Chapter Two: Shawnassey Britt
Chapter Three: Laura Freeman
Chapter Four: Marion Gillespie
Chapter Five: Traci Reimer
Sally Chambers thumped the steering wheel in frustration as fat, juicy raindrops slobbered all over the windshield and hood of her beloved Scarlett. The temperamental thirty-year-old VW bug deserved the punishment Mother Nature was inflicting. How dare she conk out in the driveway instead of evacuate in the face of Hurricane Dante?
Plucking her cell phone from the quagmire of store receipts and breath-mint wrappers crowding her purse, Sally felt her heart dip when she looked at the readout. As dead as Scarlett. Recharging it would have been way too organized.
"Son of a…beanpole!" She whacked the steering wheel so hard, a quick flash of pain ricocheted up her arm.
Well, she had lived through worse storms on the Gulf Coast of Florida, and she'd live through this one. She had no choice. Funny, she'd spent the day warning the resort guests of the foolishness of remaining on a barrier island even in this less-than-deadly category-three hurricane. Now she was about to ignore her own advice.
"Shh…ugar," she muttered, climbing out of the ancient car and buffeting against a blast of wind and rain. The place was deserted. No one had been able to get on the island since early that afternoon, and everyone with a brain — and a car manufactured sometime after Nixon had been president — had hit the causeway the minute mandatory evacuation had been announced. But Sally's boss and friend, Nicole, had needed help securing the property and hustling guests out, and it had taken the entire Mar Brisas Resort staff to get the job done.
Now it was well past five, everyone else had left, and the thick cloud cover caused an eerie late afternoon darkness. A quick glance down the long, flat beach road revealed no sign of life. The howling wind, even hours before actual landfall, bowed the towering queen palms like ballerinas in a backbend, their fronds extended straight. Only the very centerline of the road remained visible. The rest was under at least five inches of water. She didn't need to see the wild, whipping surf across the street; she could tell by the thunderous roar that the tide already threatened the front porches of the beach houses. She could only pray the storm surge wouldn't flood her little bungalow.
Bracing against a particularly vicious gust, she caught a glimmer of yellow through the curtain of rain. Were those headlights? She squinted into the downpour and peered at the shimmering dots in the distance. Yes. Yes. Someone was still on St. Joe's!
With a quick glance down her rain-soaked body, she almost laughed out loud. Rain had left her thin cotton tank top suctioned to her skin, the outline of her bra clearly visible. The threadbare cutoffs she'd pulled on ten minutes before weren't any drier. No doubt her short red hair was plastered to her head and if she had a speck of mascara left, it was running in black rivulets down her cheeks. Oh, well. She'd lived on this island since she was born. Most likely, the person headed toward her was someone she knew, or a panicked tourist as anxious as she to get to the mainland. Who cared what she looked like?
As the car slowly approached, she could hear the engine sputtering with the water intake. Arms waving, Sally called out as the halogen lights of a two-seater Mercedes broke through the deluge. Definitely a tourist. Nobody on St. Joe's drove that car.
"Hey! Help! I'm stranded!" Relief washed through her as the vehicle veered to her side of the road and the passenger window slowly rolled down. "Oh! Thank you for —" She reached to grasp the door handle, then blinked into the rain as she made out the face of the driver. And blinked again. As if that could change what — or who — sat behind the steering wheel.
A heated gaze the color of a Hershey's Kiss raked over her. "Hey, Sal."
Of all the people in the world to appear in a storm, of all the possible inhabitants and ex-inhabitants of St. Joseph's Island, of all the big, strong, gorgeous men who could come to her rescue, the last person on earth she expected was John Patrick Fletcher. Unless she was dreaming…then it would most definitely be him. Because for the past seven years, the moment of their charged and overdue reunion had been the stuff of her every daydream.
Only, this was more like a nightmare.
"Fletch?" She hoped he didn't hear the crack in her voice.
He grinned. Grinned. Like they weren't face-to-face for the first time since they spent graduation night making love in three different venues until the sun came up. Like he had no idea he'd broken her heart into a thousand pieces of sea glass by bolting to New York and never calling or coming home again.
Yeah, and what a grin it was. As sexy and irresistible as ever. No. Not irresistible. She could resist him. No one could be that stupid twice.
He reached across the seat and pushed the door open. "What the hell are you doing out there anyway?"
"I'm stranded. My power's out, my phone's dead. I'm trying to evacuate, but my car's dead, too."
"Scarlett?" He looked over her shoulder, surprise warming his eyes. "You still drive that old thing?"
Maybe it wasn't surprise that warmed his eyes. Maybe it was the memory of what they'd done in Scarlett's cramped backseat — venue number two, if she recalled correctly. "She runs," she said, wiping the water from her face. "When the spirit moves her."
He chuckled, his gaze claiming her face, lingering on her mouth, then sliding over her rain-soaked chest. That raw sexuality that had always undone her sparked in his eyes. "Really good to see you, Sal."
Maybe someone could be that stupid twice.
She tried not to stare at him. But she couldn't help it. He had changed. Gone were the boyish lines that had been so cute and endearing since grade school. He'd lost the youthful set to his jaw and wiry build that had earned him so many sports trophies in high school. In their place, a man. A heart-stoppingly handsome man with a solid, substantial body, angular features, a shadow of beard stubble and the most delicious-looking lips she'd seen in, well, seven years.
You left without saying goodbye.
She swallowed the thought, but asked the obvious question. "What are you doing back on St. Joe's?"
"I live here."
Her heart squeezed. "You…live here?"
"Well, I'm about to. I just bought a house at the south end of the island on the beach." He gave her a wry smile. "Fortunately, it's insured. You need a ride somewhere?"
Sure. Just like that. Hi Sal. Sorry I strung you along from the time we were eight to eighteen, took your virginity, told you I'd always loved you, then disappeared forever. You need a ride, kid?
"Can you take me to the mainland?" she managed to ask.
He nodded, a slow smile lifting the corners of that incredible mouth. "Exactly where I was headed." He turned his attention to the road, shifted gears and frowned as the car rumbled and the engine missed.
"What's the matter?"
He twisted the key. Nothing. "Do you live close by?"
"I live right here." She tilted her head toward the humble ranch house she'd worked so hard to buy, suddenly seeing it through his eyes. "This is my house."
"Good thing. The ignition's soaked. Looks like we're going to have to ride this one out, Sal."
The front door caught when Sally attempted to open it, sticking against the doorjamb with a stubborn force. Figures. The rain was coming in torrents now, falling in sheets over the eaves. She placed a shoulder against the door and shoved, her feet slipping out from under her when the door suddenly gave way.
"Mother…father," she grunted, pushing herself up and rubbing sheepishly at her smarting left thigh.
Fletch stood in the open doorway looking down at her, his gorgeous eyes twinkling with dangerous mischief. "You should go get changed. You're soaked." His gaze lingered meaningfully on the transparent front of her shirt. Sally gulped, remembering how his hands had explored every inch of flesh there.
It was going to be a long night.
"So are you. Bathroom's over there," she said hurriedly, waving in the general direction of the bathroom. It took every ounce of self-control she had to walk calmly down the hall to her bedroom.
Sally groaned, peering through the fading light into the mirror at the mess the rain had made of her. She might as well not be wearing a shirt at all, and her cutoffs clung to her like a second skin.
Lightning flashed outside, the resulting thunder loud enough to rock the window in its sill. She jumped, gasping, her eyes flying to the window. It was almost too dark to see outside, save the flickers from the lightning that continued to explode across the sky. The fury was gathering force.
She finished changing and braced herself to return to her living room. In her mind's eye, she was eighteen, on the beach with Fletch, making love as the surf pounded in their ears — venue number three. She shook her head fiercely.
His large frame, lounging on her tattered couch as if it belonged there, made her living room feel cramped and small. Especially once she noted that he was now shirtless, dark hair splaying across his chest just begging her to run her fingers through it. "Want me to see if I can find a shirt that would fit you?"
"No, thanks." He grinned that wicked lopsided grin again. "I'm not secure enough in my manhood to wear women's clothes. I'll suffer."
So will I, thought Sally.
Lightning ripped across the sky again, followed by another crash of thunder that rattled the windows and shook the pictures on the wall.
"Do you have flashlights? A radio?"
"The flashlight’s in the kitchen, but I don't know about batteries."
"You've lived here all of your life and you don't stock fresh batteries in case of a hurricane?" Two strides took him from the living room to the doorway of her tiny kitchen.
"I didn't plan on throwing a hurricane party tonight." She pushed past him, brushing against his exposed chest with a barely concealed shudder.
She rummaged through the drawers, locating a small flashlight, a few assorted candles, a tattered book of matches and several batteries.
"Radio?"
"In my bedroom." She made for the door and stopped short, waiting for him to move out of the way. She wasn't going to touch him again. Fletch chuckled, standing back to let her pass.
Sally was conscious of his every move, knew exactly how far behind her he was and exactly when he came to a halt at the doorway. She took the radio off her bedside table, flipped it over and fumbled with the back panel. She wasn't even sure what kind of batteries the thing needed. She glanced up at Fletch, who was lounging against the doorjamb, staring speculatively at her bed.
Don't get any ideas, fella.
"Come on," she ordered impatiently.
Just then, a loud crash and the sound of breaking glass came from the living room. Sally ran down the hall, Fletch following closely behind. That's one less palm tree in the yard, Sally thought as they looked around at the source of the noise. The leafy top of the tree was now residing in her living room, the window that had been there a moment before only a memory.
The rain poured in through the opening in buckets. A deepening puddle of water spread across the floor, joining the water already gathering in front of the entryway door.
"Sal, we can't stay in here."
No kidding. "My bedroom closet. It's the only place without windows."
They quickly gathered their supplies and made for the closet. Sally opened the door and scowled viciously. It had seemed much bigger when the only thing she had to put in there was her clothes.
Fletch grinned. "Ladies first."
Sally ducked inside. He squeezed in beside her. There's got to be somewhere else we can go, she thought furiously, wracking her brain. The only other place without a window was her attic. She listened to the thunder, wind and rain, mixed with the sounds of the rafters groaning over her head. Okay, the attic was a bad idea.
He closed the door and darkness engulfed them. "Where's the flashlight?" she asked nervously.
"We should save the batteries until we need them." His voice was deep and rich and sexy in the dark.
"Candles?"
"With all these clothes hanging in here, that would be a house fire waiting to happen."
Rats.
She could feel his bare skin against her arm, smell the faint scent of soap and aftershave. Oh man, did he smell heavenly.
"It really is good to see you, Sal," he murmured huskily.
"You can't see me."
"Yeah, I know."
His warm, solid hand settled on her cheek. She gulped. Seven years she had thought about him every day, sometimes longing for him, but mostly cursing him for abandoning her.
Her treasonous body couldn't have cared less.
"Sal?"
"Yeah?"
"Come here."
The air squeezed from her lungs in a single breath. In the inky blackness of her tiny closet there was nothing but the luscious feel of his lips on hers and her own heartbeat running the Kentucky Derby in her chest. His mouth slipped across her jawline and came to rest on the sensitive spot just below her earlobe.
Sally had a sneaking suspicion they had just located venue number four.
The wind howled overhead, the rain pummeled the outside walls, lightning flashed and thunder sounded intermittently. And John Patrick Fletcher found himself in a dark closet wrapped intimately around Sally Chambers after a very long seven-year hiatus. His body remembered hers instinctively as if seven minutes had passed instead of seven years. He'd often remembered her over the years. Only this time he wasn't dreaming.
One of Fletch's hands was braced against the edge of an unseen closet shelf. The other was locked around the still-slender waist of the first girl he'd ever made love to. His lips found hers again in the darkness of the closet they shared. He wanted to taste her again after so long. She smelled so very delicious. His tongue sought entrance to her mouth and was welcomed.
The fury of the weather around them came in a close second to the intensity of the kiss they now shared. The isolated quality of the situation made him feel as though they were the only two people left on earth.
His mouth barely lifted off of hers so he could murmur, "I've missed you, Sal," then he resumed the scorching kiss. His tongue tangled with hers in a frenzy as wild as the storm that blasted outside around them. He was getting hot. The temperature was definitely rising…inside and out.
Her response was only a vague moaning sound that made him smile inside and tighten his grip on her. "I've never forgotten you," he whispered in her ear after kissing a path to it. This time he got a verbal response instead of the sensuous moan he'd been hoping for.
"Why did you leave me?" came her whispered question. The sixty-four-thousand-dollar one he wasn't sure he was ready to answer just yet. He should be ready to answer. He'd thought about little else since he'd been back. He heard her sniff. Was she crying?
Fletch felt a tear, or maybe a bead of sweat, trickle from her face and onto his. Lord, it was getting hot in this closet. In more ways than one. How to explain? How to even begin?
"I didn't leave you."
"Yes, you did. You never even said goodbye," she said sadly and sniffed again.
Fletch didn't want to have this conversation with her right now. There were too many emotional elements he wasn't sure he was ready to deal with himself yet. It was not the best time in so many ways. And yet, she did deserve an explanation. Wasn't that part of the reason he was here in St. Joseph's in the first place?
"I needed to get away," he finally said.
"From me? Why?" She sniffed and tried to separate from him. It was an impossible task given the lack of space in the closet.
"No. Not from you," he said, slightly exasperated. "My leaving had nothing to do with you." He heard her sniff again, or maybe it had been a snort of disbelief.
"You know what kind of home life I had back then," he said in a sharper tone than he'd intended. "It can't be a huge surprise to you that I wanted to get away from it. I needed to prove to myself I was…smart enough…good enough to make it on my own. And I have." His voice had softened to a low tone.
Fletch was proud of his success, but lately he'd begun to question his priorities. And then, his father had asked him to come back to St. Joseph's Island to reconcile. Fletch was here to give a second chance to a father he'd been angry with for too long. He hoped it wasn't too late for a second chance with Sally, too.
"So now you're back. To do what? Gloat about your success?" Her biting remarks made him realize she was as hurt as he'd been expecting her to be.
"No. Not to gloat," he responded gently. "I came back to make things right between my father and me. And I came back for you, too, Sal. It wasn't an accident I was on your street tonight."
"It wasn't?" she asked. Fletch noticed her voice had softened. Perhaps a second chance with her wasn't out of the question. He'd been watching for her since he'd been back, trying to run into her all week. He'd found out from his father where she lived. He had gone down her street tonight to make sure she was safely away.
He smiled in the dark. He had run into her all right. He had run right into her house, then he'd run right into her closet, and now his mouth had run right into hers, as well. Their kisses had been amazing. And he wanted to kiss her again. Right now.
He pulled her closer, back into his body. She didn't resist. Her arms slid around his bare shoulders. He felt her fingers begin to play with the damp hair at the nape of his neck. The temperature was still rising in the closet. Her shirt was already wet with their combined perspiration and sticking to them both. He could feel her chest rising against his as the tempo of her breathing increased. He lowered his mouth to hers once again as his memory flashed back to seven years ago…that last time they'd been together on the beach. They'd been wet then, too, in more ways than one. Was she wet for him right now?
"Oh, my God!" Sally broke the kiss and tried to break away from him. Fletch realized through his sensual fog that her exclamation wasn't a response to his amazing kiss when he felt the water rushing in under the closet door.
It didn't just creep, it swirled. Sally wondered if Fletch could feel her fear. "Relax." he said as if reading her mind, holding her tightly against him. "It's okay. Now is not the time to panic."
"Then you tell me when it is time because I'm all primed," Sally retorted with a quiver in her voice. It was one thing to have weathered hurricanes before, it was quite another when they followed you into the closet. "You sure picked a fine time to come back," she muttered. "Could you come home in nice weather? Nooo. You had to wait until hurricane season." You never should have left me to start with, she thought silently as she tried to extricate herself from his embrace.
Fletch seemed to let her go reluctantly, but he held on to her hand as he eased open the door. There was virtually no daylight now. The storm had obliterated any brightness there had been even just an hour ago. "Where's the flashlight?"
Sally groped around in the dark. She'd dropped the darned thing when she'd been in a tongue tangle with him and when her hand made contact with the metal, she silently hoped the water hadn't destroyed the batteries. She flicked the switch, relieved to see the light emanating from it and handed it to Fletch.
Her relief was short-lived, and dismay coursed through her when she saw the beam of light play over the brackish water. Already it was around their ankles. Not much longer and it would be up to their knees. "Fletch." Her voice trembled. "We can't stay here." Her whole body shook. Partly from fear, partly from cold, and partly from latent sexual need. As scared as she was, though, Fletch's presence kept her on this side of sanity.
"Turn on the radio, honey. Let's get a weather update. We'll be safer here than if we tried to leave now so we should just wait it out a little bit longer. The eye of the storm is bound to hit anytime now and when it does, that will be our chance to get out of here and head to higher ground."
Of course. Why hadn't she thought of that? Because her thought processes were short-circuiting, that's why. Just one touch; that's all it took. And when they had made love, well, everything she ever knew about anything fizzled away. Fletch had always had that kind of effect on her. When the eye of the storm arrived, the wind would die down and it would be safe for them to leave the confines of her small bungalow. And head where? The grocery store down the block, that's where. She'd seen the owner board up the windows earlier. He wouldn't mind if she and Fletch made use of the office on the second floor while the storm raged.
She shivered and her fingers shook as she fumbled with the dials on the radio but there wasn't much reception. Static crackled from the tiny portable indicating that the small station on the island was off the air.
Nuts.
Some reunion this was turning out to be. Several scenarios had fluttered through her mind during the past seven years, all of them with Fletch begging on bended knee for her forgiveness while she turned her back and pretended to contemplate his pleading words. Her generosity had her giving in eventually, of course, but she'd make him suffer first. Just like she had.
But reality was always different. As hurt as she still was, she'd always known that if he ever came back, it would be a real struggle for her not to launch herself into his arms. The fact that she'd managed to stay out of his embrace for all of fifteen minutes actually surprised her.
"Listen!" Fletch's excited voice pulled her out of her reverie. "The wind's dying down. Now's our chance." He pulled her out of the bedroom, keeping a tight grip on her hand as they splashed through the water, following the fading light from the flash. "Sal, we need to hurry, we're losing the light and I don't want to waste time putting other batteries into the flashlight."
Sally hurried to keep up with him and braced herself against the cold when he opened the front door. It was windy but not as bad as it had been. Still, it took them twenty minutes to make their way down the block to the store. Once there, they faced another challenge. How were they going to get in?
Fletch ran the light around the boarded-up windows and door and discovered a gap large enough for his hand to fit through. He rammed against the plywood. Once. Twice. The third time Sally heard the nails squeal in protest as they gave up their hold. Fletch turned the knob, and Sally gave a silent prayer of thanks when it opened. He bundled her ahead of him, then once inside, turned and drew the wood back into the store with him, where he propped it up against the door.
"Help me with this, Sal," he said, indicating a large counter.
Together, they pushed and pulled until the heavy counter trapped the plywood against the door.
Sally was really shivering now, her teeth chattering as she talked to Fletch. "Th-this w-way." She led him upstairs to the relative safety of the office. Fletch made room on the desk and lit the candles. A soft glow embraced them and he looked around, spotting a blanket draped neatly over the back of a couch.
He pulled it off and wrapped it around her. "I'm not being a smart aleck, but you really should get out of those wet clothes. I'll hold the blanket while you get undressed. And I won't stare."
"There's only one blanket," Sally observed. "And you're soaked to the skin, too. What do you suggest?"
Fletch grinned as his hand dropped to the zipper on his jeans. "Guess we'll both have to get naked and share the blanket."
"Uh…Fletch? I’m not sure getting undressed is such a great idea. I mean we would be naked and well…naked." Did her voice really squeak when she said that?
Sally started pacing the room. Agitated didn’t begin to describe her state at this point. Disturbed, tense, jittery. That was more like it. He unnerved her. She could smell his masculine scent. A shot of heat spread through her body. What was it about this man that sent her hormones into overdrive?
Fletch was drawing her like a magnet. She felt powerless to stop the pull. Sally looked up at his face. He was awash in the candlelight. He was gorgeous. Simply gorgeous.
The rain pounded and wind howled as Fletch smiled his secret, sexy smile at her. He reached out and gently cupped her face. "Sal, we have to get you out of those clothes. I don’t want you catching a cold." His quiet voice poured over her like melted chocolate. Tugging her little tank top over her head, he tossed it to the floor. His hands slid down her stomach and unzipped her cutoffs. He caressed her legs while pulling them off.
The whole time his eyes never left hers. It was as if he were holding her in place with his gaze. She knew she should move. She really needed to stop him, but darn it, she didn’t want to.
He leaned toward her and brushed his lips across her forehead. Starting at her eyebrows, he traced a line to her ear with gentle, teasing kisses. By the time he touched his lips to hers, Sally felt as though she was going to explode. "Oh, Fletch." She moaned. "Don’t stop." She shivered, but in delight, not from the cold.
"Baby, I wouldn’t stop if the roof caved in on us. I have missed you so much."
Missed her. Did he really miss me all these years? Sally stiffened. "Then why haven’t I heard from you in seven years?"
"Oh, Sal. I did leave the next morning, but I thought about you every day. I never have and never will feel about another woman the way I feel about you." He stroked her back as he entranced her again with his voice. "Let me make love to you. Tell me you want me."
Sally knew this was the man of her heart. There would never be another man for her. She had known this since they were children. His leaving had hurt her to the core, but in the end it would always be him.
"John Patrick Fletcher, I do want you to make love to me. But this time will be different. I won’t let you run off and leave me. I still want answers." Her voice grew stronger, as did her courage. Sliding her hands down his hard chest she unbuttoned his jeans and knelt to peel them off. She kissed a trail down his chest and stomach.
Sally took a deep breath at the vision of him in only his jockeys. Wow. He was phenomenal. One hundred times better than she remembered. She hoped all that surfing and swimming had done her body the same kindness.
Fletch scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the couch. The candlelight was dancing across their skin as he gently laid her down. He gazed at her. "Sally, I am so sorry for everything. I will answer all your questions later, but now I need to be with you."
Leaning in to kiss her, he reached around and unhooked her bra. He teased her taut, luscious nipples with his tongue. Sally giggled. "Fletch, I missed the way you make me feel!" She curved her body to match his and savored the feel of his skin against hers.
Their hearts pounded in unison. "If I don’t get inside you now I might die right here," said Fletch, sounding as desperate as she felt. In one liquid motion they were out of their underwear.
Sally wanted him to possess her. "I can’t wait either." She arched her body to meet his. He entered her swiftly. Their lovemaking was hard and fast. All the years of longing were released in this one act. Nevertheless, her climax was amazing. She had waited seven frustrating years for this.
In the afterglow, she tried to gauge his reaction. He looked like a contented cat. "Fletch? Fletch, say something."
A sheepish smile spread across his face. "Sally, I’m sorry that was so…quick. I have wanted this for such a long time, I just couldn’t control myself."
"Well, do I look upset? I enjoyed that as much as I think you did." She tried to reassure him with a smile.
"In that case why don’t we try again? Only this time let’s go for slow and wonderful." He started kissing her neck. Oh, boy, that felt so…so…wait.
There could be slow and wonderful later. After he gave her some answers. She needed to know what happened all those years ago.
"Fletch. Fletch, stop. You still owe me an explanation."
Fletch gathered the blanket that had fallen to the floor, pulling it over them as he cuddled Sally's delicious body into his, deep into the worn cushions of the couch. The flickering candlelight danced into the corners of the grocer's office, the salty scent of sex and humidity colliding with the smell of musty papers and cardboard storage boxes.
"This wasn't exactly the romantic setting I'd envisioned for our reunion, Sal."
Her head shot up from where she'd snuggled into his neck, a flash brightening her emerald eyes. "You thought we might meet again?" The sweetness in her voice tore at him way worse than her usual sarcasm.
Gliding his hand over the curve of her hip, into the dip of her waist, he let out a long, slow breath, but the whistling wind and groaning boards drowned out the sound. "I never thought we might," he admitted. "I knew we would."
Her eyes narrowed in disbelief. "How did you know that?"
Slowly, his hand moved up her body, and he felt her stiffen slightly in response. Oh, man, he just wanted to make love to her over and over. Forever.
Of course, he'd known that for seven years. But Sally didn't. And it was time for the truth. He glided his palm over the swell of her breast and watched her eyes widen at the same moment her flesh pebbled under his touch.
"I want to feel your heart beat," he told her.
"It's conveniently located under my left breast."
"Ah, Sal," he sighed, chuckling. "You're the only woman who has ever made me laugh."
He scooted her up to align their bodies. Their threaded fingers were fisted between their thumping hearts. Arousal shot through him at the feel of her silken thighs against him, her still moist woman's flesh.
"I don't want to make you laugh," she whispered. "I want to make you talk." She parted her legs just enough to give him tacit permission to settle there. Only nothing was settled.
He closed his eyes and rocked against her, their bodies touching at every possible point, but still separate — where they would stay until he told her the truth.
"Do you remember when we said goodbye?" he asked.
"We didn't say goodbye, Fletch. We said good night. Big flippin' difference."
"I know, honey." He tucked a strawberry strand behind her ear. "We said good night on the beach in front of your parents' house. You stood on your tiptoes, kissed me and told me that I was the best three graduation presents you'd received." He could still see her beautiful teenage face, that glint of sexual awakening in her eyes.
"And you told me you'd loved me since fourth grade."
"I did," he assured her. "Since the day Mrs. Ahearn made me sit out recess for punching Tommy What-Was-His-Name because he made fun of your red hair. And you sat with me."
"We played 'I Spy,'" she reminded him with a memory-tinged giggle. "And it was Tom Northcott. He's a bigwig at Marine Federal Bank now."
He thought he detected a note of admiration in her voice. Part of him wanted to clear his throat and announce that he'd just walked out of his partnership at a banking firm so large it could eat Marine Federal for lunch. But she'd learn that in due time. What was important now was why he left, and what brought him back to St. Joe's.
"Well, Sal, that wasn't the end of my graduation night, even though it was five in the morning," he told her, his voice steady despite what he was about to admit. "I went home."
"Yeah?" She looked up at him, her expression tentative, as though she didn't want to hear what he was about to say any more than he wanted to say it.
"My dad was still up. And pretty wasted."
Her fingers tightened around his hand and their intimate position suddenly made him feel unnaturally vulnerable. He wanted to be inside her, wanted to bury himself in the comfort of Sally, but not because he needed sex. Because he needed her to love him.
"He started giving me a hard time about how I couldn't get into college, about what a loser I was," he said vaguely, unwilling to give her any details of the fist that crashed into his face, or the fact that he'd postponed college to help earn money to help his struggling family. "But that time, I fought back."
She leaned up on one elbow and stared at him. "What happened, Fletch?"
"I stopped being a victim and beat the crap out of my dad." Thank God his voice didn't crack. "I don't know what got into me, Sal. I was just so…in love with you and frustrated and…" He clenched his jaw and tamped down the old anger. "Anyway, while he was writhing on the kitchen floor, and I was wiping his blood on my shirt — the shirt that you had just worn on the beach — he told me I was just like him. Made of the same stuff. And I'd never be good enough for you. "
"Oh, Fletch —"
He quieted her with a kiss on the forehead. "Shhh. He was right. Then. He was right."
She shook her head. "No, he wasn't."
"Come on, Sal. You lived in a three-story oceanfront mansion with a family that doted on you. I lived one step up from a trailer park with a drunk who used me for a punching bag."
"That doesn't matter, Fletch. It never did."
"It mattered to me." He closed his eyes and pulled her into him. "And I knew if I didn't get the hell out of St. Joe's and get my act together, I could never have what I wanted most in the world."
"Which was…?"
"You." He opened his eyes and looked into hers. "I wanted you then, and I want you now. But I had to be worthy of you. So I left town that morning without saying goodbye on purpose. To give you every opportunity to get over me, while I tried to make something of my life."
"Did you?" she asked.
Did he ever. "Yep. But the bigger question is, did you get over me?"
He held his breath while she considered the question. Then she slid one smooth leg around his hips and pressed her body against him. "Not for a minute."
Relief and ecstasy washed over him with the same ferocity as the pounding rain on the roof above them. "I was so scared I'd be too late for you, Sal."
"For me?" Her lips kicked into a teasing grin. "I'm late for everything. You timed it perfectly."
He tugged her on top of him and glided his hands over her creamy skin, inhaling the sweet, beachy fragrance of the woman he'd dreamed about for seven long, lonely years. Placing his hands on her hips, he lifted her over him, poising her body for his entry. Desire nearly blinded him, but he fought the urge to plunge into her.
"I love you, Sally. I have loved you since fourth grade and I want to love you for the rest of our lives."
"Oh, Fletch." Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. "I love you, too. Always have. Always will." Then she slowly slid herself over him, wrapping him in an envelope of warmth and love. "Now let me show you."
He pulled her into his chest and covered her mouth in a hungry, soulful kiss, his tongue matching the movements of his body as he thrust deep into her.
Outside, the hurricane screamed its last hurrah, straining the plywood, unearthing tree roots and flooding the streets and beaches of St. Joe's. But inside, two windblown hearts connected, and found a lifetime of shelter from every storm.
The End