He wasn’t even sure why he’d come.
He’d been trying to make sense of what had happened, but every question he had just spawned a hundred more in his mind. Why would she lie to him? She’d seemed so upset the day she’d told him ‘the truth’ about ‘their son’. Was it regret? Regret that she’d got pregnant to another man? A man who’d deserted her and left her to raise the baby? It didn’t make sense.
Finally, he made it to the bar. Cam and Rosie hadn’t arrived yet, but he ordered three beers anyway.
“I’m surprised your ears haven’t burned off, all the talk I’ve heard about you lately.”
Kirk raised an eyebrow and turned in the direction of the genial voice. Beside him was the man who’d been dancing with Annabeth. The man who was a friend of hers. The town doctor, he seemed to remember.
“Kirk Robinson,” he said, his palm outstretched.
“I know. You’re quite the local celebrity.” Dan shook Kirk’s hand. “Dan Spencer.”
He’d seen her leave, but there was a childish part of him that wanted to stake a claim. To leave no doubts as to who Annabeth belonged to. “Beth here?”
Dan nodded towards the door. “Ran out of here like a cat on a hot tin roof as soon as you walked in.” The doctor regarded Kirk thoughtfully over the rim of his beer glass. “Must be quite some history between y’all for you to upset her like that. Annabeth’s been through a lot and I’ve never seen her with so much as a single feather ruffled.”
Something rolled in his gut. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” What did he mean? Been through what? He was too proud to ask. To admit, even to himself, that everyone else knew more about Annabeth Sparks these days than he did.
“She’s a great girl.” Dan was just making conversation. He’d tried to get Annabeth to go out with him a couple of years after he’d arrived in Clearview. She wasn’t interested in him then, and she wasn’t now. She wasn’t interested in anyone, as far as he could tell. But the way the tall, muscular stranger next to him tensed told him all he needed to know. Their business was not in the past. It was unfolding around them.
Kirk was saved from making a reply by Cam and Rosie’s arrival. He performed introductions distractedly, handing their drinks over.
“We have a problem,” Cam cut straight to the chase.
“Oh?” Kirk raised a brow in silent query.
Rosie, her beautiful face scrunched up in angst, shook her head. “I got the call this afternoon, and I don’t know what to do, because it’s not like we have a heap of options down here. Oh, I don’t mean to be ungrateful. La Cachette is the most beautiful place to have a wedding, but it’s so out of the way. So when someone pulls out of the wedding, we don’t exactly have our pick of replacements.”
“Who pulled out?” Kirk was all business. This is where he excelled. Emotional stuff he struggled with, but with any logistical problem, he could work out how to get A to Z and back again, through water, fire and war zones.
“The photographer,” Cam muttered. It had been a sore point for the groom all along, but Rosie had been determined to hire the renowned fashion snapper.
“You need a photographer?” Dan interrupted. The trio had been so caught up in their conversation they’d forgotten he was there.
“This wasn’t just a photographer,” Rosie wailed, wiping at her eyes angrily. “It was Sven Jagenson. The best photographer in the world!”
“Well,” Dan leaned forward, his face set in the expression he used to cajole recalcitrant seven year olds to submit to an ear exam. “I don’t know if that’s quite right. You see, I happen to know we have the best photographer in the world right here in Mobile County.”
Kirk knew where the doc was going. There was only one photographer in Mobile County.
“You mean Emma Whittaker?”
“The very one.” He looked past Kirk, a smile creasing his face. “Hey, Annabeth. Can you get that best friend of yours on the phone? These folk need to talk to her about a last-minute booking.”
Annabeth’s face was pale. Her eyes dull. Kirk noticed every tiny thing about her appearance. He had been so angry with her. For days he’d nursed a rage that was as volatile as a volcano. But seeing her now, it all went up in smoke. He smiled. She looked away, deliberately focusing only on Dan.
“Emma’s booked solid, Dan. You know that.”
“Naw, come on. Look how upset the bride is. Surely Em could work something out.”
Annabeth flicked her eyes to the stunning creature standing between Cam and Kirk. The woman was obviously holding on by a thread. She recognized the emotion. She was feeling the very same thing.
“Fine. I’ll call her.” She reached backwards and grabbed the phone off the wall, and dialed Emma’s number. It was too noisy to hear in the bar, so she slipped through the back, into her dad’s office.
Emma took so long to answer than Annabeth had been just about to hang up.
“Oh, I don’t know, Beth. Do you really want me to help them out?” She asked, when Annabeth had relayed the request.
Annabeth slumped against the wall, her eyes squeezed shut.
“No.” It was a whisper in the dark. “But you should. Just because Kirk’s a bastard doesn’t mean you should take it out on the poor bride. She looks devastated.”
“Should be, marrying into that family,” Emma swore loyally.
Annabeth’s smile was a shadow. “Oh, Em. You’re a sweetie. They’re not all bad. You even used to like Kirk, once upon a time.”
“Ancient history,” Emma announced resolutely. “How did he go with Wade, anyway? Are you guys on your way to a happy family reunion ?”
Annabeth swallowed anxiously. “No, hardly. You were right, Emma. The whole thing was a mistake. He didn’t believe me. It was a stupid idea. I should never have told him.”
Emma’s response was prolonged and expletive laden, but it did nothing to soothe Annabeth’s frazzled temper. “Just… don’t worry. Look, they’re in the bar. Can I let them know if you’ll take the job?”
“Yeah, fine. Only because you’re asking, though, Beth. And I want double my usual rate.”
“I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” Annabeth responded simply, disconnecting the call without moving. She stayed against the wall, her eyes shut, her mind hurting.
“So I was right? It was a lie?”
Her blue eyes flew open, to see Kirk standing like a tightly sprung coil in the door of the darkened office.
“Kirk,” she shook her head from side to side.
He stepped into the office and shut the door behind himself. His face wore a grim mask, but once he’d closed the door she could no longer see the detail in his expression. The office was plunged into darkness.
“Emma said she’d do it.”
“I don’t give a shit,” he said harshly. The office was small. He closed the distance between them in seconds. He groaned as he pulled her into his arms. “A part of me hates you, Annabeth. For lying to me. But a part of me loves you, too, and wants you so bad it hurts. What does that say about me?”
She couldn’t speak. Her own emotions were pelting one another from opposite sides of the sensible divide. She knew she should be strong, that she needed to make him understand the truth. And she would. But first… she stood on tiptoes and found his mouth, claiming it with hers. He groaned again, dragging his fingers through her hair and pressing her back against the wall with the weight of his body. Her mouth was so soft and pliant, and he ravaged it. He ravaged her. He kissed her neck, her décolletage, pulled at her shirt so that it fell open and her breasts were exposed. As she moaned and writhed against his body, he kissed her breasts, and lashed her nipples with his tongue, moving his hands lower. She was wearing a denim mini skirt, and he ruched it up around her waist, pulling at her underwear so that he could slip a finger inside of her, while his mouth continued to taste her body.
Annabeth was a shaking mass of sensation. “Kirk, I can’t stand up,” she whispered, her knees so weak, her body so jelly-like, that she was simply a collection of erotically charged cells.
“No.” He lifted her easily and placed her on the timber floor. Outside, the noise of the bar continued to rage, but they couldn’t hear it. There was only them, and this. He undid his jeans impatiently, just enough to remove his arousal and nudge it towards her entrance.
“Please,” she whispered, digging her nails into the cotton of his shirt. “Please, Kirk.”
His smile was satisfied, his expression harsh. “Oh, Beth. I want you, honey, but I kind of want you to suffer. Just a little.”
Groggily, she pushed up on her elbows. “What… do you mean?”
“Suffer in the best possible way, angel.” He dipped his blonde head forward, and made contact with her most intimate, beautiful heart. His tongue was not gentle, and her orgasm was fierce. She thrashed on the floor as her body spiraled into a heated coil of delight, her insides were slick with moisture, her breasts raw and sensitive from his touch.
“That’s not suffering,” she whispered, as she came back to earth.