Sweet Alibi (37 page)

“How long have you been back?” Her dark chocolate eyes swirled with emotion.
 

“I never really left, I guess.” I couldn’t tear my eyes from hers.
 

“What? Since the hurricane?” Confusion flashed across her face. Shit, I knew how this made me look. Like a pathetic stalker. Well, too bad, because I was. I came back because I couldn’t leave. There, I’d admitted it. I’d come because if I couldn’t be with her, I wanted to be in the place we’d been together.
 

“Well, I went back to Jacksonville and when the hurricane cleared out a few days later, Gavin drove me back to get the boat. But when I got here, I couldn’t leave again.”
I couldn’t leave because of you, Georgia. Are you getting that?
“I stayed on my boat for a while until I managed to work something else out.”

“You moved here?”

“I bought a house, Georgia.”
 

Her eyes narrowed on me.
 

“I bought the cottage. Down the beach . . .” I could see it all coming together for her. I could see her eyes blazing with recognition. The realization that I’d come back for her.
 

“The cottage? The dog, the stranger—that was you?” she murmured.
 

“Umm . . . not sure where you’re going with that . . .” A smile lifted the corner of my lips. Her eyes flickered down to my mouth and stayed there.
 

God, she was still affected. My heart hammered in my chest and I yearned to reach out and take her in my arms. Emotion flooded my brain because I’d fucking dreamed of holding her again for three long goddamn months.
 

Get it together, man. Don’t fall apart. Cool and calm. Don’t ruin this. Even if she wants to just be friends, you need her in your life.
 

But what if she didn’t want that? The evil little guy on my shoulder taunted me. What if she never wanted me in her life again? Could I deal with her living down the beach from me and never see her? Jesus, that would kill me. This girl had the ability to lay me open and she didn’t have any idea.
 

“A few weeks ago, I saw someone walking a dog, and they went into the cottage. That was you?”
 

“I take Charlie for a walk every morning.” I gave Charlie a scratch behind the ears because I needed the distraction. If I was going to try to remain calm and cool, I needed a distraction from her sweet, heart-shaped face staring back at me.
 

“You bought the cottage?”

“Our cottage? Yeah.” Fuck, there I said it. Our cottage. Because it was our cottage. It was the way I’d been thinking of it from the moment I'd walked down the driveway and saw it open up before me.
 

“I can’t believe you were right there,” she muttered.
 

“And you were too.” I wondered how things would have gone if we’d run into each other a month ago. Would we be together now? Would we ever again? Would she let me in?
 

Then the sky opened up above us and she squinted her eyes in the most adorable way, so adorable my heart tore open and I knew this was it, but I couldn't let it be. I couldn't let her walk away again. I was scared shitless she’d turn me away. A squeal escaped her throat as the rain poured down harder and she dodged around her car to land in her front seat. I stood, my hands stuffed in the pockets of my jeans, shoulders hunched, drowning like a street rat with the biggest smile on my face because she looked happy. So fucking happy for the first time since the early part of the summer. I’d stand in this fucking rainstorm and watch her all day as long as that smile lit her cheeks.
 

“Dinner?” she called out to me.
 

My eyebrows shot up in surprise; my heart thudded in my chest. “When?” I took a step closer.

“Tonight. Manicotti?” A warm smile spread across her face.
 

Manicotti. My mind shot right back to the first day we’d met so many months ago. Little did I know this girl would find some long-forgotten corner inside my heart and crawl into it. Imprint herself on my soul and refuse to leave. “You Italian or something?” I grinned as cold rain streamed down my face. She watched me for a few moments before she opened her car door, stood, and walked to me slowly. My eyes narrowed in confusion.
 

She finally reached me, our chests just a hair’s breadth apart, my heart thudding in my chest, wondering what her next move would be. A soft smile lifted her cheeks as she brought her hand up, her fingertips dusting along my forehead, moving wet strands out of my eyes. My heart leaped into my throat and a smile spread across my face.
 

She brought her other hand up to cup my cheek as she leaned in ever so slowly, her lips searching out mine. Finally, we connected. Our lips pressed together, not moving, just relishing the long, overdue connection. I couldn’t stand the distance that was left between us any longer. I needed my hands on her. To feel her, to know she was here and real. I lifted my palms and held her heartbreakingly beautiful face, the pads of my thumbs caressing her cheekbones. My lips began to move against hers slowly, relishing her taste, the feel of her skin against mine. I lost myself in her scent, her lips, her touch as her fingers ran through my wet hair. Pleasure rippled through my body—happiness and bliss erupting. My heart pounded in my ears. It felt like it would crack a hole straight through my chest. She was here. My beautiful, dark-haired girl was here and she was back. I just prayed to God that this meant she was choosing me.

Thirty-Five

Tristan

I ran into the pet store to grab Charlie some food and to collect myself. I told Georgia I’d meet her at her place just as soon as I was done. My mind reeled with the possibility. Did this mean something for us? Or was this just two friends catching up? I was so anxious to lay my eyes on her face again.
 

Her beautiful, soft brown eyes.
 

 
She’d seemed guarded when she first saw me, but there was an unmistakable sparkle. I felt in my bones that she’d thought of me too while we'd been apart. She seemed happy, and yet she wasn’t with Kyle.
 

I coaxed Charlie into the Jeep, then ran back into the grocery store she’d just been in, the place I’d run into Briana a few weeks before. I grabbed a bottle of the most expensive wine I could find from the vineyard we’d visited up the coast last summer. I got behind the wheel of the Jeep, and suddenly my stomach was twisting with nerves to see her again. I couldn’t stay away. I wouldn’t survive if she pushed me away again.
 

* * *

I knocked lightly before crossing the threshold of the beach house into the delicious, homey aroma of Italian cooking. My eyes scanned the living room, the dining room, and finally, the kitchen before they landed on her. I drank her in. Her entire form. She turned to me, a smile on her face. I stepped closer to her, my eyes trained on her chocolate-colored depths. I was unwilling to break the contact for which I’d been starved for months. I wanted her lips pressed to mine again—my hands holding her face, but I was fucking terrified. Terrified to push her too far. Maybe that had been why she’d run from me all summer: I’d laid my cards on the table with her at every chance and I’d scared her off.
 

I’d never had an issue with women before, but here I was second guessing every single thought I had about this girl. I wanted desperately to go with my gut, but my gut had been wrong about her much of the time.

I stepped into the kitchen and her smile widened. My lips quirked up in a flirty grin.

“Smells great,” I mumbled. It did smell great, but the food was the furthest thing from my mind.
 

“Thanks. Wine?” She nodded at the bottle in my hand.
 

“Yeah, from Tabor Hill.” I set the bottle on the counter. She turned and stretched up on her tiptoes to reach for the goblets on the top shelf. Her lightweight sweater inched up her waist, revealing a flash of skin, hugging the smooth curves of her form. I pressed my lips together, trying to hold in the tortured groan that landed in my throat. Just like that first day we’d met, except then she’d been in shorts and a tiny tank top, long, shapely legs stretching high. I think I had audibly groaned that day, and I was barely containing it today.
 

“Can you open it?” she murmured as she turned back to me, her eyes boring into mine. We were running through the motions, but the last thing on each of our minds, I thought, was the wine.
 

“Of course.” I stood in place, not bothering to grab the corkscrew from the drawer. She stepped closer and set the glasses on the counter next to the bottle. We stood a few inches apart and her scent invaded my space. My blood hummed with need for her. All of her. I wanted desperately to have my hands on her skin.
 

“Georgia.” I lifted a hand to cup her cheek. My thumb ran up her cheekbone and her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into my touch. My heartbeat roared in my chest as I committed her sweet face to my memory. It was so much fucking better than I’d remembered. How I’d survived without being in her presence, I didn't know. But in reality, I hadn’t survived, not at all. I’d been a drunken idiot who’d let every other important thing in my life fall away.
 

“It’s great to see you,” I said, barely above a whisper. They were the only words that I could form, but so many more swirled in my head. Words I didn’t even want to consider. All I knew was in this moment, I felt whole again. This girl filled something up in me I didn’t understand; something I never thought possible and something I didn’t realize was necessary for me to thrive, but there it was. Georgia was here and I couldn’t have been happier.
 

Her eyes flickered open and bore into mine. She looked like she was searching for answers before she cleared her throat and turned back to the stove. “Five minutes until it’s done.” She pulled plates and silverware out of drawers and set them on the island. I swallowed the lump in my throat at the prospect of sitting next to her, as opposed to across from her at the dining room table. My nerve endings tingled, my dick stirred to life at the prospect of feeling her skin on mine, rolling in bed with her, her thick dark hair laid out on the pillow beneath me.
 

I cleared my throat and tried to get my thoughts under control as I opened the wine and set the bottle near our plates to breathe. She busied herself around the kitchen. The room fell silent.
 

It was awkward.
 

And perfect.
 

Both in the same breath.
 

I didn’t know it was possible, but just being in her presence calmed me. She was fucking here and I was devising ways to have her never leave me again. Should I lock her up and keep her in my house like a caveman? Handcuff her to my bedpost and ravage her soft body whenever it pleased me? A smile tilted my lips at the thought. It sounded like a fucking dream. A fantasy come to life—ravaging Georgia whenever, wherever.
 

“It’s ready,” she said softly at my side as she laid the steaming dish of manicotti on the island. We each made our way around opposite ends and sat at the barstools. I poured wine into our glasses. She lifted the goblet to her sweet lips and took a swallow. I watched her throat move and contract and I instantly wanted to wrap my hand around her neck and bite and lick and claim her.
 

Without thinking, I snaked my hand over to her thigh and rested it there. Her eyes darted down to my hand holding her denim-covered leg. I gave it a soft squeeze and sucked my bottom lip between my teeth, watching her, begging with every fiber in me that she wouldn’t push me away. My heart couldn't fucking handle it if she pushed me away again. Her eyes lifted to meet mine as her lips parted, sucking in a slow breath.
 

“Tristan.” My name escaped her lips in a whisper.
 

I shut her down before she could say more. I wasn't prepared for what she might tell me. “Thanks for inviting me to dinner.” I grinned that easy grin that I reserved only for women and then pulled my hand away, dishing manicotti out for both of us.

Thirty-Six

Tristan

A week went by in no time at all. Every morning, I walked Charlie down the beach and, on the way back, I gave Georgia a wave as she sat on the deck, sipping her coffee. Every morning, I wanted to run to her. I wanted her to run to me. I wanted her in my bed because she was already consuming my thoughts, but I was restraining myself. I had to try. Restraining myself was the last thing I’d done all summer. I’d let my impulsive emotions get the best of me and it hadn’t worked, so now I was taking it slow. I was doing what I should have done all summer. I was letting her come to the realization that she wanted me too. It was taking longer than I expected—I wasn't used to waiting on a girl—but I was determined to make it work, because if it didn't, I would go crazy.
 

She finally called the following week. I was waiting for her call, wondering how long it would take, pulling my hair out waiting for it. But finally, it came.
 

“Dinner?” she chirped over the line. I glanced up at the clock and noted it was after five.