmth cascades over me, and I realize how cold I am. But I’m too angry to appreciate the heat.

Hell, I’m incandescent.

Before I can say a word, he steps in with me and crowds me against the marble tiles. I gasp and raise my head to find his eyes—a deep hazel that appears almost dark gold in the soft lights placed around the shower—narrowed, his gaze daring me to do anything other than what he wants.

I push his chest. Hard.

He doesn’t budge. Just stares at me like I’m a puny fly and he’s a fucking mountain. Which, I guess, he is. It dawns on me how big he is. Well over six foot three to my five six. Normally, my heels lend me a good four inches of confidence. But I came out here barefoot. And I have a giant in front of me.

A giant with a chest built to stop tornados in their tracks. Or a stupid woman intent on ruining his friend’s engagement party. That’s what his gaze tells me.

I push harder.

His hands capture mine, holding them prisoner against his chest. I blink at him through the water cascading down my face and glare harder.