Break of Day (20 page)

Asher was silent for a moment, staring at the instruments.

“Come on!” I cried, stomping over to him. But I had to stop and grab a pole for balance as a wave smacked against the side of the boat. The wind had picked up, too, and I had to reach up to push the hair from my face. “What are you waiting for?”

Asher turned to me, a guilty look on his face. “I'm not sure we'd make it to shore on time. And we don't want to be capsized by the break. We're fine out here. The boat can take a little rocking. We'll just wait it out. Should pass completely through in about a half hour.”

I shook my head, fear thrumming through my veins. The ship might be able to take a little rocking, but could I? As if in response, the wind wrested the hair from my grasp, whipping it back in my face. The rain began to fall faster and my eyes stung from the salt.

“Are you okay?” Asher asked, peering at me. “Look, I'm sorry, Piper. I had no idea . . .”

“But you're a weatherman!” I cried angrily, hating this feeling of panic welling up inside of me. It was so stupid. So embarrassing. Yet so, so strong. I stared out into the rain and wind and waves. My mind flashing back to that night. That terrible night.

Where's Michael? Piper, where's your brother?

I stumbled backward, nearly falling over, the panic
gripping me with icy fingers. What had I been thinking? This was the worst idea ever! I'd wanted to lose my fear of the ocean—not double down on it, for God's sake!

Vaguely I could feel Asher's hands on me, pulling me upright. Then, he led me down the stairs, into the little sleeping cabin I'd discovered on boarding, and closed the door behind us.

I sucked in a shaky breath, looking around. Thankfully the door had shut off most of the noise and chaos outside. And it was a relief to no longer be able to see the sea. At the same time, I knew it was still up there, the storm still hammering us from outside, and I could feel the boat rocking angrily in response. And here I was, clinging to Asher, as if he were my only lifeboat. We were both soaking wet at this point and water dripped down onto the little bed.

Finally, I managed to let him go, sinking down onto the bed, working to get my breathing back under control. Trying to ignore the way we were being tossed back and forth like a toddler's toy.

“Do you get seasick?” Asher asked. “Because it may get rough in a few minutes.”

“Um, isn't it rough already?” I managed to squeak. I had no idea, of course, if I got seasick, seeing as I'd never been to sea.

He gave me a rueful smile, then grabbed a pillow and offered it to me. I sank down onto it, staring up at the dark ceiling, working the breathing exercises the shrinks had taught me long ago.

It's no big deal. It's just a little storm. Think of it as trial by fire. If you can survive this, you can survive anything.

Asher scooted up beside me, propping his head up with his elbow and hand. With his other hand he reached out, gently pushing up my T-shirt and stroking my bare stomach with careful fingers. And as his thumb lightly dipped into my navel, I stifled a gasp, something other than panic now spiking within me.

“Shhh,” he soothed, still stroking. “Everything's okay.
The boat is very seaworthy. We're in no danger, I promise you. We will not capsize. We will not sink. We can stay down here and forget it's even happening.”

“Maybe
you
can,” I retorted before I could stop myself. But then his fingers drifted a few inches lower and suddenly I was feeling pretty damn forgetful myself. I bit my lower lip, heat surging through me at his touch.

“I can help you forget,” he whispered, his lips curling into a small smile, “if you're interested.”

I was interested. I was very, very interested. In fact, I was ready to go for full-on amnesia mode if he was willing to take me there.

“I—” I started to say then
eep
ed out loud as, without warning, his hand slid between my legs. Oh God, oh God. What was I supposed to be remembering again?

Asher pushed my knees apart, brushing a thumb along my inner thigh, all the while keeping his eyes locked on my face.

“This feel okay?” he asked in a soft voice.

“Um, yes?” I squeaked. Because in truth it felt far beyond okay. Far beyond ridiculously good if we were going to be technical here.

He grinned. “What about this?” He slid his hand upward, softly brushing against my mound. I almost bit my tongue.

“Not . . . bad?”

He laughed huskily, then reached up to unbutton my slacks, sliding them over my hips. I helped him shuck them off until I was bare except for my panties. He caressed me through the thin fabric, taking his time with me, while I did everything I could not to buck against him, desperate to relieve the pressure building inside of me like a wildfire.

Somewhere, deep down, I knew this was a bad idea. Something I should stop, something I would regret tomorrow if I didn't. But right now, at this very second, I didn't want to push his hands away. He felt good. He felt right. And his gentle strokes were making amazing strides in relieving me of my fear. In fact, when Asher pulled aside my panties and slid his fingers into my slick folds, I pretty much forgot I was on a boat altogether.

I was soaking wet—and not from the rain, either. I was grabbing the sides of the mattress with white-knuckled fingers. I was moaning and thrusting my hips against his hand.

But I was no longer shaking in fear.

“Do you like when I touch you?” Asher asked, his green eyes burning into me now. Filled with lust and desire.

“Y-yes,” I managed to say, pretty sure I was sweating at this point. “Oh, yes.”

He grinned wickedly, then lowered himself down before me, burying his head between my thighs. I almost leapt out of my skin as his velvet, hot tongue slid across my sex.

“Oh God, Piper. You taste as good as you look,” he said, sucking my cleft into his mouth, his fingers slipping, one after another, inside of me. His other hand reached up, cupping my breast, toying with the nipple as his fingers slid inside and out in a torturous rhythm. As his mouth sucked and nipped at my sensitive skin. Soon I found myself rocking against him, riding the wave of ecstasy, higher and higher until I crested at the top and practically screamed as the pleasure washed over me.

“Asher . . .” I managed to moan as heat and hormones pulsed through my body like fire. Asher looked up from between my legs, his mouth quirking to a pleased smile.

“Still afraid of the storm?” he asked.

“There's a storm?”

He laughed. “Oh, yes, baby. There's a storm. And it's not even half over. Which means, you're in need of more distraction.”

“What about you?” I asked, feeling a little guilty he was there, making me come, and I wasn't doing a thing in return.

“Oh, you're all the distraction I need,” he assured me. “You just lie back and let me do the work for once. That's what you wanted, right? For me to step up to the plate?” He grinned wickedly. “You keep making those little sounds and I'm going to become a fucking workaholic.”

And with that he slipped between my legs again and I gasped as the sensations rocked over my now all-too-sensitive skin. I had heard of girls having multiple orgasms during sex, but had barely ever been able to achieve even
one with any of my previous boyfriends. Mainly because they were more interested in achieving their own.

But Asher didn't seem to care about that as he effortlessly brought me to climax again. I clutched the sheets and bucked against his mouth, scarcely able to believe anyone could feel this good.

“Okay, okay!” I protested, as, a moment later, he started in for round three. “I need a break! There's got to be an OSHA regulation that says no three orgasms in a row.”

“Quitter,” he teased, but obliged, crawling up beside me and pulling me into his arms. I settled in, breathing in a sigh of contentment as my head rested in the nook between his head and his shoulder. I could feel his lips press against my hair for a moment, before he leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, still stroking my back with his fingers. All the raging hormones from before settled into a sated sleepiness.

“This is nice,” I said. And I meant it.

“It is,” he agreed. “Maybe the ocean isn't half bad after all?”

I stiffened, his words sending reality in to crash the party. I turned to face the wall, feeling my throat tighten. A moment later the tears slipped from the corners of my eyes. At first, Asher didn't move, as if he knew enough to give me that moment alone. Then he placed a hand at the small of my back, stroking me gently.

“What's wrong, sweetheart?” he asked.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to bring things back into focus, then opened them again. “Nothing. I mean . . . I don't know. I just . . . I want to let go of this fear, you know? And you're doing a pretty bang-up job of making that happen. But at the same time it feels like a betrayal, I guess. Like by being this happy and this content I'm somehow betraying Michael's memory.”

Asher's hand stilled, but he didn't pull away. “You don't think your brother would want you to move on?”

“I don't know. He was so young. To be honest, I barely remember him.” I groaned. “That sounds awful, right?”

“It sounds normal,” Asher corrected. “How old were you again when he drowned?”

“Six. He was four.”

“Then it's amazing you remember anything at all.”

“Yeah, well, my mother does a great job reminding me.”

Asher's eyes zeroed in on me. “Why would she do that?”

I turned away. I didn't want to talk about this. I really didn't want to talk about this. But at the same time I knew if I didn't, I was never going to get over this fear. I was going to have to live with it forever, a weight, dragging me down more every day. I didn't know what Asher would think of me if I told him the truth. I didn't know if it would change what was happening between us. But at that moment, I realized, I did need him to know. If we were going to move forward with whatever this was, he had to know the truth.

“Because it was my fault,” I blurted before I could chicken out. “I was supposed to be watching him and I let him drown.”

I turned, waiting to see the revulsion on his face—the horror in his eyes. The condemnation at the idea that I could just live with myself and move on with my life, knowing I was a murderer. That I had practically murdered my own brother.

And yet, as I studied Asher's face, I saw none of the above. Just . . . confusion . . . if anything. But definitely not disgust.

“I don't understand,” he said. “You just told me you were six years old. How could you be expected to watch him?”

“I watched him all the time,” I protested. “When my mom would go out or whatever. It wasn't a big deal. I mean, I didn't think it was at the time.”

“What happened, Piper? Tell me the whole story.”

I sighed. “It was Thanksgiving night. My mom and her boyfriend at the time . . . they had something they needed to do. So they left me and Michael on the beach. Told me to watch him while they were gone.”

“They left you alone on the beach?” Asher demanded, looking offended on my behalf. “At night?”

I opened my mouth, ready to spit out the familiar lie. The
one I'd told a thousand times, to prosecutors and defenders and police and juries. But this time, to my surprise, the truth fell from my lips instead.

“They had to rob a house,” I said, the words tasting bitter as they left my mouth. “For drug money or whatever. A lot of the beach houses were vacant for the day—with everyone going over to relatives' houses for turkey and stuff.”

I could feel my face growing hot at the confession—I'd never told anyone that part before. But Asher knew firsthand about addiction. He'd been through treatment; he had to have met people like my mother. People who had let their disease rob them of their humanity.

“Anyway, I was so tired. My mom had been on a bender the last few days and when she was high she never shut up so it was tough to sleep. Michael was playing on the blanket and he seemed fine. So I closed my eyes, just wanting a few minutes to rest.”

Michael! Where's Michael?

Where's your brother? You were supposed to be watching your brother!

“Piper!”

I jerked back to reality, my eyes locking on Asher's, his face inches from my own. I moaned and lay back on the bed, the tears slipping from my eyes again, unchecked.

“You can probably guess the rest,” I said dully. “I fell asleep. He wandered into the water. When my mother came back she woke me up, demanding to know where he was. I still remember looking out into those dark, deep waters and realizing he was gone. That I had killed my own brother.”

A choke escaped my throat. Asher grabbed me, pulling me close, his arms wrapping around me, crushing me against his chest. I burrowed my head against him, the tears falling like rain now. He stroked my hair and kissed the top of my head over and over until I lost count of the times.

Finally, he pulled away, meeting my eyes with his own. “You were a child,” he said, his voice hard and raspy. “You should never have been put in that situation. You can't blame yourself for this, Piper.”

I closed my eyes. “I know that in my head,” I said. “Of course I do. But there's this gaping hole in my heart and I've never been able to sew it up. Every time I look out into the ocean, the memories come raging back. My mother, waking me up, screaming at me, asking me where Michael was. The three of us searching the water.” I cringed. “I still remember how cold the water was that night; like shards of ice stabbing at my legs. But I refused to get out. Not until we found Michael.” I hung my head. “Eventually my mother's boyfriend dragged me out and threw me into the van. I waited there, shivering half to death, while they continued to search.”