Barefoot in the Rain (2 page)

She looked up at him, his face so near now she could count his sinfully long black lashes. “You think it’s time…” She took a slow breath. “That we…”

“It’s not about
time
,” he said, a hitch in his voice nearly undoing her. “You have to know how I feel about you.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I’m your best friend,” she said quickly. “The girl next door. The only person in town who doesn’t swoon at the sight of your number thirty-one on the cover of the
Mimosa Gazette
.”

She thought he’d smile, but he didn’t. Instead, he closed his eyes. “You’re so much more than that.”

Was she? God, she wanted to be. She really, really wanted to be. But if this friendship was ruined, then what?

They’d hugged a million times. They’d kissed on the cheek. They even made out a few times when they were fifteen, but then he started dating some dimwit cheerleader. Everything physical had stopped, but their friendship and his unspoken offer of an escape from the hell of her home kept on going.

But this summer, with college looming and the clock ticking and hormones raging and—

He kissed her. One soft, sweet, gentle kiss and everything in her body just melted.

“Joss,” he murmured into her mouth. “I have to ask you something.”

She backed away, the seriousness of the question scaring her. “What?”

“I need to know how you feel about me.”

She almost laughed. “How I feel about you?” Didn’t he know? Couldn’t he tell? He was
everything
to her—her rock, her crutch, her soft place to fall. Her hero, her fantasy, her one and only. “Will, I… I…”

“I love you, Joss.” His eyes welled up with the words, making them twenty times more sweet and perfect.

She cupped his jaw, searching eyes the color and depth of the Gulf of Mexico they’d spent so many hours swimming in over the last seven years. The words were on her lips, as warm and sweet as his kiss. But something stopped her. Something deep inside held on to those words and wouldn’t let them out.

“I love you,” he repeated, having no such problem.

Did he? Did he really love her? Love was so tenuous. Hadn’t she heard those very words spoken to her mother and, ten minutes later, the smack of a palm against flesh?

His hand slipped out of her hair, down the column of her neck, over her breastbone. “Jocelyn, I’m dying here.”

For love or…

He eased her back on the bed, covering her with his body.

Sex
.

Was he dying for her to say I love you or…

He nuzzled into her neck, kissing her lightly, each touch of his lips like a little firebrand on her skin that made everything tight and hot and needy. The comforter balled up between them, lumpy but not thick enough to block out the pressure of his body.

He rocked his hips slowly first, then a little faster. Colors flashed behind her eyes at the intensity of the pleasure. Fiery ribbons of need and heat curled between her legs as she met each beat of his hips.

Grabbing the comforter, he yanked it away, throwing it to the side so he could get closer to her. All she could hear was the loud huffs of breath, both of them panting already as they found a rhythm. A rhythm of kissing, touching, rubbing, riding.

“Will…”

“Is it okay, Joss? Tell me it’s okay.” He nearly growled the words into her throat, kissing her as one hand—one shaking, large, masculine, beloved hand—slid over her cotton tank and settled on her breast.

She gasped at the shock of the sensation, making him lift his head. “You all right?”

“Yes. That feels good.” She barely mouthed the words, her eyes damn near rolling back into her head it felt so amazing. His hand was so big he covered her whole breast, palming her until her nipple felt like it would pop.

His other hand went under her top, over her stomach, into her bra, touching, touching,
touching
.

“Oh my God,” he moaned, pumping harder against her. “I can’t believe how amazing you feel.”

She couldn’t answer, too lost in the newness, the strangeness, the complete wonder of Will’s calloused, strong hand on her skin. His whole body quivered, and she knew he was as overcome as she was.

“Take it off,” he pleaded, struggling with the top. “Take it off.”

He pulled the T-shirt over her head, pushing up the bra without bothering to unsnap it, her breasts so small they popped right out.

He stared at her, searing her skin with the intensity of his focus. “Just like I imagined.”

“You imagined?”

“Jocelyn, seriously? Do you not think I—”

“Don’t.” She put her hand on his mouth. “Don’t tell me. Just… keep going.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, driven by the need that burned low in her belly and deep in her chest.

This was inevitable, really.

All these hours in this room, together. She’d go home and kiss her pillow, touch herself, imagine Will’s fingers and mouth and his…

She slid her hand between them, closing over the hard shaft in his jeans, making him grunt with surprise and
pleasure. He kissed her chest again, moving from one breast to the other, fumbling with her shorts.

“I have a condom,” he whispered between ragged breaths. “Want me to get it?”

“In a minute, yeah.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Are you a virgin, Will?”

Still for a second, he finally admitted, “Um, not exactly.”

“I am.”

She heard him swallow hard. “I figured that. I won’t hurt you, Jocelyn. I love you.”

He
loved
her.

“Tell me,” he urged, tugging at her zipper. “Tell me you love me.”

“I will.” When he was inside her. When they were one. Then she would tell him. “Just don’t stop.”

“Not a chance.” He slipped his hand into her panties and she almost screamed when his finger touched her. “I love you so much, Jossie.” Inside. “I love you.” Deeper. “I love you. You have no idea how much… oh, damn, you feel good.”

Heat coursed through her as she rolled into his palm, lost in his words, his hands, his beautiful, beautiful—

“You goddamn fucking bastard!”

The whole room vibrated with the shout as Jocelyn screamed and Will leaped off her, both turning to meet the blazing gray eyes of Guy Bloom.

“Get off her!” Guy’s barrel chest heaved with fury, stretching his sheriff’s uniform as he marched closer, already lifting his arm to a position she knew all too well.

“No, Dad, no!” Jocelyn screamed, jumping up, grabbing at her bra to pull it down.

But it was too late. Her father glowered at her, his face red, spittle at the corners of his mouth. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“No!” She got the cups over her breasts just as Will stepped in front of her, arms outstretched.

“Deputy Bloom, please, I’m really sorry—”

Guy shoved him to the side to get to Jocelyn. “You whore! You cheap, trashy whore!”

“No, Dad, I’m not—” The crack of his palm snapped her head back.

“Stop it!” Will pushed him, hard enough to make the older man stumble.

He dropped his head, nostrils flaring like a bull as he stared at Will. “You touching an officer of the law, young man?”

“Don’t hit her.”

Guy wiped some sweat from his upper lip, his attention fully on Will now as they stared each other down. Will’s fists pumped, his jaw clenched.

Oh, God. Oh,
God
. “Don’t, Will, please.”

He never even looked at her. “Don’t you touch her.” Will’s voice was little more than a growl.

“You want to take me, boy?”

Will just stared.

Guy took a step closer, highlighting the fact that he was a good four inches shorter and forty years older than his enemy. Will could kill him.

“Please, Will.” She started to stand and Guy shoved her back on the bed.

It was all Will needed. He lunged at Guy, who ducked fast and whipped out his pistol.

Jocelyn screamed. “No, no!”

Thick fingers curled around the trigger of a gun she’d seen a million times on the counter. A gun even
he
never had the nerve to pull out when he lost his temper.

Will froze.

“There will be no skin off my back if I shoot the boy who attacked my daughter.”

“He didn’t—”

“Shut up, you little whore!” The words echoed through the loft, so wrong in this place of safety, like a curse screamed in a church.

“Or better yet, why don’t I just put an end to that superstar baseball career of yours? One phone call.” He snorted as if he liked the idea. “One phone call from the sheriff’s office to the University of Miami and you can hang up your cleats, you little prick.” Guy broke into an evil, ugly smile. “Rapists don’t get scholarships. Rapists don’t get drafted to the big leagues. Rapists go to jail.”

Will still didn’t move. Not even his eyes. Only his chest rose and fell with slow, pained breaths as he surely realized who had the real power in this room.

That was something Jocelyn had known since the first time her dad had what she and her mother called “an episode.” But they learned that the only thing to do, the
only
thing, was to stay calm until it ended. And take what he dished out.

“Get out, Joss,” her father ordered.

She looked down for her T-shirt and suddenly his big hand was on her arm.

“Never mind clothes, just get out.” He yanked her off the bed.

“Hey!” Will stepped closer, inches from the gun still aimed at her. “Don’t hurt her.”

“I could say the same thing to you, Palmer.” He gave Jocelyn a solid push, still looking at Will. “And believe me, nothing would give me more pleasure than to take you off the fucking pedestal this town has you on and see you rot in jail for raping my daughter.”

“He didn’t rape me!”

The back of his hand cracked across her face, his wedding ring making contact with her tooth.

Jocelyn slammed her hand over her mouth to fight a sob.

“Stop it!” Will cried. “You’re a goddamn animal!”

Guy shoved the gun right into Will’s gut, making him double forward with a grunt, his eyes popping in horror.

“No one’s gonna blame a sheriff for killing the kid who dragged his daughter into his room and forced himself on her!”

Another sob escaped Jocelyn’s mouth. “Dad, please, please.” She wept the words, her whole body trembling. “Don’t hurt him. Please don’t hurt him.”

Guy’s shoulders slumped a little as he angled his head to the door. “Go. I’ll take care of you at home.”

“Please,” she cried, grabbing his arm, her near nakedness forgotten. “Don’t shoot him.”

“Go!” he bellowed.

Frightened, she stumbled to the door, turning to take one look at Will when she reached the top of the stairs. His eyes were red-rimmed in fear, his face white, his big, healthy athletic body at the mercy of a gun six inches from his heart.

She’d done this to him. Her father could destroy Will’s life, everything he’d worked for, all his plans, his future. She loved Will—really, truly loved him—far too much for this.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered before running down the stairs, pausing halfway to grip the railing and listen.

“If you ever,
ever
go within five feet of my daughter again, I will ruin your name, your face, and your precious fucking arm. You get that?”

Silence.

Squeezing the rail until her knuckles turned white, Jocelyn waited, bracing for a shot, a word, anything.

But there was just silence. Of course Will couldn’t fight for her. Couldn’t risk his life for her. No girl was worth that kind of love.

As long as Guy Bloom was alive, he had the power to ruin Will’s life. The mean, miserable bastard always had the power. So there was only one thing she could do. Let Will go, forever.

She heard Guy’s footsteps and she scrambled to beat him outside, wanting to run across the lawn to their house, hoping to lock herself in the—

He caught up with her at the pool.

“Get in the goddamn house.”

What would he do to her? What did it matter? Nothing could hurt as much as the decision she’d just made. Nothing could hurt as much as losing Will, but she had no other choice. She loved him that much.

F
ifteen Years Later

T
he situation had gone way past dire.

Will stood in the living room of his next-door neighbor’s house and surveyed the mess, the low, dull throbbing that had pounded at the base of his skull since he’d stopped by at lunchtime rapidly escalating into a screaming mother humper of a headache.

Son of a bitch, it was like a pack of wild dogs lived here instead of one confused, pathetic, and forgotten old man who couldn’t remember his own name.

“William!”

But he knew Will’s name and used it often, in that shaky, feeble voice that threaded down the hall right now.

“William, is that you?”

“It’s me, Guy.” On a sigh that shuddered through his
whole body, Will stepped over a pile of magazines that had been torn into a million pieces—the new scrapbooking project, no doubt—and picked up a basket of yarn with threads and spools stuffed inside. He put it on a table next to the remnants of the sandwich Will had made Guy for lunch, then headed down the hall.