Unafraid (Beachwood Bay) (6 page)

Hunter pulls me closer and slips his tongue into my mouth, gently probing, teasing, tasting. I hear a sob rise in the back of my throat, a whimper of desire that sounds as if it’s from far away. My head is spinning, a dizzy sweetness rushing through my whole body, and with every new touch, it coils tighter, deep in the heart of me, aching for more.

I need him.

I arch against his body, lost in the slow stroke of his tongue on mine, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.

More
.

I reach up, pulling him closer, hungry to feel the broad planes of his shoulders under my hands and the hot taste of his kiss, deeper, stronger—

Hunter steps away.

What
?

I feel a shock of cold air where his body used to be. My eyes snap open and I gasp for breath, confused to find him standing just a few inches away. He’s watching me again with that inscrutable stare, so I reach for him, but he catches my hands, keeping me back at arm’s length.

“Dinner, Monday.” Hunter says, and I marvel how he can seem so composed. That kiss has left me reeling, but he barely has a hair out of place. “I’ll call you.”

He turns my hands over to plant a soft kiss on each palm and gives me a smile, crooked and laced with promise. Then he’s gone, leaving me to sag back against the shelves in wonder.

What the hell was that?

I couldn’t believe it, seeing her again.

I should have known, coming back to Beachwood Bay, but somehow, I talked myself out of hoping she’d still be here. A girl like that, she wouldn’t stick around in a small town like this, not a moment more than she had to.

A girl like that was born to be free.

I liked to think of her sometimes, when I was stuck in class at Yale, listening to my boring professors ramble on about old, dead guys and their meaningless arguments. I’d gaze out the window, and imagine her off, hitch-hiking across the country, maybe, or working in a beach shack in California, or up in the mountains of Colorado. She could go anywhere. Do anything. But now here she is, looking as beautiful as the day I saw her last: still burning that angry fire in her dark eyes, still running away from me so fast you’d think I was the one who broke her heart, instead of the other way around.

I walk out of that storeroom still tasting her on my lips, still feeling the curves of her body, so goddamn soft and sexy against me.

Brittany Ray.

Goddamn.

I stand in the parking lot, feeling like someone just knocked me out for the count. A dozen questions whirl in my mind.
Why is she still here? Has she thought of me, even once, during the last three years?

How can a single kiss do this to me?

But most of all, I realize, I want to know who the hell put that expression in her eyes: the empty, aching bitterness that she hides behind her sarcasm and smiles. All this time, I’ve been imagining her out there, happy and free. Now I know she’s anything but.

Whoever they are, they better watch out. Because I sure as hell have some words for them. Words that start and end with the sound of my fists.

Brittany Ray.

I feel my heart pound, from shock and exhilaration and something more. The softness of her touch, the memory of her kiss.

Goddamn.

I shake my head and start walking.

By the time I make it back to the ranch it’s after eleven. The property sits, dark and still, the only light coming from the ranch hand’s cottage out on the edge of the field. Jake, my new hire, is probably watching ESPN reruns and drinking beer. I think about stopping by to join him, but I’m not in the mood. I’m too caught up in what just happened, with that heavy load of guilt, always sitting like iron in the back of my mind.

I make the rounds, checking the horses in the stable, testing the new gates in the paddock as I go. The smell of fresh paint is still lingering everywhere, mixing with the scent of hay and dirt and horse and country air.

Smells like home.

I have to grin at that. My mom would flip if anyone dared suggest the great Camille Covington’s perfect Charleston mansion smelled like an old stable, but even though I grew up in that house, it was never home to me. No, home was Grandpa Earl’s ranch, out here in the country. Every summer we got to spend here was like a gift: a whole month when we didn’t have to take tennis lessons at the country club, or dress for dinner, or stand around politely at my parents’ stuffy cocktail parties. A whole month when my brother and I weren’t paraded for the guests, like a prize they’d bagged on safari, some trophy to show off to prove their status as society elite. Jace was happy to play along, he always did anything to make them proud, but I never could stand it. I was the one sneaking out the bathroom window at the Governor’s Christmas party, or getting caught with one of the debutantes in the cloakroom closet.

Hell, sometimes I got caught with two.

Growing up in that house, life was full of rules and expectations and disappointment, but out here on the ranch, none of that mattered anymore. I learned it was all just static, a world my parents and brother may have bought into, but one that I didn’t need. Let Jace be the Golden Boy, stand beside our father at board meetings, and make small talk with my mother’s DAR friends; I was happy with the land and the horses and the distant horizon—and I swore I would leave all of their bullshit behind the first chance I got.

Except it didn’t turn out that way. Not even close.

My cell starts ringing as I head back to the main house. I know who’s calling, but guilt makes me pick up, all the same.

“Well, have you come to your senses yet?” Her voice rings with disapproval, clear down the line from Charleston.

“Mom…” I sigh, letting myself in. I flip the lights on, illuminating the homey, rustic main room still filled with grandpa’s old furniture and wood beams overhead. The main ranch house is open-plan, with a huge open fireplace dominating the room, and windows that look out over the paddock and fields.

“I can’t understand why you’d just take off like this, not even say goodbye.” Mom continues, “After we came all the way up for your graduation.”

“I told you not to,” I remind her. “What’s the use of some stupid ceremony when I already finished the credits? It’s all just for show.”

“It’s tradition,” my mom corrects, as if they’re not the same thing. “We’d planned a whole dinner, your father’s old classmates were coming. It was very embarrassing to have to cancel at the last minute.”

I make a beeline for the kitchen and take a beer from the fridge, gulping down half the bottle at once. I wonder for a moment if my parents even cared about my finishing college, or if, to them, it was just an excuse for another party, another way to brag to all their friends about their perfect family.

“So tell me, Hunter,” Mom changes tacks. “How long is this little rebellion of yours going to last? The summer? Longer?”

“It’s not a rebellion,” I growl, like I haven’t explained this a hundred times. “We had a deal, remember? I said I’d stick it out through school, but now I’m done. This is my life now.”

“Working on a ranch?” I can practically see my mom’s lip curl with disdain. “That’s not a life, not for a Covington.”

“It was good enough for grandpa.” I stroll over to the windows and rest my forehead against the cool glass. This was why I skipped graduation, and all my parents’ bullshit. The minute my last paper was done, I traded my birthday BMW in for a pick-up truck, threw some clothes in a bag, and hit the road. Eleven hours down the coast with nothing to do but think, but somehow, with every mile I felt lighter: driving away from their legacy, to a future of my own making.

“My father was a fool,” Mom replies bluntly. “What are you going to do for money out there? Don’t think your father and I are going to support this foolish plan.”

“I don’t want anything from you.” I state firmly. “Grandpa left me the land, and some left over, and I’ll earn the rest.”

“Training horses,” there’s that familiar sneer again. “Honey, I don’t know where this is coming from. We had it all planned out: Yale, then law school—”

“I never wanted to go to law school,” I interrupt, clenching my fist. This is what she does, badger you with her own plans until it’s easier to go along with it all.

But not this time. I’ve had enough.

“Then business school,” my mom corrects, “Or even straight to the company, working with your dad. We’ve been talking, and there’s a seat opening up on the board—”

“No, mom, stop it!” My voice rings out, harsh, and there’s silence.

“I’m sorry,” I bite back my frustration, “But you’re not listening. I’m not coming home, I’m not joining the firm. This is it, mom, it’s done.”

“I just can’t stand to see you throwing away all your potential. You’re not a kid anymore, Hunter. You have responsibilities.” She tries again, but it’s late, and I’m too tired for this. Seeing Brit again like that has got me on edge, too wound up to go another ten rounds with my mother and wind up exactly where we started.

“I got to go mom,” I tell her. “You take care, OK?”

“Hunter—”

I hang up, and take a deep breath, gazing out at the dark fields. It’s quiet out there, unnervingly so. This empty space is still new to me, echoing nothing but the chirp of the crickets in the grass. Back at college, lights blazed everywhere, and noise too; late night parties in the dorm, and 24/7 takeout joints lining the streets in the student ghettos. I could always find a distraction, something to block my own thoughts, but here, the nearest property is over a mile away, and tonight, there’s nothing but silence.

I go get another beer and flip the TV on to drown the quiet. Some old movie is playing,
Cool Hand Luke
, but I can’t concentrate. As two beers turn into four, and five, I slip into a sleepy haze and the memories start coming. The way I knew they would; the way they always do.

“Bet you ten bucks.”

“Dude, make it fifty.”

“That’s right, I forgot, you’ve got that graduation check burning a hole in your pocket.” I laugh, passing Jace the blunt to smoke. “Or should I call it the down payment on your soul?”

“Aww, man, don’t say it like that.” Jace exhales in a long sigh, smoke billowing out over the dock. He looks at the joint. “This is good stuff, where’d you find it?”

I shrug. “Some guy at a bar. And don’t change the subject. I can’t believe you’re signing up to play dad’s lapdog come fall.”

Jace rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I won’t even be in his department, I bet I won’t see him at all.”

“Except for lunch, and client dinners, and weekends playing golf at the club…” I tease, only half-joking. “I’m serious, man. Working in that place is like a death sentence. They’ll have your name over the door before you know it. Covington and Son.”

“Sons,” Jace corrects me with a smirk. “You know he’ll be gunning for you too. Just a matter of time.”

I groan, reaching for the joint again. “You ever think what it would be like if we weren’t… us?” I ask, wistful. The ocean is dark and limitless beyond the harbor, and I wonder for the hundredth time what it would be like to sail off to nowhere. “Just two regular kids, I mean, with none of this Covington bullshit to deal with.”