Born Wild (20 page)

Fighting with everything she had, fighting for him like she should have fought for him years ago, she raked in a couple of ragged breaths through her stuffy nose. Then sucked in another through her mouth for good measure. It helped. Miraculously, her lungs once more settled into her chest. But when she raised her eyes to Billy's face, she had to bite her lip to keep from losing it all over again.

His intent brown eyes—his
beautiful
brown eyes—watched her with care and kindness and…and
sympathy
. Holy Mother Mary, a sob the size of Lake Michigan itself threatened to choke her. But she held it back.

“I-I'm okay,” she sputtered, her stomach quivering so hard she thought she'd be sick. By the way he twisted his lips—his
beautiful
lips—it was obvious he didn't believe her. “Really,” she assured him, her breath hitching only slightly this time. “R-really I am.”

“You've always been a terrible liar,” he told her, smiling gently. And his expression was so warm. So warm and understanding and…and his nearness…all that tan skin covered in all those star tattoos was overwhelmingly intoxicating, and—

“B-Billy, please,” she begged him for…what? To take pity on her? To love her? To
make
love to her.

And just the thought had everything inside her screeching to a halt. Except for her heart. Her heart was pounding against her ribs so fiercely she was surprised her oversized T-shirt wasn't fluttering.

“That's better,” he said, mistaking her stillness for calmness. Lord knew she was anything but calm. Because her grief and fear and sense of defeat had morphed into something else, something she'd been told grief and fear and defeat
often
morphed into, though she'd never experienced the phenomenon herself.

The French referred to it so eloquently as
convoitise
de
la
chair
. But in the far more suburban English it was known simply as…
lust
…

And how was that possible? How could a mental switch just flip like that?

“I'm going to run up, cut that rope from the propeller, reset the auto-pilot, and then make us some PB and Js,” he said, reaching forward to squeeze her knee. The touch of his big palm—his hands were rough from years loading and cleaning weapons, arming and disarming explosives, battle-hardened hands, if you will—set her on fire as surely as a lit match touching a pool of kerosene.

“O-okay,” she told him, licking her suddenly dry lips.

“Okay,” he repeated, offering her a wink that caused his thick lashes to cast a faint shadow on his cheek.

When he turned to shuffle back down the length of the cabin, she pushed up on one elbow to watch him go, her breaths coming short and fast. The muscles of his broad back bunched beside the deep divot of his spine, his big, sturdy shoulders rolled slightly with each step, and his butt? Well, not to put it too crudely, but his mama must've been a baker because holy smokes did she ever make the perfect set of buns!

Geez
Louise
and
praise
be
to
good
genetics
and
squat
thrusts!

Thrusts.
Gulp.
Just the word brought to mind carnal images. Images of Billy above her, pumping, straining, sweat dampening the hair on his brow and trickling down his temple, his warm eyes watching her as—

Okay. And that was it. She had to think of something else. Because the truth was, he may not know whether or not he could ever forgive her enough to call her a friend, but that didn't mean he didn't still want her. She
knew
he still wanted her from the ferocity of his kisses alone, not to mention the fact that there'd been no mistaking his erection when she'd been pressed against him both back at BKI and out in Delilah's parking lot.

He wanted her. Lord knew she wanted him
.
And if she was the sex-kitten-y type she might be tempted to give him the one and only thing he was still willing to take from her and, conversely, take from him the one and only thing he was still willing to offer. Unfortunately, she
wasn't
the sex-kitten-y type.

Then, seemingly from nowhere, a voice whispered through her head,
no
more
missed
opportunities, Eve…

Despite her height, Eve looked very small and delicate in her oversized T-shirt and her bunched up tube socks as she lay propped against the bulkhead. But when Bill offered her a plate stacked with three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, he came to the conclusion that she may
look
small, however, she was undoubtedly the
biggest
disaster of his entire life.

Because beyond all reason, beyond his better judgment, he felt himself falling.
Again
. Just ass over teakettle taking the dive, much like Jack after he'd gone up to the hill to fetch his pail of water. And okay, that just proved his point, because look how
that
had turned out. Then, if a person—namely
he—
wasn't inclined to learn any lessons from nursery rhymes, then said person—namely
he—
had only to take a long, hard look at history…

At what did history tell him, do you suppose?

Well, just that she'd betrayed him once. That she'd proven he couldn't trust her. That it
'
d been
her
decision to go out with Blake Parish that night after she'd pledged to remain true to him and only him—of course what'd happened afterward wasn't her fault, but the initial decision
had
been
hers
. So…falling for her again would be bad…asinine…the stupidest, craziest, most ridiculous thing he could do, right?

Right.

Unfortunately, he felt himself standing on the edge of a cliff, poised to do exactly that. Especially when she looked at him, all big doe-eyes and hero-worship and…
shit
.

He watched her pale, slender hand reach out to snag the top sandwich and just that one innocent move, that one silly, everyday occurrence felt somehow intimate. Suddenly, he was all about the
I'm the big, strong provider caring for my little woman.
Jesus
Christ,
it was pathetic.

“Thank you for taking care of the prop,” she murmured softly.

“It was nothing a good, sharp knife couldn't handle,” he assured her. “I didn't even need to come up for air.” And to prove it, the boat's engine hummed happily beneath them, the autopilot directing them across Lake Michigan's smooth surface toward Ludington.

“I should've—”

“Shh,” he interrupted her. “You should've done exactly what you did. Relax. It's been one hell of a day.”

She nodded, swallowing. “O-okay. Thank you, Billy,” she said. And inexplicably he was thrust back in time, back to a moment twelve years ago when they were hot and heavy in the backseat of his Camaro with the windows all steamed up, with his hand in her pants and her sweet, pale nipple in his mouth. She'd been soft sighs and hesitant, searching hands, but the minute he thrust his finger inside her tight, wet body, she'd tensed in his arms and he'd known. Despite the slow-as-molasses-in-winter route they'd been taking to the ultimate physical discovery of each other, despite her assurances that she was ready, he'd known.

She hadn't been ready.

So he stopped. It was the hardest thing he ever did, slowly removing his finger from her body while his balls pounded so hard he thought they might just explode. But he stopped, and he told her, “Let's wait a little while longer, okay? Let's just hold off until you're really,
really
ready.”

He remembered her opening her mouth to protest, but he halted her with a kiss, a slow, thorough kiss. A kiss he tried his best to infuse with all sorts of promises. Then he remembered pulling back, resting his fevered forehead against hers. “We have all the time in the world,” he said.

She'd searched his eyes then, her expression torn. And he'd known the horny teenager in her wanted to know what lay beyond that final hurdle, and, talk about a Charlie Foxtrot, because he'd
soooo
wanted to show her, had been
dying
to show her. But the scared young virgin in her hadn't been quite there yet. And she'd listened to that second part of herself that day. With a sigh that was one part regret and another part relief, she'd said, “Okay. Thank you, Billy.”

And looking back on all of that now, knowing how it'd turned out, he didn't know whether he should give himself a medal for being a stand-up guy, or if he should just go ahead and dub himself Unluckiest Bastard on the Planet.

Blinking, he realized he'd kept the plate raised toward her for a ridiculous length of time, and he snatched it back, surreptitiously watching as she took a delicate bite of the sandwich. She licked a dollop of grape jelly from the corner of her mouth and he thought,
Alrighty, then. It's time to vamoose yourself, Bill ol' boy, before you do something really stupid.

Turning to head back to the small booth and table, her voice stopped him. “Don't go, Billy,” she pleaded quietly. “Won't you…I…I'd like it if you sat with me.”

On the bed. She didn't need to say those last three words. They were implied when she scooted over on the mattress, making room for him.

And talk about doing something really stupid…

For a moment he hesitated, glancing out the porthole on the starboard side, hoping…what? That there'd be a neon sign glowing out there, spelling out for him in no uncertain terms what he should do? But the only thing he could see outside the porthole was darkness, just a pitch-black void that gave him no help whatsoever.

Go figure. The universe was a total wad when it came to him, remember?

Which left him with no recourse but to swallow the lump of uncertainty in his throat before blowing out a covert breath and turning back to Eve. She sat looking at him, a combination of fear and hope in her eyes. Her usually sleek hair was still a little damp and a
lot
rumpled, and her red bikini bottoms were peeking out from where the hem of her T-shirt rode high on her hip. Her eyes were bruised and puffy, her nose was pink, and her left cheek sported a glistening tear trail. But even given all of that, she was still temptation personified, everything he'd ever wanted and knew for goddamned sure he
shouldn't
, because he refused to put himself out there again. Not when he didn't know if he could trust her. Not when it'd nearly killed him to have his trust in her, his faith in her broken the first time. Not when—

“It-it's okay,” she said, tucking her chin and blinking rapidly as she hastily took another bite of the sandwich.

Damnit
all
to
hell
, and now he'd gone and made her cry again.

“Of course I'll sit with you,” he said, promptly perching on the smallest edge of the bed, barely putting his weight down because…well, then he'd be on the bed. With Eve. He'd be on the bed with Eve and that could be very…stupid.

Shit. Had he covered this ground before? Eve plus bed equals stupid? Yeah, that sounded like an equation he'd already solved.

Giving her his back while he devoured one of the remaining two sandwiches in a couple of massive bites, the peanut butter and white bread stuck to the roof of his mouth and his tongue. He blamed them for the fact that he had a hard time swallowing.

Of course, the
real
reason his mouth was pulling the whole dry-as-the-desert-Southwest thing was because he could actually
feel
himself slipping closer and closer to the void with each passing second. Slipping closer and closer to that place where he threw caution to the wind and—

“I never did tell you how sorry I was about those pictures,” she broke into his frantic thoughts, a catch in her voice.

He turned, cocking his head and frowning. “You can't blame yourself for those,” he assured her. “Not after today.”

“But I
do
blame myself,” she insisted, staring down at the half-eaten sandwich in her hand. “If only I'd had the guts to tell my father to…to
shove
it. If…if only I'd stayed
true
to you, kept the promise I gave you, then none of this would've happened. None of this…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I'm just really sorry, Billy.”

A few months ago he would have been beyond thrilled to hear those words from her mouth. Now? Well, for some reason—probably because, in spite of everything, he just felt so friggin'
sorry
for her—they were about as rewarding as a cheap, plastic trophy.

And for a moment he considered holding his tongue, for a moment he thought perhaps it might be better for him, and for
her
, if he just accepted her apology and let it all go. But the question of
why
had been burning a hole in his brain since the day that wedding announcement arrived in the mail. And he knew if ever there was a time to face the facts about what'd happened, to get the explanation he'd always felt he so richly deserved, it was now. So, he sucked in a deep breath through his nose and blurted, “Why
did
you agree to go out with Blake?”

Her graceful throat worked over a swallow, her blue eyes filling with tears. Again he considered holding his tongue, calling back the question, letting her off the hook, but when he opened his mouth, instead of the words
forget
it. It doesn't matter now. It's all water under the bridge…
Instead of
those
words coming out, he demanded instead, or maybe it was his ego that demanded, “Was it because he was handsome? Or rich? Or smart? Or suave? Was it because he came from the right family, or—”

She shook her head, two large teardrops spilling over her lower lids to run down her cheeks and drip from her trembling chin. His instinct was to reach forward to wipe at the glistening trails. Instead, he curled his fingers around the plate in his lap as his heart thudded viciously in his chest, as his blood hammered through his veins, as he remained as still as the hot, humid air outside. Not daring to move. Barely daring to breathe when she blew out a puff of breath that ruffled the hair around her face, causing one dark strand to stick to her tear-wet cheek.

“I was a coward,” she said. Just those four words. And they explained so much, yet, at the same time, revealed so little. “My dad kept harping on me,” she eventually continued, her face twisting with derision and self-disgust. “And I was too chicken-hearted to keep saying
no
to him. So, you know, I thought,
Hey, I'll just do it. I'll go out with Blake. That'll get my dad off by back, and Billy never has to know.
”

He bit the inside of his cheek, a thousand responses tumbling through his head.
But
how
could
you
think
to
deceive
me
like
that? Why couldn't you have just stood up for me and the vows we made? Why didn't you tell me what your father was up to? Why didn't you—

“But it was a betrayal,” she cut in on his frothing thoughts. “I betrayed you the moment I agreed to that date. And for that I'm so very sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

“But why did—”

“And then afterward,” she interrupted him, her eyes taking on a sad, faraway look that had him wondering if she'd even heard his attempt to ask a question, or if her mind had traveled back in time. “When you didn't—” She stopped herself abruptly, timidly meeting his gaze. “I don't know,” she finally shrugged. “I suppose it was just…maybe
easy
is the word for it. I was disgusted with myself, depressed and withdrawn, and there was Blake, telling me he wanted me, telling me I was beautiful and desirable. He was handsome and charming. My father loved him. My friends loved him. He knew all the same people I knew, did all the same things I did, so when he asked me to marry him, I figured, why not? It seemed like the thing to do, the thing everyone
wanted
me to do. Of course, that was the rationale of a young and incredibly stupid mind. Obviously, right?” She snorted derisively, picking at the crust on her sandwich. “Considering how it all turned out?”

And it was finished. The explanation was finished. Finally. Finally, he knew why.

He should've felt better. He didn't…

Perhaps that's because there was still one thing that didn't make any sense. “Why did you send me that invitation?” The invitation that'd broken his fucking heart. The invitation that'd torn his entire world apart. “That's the part I don't get. I never knew you to be intentionally cruel.”

She cocked her head, her brow crinkling. “What invitation?”

“To your wedding. Did you send it to me thinking that it would be a sig—” he stopped himself when a series of emotions passed over her expressive face. First there was shock, quickly replaced by comprehension, morphing into unmistakable disgust mixed with more than a smidge of remorse.

His gut twisted, his ulcer burping up a cloud of stomach acid that warned him the peanut butter might've been a mistake. “You didn't know,” he surmised, something inside him shifting, just a tiny bit. “It was your father.”

Her soft lips pulled down into a deep frown. “I…I suppose he just wanted to make sure you knew which way the wind had blown.”

He shook his head. “I guess I should've known.” And, really, he probably
should
have. Because even though she'd disappointed him, even though she'd gone back on her word, and even though she'd admitted to being a coward and had chosen another man over him because it was
easier
, the fact remained, Eve could never be purposefully unkind.

“How could you have known? I'd already screwed you over so badly, how
could
you have known I wouldn't stoop to the next level?”

“You didn't—”