Page 50

I was still that person. Always would be.
The clock was ticking down on how long the veneer of who I was pretending to be while in Jupiter lasted.
That’s why I had to leave Rowan’s house—because I swore I could hear the fucker ticking, taunting me with how little time I had left to hide.
Again, though the small-town life afforded little to do in the evenings, any one of my friends or family would’ve welcomed me without question if I showed up on their doorstep.
But that would be intruding on family time, showing weakness.
Instead, I went to Shaw Shack, as ifthatwasn’t showing incredible weakness and lack of self-restraint.
Yet I couldn’t stop myself. Even with the shadow of Jasper’s potentially violent interference hanging over me. At any moment, I could’ve done the right thing, reversed my car from the spot I’d found right out front. Turned around as I strutted down the path to the door or grasped the anchor on the handle.
Yet I didn’t. Do the right thing. Because I wasn’t wired that way. Because I was selfish and greedy and desperate for someone who made me feel safe.
The restaurant was busy, with almost every table filled up, music playing softly. Somehow, the large room wasn’t an echo chamber with all of the patrons in it.
A few heads turned in my direction as I passed, as was the norm in small-town establishments. Plus, I wasn’t dressed for a casual beach bar. Despite the bright summer evening, I was wearing black. Black skirt, silk blouse and heels. My hair was pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of my neck, diamonds in my ears and makeup slathered over my face, eyeliner sharpening my eyes.
I was clinging to my uniform, my armor, the last pieces I had from my New York identity— a powerful, take no shit woman. I liked that the way I presented myself set me apart from everyone here. It was a reminder that I didn’t belong. I needed reminding of that. That my being here was temporary. My life in Jupiter and certainly my presence in Elliot Shaw’s life.
One more time. That’s what I promised myself. If only to confirm that it couldn’t have been as good as it was in my memory. One more time to hoard that feeling of safety.
Though he was busy, Elliot’s eyes found me before I even perched myself on the one remaining empty barstool. They traced up and down my body with a hungry heat that almost made my step stutter and my core flutter with unadulteratedneed. He grinned knowingly as I approached, and I hated that I wanted to smile back. Smiling at men was against my moral code.
I got on the stool then waited for him to finish making the drink he was busy with. His hands worked with purpose and ease, the muscles of his forearms moving fluidly. He smiled at the person he delivered the drink to, then leaned over to the other bartender, murmuring something before he made his way over to me.
He was grinning from ear to ear. And again, that authentic, genuine smile had my heart doing somersaults.
“I’m surprised to see you here.” He rested his forearms on the bar, leaning close to me.
Despite all of the different scents around me, I was quickly assaulted by the smell I hadn’t let linger on my sheets regardless of how much I had wanted to. The ocean. Him.
“I was out of vodka and needed a martini.” I hiked up a shoulder, voice sharp. “I assume you know how to make one.”
His smile didn’t flicker at my tone nor the condescension. If anything, it widened. “I do.”
“Dirty,” I ordered, clinging to my icy façade.
His eyes darkened. “I know how to do it dirty too.”
His voice was low enough so only I heard him and the unmistakable meaning behind his words.
My thighs pressed together as I fought to keep my composure.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” I traced a grain of wood in the bar top with my fingernail. “I’m not easily impressed.”
He nodded once, pewter eyes skirting down my chest to my exposed cleavage and slowly back up again. “I know that too. But I do remember impressing you in the past, and I’m confident in my ability to do it again.” His voice was a low drawl, confident,cocky even but almost lazy. However you described it, the way he spoke sent chills racing over my skin.
My body’s response was intrinsic and almost violent. I didn’t know what I’d expected to come of that visit, but right then, I was certain I wasn’t going to be able to leave here without knowing he was going to fuck me again.
He was like a drug.
One more fix,I promised myself. Then I’d detox from him. I’d be forced to at some point anyway, when I left Jupiter behind.
And I was well aware that I could die when that happened. I figured I might as well get a little selfish pleasure in before I kicked the bucket. Forgetting that it was the selfish pursuit of pleasure that landed me in the current shitstorm in the first place.
I watched Elliot push off the bar and turn to make my drink. He was wearing a Shaw Shack tee, the logo on the back faded. His shoulders were broad, not as wide as his brother’s but powerful nonetheless. His curly hair was wild underneath the backward cap he wore with the same Shaw Shack logo.