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Reece woke to heavy snorting and a noxious odor, turning his head. “Bloody hell!” he yelled, scooting away from the ugliest face he’d ever seen. It was white, baggy, with an under bite that went on for days.
“Good dog, nice dog. Where’s your owner?” It licked its chops, continuing to pant. “Nicole?” he called, but there was no answer. He flipped the covers back, keeping one eye on the dog. “Nicole, where are you?”
When still no answer came, he grabbed his jeans and headed for the door. The dog sat on the bed watching him, laying its head down on his paws with the tip of its tongue sticking out. It groaned and then sneezed, but it kept watching him.
“Same to you, buddy,” Reece said as he moved from the room toward the stairs. He trotted down them, searching the rooms, but it seemed she had disappeared again. He moved to the sliding door and stepped onto the deck, noticing the roar of the waves filling the silence.
Holding his hand to his forehead to block the sun, he scanned the beach until his eyes finally lighted on a small speck in the distance, growing larger as it moved closer. Nicole was jogging in the sand. Watching her, his shoulders relaxed as he leaned against the doorframe.
Seeing her again in the light of day brought back all the love and anguish he’d felt over the last year. It had been twelve months of hell for him. He could only imagine what she had gone through. They could have gotten through all the obstacles together if she hadn’t run, but they were together now, and that was all that mattered.
She jogged closer with her hair, that beautiful shade of red, swinging back and forth in a ponytail as strands dangled in her face in sweaty tangles.
His jeans grew tight as he thought of licking away that salty dew. He couldn’t seem to stop wanting her, his appetite insatiable for every inch of her.
He knew the moment she became aware of him. She checked her stride, a frown crossing her face as she moved toward the deck.
He smiled. “Good morning, Nicole. Did you sleep well?”
“I slept okay. How about you?” She squeezed by him and into the kitchen.
His body and gaze followed, soaking up every inch of her. “I haven’t slept that well in a long time. It must be the sea air.”
She shot him a half-smile. “I like to listen to the waves as they crash on the beach. It’s very soothing.”
His eyes scanned the room. “What is this place?”
Without missing a beat, she spouted off a line from Harry Potter. When he didn’t laugh, she shrugged. “It’s my parent’s beach house.” She glanced around to avoid making eye contact. “I’m going to go hop in the shower. There’s coffee ready if you want some, or I can fix you breakfast if you like.”
He was surprised. “You know how to cook?”
“A little bit. I know how to use a toaster, at least. I can make you Pop Tarts.”
He laughed. “That sounds good.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Do you need any help in the shower?”
She paused, biting into an apple. “I’ve been bathing myself since I was five. I think I’ve got a handle on it, thanks.”
He held up his hands. “I just thought I’d ask.”
She stood still, staring and wondering why he was still here. Hadn’t he reached his booty call quota yet?
He tilted his head, a confused furrow on his brow. “Nicole, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing. I’m going to get that shower now,” she said, sprinting from the room. When she arrived in her bedroom, she purposely kept her gaze away from the bed. No need to visually remind herself what she’d done with him when she felt it imprinted all over her body.
Tugger snuffled at her feet. She leaned over, patting his big head. “Why didn’t you bite him, Tug? You’re supposed to be my bodyguard.” He grunted loudly, plopping down on his side, offering his belly for a rub. She laughed despite herself, nudging him with her foot. “You are such a waste of space.”
Grabbing her clothes, she headed for the bathroom, locking the doors behind her. She didn’t want any interruptions.
As she started the water, she stripped down to her skivvies. She contemplated how to deal with the six-foot-three dilemma standing in the middle of her kitchen. Why was he here? How had he found her? What was she going to do?
She stood under the spray, her hands pressed flat against the wall as the water was beating down on her neck and shoulders and running down her back in steamy rivulets.
She didn’t know if she wanted him here. A part of her hoped he’d be gone when she returned downstairs, but another part hoped he’d jimmy the lock, joining her for another bout of hot, steamy sex. She hated feeling this way—her heart and her head clashing. She wished she knew which way to go.
She shut off the water, wrapping a towel around her before stepping out of the tub. She swished her hand across the foggy mirror, staring down her reflection. Was she up for round two with him? Was she emotionally ready to put herself out there again? She knew he was going to hurt her. It was inevitable. Could she handle the fallout this time around?
Nicole slipped into her sweats and tank top, combing back her wet hair. She breathed deep, closing her eyes and holding the breath until she thought her lungs would explode. She exhaled slowly, her muscles relaxing as she pushed the tension from her body. She could do this. She would face him on her own terms.
