“How would you know if I can bartend?”
“The members of the band found out as much as they could about you. You were a waitress and then a bartender. Sometimes both. You don’t want to work the bar, then you could waitress for Alena. She’s got her restaurant opened and it’s always packed. So, plenty of work if you want the money.”
“Savage, you’re backing me into a corner.”
“I know. I’m good at that shit.”
His hand had slid down her thigh again, massaging the scars there. The sensation of his warm palm sent little darts of fire through her body. At the same time a shiver of awareness crept down her spine and fingers of desire danced their way up her thigh.
Did he know what he was doing? She doubted it. How could he know her reaction to just his light touch? He was rubbing her leg the way she massaged his head. Being sweet. But . . . he wasn’t sweet. Savage wasn’t the kind of man to do anything without purpose. He was very, very experienced in all things sexual. He knew she was physically attracted to him.
Narrowing her eyes, she glared at him and nearly shoved him off the bed, but then she realized he had gone to sleep. Just like that. Silently. He didn’t snore. He didn’t make a single sound. He just fell asleep, his breath coming and going from his lungs evenly.
Seychelle lay staring at the wall, her hand on his head, her heart pounding nearly as loud as the waves booming as they hit the cliffs.
FOUR
Seychelle pulled her Mini Cooper into the space allotted for parking in what was supposed to pass for the entrance to the garage at Doris Fendris’s little home. Doris lived on one of the well-kept back streets of Sea Haven. The Victorian-styled houses had small but beautifully manicured yards surrounded by little fences overgrown with flowering hedges. Seychelle was very grateful for her choice of car and her ability to maneuver into small areas. For some unexplained reason, even the garage and space in front of the garage were tiny.
Of all the people she tended to visit on a regular basis, Doris was probably her favorite, because she was always upbeat. Her house smelled like fresh-baked cookies and it was always clean. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming. The porch was badly in need of repair, especially the front stairs. Seychelle carried her tools in the trunk of her car all the time. She wasn’t the handiest with them yet, but she was learning. She’d discovered she could find tutorials on just about anything on YouTube, and she visited the website regularly.
She’d purchased nails and a few other items she thought she’d need, but really, Doris needed the wood on her entire front porch replaced. Seychelle wasn’t quite up to replacing a porch yet. She’d bought the proper lengths of already cut wood necessary for the stairs, and then stained and sealed them herself. She thought she could pull up the old stairs and replace the boards with the new ones. She really hoped whatever the top boards sat on wasn’t rotted as she feared it might be.
She needed to keep herself busy. The moment she stopped, her mind went straight to Savage, which wasn’t a good thing. She thought about him far too much. She thought about the way his body felt next to hers and the way his hand felt crashing down on her nearly bare bottom. Long walks didn’t wear her out, and she didn’t sleep most nights. She hadn’t gone to the club Thursday night because she knew Savage would be there and she’d be too tempted to take the job just to stay connected to him.
Instead, she’d driven to El Matador Beach and stayed in a bed-and-breakfast she’d found after her parents had passed away. It was her go-to place when she was upset. She spent a week there, taking a picnic basket and book and going to various hidden coves she’d discovered. She did her best to try to forget all about Savage. She rented a bicycle and spent time exploring places she’d never been before, and then walked for hours in order to rid herself of the restless energy she found she had—or the dark fantasy thoughts she shouldn’t have.
Her phone rang the second day she was there. She saw it was a call from Savage and her heart went wild. It took every ounce of discipline she possessed not to answer it. He called on and off all that day and into the night.
Text messages began coming in. One after another. You all right? She didn’t answer. A day later: Getting worried, woman. The temptation to answer almost overcame her good sense, but she didn’t want to engage with him. The third day he had clearly lost his good mood. What the fuck, Seychelle? Getting pissed here. I’m worried.