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Part One
Sex
Chapter One
Raylin
A day earlier
Bang.
Bang.
The stones I throw hit the coconuts I’ve lined up on the beach one after another. Haven’t lost my touch yet, and hey, not much to do around here.
Wish I had my gun.
Wish I wasn’t on the run.
But wishing never got me anywhere, so I wipe my hands on my shorts and survey my new domain. The sand is gritty between my bare toes, and the seagulls wheel overhead, their cries too loud. The sun is too bright, the air too warm and humid, the beach too open and exposed for a fugitive like me.
Still, I don’t move. Truth is, I can’t run any longer. After hitching rides with potential axe-murderers, hopping from one Greyhound to the next, walking in the sun and rain, all the way to Boca Raton, Florida, I’m done. I’ve done it all. I’ve been traveling for weeks, and I’m exhausted.
I’ve moved far enough, I figure, to make them lose my tracks and have some peace, temporary as it may be. No matter. I need a break.
Been running for years, and I’m sick and tired of looking over my shoulder day and night.
Instead I’d rather look at… a man jogging down the beach?
I squint against the setting sun, shade my eyes with my hand. Yes, most definitely a man. He’s jogging by the surf, his long, tanned legs eating up the distance, the sun glinting on his short hair. He’s also bare-chested, and even from where I’m standing I can tell it’s an impressive chest, lean and muscular, set off by a set of spectacular shoulders.
Whoa.
Okay, I’ve made up my mind. I’m staying here until I decide where to move to next. At least the view is good. Given the guy lives nearby, that is. Lots of mansions on the beach, huge and impressive, like the one right behind me.
He’s approaching, his trajectory throwing him closer to me, and I fan myself with my hand as he pounds by, his jogging shoes sinking in the wet sand, the powerful muscles in his legs rippling. His gaze is focused right ahead, and he doesn’t seem to notice me where I’m standing in my old shorts and blouse, still stained from my long journey.
I gaze after him as he moves away from me again—like everything in my life lately. Helplessly I watch as the distance swallows him.
Hm… Great ass, a great back, broad and strong. Check and check.
Now wait a minute. That’s not what you need to be checking out, Raylin, girl. You should worry more about what you’ve just done, about breaking and entering and actually contemplating living in another person’s house. About sinking deeper into the mire you’ve been trying to get out of.
As if there ever was a chance of that. When you’re born in the mud, you can’t ever get clean, no matter how hard you try.
Reluctantly I tear my gaze off the man and turn back toward said house. White, tall, imposing. It was the poorest-looking in the area, which is why I chose it. The least conspicuous. I mean, it only has four bedrooms and five bathrooms, two kitchens, a Jacuzzi and a swimming pool, and a pool bar. Its owners are practically destitute compared to their neighbors.
It’s not a big deal, living here for a while. The people who own it have cartloads of money. A few more dollars in electricity won’t make a dent in their accounts, and I won’t be stealing anything. Hell, I’m not a thief, but I’m at my wits’ end here. Can’t run forever, and my wallet is dry.
Yeah, who am I kidding? What I’m doing is illegal, and I shouldn’t linger. I know that. But considering who I’m running from, this barely counts. I could stay two-three days, eat and rest. Make a plan. My plans are what’s kept me alive for so long in the mess that is my life.
And if that hottie plans on jogging every evening down this beach, well, I sure as hell don’t mind the bonus.
To be honest, I didn’t choose this mansion because it was smaller than the others I saw. It just seemed kind of abandoned—with plastic-wrapped magazines in the driveway and the mailbox overflowing, leaves littering the doorstep and the hedge overgrown.
Breaking into the house wasn’t that hard, either. Not for someone trained by my dad and brother. I disabled the surveillance cameras, then used my bump key to open the back door. Why is it that people think of putting electronic keypads and security locks on their front doors, but ignore other entrances?
Grabbing a pair of clean black shorts and a pale green blouse from my duffel bag, I showered and changed. That was this morning. Last night, after ogling the handsome runner on the beach, I’d fallen face-first on the first bed I found and slept for fourteen hours straight.
