Sarah Mine Read online

  “I can’t, Hill.” Her voice was soft as she looked at me. She had the biggest, saddest eyes. They gutted me. Slashed through my own crap. They showed every hit she had ever taken, every drink to forget her life. Sarah.

  “Quiet,” I said, studying her face. “I’m taking pictures.” And I was. Fast, mental snapshots of Sarah.

  This was new. I caressed the cheek that wasn’t so gaunt. Her face was fuller and her skin was a soft sun-kissed copper instead of greyish and lifeless. Soft and silky and not so…hollowed out. The eyes were still sad and haunted, but they probably always would be. They had a clarity that hadn’t been there the last time I saw her. “Sarah.” Her name escaped on a low burst of wonder. “Look at you.”

  A soft gasp escaped from her and tears filled her eyes, making the color shimmer but they didn’t fall. While I was gone, Sarah had kicked the booze and drugs. “Look at you,” I repeated softly. Her lashes lifted and she met my gaze. I saw the nervousness in her eyes, felt them in the way she touched my biceps.

  “Hill?”

  “How long?”

  “Three years, one month, and three weeks.”

  My eyebrows rose. That’s…amazing. “That’s pretty exact.”

  “Sobriety is an exact science.”

  “Good for you. I need a shower, then I want Helena’s pancakes.” I caressed her mouth. “Want to join me?”

  “For pancakes?”

  I smiled. “Or the shower. Take your pick.” I knew what she’d say.

  “Pancakes.”

  Now I grinned. “Surprise me, Sarah. Say yes to the shower.”

  “No. Go away.” The corners of her mouth twitched though. That was something.

  “I give good shower.” I winked and surprised myself by leaving her on the railing. Inside her little house, I stopped, pushed off the pants I had dragged on. A startled laugh came from her as I walked naked down the hall and into the bathroom. I had never had to seduce Sarah James before.

  And I was going to. Stoned or straight, drunk or sober, then or now…I wanted her. I always wanted her.

  Sarah

  I fiddled with my pen before I hopped down. Things felt a little wobbly on the inside. That he had noticed I was sober surprised me. Truly I hadn’t thought he’d notice or care. I picked up the khaki pants that had seen better days and went into my bedroom. We were going for pancakes.

  We never went for pancakes. Of course we had never not had sex before either. Tossing his pants on the bed, I contemplated what to wear for this momentous breakfast. Talk would start up. It had probably already begun the minute someone had seen Hill. I knew what they said about me and Hill. Pierce Point was a small town and gossip was its addiction of choice.

  Maybe breakfast wasn’t smart.

  I could almost hear the talk now. “Did you see? Hill Deveraux was at Helena’s with that James girl. Oooh, you know what they were up to. Shameful. Carrying on like that. He’s a Deveraux! And you know what trash that James girl is.”

  Funny how I was the one who was trash in my family when my father had beaten me and my sister slept with any man who looked at her. I knew why they called me that and it wasn’t the booze, the drugs, or the bad choices I made. The reason was in my shower. One didn’t simply sleep with a Deveraux. In Pierce Point you were a Deveraux’s wife, a soon-to-be-wife, or his whore.

  Was I ready for that to start up again?

  “I don’t know,” I said in the quiet of my room. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? What good could possibly come from this? Hadn’t the entire point of the past four years been to stop repeating past mistakes? To learn who I was and embrace her, forgive myself for things that had never been my fault, and those that had been?

  How was this good for me? I had to treat Hill like I did the alcohol and pills. An allergy that could kill me. An addiction that would make me lose myself again.

  I needed to tell him to go.

  But deep, deep down I wanted him to stay. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? This was Hill and I wanted him. That was my dirty secret. Drunk or sober, then or now…I wanted him. I always wanted him.

  Covering my face with my hands, I sighed at the admission. Since I’d become sober, I had learned to be honest with myself.

  “Heavy sigh. Deep thoughts?”

  I nodded without lowering my hands. Please don’t touch me. But that’s all I wanted him to do. I listened to him cross the floor and my heart thumped fast. Anticipation, nerves, need, fear, lust, and heartache. All were felt when he stopped behind me. So close I could smell the fruity soap and feel the shower’s steamy heat radiating off him. His hands on my hips made my eyes close. If I couldn’t see him, the problem didn’t matter.

  Rrrrrright.

  “I thought of you in the shower.”

  That comment dragged out a laugh. “I bet you did.”

  “Dirty mind, Sarah,” he breathed into my ear. Goosebumps spread down my spine at the brush of air. Oh hell. “And no, not those thoughts. Though now…”

  I lowered my hands, but couldn’t open my eyes. Not yet. That would welcome reality. “So, what were you thinking?”

  His fingers slid along the elastic waist of my pajama bottoms. “That you need soap that doesn’t make me smell like a bath shop vomited on me.”

  “Get your own soap. I like my soap.” Step away. Step away!

  “I like your soap too. It smells like you,” he whispered in my ear, his hand slipping under the waistband of the shorts. Sneaky Deveraux. Slowly, he ran his hand over my stomach, hip to hip, back and forth. “I had a hard time concentrating as I lathered you all over my body.”

  My lips parted at his words, the imagery it brought to mind. Hill naked in my shower. Hill wet in my shower.

  All he did was lightly touch my stomach and breathe against my ear. Done. I was done.

  It was so easy to imagine his hands sliding over his body, slippery bubbles slithering down his skin. Against my ass and through the towel he was hard and it made things shiver awake. A little gasp escaped.

  “Oh yes,” he continued in that soft, seductive whisper. “You know I did exactly that. I stood in that rather extravagant shower, you on my skin, and lathered you on my dick that was hard as fuck for you. You made me come in your shower.” His hand slid down between my legs and I cried out when he found me throbbing and slick from his words. “With you on my body.”

  He began to caress where I ached, making my body weep for more. He teased the wet entrance with the tip of a finger, making me cry out.

  “Had you been in that shower,” he continued, the maddening motion making me wetter and wanting him deeper, “I’d have been able to bury my dick inside you. And you’d be slippery, more than any amount of water and soap could make you, and welcoming. And we’d come. Me inside you. Come, Sarah. Come as I did. By my hand and imagine it’s me snug inside you where you’re warm and slick, happy to feel me. Come, baby.”

  I covered the hand between my legs, the fabric damp from what he did to me. I climaxed with a cry.

  “Take me, Sarah,” he whispered. “Take me where I need to be.” His hand slid further between my legs, his touch no longer teasing, but rubbing, his thumb finding that sensitive spot. He kissed the back of my neck as he worked me with hard, insistent strokes that made my hips roll over his fingers. “Bring me home, Sarah,” he moaned as he eased his finger in.

  I cried out, pressing more against his hand, his finger sliding, the tempo familiar. So familiar. “Hill. Oh God. Please.”

  It felt so good, him moving inside me, his breaths hot on my neck. “Bring me home, baby.”

  “Yes,” I whispered and he spun us and bent me over the bed in a fast movement. I grabbed the sheets as he pushed the bottoms down and his towel was yanked away.

  “Sarah,” he moaned. He withdrew his finger. “Oh God, Sarah.”

  I nodded and he thrust inside me, his hand, damp from my body, covering mine. After, I would regret. Now, I wanted him. Needed him. Had it always felt this good? I pu
shed back into him to take more of him. I couldn’t remember. I wished I remembered the weekends of sex, the waking up and he was gone, and I’d have another drink to numb the pain. Because, holy God, he felt so good.

  The weight of his body against mine, pressing me into the bed as he took me, his moans in my ear as I took him. “This,” he whispered. “This. Look at me. God damn you, you look at me.”

  I turned my head toward him and opened my eyes as much as possible.

  “Sarah.” He kissed me, continuing his thrusts. His other hand found me and made me scream as I came. His lips curled upwards against mine, then with a moan, he came. I gasped to feel him inside me. My fist relaxed and his fingers slid between mine. “Now.”

  “What?” My body felt heavy, sated.

  “Now it feels like you.”

  My eyes opened, watching as he lowered his head to the bed. “What?” The word burned inside my chest. Had he just said what I thought he had said? “What did you say?”

  I knew what they called me. Hill Deveraux’s whore. To hear that from him. Had it been like this before? I wished for one sober memory.

  “What?”

  “Off. Get off. Get out.”

  His eyes opened as he eased off. “What? What’s wrong? What did I do?”

  “It’s what I did.” I rolled away from him and sat up. Reaching down, I grabbed his towel and wiped us away from between my legs. “I won’t go back, Hill. I won’t be that girl again.” Tears blurred the floor and I could almost taste the sweet rum on my tongue. I hadn’t liked alcohol to taste like alcohol. It wasn’t a problem if it was in a glass of cola right? Or a milkshake. Or in a glass of ice. I couldn’t go back to that girl. I wouldn’t live like that again.

  “I know. What did I do, Sarah?”

  “Not even for you will I go back to being Hill Deveraux’s whore. Go. Somewhere else. Anywhere else. Just go. Get out. Leave me alone, Hill.”

  His eyes had narrowed to slits the color of dark storm clouds. “Back to being who?” He caught my wrist when I went to stand, needing to wash him away. “Back to who? What did you call yourself?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sarah

  Hill had a temper. It was a dangerous, volcanic thing. We had gotten into a few arguments over the years. Battles that had ended on the floor with wild, angry sex. Or in the storage room of the bar. In his car. Wherever. But when he fought, he fought dirty. Whether swinging his fist or using his mouth, he fought to draw blood.

  “Let me go. You’re hurting me.”

  “No, I’m not, and you know it.” He tugged as he stood up. While his fingers were like a manacle around my wrist, there was no pain. It wasn’t a bone-crushing, leave-a-bruise grip like my father. “Repeat that again.”

  “What part? How about the part where I told you to get out!” I screamed the last two words at him.

  “How about the part,” he shouted right back, “where you called yourself a fucking whore? What the god damn hell is that?” He pointed his finger in my face. “What the fuck, Sarah, is that?”

  “Go. Go.”

  “No way, baby doll. You dropped the “w” word. Where the hell did that come from, Sarah Jane?”

  “Everyone, William Hilton. Everyone. Including you.” I tried to walk away but he drew me back.

  “I’ll deal with everyone in a minute. They’re not in this damn room. You are not a whore. Not mine. Not anyone’s. Don’t,” he said with a little poke of his finger toward me without coming close, “say it again. And I have not, now or ever, called you a whore. I’ve called you a lot of things but never, ever that. What did I say? When we were lying there, what did I say? Tell me. Repeat it.”

  “That I feel like me. Because I instantly fall on my back for you. Want a fast fuck? Hey, let’s go see Sarah.” My voice was a mocking bass timbre, imitating his.

  Hill’s eyes were like a hard storm coming off the bay and slapping the town around. “Shut. Up. Yes, I said it feels likes you. Bank it.” He pressed his finger against my mouth, shutting me up. “Come with me.” Since he still held my wrist, I had no choice but to follow him into the bathroom.

  My sumptuous bathroom. This bathroom hadn’t come with the house. When I had bought the place, it had been a simple bathroom. A tub and shower combination, a toilet and a sink. When I finally moved in, the bathroom had become this thing of extravagant splendor. There was a claw foot tub, a separate shower. The walls had been painted a soft yellow that reminded me of spring sunshine, with glass subway tiles the color of summer grass in the shower. Above the tub was a skylight so I could lie back in scented bubbles and stare up at the blue sky.

  The renovations hadn’t been my idea. The bathroom had been simple and dated when I had seen the photos of the house while in rehab. No, all of this had been a surprise.

  Deverauxs were sneaky.

  Hill positioned me to face the mirror. “This,” he said with a growl in his voice, “is the first thing I saw yesterday.” Frowning, I looked at us, trying to figure out his point. He stepped behind me and bent down so our heads were even, and then he pointed at the mirror. “Look at her, Sarah.”

  My gaze shifted to my reflection.

  “Look at her. She’s been sitting in the sun, and I think she has a few freckles that I know she didn’t have before because she was always pale. Tired. Flattened down. Bruised around the eyes, empty in the eyes.” He ran his finger down my cheek and he looked at me, not the mirror. “Who is this girl who isn’t hiding in a bottle? Who is this girl with color in her face and who isn’t wearing her cheekbones on the outside of her skin? Who is this girl with spirit in her eyes when before they were filled with hopelessness? I don’t know this woman. Never seen her before in my life.”

  I turned to look at him, his grey gaze drinking in every one of my features. “So what? Because we have sex that makes me someone you know?”

  “No. It makes me someone I know.” He ran his thumb along my mouth. “You aren’t the only lost soul in this house.”

  His words tugged at my heart. Maybe I wasn’t the only broken one here. It was a startling thought. All he had said to describe me – that was on his face now. His eyes hid shadows of hopelessness. He was the one who looked tired and beaten down. What had happened to him? Despite all my chaotic emotions about him being back, I didn’t want him to be like this. A shadowy reflection of the golden boy he once was.

  I rose up on my toes and kissed him, trying to get rid of what was imprinted on his face. “You promised me pancakes, pretty boy.”

  “So I did.” He tugged on my top. “But since you’re already half naked, how about you get all naked and we have a late breakfast?”

  “I’m not easy, you know.”

  He smiled.

  It was a late breakfast.

  Hill

  “Nothing’s changed.”

  “Were you expecting flying cars?”

  I pointed at her and she smiled. I liked that. That she smiled. I didn’t have a lot of memories of her smiling. If any. I’d have to look through my photos, but I was pretty sure there hadn’t been a lot of smiles in the pictures I randomly took of her.

  Yeah, I didn’t know this Sarah at all. But I wanted to.

  I wanted to know why she had gotten clean. I wanted to know about the house. I wanted to know everything she had done in the past four years.

  It was a strange feeling.

  I looked around the Pierce Point Café and saw that not much had changed. The old white and navy blue had been replaced by a pale cream color, so everything didn’t look seasick anymore. The walls were pretty much the latest update. These were the same waitresses who had served me pancakes after tying one on as a teenager. I opened the backpack I brought along and eased the lens cap off my camera. Before Sarah could blink, I had the camera up. I caught her image just as her lashes lowered like they always did, but the little rise of her lips still remained and a tiny blush darkened her cheeks. She’d never let me take a picture of her with her eyes looking at me. Ev
en when she had been hammered, she’d hide her eyes from me. It was as annoying now as it had been then.

  “Put that down.” She reached over and pushed on the camera.

  “I still have them, you know.”

  “Stop it. Put that down or I’m leaving.”

  I set the camera down on the table because I knew she would leave. I didn’t want her to leave. “I love that you don’t ask what them is.” She blushed completely. Resting my elbow on the table, I propped my chin on my hand to gaze at her. “God, you were sexy.”

  “Shut up. We’re in a restaurant. There are kids in here.”

  “So sexy. Once you got over the shyness, you were so sexy as you lay on your bed. Every glorious naked inch of you caught in my camera. Let’s do it again. I’m way better now.”

  “I am not doing nudies with you.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  A frustrated sound came from her and she grabbed the same menu I remembered and held it up. I laughed. Bracing my forearms on the table I leaned over. “You know how I know you will?”

  She dipped down the laminated edge and looked at me.

  “Your nipples are hard.”

  “William.” She hit me with the menu then folded her arms over her breasts. “You’re a lunatic.”

  “I know. It adds to my allure.”

  “Good morning, folks. Coffee?”

  I sank back and flipped over the white mug with Pierce Point Café written in red script. I lifted my eyebrow, and Sarah looked at the waitress and nodded. I turned her cup over and loved that she picked up her menu again to hide her blush. And her breasts. Sweet.

  “I’m having the pancakes. Double stack. Butter on the side and blueberry syrup. Double order of bacon too.”

  “I’ll have the same but a single serving of each.”

  The order was written down and there was a sudden intake of breath. “William Deveraux! Oh lands, I didn’t even notice.”