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Directly across from her, Teague repaired some wind damage to the roof of the gazebo and by dinner, his sweat-slicked body had become Sabrina’s main focus.
Thank God for sunglasses.
The man was built like a god. There was no denying it. His shoulders were wide, his chest impressive and the eight-pack he sported attested to the fact that he was extremely physical. He had lean hips and those damn shorts did nothing but emphasize the cut that most women drooled over.
Sabrina wasn’t drooling. She was just…appreciating. Or something.
It had been a while.
She watched him wipe sweat from his brow and when he glanced over to her, she froze. For a long while, the two of them stared across the beach at each other, and even though the large dark sunglasses she sported kept her eyes covered, there was no way he couldn’t know she’d been staring.
“I’m hungry,” Harry said, tossing his purple plastic pail into the bin on the dock.
“Okay,” she murmured, dragging her eyes away from Teague. She packed up her bag and stowed away the chairs before leading her kids back to their cottage, all the while hypersensitive about the man a few hundred feet from her. Was he watching her?
But that would be silly. And besides, what did she care?
Sabrina didn’t look back and busied herself with the children. She barbecued hamburgers and pretended not to notice when Teague hopped into his truck and left around seven. The kids had baths and then she let them watch a favorite movie until nearly ten before tucking them into bed. Bingo was equally tired, and the puppy squirmed his way onto Harry’s comforter and snuggled in for the night.
Once they were settled, she stood in the living room, distracted and at odds with herself. That familiar ache was back and yet it was different. It wasn’t just the loneliness—it was something else. Why couldn’t she shake the images of Teague from her mind?
Sabrina changed into a camisole and cotton shorts and then poured a glass of wine. She didn’t want to read. She didn’t want to watch TV. And she sure as hell didn’t want to sit here by herself.
Kinda sucked that those were her only options.
In the end, she shut off all the lights, grabbed the rest of the bottle of open wine and wandered out to the deck, falling into the chaise lounge. There was a slight breeze off the water, but it felt good against her skin because, holy hell she was hot.
Hot and restless.
She tipped her glass back and drained the wine, sitting up a bit when she heard a truck in the neighboring driveway. It had to be pushing eleven. Was it creepy to watch Teague from her safe and dark spot? If it was, she didn’t care. She cranked her neck so that she could see and held her breath, eyes barely adjusted to the gloom, but enough to make out a tall shape.
He strode from the truck and disappeared into the cottage. Alone. Huh. She poured herself another glass of wine. What happened to Candace?
No lights went on inside the cottage and after a few moments, Sabrina took a sip of the Malbec she’d taken a shine to.
The night was heavy, the air thick with heat and her hair stuck to the side of her neck. She moved it away, and hissed at the friction from her nipples rubbing against her top. A glance down told her that they were puckered.
She stared at her chest, fascinated by the distinct hardness as her breaths came faster. Her hand trailed down from her neck and after a slight hesitation—and a glance to either side of her—she rubbed her nipples through the cotton, stifling a soft groan because it felt that good.
How long had it been since she’d been touched?
The scent of tobacco drifted over to her and she glanced at the Simon cottage. There were no stars out tonight, nothing to light the dark in this part of the world, but she knew Teague was outside. The cigar gave him away.
She wondered what he’d done in town. Had he met up with Candace?
An image flashed in her mind, an image of Teague, naked, entwined with the redhead, and she shook her head.
“Dammit Bree, get a grip.”
It took some effort but eventually Sabrina relaxed. She finished her glass of wine and decided against pouring another. It was obviously making her crazy. Instead she gazed up into the dark sky, inhaling the sweet scent of Teague’s cigar, and she tried to ignore the heaviness that settled over her again.
It was hard though. Loneliness was the heaviest kind of weight that there was and these days it seemed as if it was the only friend she had.
“I
t has to get better,” she said softly, voice catching as her eyes slammed shut.
Of course there was no answer. No one to tell her that yes, it would get better. There was none of that.
