Chapter 24
brOOKES
Sixteen…
Seventeen…
Eighteen…
When my phone shudders yet again, I yank it out my pocket and glare at the screen to find nineteen fucking text messages, along with twelve missed calls and five voicemails, all from Blake.
Squeezing the device in my fist, I grit my teeth looking out at the moonlight as it dances across the ocean in some last-ditch attempt to try to calm the fuck down, but then the damn thing starts vibrating in my hand, and before I can stop myself, I throw it as hard and as far as I can, straight into the water.
Fuck that phone.
And fuck Blake, too.
Tearing my fingers through my hair, I drop my head back between my shoulders and look up to the night sky, heaving a hard exhale and closing my eyes.
But then I see Poppy, pressed up against that wall, that motherfucker holding her so tight, and I force my eyes open, my heart slamming hard against my chest.
If I’d been a minute later, fuck knows what would have happened.
I feel sick to my gut just thinking about it.
Seeing her look so small and fragile, so uncharacteristically vulnerable, tears brimming her eyes, her voice trembling as she pleaded with him to let her go.
Man, it did something to me. Something I have never felt, something I can’t even begin to get my own head around, let alone justify.
It took every waning sliver of will power that I possessed not to knock that fucker’s fake-ass teeth straight down his throat.
Even now, my body feels like it’s thrumming; I can’t remember a time I’ve ever been this full of rage.
“Hey…”
Pulled from my thoughts, I spin around to see Poppy walking down the dune toward me.
Caught off guard, I look her up and down.
She’s still wearing that black dress that has been testing my resolve all goddamn night, her bare feet wadding through the soft white sand.
She stops in front of me, peering up through those long lashes, her dewy skin glowing beneath the muted light of the moon, the gentle sea breeze causing the longer lengths of her silky hair to whip against her skin.
Fuck. Goddamn Jonesy; this is all his fault.
“A-are you okay?” she asks after a beat, her eyebrows drawing together as her gaze roves my face.
And I can’t help but balk at her question. Am I okay. Me. She was literally attacked tonight, and here she is, checking on me, asking me if I’m okay. But that’s the thing I’ve come to learn about Poppy; she cares about everyone else first.
“I’m fine,” I grit out, folding my arms across my chest to stop myself from reaching out and grabbing her, pulling her flush against me and never letting her go.
I clear my throat, my gaze flitting down to her wrist—the one that asshole had gripped so tight—before meeting her big, dark-blue eyes again. “How are you?”
“I’m okay.” She shrugs a shoulder, but then she averts her gaze, looking out over the ocean and I see her throat bob with a thick swallow, so I’m not entirely sure I buy it.
“Pops,” I say, giving in and reaching out to gently touch her shoulder, trying so hard not to notice the way just one touch sends a current surging up my arm while causing her to visibly shudder beneath the touch.
Her eyes slide to mine, and there’s something there, heated in her pretty gaze.
“I-I’m so sorry, I—” I swallow hard around the lump of trepidation lodged in my throat. “I’m just… Fuck. I swear, I could kill that fuckin’ guy. Man, I don’t even—” I snap my mouth shut because I honestly don’t even know what I can say to take back what happened tonight.
“Brookes.” Poppy steadies me with a look, a soft smile curling her lips. “I’m fine. I promise.”
I study her face, trying so hard to see the lie in her eyes, but it’s not there; she’s either really okay, or she’s a damn good liar. I heave a resigned sigh.
“Truth or dare?”
I look between her eyes, my brows tugging together.
“You know the rules…” she sing-songs before I can ask if she’s serious.
I huff incredulously. “Dare.”
“Let’s go for a swim.”
Pulling back, I blink hard, my face twisting with confusion.
“Huh?” I practically honk, like a fucking goose.
“Let’s go for a swim,” she says again, still as flippantly as she said it the first time.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.”
“It’s so nice out,” she continues. “And the water looks good…”
When I realize she’s talking about the water behind me—the fucking ocean—I gape at her, momentarily wondering if she’s lost her damn mind.
“You know there’s a perfectly good swimming pool right up there,” I say, thumbing back in the direction of the house. “And a jacuzzi. Hell, you could probably even take a swim in my bathtub, if you really wanted to.” Great. Now all I can imagine is Poppy in my fucking tub. Naked. Nice, Brookes.
Smiling at me like she knows exactly what I’m thinking, Poppy takes a step closer so we’re almost touching, and reaching out, she smooths a hand down over the front of my shirt, stopping at my belt buckle and looking up at me through her lashes. “Yeah, but fears are meant to be conquered, Brookes.”
Fuck. Is she… coming onto me?
I find myself actually contemplating it, because the way this woman is looking up at me, ocean be damned. But then as a wave crashes behind me, my heart kicks into gear, and my skin prickles as I think of what’s out there, lurking in the darkness of the inky black Atlantic.
I look down at myself, still dressed in my Tom Ford pants and dress shirt, and I offer her a resigned shrug. “I mean, if we have to go all the way back up to the house and change into our bathing suits, we might as well just go in the pool…”
“Who said anything about bathing suits?”
“If you want—” My words are cut short, my mouth hanging open when I realize what she just said. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Flashing me the kind of grin that makes the skin at the very nape of my neck prickle, Poppy’s hands skate up to the skinny straps of her dress, pushing one then the other off her smooth shoulders, holding an arm across her breasts to stop the top from slipping all the way down.
And I’m pretty sure my heart skips at least four of its mandatory beats.
Damn I wish I didn’t yeet my phone into the fucking ocean; I may very well need to it to call 911.
“Poppy,” I gruff, my attempt at a warning more like a pathetic whimper.
With a knowing smirk, Poppy turns so her back is to me and I gape at her, fucking dumbstruck as she shimmies her dress all the way down before it’s pooling at her feet.
I try not to stare at her ass, but the way it swallows up the tiny G-string she’s wearing, I don’t know where else to look, my mouth opening and closing like a fucking puffer fish.
Poppy turns back, her arm still covering her bare breasts, and I know I should say something, do something, fucking breathe before I pass out, but I can’t. I’m stuck. Frozen. Hell, I can’t even move to try and conceal the erection that’s starting to tent in my pants.
“Come on,” Poppy says, turning and running for the water, every one of her curves jiggling with the movement and hypnotizing me into a state of catatonic shock.
Splashing around in the whitewash, Poppy glances at me from over her shoulder, and with a mischievous smile, she allows her arm to fall, and I catch a hint of side-boob that bounces as the waves jostle her, and fuck.
Me. It takes everything I have not to come in my pants right here like a goddamn teenager.
“It’s so nice, Brookes!” Poppy shouts out, her giggles floating through the air when a bigger wave knocks into her. “Come on. A dare’s a dare, remember?”
I watch as she skates her hands up the sides of her glistening wet body, following the curves of her hips, the dip of her waist, and up over the generous swell of her breasts, all while those big eyes stare into mine.
And I swear, I could punch myself in the face right about now.
Scrubbing a hand over my jaw, I groan as the voice in the back of my head chides me to stop being such a fucking pussy.
Take off your clothes. Get your ass in that water.
And while I want nothing more than to do just that, there’s another voice in the back of my mind, one that reminds me that this isn’t real, it’s fake, that I’m paying her, and come October, it’ll all be over.
I’m suddenly yanked from my thoughts at the sight of Poppy exiting the water, both arms held up over her chest, concealing her breasts, but the smile that had lit up her face moments ago is gone.
She avoids my eyes, her shoulders cowered and small as she collects her dress from the sand, and then she continues straight past me and back toward the house, leaving me here on the beach in the dark to wallow in my own self-loathing.
“Fucking idiot,” I mutter to myself while watching her disappear over the dunes.
Turn around, Brookes.
Turn around and go back upstairs.
Turn around, go upstairs, and go back to bed.
Staring at the door to Poppy’s room right in front of me, I grip the frame on either side and bow my head, closing my eyes tight to try to block out the noise of the voices in my head.
It’s late. I’m tired. And I know here, outside Poppy’s bedroom, is the last place I need to be right now. But I’ve been lying in bed for the last hour and a half, staring up at the ceiling, unable to shake the look of dejection I saw in her eyes when she left me down on the beach.
I hurt her tonight. Me. I rejected her, and I hurt her. And I don’t want to hurt her. She doesn’t deserve to be hurt. I get the feeling she’s been hurt too many times before if that asshole ex of hers is any indication.
But what am I even doing here? What do I expect to happen if I knock on that door?
I can lie to myself all I want, but I’m not here to apologize. I’m here to cup her cheeks, crash my lips to hers, push her into that bedroom and… Fuck’s sake, there goes my dick. Again.
Dragging a hand down my face, I release a hard exhale, spinning around and storming back down the hallway and up the stairs, to my bedroom. Alone. Where I belong.
I can apologize tomorrow, in broad daylight, maybe with a witness so I don’t go and do something stupid I know I’ll regret, and fuck this whole thing up.