Rebound (Tryst Island Series)

Rebound:
A Tryst Island Erotic Romance 
by Sabrina York

Rebound

ISBN
 
978-0-9891577-0-4

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
 

Rebound Copyright © 2013 Sabrina York
 

Edited by E-book Formatting Fairies
 

Cover design by Wicked Smart Designs

Electronic book publication April 2013

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
 

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
 

The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.
 

The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to Carrie Jackson and Alexandra Cross. When you read the book, you’ll know why, if you don’t already.

Acknowledgements
 

First of all, thanks to my amazing beta readers, Sherene Kershner, Charmaine Arredondo, Ronlyn Howe, Kathy Klein & Monica Britt. My deepest appreciation to Wicked Smart Designs for a rocking cover, and to Marie Force and her Formatting Fairies for helping me whip this novella into shape.

Over the past year I have enjoyed the support of some truly amazing fellow authors and bloggers, without whom I would be languishing in a padded room. I love them all, and so appreciate their support and friendship. Please pick up their books if you’re in the mood for some really sexy, spicy, fun romantic fiction, or visit their blog pages: Desiree Holt, Chantilly White, Cassiel Knight, Cathy Brockman, Cerise de Land, Cindy Spencer Pape, Cristal Rider, Danita Minnis, Delilah Devlin, Emily Cale, Frances Stockton, Jianne Carlo, Kate Hill, Kendra Edens, Lisa Fox, Lissa Matthews, Mel Schroeder, NJ Walters, Paloma Beck, Sidney Bristol, Susana Ellis and Tina Donahue.
 

To all my friends in the Greater Seattle Romance Writers of America, Passionate Ink and Rose City Romance Writers groups, thank you for all your support and encouragement.

Chapter One

Kristi Cross set her heavy suitcase on the deck encircling the house and stared at the last trails of sunset shafting through the clouds and dancing on the darkening water of the horizon. She stilled, captured by the beauty, the peace, the perfection of the moment. She loved living in the Pacific Northwest, and this was why.

It had been a long, frustrating day. She’d planned to spend it puttering in her shop, closing at four and heading out to the island for a weekend with friends. But no. Instead she’d wasted hours attempting to converse rationally with a city zoning-bot who wanted to make her funky, friendly neighborhood into an industrial complex. And then she’d endured more aggravation at the DMV trying to explain she was, in fact, who she was. And of course there was that trial of patience at the post office, standing behind a very charming elderly woman who insisted on paying for everything with pennies.
 

Which she counted out. One. At. A. Time.

But this? This panoply? This glorious splay of color and nature and peace?
 

It made it all worth it.

She was ready for a break from real life, thank you very much.

And it had nothing to do with that nasty scene with Rolf this morning.
 

Truly. It didn’t.

Besides, that relationship had been over long before she’d walked in on him fucking her best waitress in the storage room.

There was no other word for what she’d witnessed. Fucking. Plain and simple.

No doubt, she’d miss Savannah more than Rolf. He hadn’t exactly been present, only paying attention to her when he wanted sex. She should have dumped him months ago.
 

It was a pain in the ass being in a relationship all by yourself.

The last gasp of sunlight winked out, and a velvet blanket draped itself over the horizon. Kristi couldn’t see it, but she could hear it,
smell
the sea. Her soul knew it was out there, vast and beautiful, constant and soothing. And that was enough.

With a sigh, she picked up her suitcase and let herself into the back hallway of the vacation house she shared with a group of college buddies on an island nestled in Washington State’s San Juan archipelago. The island’s official name was Trystacomseh, after a long-dead Indian chief, but the locals called it Tryst Island for short. She didn’t get out here very often because her business, Beanie’s Book and Coffee, kept her tied to the counter. But after a day like today, she really needed it. She’d checked the online calendar and been ecstatic to find a spot open—this was a last-minute whim, and the house was completely booked on many weekends. There were only so many beds, after all. Lucy had agreed to cover her Saturday shift, so Kristi had packed a bag and headed over to the ferry terminal.

Because her day was going the way it was, she’d missed the ferry. But she’d been able to catch a ride with Darby Britt, who’d been in Seattle stocking up on supplies for the bar.
 

In a perfect world, she would never have climbed into a boat with Darby. He drove like a demon escaping hell. But she’d needed the ride. And frankly, she’d enjoyed the feel of the wind whipping past, the tang of the sea spray and the sense she was jetting far and fast from the annoyances of her life.
 

Her hair would probably never be the same.

She smoothed the tangled locks into what she hoped resembled a human configuration as she checked the white board on the wall by the back door, just to see who had signed in—and her pulse stalled.
 

Damn. Of course
he’d
have to be here. What were the odds?

Kristi had had a mad crush on Cameron Jackson since her freshman year in college. Everything about him had drawn her, from his tall muscular form to the broad, friendly smile. He had a wicked sense of humor and could keep up with her snarky banter.
 

Of all the Dawgs, as they called themselves—the eleven souls who’d lived in McCarty Hall at the University of Washington and formed a bond while screaming at the television during football season—Cam was, by far, the most gorgeous. For four years, when they’d all converged on the lounge for their gridiron fix, she’d lusted after him. Even knowing—
knowing
—she wasn’t his type. Not by a long shot.

She’d lusted after him when they weren’t watching football too.

And damn it, she still had that stupid crush on him.

It was stupid. Really it was.
 

Kristi wasn’t blind. She saw the kinds of women he dated.
 

They didn’t look like her. She was…well, curvy was a nice word for it. And his current girlfriend was a wraith. Not skin and bones, but pretty damn close. You could
see
her clavicle. Kristi was pretty sure she had a clavicle. But hadn’t ever seen it.

Robyn was always flawlessly turned out, with flawless makeup, talons for nails and a perfectly disciplined coif. She wore Prada.
 

Kristi liked clompy boots and funky outfits she picked up in a second-hand shop. She
might
wear mascara—if the world was coming to an end or she had a date with Channing Tatum. Or something like that.

She was definitely
not
modelesque. Certainly
not
a wraith.

A low laugh resonated from the great room down the hall and her heart did a painful back flip. She would recognize that laugh, shiver to that laugh, anywhere. Any time.

She frowned. She hated when her heart did gymnastics, as it always did around Cam. Her heart was freaking Mary Lou Retton around Cam.

Ah well. She had to face him eventually. Apparently they were spending the weekend together. At least Robyn’s name wasn’t scrawled next to his on the board. She threw back her shoulders and plastered on a big old friendly smile as she rounded the corner.

The house, perched on a rise overlooking the Pacific, was magnificent. The hub of the structure was the sprawling great room spanning the length of the house. Rustic and lodge-like, it sported a huge fireplace on one end and a rough-hewn, long dining table on the other. The ceiling vaulted to a high peak over the open kitchen and the seaward-facing wall was all windows, giving the impression that nature was one with the house. Sofas and chairs were sprinkled about in welcoming configurations.

Kristi’s focus locked on Cam.

He glanced away from the TV and broke into a grin. “Kristi! Hey.”

“Hey, Cam.” The stillness blanketing the house told her they were alone. The Dawgs weren’t known for being quiet. “Where is everyone?” She dropped her purse on the table.

“You’re late. They all went to the bar.”

It was the tradition. First night on Tryst Island, everyone went to Darby’s. “Oh? Why didn’t you go?”

He shrugged. She tried not to fixate on the way his broad shoulders moved in the cotton of his T-shirt. She tried not to fixate on the thick muscles of his neck, or those biceps or—God help her—that chest. Molded as it was by his tight shirt.

A man like Cam should never wear a tight black T-shirt. It should be against the law. He was a brilliant computer programmer and should, by rights, be a super nerd. But with that bod, he could have been a gym spokesman or a male model for those sexy romance book covers. Or a porn star. Or something. She’d seen him in swim trunks—gotten a gander at his bare chest, the cut abs, the broad, flexing pecs…

It got a little difficult to breathe, so she thrust
that
image from her mind.

He was a hottie. And not just his body.

His face was equally fascinating with a square jaw, high cheekbones and slightly crooked nose. His features were sharp, but the whole of it was softened by an open, charming expression and azure eyes that crinkled at the corners. A slight smile always teased his perfect lips. His hair was jet black, short and curly—just the way she liked it. She longed to run her fingers through it.

She didn’t linger on the fantasy though. Otherwise she might start drooling.

She did that sometimes.

Thank heaven he was oblivious to her obsession.

He switched off the TV and stood. “I didn’t feel like dealing with a crowd of people tonight.”

Kristi nodded and wandered to the fridge, snooping for something to eat. As she made herself a quick sandwich and opened a beer, he strolled over to the breakfast bar and leaned on the counter and
looked
at her.

They’d been alone together before. She had no idea why this time his fixed attention made visions of the two of them, entwined, race through her mind.

It was probably the hint of mischief, that wisp of flirtation in his eye.
 

But that was typical Cam. He flirted with everyone. And everyone knew it was just that. Flirting.

No. This was something different.

She cut the crust off her sandwich and cast about for something innocuous to say. “So, how’s work?” He managed the Seattle office of an enormously successful online retailer. Work was always a safe topic.

He shrugged. “The usual. But my sister and I just started a website company on the side.” He stole one of her chips.

“You’d be good at that.” Cam had always been a whiz with computer code and Susanne was gifted in layout and design.