Read Soaked (The Water's Edge #2) Online
Authors: Stacy Kestwick
Soaked (The Water's Edge #2)
Copyright © 2016 by Stacy Kestwick
Edited by Kay Springsteen
Proofreading by JaVa Editing
Cover design by Hang Le
Formatting by
Pink Ink Designs
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic of mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
West
HELL WAS NOTHING
like I envisioned.
Brilliant blue sky. Sun beating down. Steady breeze. Calm seas. Fish biting. Classic rock on the satellite radio. No other boats around as far as the eye could see. Cold beer and soda in the Yeti. Beautiful, bikini-clad Italian woman posing against the bow.
Most men would’ve killed to be in my deck shoes. Considered this paradise.
I, on the other hand, would have sold my soul to be anywhere but here.
I prayed to a merciful God for help. A pop-up rainstorm. A hurricane. Parting of the seas.
Anything.
Anything but another three hours of watching Aubrey try to sell her melons like a vendor at a farmer’s market. I’d already sampled them years ago. They were as fake as the rest of her, and I wouldn’t be going back for more.
Luckily, my clients, the Young brothers, seemed oblivious for the most part. They were here purely for the fishing tournament. We were after marlin today and already had a great contender on ice.
They’d brought along Mr. Perotti, Aubrey’s dad, as a thank you to him for being their lawyer through the process of starting up their new rental supply company.
That was Aubrey’s angle. The same company was generously donating their services to the gala she was chairwoman of at the end of the summer, and she’d
just wanted to thank them in person.
She’d practically cooed as she said it, and when they’d politely invited her to join them today, she’d been fucking
delighted.
My idea of a thank you tended to be a head nod and a fist bump. Aubrey’s was a little different.
She might as well have given them a striptease, based on the amount of fabric she had left on her body after she took off her blue cover-up. Calling it a bikini was generous. But maybe unnecessary displays of skin were a familial defect. Mr. Perotti’s shorts were half as long as mine and twice as tight. Although Aubrey was a lot less hairy than her dad. Got to give credit where credit is due.
And not helping matters any, Mr. Perotti’s efforts to pimp out his daughter to me were about as subtle as a used car salesman up against a deadline. He’d all but bent her over so I could check out what was underneath her hood. It was disturbing as fuck what that man said about his spawn with a few beers in him. Like when he praised the sturdiness of her hips, saying her mama was the same way. I swear my fucking balls shrank to the size of marbles at that visual.
Honestly, I felt bad for Aubrey. Pity was the strongest emotion she evoked in me these days. I got why she did it—threw herself at me the way she did. Her dad had made it clear since we were kids that a good marriage was what he expected of her. The way to make him proud. And he’d decided I was the ideal son-in-law, the son of his best friend. I think he assumed this whole charter fishing
experiment
—his word, not mine—would blow over soon and I’d take my rightful place as the next president of Montgomery Golf, the way my parents had always hoped I would, too. And Aubrey would be right there next to me, the perfect trophy wife.
Too bad no one ever asked me what I wanted.
I’d tried to play their game for years. Went to Wharton, escorted Aubrey to every charity ball and event I was forced to attend. Hell, I even sampled the wares she kept shoving at me. My willpower in my early twenties had only been so strong.
But none of it had felt real. None of it fired my blood or sparked my ambition.
Not the way running my own company did. Even if it was small, it was mine. I did it. It was
my
blood, sweat, and tears that made it work.
And Sadie.
Fuck, that girl had me feeling things I didn’t even understand. Had me doing things I would’ve called my brother a pussy for. Leaving love notes. Smelling her hair. Sneaking into her room at night just to wrap her in my arms, feel her snuggle back into me. Craving her touch like an addict. All I knew when it came to her was I wanted more.
I wanted it all.
Her soft smiles. Her sweet laughter. Her green eyes finding mine. Her small hands on my skin. Her long legs wrapping around my waist. Her sexy moans in my ear.
Her nights. Her mornings. Her
tomorrows.
I loved her, I just hadn’t found the right way to tell her yet.
That word was scary as shit, you know?
It felt fragile, like if I didn’t handle it right, it would crumble and disintegrate right in front of me. Like a sand dollar. You ever tried picking one of those up? My rough fingers crushed them every time.
Aubrey stretched at the prow, arms straight, back arched, head tipped to the sun. Breasts and ass jutting out. I rolled my eyes. You’d think by now she’d realize we weren’t happening. But I got it. I was her chance to escape.
Her overprotective Italian father wasn’t going to let her move out of the house until he was passing her off to a husband. One he approved of. So I was the only option she could see. I knew that. And I felt bad for her. But not enough to be manipulated into being with her. When her parents weren’t around, and she forget she had ulterior motives, she really wasn’t that bad. Her sense of humor was wicked sarcastic, and she was smarter than her parents realized. But they were bound and determined to marry her off . . . and soon. It had slowly become their all-consuming mission.
Personally, I thought Aubrey was willing to do anything just to make the nonsense stop. Even if it meant throwing herself at me every chance she got.
What a fucking waste of time and energy.
I had to give the Young brothers credit; they barely glanced at her. They were going to do well in the business world. Adapting on the fly to a situation was a necessary part of strong leadership, and the brothers had moved quickly—plying an accommodating Mr. Perotti with beer until he passed out. His hairy stomach rose and fell with each breath as he snored in one of the beanbags. I cranked the music louder to cover the sounds.
Situation handled.
Except by that point, the beer was almost gone.
I looked in the cooler with longing, grabbing a bottle of water instead of the lone can of Bud Light. What I wouldn’t give to be able to drink myself into oblivion right now. Black out and not remember any of this.
But I was businessman too. So I’d play the part of the helpful but unobtrusive guide, at least for another few hours. I’d made it this far, I was practically home free.
I underestimated hell though.
It had multiple levels.
I’d forgotten.
As Aubrey pushed away from the railing and sashayed my way, she stumbled in those strappy wedge heels she was wearing, falling to the deck with a shout and then clutching her ankle and whimpering.
The brothers looked at her, then over at me.
Mr. Perotti snored from the beanbag.
I guessed that made her my problem.
Clenching my jaw as I made my way around the center console, I squatted next to where she lay crumbled on the deck.
“You okay?”
Her dark eyes met mine, wet with tears.
Ah fuck, had she actually injured herself?
I sighed. “Where does it hurt?”
A tear slid down her cheek. Her mascara must’ve been waterproof, because it stayed perfect. She sniffled. “My an-ankle.”
Removing her ridiculous shoe—who the fuck wore heels on a boat?—I moved her ankle through its range of motion. She flinched and cried out and, shit, it was already starting to swell.
Fucking lovely.
The three hours left in the trip were an exercise in perseverance.
Aubrey was not a good patient.
By the end, I’d considered dumping her overboard to the sharks no less than four times. I figured her boobs would work as suitable floatation devices. I wouldn’t even have to sacrifice a life jacket.
Her dad was worthless. When we stopped at the tournament marina, where the marlin we’d caught took second place, he left with the Young brothers to go to a bar to celebrate. Still wearing his short swim trunks.
“You’re headed back to the city marina, right? Near the MUSC emergency room?” He clapped me hard on the shoulder, squeezing. “You don’t mind taking Aubrey, do you? She’d rather hang out with you than me, I’m sure.” He’d wiggled his caterpillar eyebrows and winked.
I closed my eyes in defeat, taking a slow breath to calm myself.
My God, why hast thou forsaken me?
“No problem.” The words barely made it past my gritted teeth.
“Thanks, son.” He slapped my back before heading down the dock after the Youngs.
I cranked the radio to angry rock as I motored to the other marina, drowning out Aubrey’s pointless attempts at conversation from the beanbag.