Sarah Mine (3 page)

“What?”

“Off. Get off. Get out.”

His eyes opened as he eased off. “What? What’s wrong? What did I do?”

“It’s what I did.” I rolled away from him and sat up. Reaching down, I grabbed his towel and wiped us away from between my legs. “I won’t go back, Hill. I won’t be that girl again.” Tears blurred the floor and I could almost taste the sweet rum on my tongue. I hadn’t liked alcohol to taste like alcohol. It wasn’t a problem if it was in a glass of cola right? Or a milkshake. Or in a glass of ice. I couldn’t go back to that girl. I wouldn’t live like that again.

“I know. What did I do, Sarah?”

“Not even for you will I go back to being Hill Deveraux’s whore. Go. Somewhere else. Anywhere else. Just go. Get out. Leave me alone, Hill.”

His eyes had narrowed to slits the color of dark storm clouds. “Back to being who?” He caught my wrist when I went to stand, needing to wash him away. “Back to who? What did you call yourself?”

CHAPTER THREE

Sarah

Hill had a temper. It was a dangerous, volcanic thing. We had gotten into a few arguments over the years. Battles that had ended on the floor with wild, angry sex. Or in the storage room of the bar. In his car. Wherever. But when he fought, he fought dirty. Whether swinging his fist or using his mouth, he fought to draw blood.

“Let me go. You’re hurting me.”

“No, I’m not, and you know it.” He tugged as he stood up. While his fingers were like a manacle around my wrist, there was no pain. It wasn’t a bone-crushing, leave-a-bruise grip like my father. “Repeat that again.”

“What part? How about the part where I told you to get out!” I screamed the last two words at him.

“How about the part,” he shouted right back, “where you called yourself a fucking whore? What the god damn hell is that?” He pointed his finger in my face. “What the fuck, Sarah, is that?”

“Go. Go.”

“No way, baby doll. You dropped the “w” word. Where the hell did that come from, Sarah Jane?”

“Everyone, William Hilton. Everyone. Including you.” I tried to walk away but he drew me back.

“I’ll deal with everyone in a minute. They’re not in this damn room. You are
not
a whore. Not mine. Not anyone’s. Don’t,” he said with a little poke of his finger toward me without coming close, “say it again. And I have not, now or ever, called you a whore. I’ve called you a lot of things but never,
ever
that. What did I say? When we were lying there, what did I say? Tell me. Repeat it.”

“That I feel like me. Because I instantly fall on my back for you. Want a fast fuck? Hey, let’s go see Sarah.” My voice was a mocking bass timbre, imitating his.

Hill’s eyes were like a hard storm coming off the bay and slapping the town around. “Shut. Up. Yes, I said it feels likes you. Bank it.” He pressed his finger against my mouth, shutting me up. “Come with me.” Since he still held my wrist, I had no choice but to follow him into the bathroom.

My sumptuous bathroom. This bathroom hadn’t come with the house. When I had bought the place, it had been a simple bathroom. A tub and shower combination, a toilet and a sink. When I finally moved in, the bathroom had become this thing of extravagant splendor. There was a claw foot tub, a separate shower. The walls had been painted a soft yellow that reminded me of spring sunshine, with glass subway tiles the color of summer grass in the shower. Above the tub was a skylight so I could lie back in scented bubbles and stare up at the blue sky.

The renovations hadn’t been my idea. The bathroom had been simple and dated when I had seen the photos of the house while in rehab. No, all of this had been a surprise.

Deverauxs were sneaky.

Hill positioned me to face the mirror. “This,” he said with a growl in his voice, “is the first thing I saw yesterday.” Frowning, I looked at us, trying to figure out his point. He stepped behind me and bent down so our heads were even, and then he pointed at the mirror. “Look at her, Sarah.”

My gaze shifted to my reflection.

“Look at her. She’s been sitting in the sun, and I think she has a few freckles that I know she didn’t have before because she was always pale. Tired. Flattened down. Bruised around the eyes, empty in the eyes.” He ran his finger down my cheek and he looked at me, not the mirror. “Who is this girl who isn’t hiding in a bottle? Who is this girl with color in her face and who isn’t wearing her cheekbones on the outside of her skin? Who is this girl with spirit in her eyes when before they were filled with hopelessness? I don’t know this woman. Never seen her before in my life.”

I turned to look at him, his grey gaze drinking in every one of my features. “So what? Because we have sex that makes me someone you know?”

“No. It makes me someone I know.” He ran his thumb along my mouth. “You aren’t the only lost soul in this house.”

His words tugged at my heart. Maybe I wasn’t the only broken one here. It was a startling thought. All he had said to describe me – that was on his face now. His eyes hid shadows of hopelessness. He was the one who looked tired and beaten down. What had happened to him? Despite all my chaotic emotions about him being back, I didn’t want him to be like this. A shadowy reflection of the golden boy he once was.

I rose up on my toes and kissed him, trying to get rid of what was imprinted on his face. “You promised me pancakes, pretty boy.”

“So I did.” He tugged on my top. “But since you’re already half naked, how about you get all naked and we have a late breakfast?”

“I’m not easy, you know.”

He smiled.

It was a late breakfast.

Hill

“Nothing’s changed.”

“Were you expecting flying cars?”

I pointed at her and she smiled. I liked that. That she smiled. I didn’t have a lot of memories of her smiling. If any. I’d have to look through my photos, but I was pretty sure there hadn’t been a lot of smiles in the pictures I randomly took of her.

Yeah, I didn’t know this Sarah at all. But I wanted to.

I wanted to know why she had gotten clean. I wanted to know about the house. I wanted to know everything she had done in the past four years.

It was a strange feeling.

I looked around the Pierce Point Café and saw that not much had changed. The old white and navy blue had been replaced by a pale cream color, so everything didn’t look seasick anymore. The walls were pretty much the latest update. These were the same waitresses who had served me pancakes after tying one on as a teenager. I opened the backpack I brought along and eased the lens cap off my camera. Before Sarah could blink, I had the camera up. I caught her image just as her lashes lowered like they always did, but the little rise of her lips still remained and a tiny blush darkened her cheeks. She’d never let me take a picture of her with her eyes looking at me. Even when she had been hammered, she’d hide her eyes from me. It was as annoying now as it had been then.

“Put that down.” She reached over and pushed on the camera.

“I still have them, you know.”

“Stop it. Put that down or I’m leaving.”

I set the camera down on the table because I knew she would leave. I didn’t want her to leave. “I love that you don’t ask what
them
is.” She blushed completely. Resting my elbow on the table, I propped my chin on my hand to gaze at her. “God, you were sexy.”

“Shut up. We’re in a restaurant. There are kids in here.”

“So sexy. Once you got over the shyness, you were so sexy as you lay on your bed. Every glorious naked inch of you caught in my camera. Let’s do it again. I’m way better now.”

“I am not doing nudies with you.”

“Yes, you will.”

A frustrated sound came from her and she grabbed the same menu I remembered and held it up. I laughed. Bracing my forearms on the table I leaned over. “You know how I know you will?”

She dipped down the laminated edge and looked at me.

“Your nipples are hard.”

“William.” She hit me with the menu then folded her arms over her breasts. “You’re a lunatic.”

“I know. It adds to my allure.”

“Good morning, folks. Coffee?”

I sank back and flipped over the white mug with Pierce Point Café written in red script. I lifted my eyebrow, and Sarah looked at the waitress and nodded. I turned her cup over and loved that she picked up her menu again to hide her blush. And her breasts. Sweet.

“I’m having the pancakes. Double stack. Butter on the side and blueberry syrup. Double order of bacon too.”

“I’ll have the same but a single serving of each.”

The order was written down and there was a sudden intake of breath. “William Deveraux! Oh lands, I didn’t even notice.”

I looked away from Sarah who was adding sugar to her coffee. “Hi, Sally. How are you?”

“Oh I’m fine. A little bit of rheumatism, but you don’t care about that. How are you, boy?”

Wrecked and burned out. But one didn’t go about saying that. No one gave a damn about my shit. “Doing good.”

“Look at you. Still handsome as ever.” I half expected her to reach over and ruffle my hair. Sally had always fit my mould of the stereotypical waitress. She had to be in her sixties now but she still dyed her hair a harsh jet black. Too much pink blush, too much orangey-red lipstick. Happy wrinkles on her face, a clichéd style waitress uniform a size too small, and black shoes made for comfort not style. She was friendly, gossipy, and always gave me extra syrup.

Sally glanced at Sarah and did a double take. Sarah lifted her fingers in a wave while she sipped her coffee. There was a tennis match look from her to me. Back and forth. I expected Sally’s neck to pop. “Let me get that order in for you. You look half starved.”

“And so it begins,” Sarah said, setting her cup down. She gave a gasp and pressed a hand to her breasts. “Did you see? William Deveraux is home. Still as handsome as ever.”

Grinning, I sat back as Sarah batted her lashes as if they were coated in five layers of mascara, like Sally. Oh, yes, I did like this new Sarah.

“What a troublemaker that boy was. Lands, I remember when he streaked through town upon graduation. I never.” She fanned her hand by her neck and I laughed at her little eye roll that said perhaps “Sally” wasn’t as scandalized as she said. “And did you see who he was sitting with? He was with that Sarah James girl.” Another dramatic gasp. “Oh, there was gossip about those two. Not that I ever believed it. Now I’m not one to gossip but one night they were caught out at the old mill. Naked,” she whispered loudly. “Imagine that! Such behavior for a Deveraux.” She clucked her tongue. “Such behavior.”

Sarah shrugged a shoulder with a little eyebrow lift then sipped her coffee. She was rather brilliant. We had never hooked up at the mill, old or otherwise. But people loved a good scandal and William Hilton Deveraux had been pretty damn good at scandalizing. “Since rumor has us naked at the mill, wanna go flash some skin?”

“Pervert.”

“Yes,” I said with a stretch. “Yes, I am. And you like that about me.”

“Debatable.”

“Love it,” I mouthed at her as Sally set our plates down in front of us. “Thanks, Sally.”

“I heard about your father. Such a pity.” Sarah coughed, interrupting Sally and asked for some water.

Just like that my appetite died. I stared at the perfectly golden pancakes and extra crispy bacon. The thought of eating any of it made me want to throw up. A foot nudged the inside of my left leg and I looked at Sarah.

“Fuck them. Eat your pancakes.”

“Not hungry.”

She tapped my thigh this time and I reached down to squeeze her ankle. I wasn’t on speaking terms with my father. If I were lucky I never would be. When I was kicked out, I left town and was gone for a year. My return had earned me the knowledge that I was disinherited, thank God, and there were no more chains holding me to Pierce Point.

I still came back, though. A giant “fuck you” to Big Jack Deveraux and his vision for me.

She lifted a slice of bacon up and held it out to me, waving it beneath my nose to seduce me with the scent of crispy, greasy pig fat. It worked. I caught her wrist, took a bite then reached for my fork. When she went to ease her foot away, I held it in place. I saw the quick look she gave the diners. We were getting looks because word was spreading: Hill Deveraux was back in town. I wondered if they saw a reunion TV show in their head: asshole father and rebellious, disinherited son reunite over deathbed and father lives.

I hoped the fucker died.

CHAPTER FOUR

Sarah

I leaned against a lamppost and watched Hill take a picture of two little girls sharing their ice cream cones with each other. It was cute. Each held a cone while they tasted the other’s flavors. He had been silent since the café and I knew it had been the mention of Big Jack. “You knew, didn’t you?”

He lowered his camera for a second, then without responding to me, he took another picture of the girls. He turned suddenly and caught me in the crosshairs of his lens. I looked away as the soft snick came. He walked toward me, the shutter whirring as he continued to take pictures. “Stop it. I’ll leave.”

He lowered his camera, a large piece of expensive-looking equipment that had seen a few years in his backpack. “You have no idea, do you?”

“About?”

He braced his hand above my head and leaned into me. “Even after everything I said in your bathroom, you weren’t listening.”

“To what?” He tilted the camera up as he leaned in and kissed me. I barely heard the picture captured.

“Pretty Sarah.”

“Bullshit Hill.”

He shook his head as he stared at me. “Honest Hill. What time do you work?”

“Seven. I need to start getting ready at six though.”

A snort escaped him. “It takes you an hour to put on black jeans and a black shirt? Well, maybe after I strip them off.”

I grabbed the front of his t-shirt. “Hey.” He sighed and nodded. He knew Big Jack was sick. I left it alone. If he wanted to talk about Big Jack, he would. And since it took a lot of alcohol and a flash of his temper, I figured there’d be no talking about his father. Or even why he was here.