Chapter Nineteen
A Bottle of Scotch
Tom
There was no destination. I simply drove for hours, aimlessly and hopelessly trying to get her out of my system.
What the fuck happened back there?
None of it made sense. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stave off the hunger—my need for this woman.
What has she done to me?
As far as I wanted to get away from her, every turn I made seemed to lead back to my place. Where I’d left her. And she was probably confused and wondering what type of asshole she’d gotten messed up with.
I wanted to end it. To walk away before things got real ugly.
Shit.
I knew it the first time I kissed her. My cock was harder than a fucking lead pole, but it was more than physical, what she did to me. She brought something back. Something I thought was long dead and buried six feet below the ground. What a fool. To think my past wouldn’t be unearthed one day.
Pulling into my driveway hours later, I couldn’t remember how far or for how long I had driven, but it hadn’t been long enough. My body still raged with some kind of fire. I stared up at my third-floor window.
Could she still be here?
If she had any sense at all she would have packed her things and left my sorry ass behind. Alone was better, safer for both of us. Hell, I knew it, but I didn’t want to accept it. The thought of losing her made my body tremble.
Forcing myself on her?
Fucking asshole.
But I hadn’t been able to resist her. Not by a long shot.
I’d been there before and lost, badly—barely even made it out alive. Literally.
So why the fuck am I doing this again?
I thought I was stronger than this. Stronger than my need to possess her and make her mine. But the scent of her sweet perfume still lingering on my shirt and hands…shit. She was gonna be my downfall. No other woman had been able to resist me. None had made me throb with desire like this, either. Perhaps it was because she wasn’t like the others. Maybe it was because my charms, my money, and my good looks—none of it mattered to her.
“Goddammit, Sara. What the hell did you do to me?”
I pulled the car inside the garage, and in the dark, walked up to the living room and kitchen. Everything was still and silent, lest the crashing waves of the ocean echoing through the house.
It was why I came to Santa Monica and bought this house. I’d grown up near water, but Lake George was a place to which I could not return. The ocean brought with it freedom and peace, and carried out the darkness and pain that lingered with the lake.
After dropping my keys on the counter, I took off my blazer and walked over to the bar. Instinctively, I reached for the old bottle of scotch. I’d kept the bottle unopened—a personal reminder of the enduring battle that almost claimed me once. Staring hard at it as I had so many other times, I contemplated the possibilities.
I could drown it all out again.
Without hesitation, I broke the seal and poured myself a glass.
Tightly gripping it, the damning urge to numb the burn slowly consumed me. It crept from the tips of my fingers, up my arms, to the thirsty dry ash of my mouth and finally down to the cramp in my gut.
It could be so easy.
One sip would end it. It was so tempting, almost too much.
I let the tumbler hover over the sink.
Fuck it. I’ve already broken one rule. What’s one more?
My mind and body were at odds. One drink would end the ache building in my chest, but it would also plunge me into an abyss from which there might be no return. Tipping the glass, I watched as the alcohol slowly poured out and disappeared down the drain.
It will not beat me. Not tonight.
I walked over by the stairs and stared up. She didn’t leave. Her scent was as real and vivid as it had been when I’d held her in my arms. Once, I might have gone up the stairs and tried to finish what I’d started, but that was not tonight. Sara was home. My home. And now it would never be the same.
Back down in my garden room, I took off my shirt and lay in bed, waiting for the sleep that never came.