Down By The Water (12 page)

TWENTY TWO

I rode back to Lake Land with Ty. Jenna had made some noises about running errands and, after trying to pull more information out of her and getting nothing, I finally relented. She probably needed to be on her own for a while. Decompress. And buy another dozen packs of cigarettes.

“So, you talked to Jorgenson?” I asked Ty as we pulled out of the auto shop parking lot.

His eyes were on the road, his head swiveling back and forth as he waited for a break in traffic. “Yep.”

“And?”

The semi he was waiting on passed by and he merged on to the road. “And what?”

“Did he...did he ask about me?”

“A little,” he said.

I waited but he didn't elaborate.

“What did he want to know?”

“I dunno. It was pretty much the same stuff he asked your sister. When you got here, why you were here. Stuff like that.”

I sighed.

“Look, you don't have anything to worry about, okay?” He turned to look at me before shifting his eyes back to the road. “I was with you this morning. We had breakfast together, remember?”

I knew what he was saying. He was telling me I had an alibi. I already knew that. And I knew it should provide some small comfort, remembering this fact and knowing Ty realized it, too, but the uneasiness stayed with me.

We drove in silence for a few minutes and I leaned my head against the window, watching as the town flew past us. When he didn't slow down at the entrance of the resort, I sat back up.

“What are you doing?”

“I dunno. Just thought maybe we could spend a little bit of time somewhere else today. If you're okay with that.”

I was more than okay with that. I didn't want to go back to the resort and the likely possibility that Jorgenson would be hanging around, waiting to talk to me.

“There's a lake just up the road. But if you don't want to do the water thing—”

I interrupted him. “No. It's fine.”

And it was. I wasn't just saying it to pacify him. I'd dreaded seeing the river where I'd found my sister and it had been difficult—horrifying, even—to be back down by the water's edge. Seeing it again, hearing it again. None of it had been easy. But something had shifted in my subconscious. I didn't know if it was because I'd just been through another harrowing situation with the water—this time, with different results—or if it was because I'd finally faced the demon that had haunted me for the last decade. Whatever it was, I felt slightly more at ease. Definitely not cured. But better.

Ty drove another couple of miles before turning off the highway and onto a paved, unmarked road. It was a single-lane, barely wide enough for the truck, the white birch trees flanking the road close enough to touch if I rolled down my window. Brambly bushes bursting with dark red berries crowded the trees and I peered closer, noticing they were wild raspberries.

He slowed the truck as the road curved and suddenly we were out from the trees and approaching a small dirt lot. Directly ahead was the lake, dark blue and still, a strip of sandy shoreline empty except for one lonely gull, his head close to the sand as he walked.

“Is this private property?” I asked.

Ty pulled the key out of the ignition. “Nope.”

“Then why isn't anyone here?” It looked like a nice lake. It was a hot summer day.

He shrugged. “Lakes are a dime a dozen around here.”

We got out of the truck and he reached into the bed, grabbing a blanket and a small cooler.

“A little premeditated?” I asked, smiling.

He grinned. “Hey. I was a Boy Scout. Be prepared is my motto.”

I followed him to the shoreline, limping only a little, and helped spread the blanket on the sand. Gingerly, I kicked off my sandals and sat down.

“Oh, shit.”

I looked up, worried. “What?”

He motioned to my feet. “You can't get in the water with those cuts. Hell, you shouldn't even have them on the sand.” He leaned over and reached for my calf. His hands were warm, the skin on his palm both soft and rough as he repositioned my legs so they were completely on the blanket.

“They're better,” I told him. It wasn't entirely true but the pain was beginning to subside a little.

He sat next to me, his hand still resting on my leg, his gaze trained on the lake in front of us. The sky mirrored the water, dark blue and mottled with clouds. The storm he'd mentioned earlier would be moving in. Soon.

“I'm sorry,” he said. His voice was soft and I instinctively leaned closer so I could hear him.

“Sorry for what?”

He tilted his head and looked at me. “For everything.”

“None of this is your fault,” I told him. It wasn't. I was a victim of circumstance. If anything, he'd helped me. Rescued me, just like he'd teased when we'd first met.

“I know,” he said. With his free hand, he scooped up a handful of sand. It was light brown, threaded with tiny gray and red pebbles and he sifted it through his fingers. “But I still feel bad.”

“Well, so do I.” I watched as he plunged his hand into the sand again. “I should have been upfront that first day. Told you who I was. That I'd been here before. All of that.”

He shook his head. “Nah. It wasn't any of my business.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “But I know I was acting weird. You noticed. You asked me. And I had the chance to tell you. Multiple chances. But I didn't. So I'm sorry.”

“You barely knew me,” he said. “Hell, you still don't, really. You didn't owe me anything, Lily. So I'm sorry for freaking out on you back at the house.” He looked at me, his eyes burning with intensity. “And I'm sorry the place I live holds such bad memories for you. And I'm sorry Jorgenson is being an asshole. I'm sorry. For all of it.”

“It's not your fault,” I repeated.

He wiped his hand on his shorts, rubbing the sand off. “It's just...I just feel shitty that all this is happening. All this is going down.” He swallowed. “I think about the resort. It's going to be mine some day. And I think about how happy I was to come back after being in the Cities. Really made me figure out my priorities and what I wanted. And I want to be here. Not just in Pelican Lake, but at the resort. I want to do what my dad does. I like meeting people. I like knowing that the place I live, the lots we rent out, make people happy.

“And then you come along.” His gaze dropped to the blanket. “And I find out I'm your worst nightmare.”

“That's not true.”

He lifted his eyes so he was looking back at me. “Sure it is. You didn't want anything to do with me.” A small smile touched his lips. “Gotta say, I'm not used to that.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “No?”

He shook his head. “No,” he said firmly.

“I think I changed my mind about that today.”

The smile on his face ratcheted up a notch. “I dunno. Think that's stress-related or something.”

I gaped at him. “What?”

“You heard me.” He squeezed my calf lightly. “You were all stressed out—rightfully so—and I think you just needed an outlet. A release.”

I shook my head in disbelief. Maybe part of it had been that but there was no denying I was attracted to him. Insanely so. “You're wrong.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

I nodded my head vigorously.

“Prove it,” he said softly.

“What? How?”

“You really want me to tell you how?”

I bit back the smile that threatened. No, I didn't want him to tell me how. Because I already knew what he wanted me to do. It was the same thing I'd wanted to do in the auto shop thirty minutes earlier.

Kiss him.

I didn't move in right away. I watched him for a minute, locking my eyes with his before letting my gaze drift to his mouth. I licked my top lip and his hand gripped my calf tighter, his nails digging lightly into my skin. I tilted my head up and he lowered his head toward me in anticipation. But I made him wait. Our mouths were mere inches apart and I could feel his breath on my lips, the subtle scent of peppermint toothpaste.

“You're killing me,” he whispered. His hand had become a vise on my leg.

“I know.”

“If you don't
—” he warned.

But I didn't give him a chance to finish. Lightly, I touched my lips to his, brushing them across his open mouth. Back and forth, as soft as a feather, teasing him. He shifted on the blanket and his hand moved from my calf to my thigh, his fingers caressing my bare skin. A shiver of anticipation rippled through me. I kissed him harder, thrusting my tongue into his mouth, tasting him, savoring him. He moaned something, maybe my name, and his hand moved along my hip, tracing the waistband of my shorts before inching up my rib cage.

Yes, I thought, as he shifted his mouth to my neck. He licked the soft skin along my jaw, nipped at it with his teeth as his hand trailed up my stomach, his fingers dancing on my shirt. His mouth returned to mine just as his hand closed over my breast and it was my turn to moan, to turn into him and press up against him. He nudged me down so I was laying on the blanket, the sand a lumpy bed, his body shielding me from the sudden gust of wind that ruffled my hair and tugged at my clothes, signaling the incoming storm.

Even as the first raindrops fell, I kissed him, let him touch me and stroke me, first through the fabric of my shirt, then again as his hand dipped into the opening of my tank top, his fingers finding their way inside my bra. I fastened my mouth to his, my hands roaming his broad back, finding their own way under his shirt as he caressed my breast, his thumb rolling gently over my nipple, igniting a fire inside of me that had lain dormant for far too long.

“I want you,” he said, his breath ragged. His hips pressed into mine and he was rock-hard.

I moved my hand down his back, positioning myself so I could access the front of him. I cupped him through his shorts and he squeezed my breast tight.

“Jesus,” he whispered. “Yes.”

He lifted his hand and I made a sound of protest but then his fingers stroked the outside of my shorts and I squirmed against him. “Yes. Yes.”

With deft hands, he unfastened the button and pulled the zipper down and maneuvered his hand so that it was inside my panties, his fingers gently touching me, teasing me. I could feel the dampness between my legs and I knew what I wanted, what I needed.

He did, too. He plunged his fingers inside of me just as his mouth seized mine for another kiss. I tried to reciprocate, fumbling with the button on his shorts that were the barrier keeping me from touching him as intimately as he was touching me, but I couldn't concentrate. Not when he was doing the things he was doing.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd been with someone. Months? I wasn't a one-night stand kind of person and the last relationship I'd had ended shortly after Valentine's Day. And even though I knew nothing could come of this afternoon with Ty, that it would end up being the first hook-up sex I'd ever had, I wanted it. Needed it.

“
Take them off,” I told him, lifting my hips.

He didn't need an invitation. He grabbed both my shorts and my panties and slid them from my hips, gliding them down my legs. We were on a beach—a public beach—and I was almost completely naked and I didn't care. His hand trailed up my inner thigh and he massaged my skin, his fingers inching closer, back to where they'd just been. His lips drifted from my mouth to my chin, raining soft kisses as he traveled further down. My jaw. My neck. My collarbone. With his free hand, he lifted my shirt and freed my breasts and fastened his mouth to one of them. I inhaled sharply, digging my nails into his back as his lips and hands assaulted every inch of me.

I didn't want him to stop. I wanted everything, then and there. But something cold and wet hit my forehead. Not just a raindrop or two. A downpour.

“
Shit,” he muttered, lifting his head from my breast.

“
Don't stop,” I pleaded. The rain was coming down in sheets but I pulled him back to me, drops of water coating his cheeks, his hair turing from damp to soaked.

A clap of thunder sounded.

“We have to,” he said, sighing. He sat up a little, hovering over me, trying to shield me from the rain pounding down. “Storm is moving in.”

“
I don't care,” I said, stroking him through his shorts.

He closed his eyes and I could tell he was struggling. The rain pelted us, plastering my hair to my scalp, but I didn't care. I'd never had sex in the rain. I'd never had sex with him. And I wanted both. Badly.

“Not here,” he said, stilling my hand with his own. “Not now.”

I frowned.

He grabbed my wet shorts and panties and, before I could stop him, he was gliding them over my feet and back up my legs.

“
Soon,” he whispered, his eyes dark. He held out his hand and pulled me to a standing position, grabbing the blanket with the other. He reached down and grabbed the cooler we never opened and nudged me in the direction of the truck as the skies opened up even more, the torrential downpour creating tiny lakes of rain water in the sand.