A Stone in the Sea(7)

Everything about her was delicate—her slender arms and the graceful curve of her hips—elegant and soft and supple.

But somehow everything about her felt raw.

Something fierce bristling beneath all that delicious skin.

Her head tipped back and she laughed, too far away for me to hear, close enough to know I wanted to.

God, what was wrong with me? Apparently all the fresh air was fucking with my head.

On a sigh, I pushed away from the door and found the secluded spot in the very back where I’d sat last night. I sank down onto the blood-red velvet cushion, stretched my legs out in front of me, going for the most casual I could muster when I really had no idea what I hoped to gain by being here.

My phone buzzed from my front jeans pocket and I dug it out to read the text.

Zee.

You okay, man? You disappeared.

A small grin formed on my mouth. The Keeper. That’s what I called him and he’d earned the title well. He was always checking up, worried about everyone but himself.

Yeah, just went to grab a drink.

His response was almost immediate. Fine, dickhead, don’t invite the rest of us. We’re bored as hell over here.

I chuckled and tapped out a reply. Maybe I’m sick of all your faces.

Two seconds later, my phone buzzed again. Yet you drag our asses clear across the country.

And just like last night, I felt her before she even spoke.

I froze with my fingers poised on my phone, ready to type out some snarky reply to one of my best friends, when awareness gripped me by the throat.

It was like she held some kind of power to command the hurricane that seemed to hover around her, cover her, protect her. An electric current sparking from her skin, something both dark and alive. Like she was projecting a warning to stay away, all the while sucking me right into the eye of a brewing storm.

Fear.

Whether it was hers or mine, I wasn’t sure, but I sensed it, just as strongly as I did when I sat in this very spot last night. At first I’d mistaken it for that fucked-up type of love and admiration ascribed to those who’ve not earned it. Love of a voice that was never really heard. Love of a face that was never really seen.

You’d think I’d be used to it by now. But with her? When I’d looked up to see that gorgeous face twist up in shock, her hands shaking and some kind of confused desire flaring in her eyes, all it’d done was piss me off. Every inch of me had hardened, most notably my dick and my jaw, because the girl had to be the hottest thing both east and west of the Mississippi, and then I’d just been bracing for the downfall. That moment when a girl started squealing when she realized who I was, fawning all over me, trying to get a piece because that’s just the way it was.

Everyone wanted a piece of Sebastian Stone.

I would have given her one, too, let her use me up. But I’d have used her up faster. A meaningless night wrapped up in long, long legs, all that golden hair and caramel eyes and a sugar mouth I was dying to taste.

I’d sat there silent, daring her. But she’d seemed lost in her own little daze, like she was really trying to see inside me and not the guy everyone else pretended to know.

It’d become clear quickly she had no idea who I was. And I guess that’s why I was here. There was something incredibly appealing about her having no clue. It felt good that she wasn’t looking at me like some sort of fucked-up prize, something to brag to her girlfriends about after she’d danced all over my dick. Something comforting in her not knowing the gossip and garbage that stewed around my name, that she didn’t know the half-truths and straight-up lies.

Best of all, she didn’t know the real truth, because that was so much worse than anything else someone could ever make up.

Slowly, my head lifted—like she had some kind of tether attached to it, her tugging soft and slow but greedy at the same time.

I met her eyes.

Caramel.

Sweet.

Kind.

Cautious.

Still they wandered, taking in my face, dropping to trace my arms, lingering on my hands. No. I hadn’t been hallucinating. That same tension was palpable, dense and deep. Pulling me deeper.

Finally she focused back on me. “Hi,” she said, everything about it self-conscious and adorable. “You’re back.”

I stretched out further, relaxing into the plush booth. “You remember me?”

Dropping her gaze, she raked her teeth over her bottom lip like she was searching for what she wanted to say, before she looked back at me with an incredulous grin lifted on one side of her mouth. “That was just last night…and you left me a fifty-dollar tip.”

The last was almost an accusation.

A short chuckle rumbled from me. “What? Great service.”

She rolled her eyes a little, her tone sarcastic. Playful. “Right. On one drink. That’s the hardest I’ve worked in my entire life.”