Reminding her of Riverhead.
Look, but do not touch. Listen, but do not speak. See, but remain unseen.
Those were the rules of Riverhead, and she abided by them. The alternative was abstaining. Unthinkable.
“Leave them,” Jameson said. “I’ll take care of it later. You cook, I clean.”
Ignoring him, she robotically carried the dirty dishes to the sink. Wondered if she’d ever warm a bottle in this kitchen. Wipe thrown spaghetti from the floor. Bake a first birthday cake.
Events as unlikely as a snowball’s chance in Hell.
As unlikely as Jameson staying in East Hampton.
Still shirtless and lounging against the counter, not a single care in the world when hers were abundant, he slid his booze away and crossed his bare feet, observing her.
“You’ve been crying tonight.” His tone was surprisingly soft, the constant condemnation gone. “Why are you sad, Chloe cupcake?”
Her back to him, she washed a mixing bowl, hands buried in soapy water. “How much time do you have, goodbye guy?”
“What did you call me?”
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw only curiosity. Still no condemnation. Jameson on bourbon was downright polite.
Rinsing the last of the dishes, she stacked them in the strainer then dried her hands as she faced him.
“I called you exactly what you are. A guy who leaves, and if you’re lucky, he might tell you goodbye. Me?” She tapped her chest. “I wasn’t lucky.”
His hooded eyes dropped, staring at the stretched fabric across her unharnessed breasts. Looking down, she saw residual flour smearing her tank top. And her nipples, at attention. No better behaved than her hungry hormones.
Brushing off the clinging powder, she cursed them.
“It’s cold in here,” she supplied when he finally tore his gaze away.
Slowly shaking his head, he pushed away from the counter. “No, it’s not.” Stopped just short of her. “And I couldn’t say goodbye to you, Chloe. Or I never would’ve left.”
“And leaving was your only option?”
He paused, and she knew he was debating a lie.
“The truth would be appreciated,” she said. “I’m not an insecure teenage girl anymore.”
“I had a contract with the United States military. You knew that.”
“Yeah, that part I know. Just like you know that’s not what I’m talking about.” She flattened her lips, needing him to tell her directly, not through her mother this time. “You can say it.”
“Say what?” He looked genuinely confused. “Because if you think the Suffolk County Health Department is strict, wait till the US Navy comes knocking when you’re AWOL.”
She smiled, but it faded quickly. “Admit it, Jameson. You owe me that much.”
“I don’t owe you shit. But I’m curious. What truth do you think I’m not telling?”
“I know you didn’t mean it when you said it.” Even though I believed you. “I know you didn’t love me.”
His head shot back, stunned. “Is that what you think? Or is that the fucking tequila talking? Because I swear to God, Chloe, you better not be serious. You better be fucking with me.”
The anger he showed up to East Hampton with was back.
As was his preferred cuss word.
“Tequila helps, but it’s not so magical it can rewrite history. If it did, I would be an alcoholic instead of a wedding planner.”
She contemplated another shot, and reconsidered. A night of the spins was likely in her future. Avoiding the vomit stage was now her goal.
“Eventually, reality would intrude anyway,” she added. “Alcohol loses its potency over time. Everything does. Even you.”
Moving with stealth and speed, he crowded into her body, pushing her back against the counter. A shockingly bold move from a man who despised her.
“I disagree.”
Reaching blindly behind her, she gripped the edge of the counter instead of him.
“Jameson.” Whispering his name, she enjoyed the glorious feel of his body aligned with hers.
At eighteen, he was far more experienced than she, raw and rough and, at the same time, stunningly patient. An irresistible combination to a teenage girl coming of age. It was all she could do to harness him, but he made clear she held a power over him like no other had. No other would.
She believed him. Believed their summer of true love would only end once forever came.
But forever forgot to show up.
Now a grown man with probable gangbang experience, he was more intimidating than ever. Taller by a few inches. Broader by a country mile. Stronger by the ways of war.
Just plain badder in aura and attitude.
As before, an irresistible combination.
He smelled the same. Woodsy and warm with a hint of wildness. An intoxicating blend all his own, no cologne necessary. One whiff, and she was tipsy.
Not even Jose, eighty-proof and top-shelf, could compete.
“This,” he murmured, nuzzling his face into her neck, mouth hovering but not touching. “You and me. Us. We’ve not lost it.”
His breath was a hot wash across her sensitive skin, and she inhaled him.
“Just because it’s still potent doesn’t mean you should partake. Or that it’s good for you.” But sweet Jesus, she knew. Jameson Maine was good.
Probably better, what with all those gangbangs.
“I know you’re not good for me, but I can’t stay away. Why do you suppose that is, Chloe?” He stroked a wayward lock of her hair, the strands escaping her bun. “Why can’t I walk away from you?”
He tucked the loose curl behind her ear. A kinder, gentler Jameson.
“You did once. Made it look easy.”
“Wasn’t. Hardest thing I ever did, and that includes a year straight of BUD/S and SEAL Qualification Training. You’re harder on me than the Navy.”
It wasn’t a slight. It was a compliment. And that small concession, made in a whisper-rough baritone, might as well have been an apology written in the sky high above East Hampton.
It shouldn’t have been enough. He could never apologize enough for what he did, and what she had to do in return. But for the moment, thanks to tequila and Riverhead, it was. Enough to make her reach for him.
The boy she once loved.
The man she’d never not.
On her tiptoes before she thought better of it, she cupped his face and kissed him, sealing her lips against his. Not moving but inhaling his surprise.
Either frozen in shock or a sexual dominant turned submissive in the last decade, he let her be the aggressor, and she took advantage. Slipped her tongue inside, tasting Kentucky bourbon and Jameson Maine, equal in intensity.
Whimpered at the bolt of desire ricocheting through her and the biblical flood of moisture after a ten-year drought and a five-second lip lock.
Wet was an understatement.
When his tongue scraped back, darting and dueling with hers, their moans mingled. And then he abruptly pulled away.
As suddenly as the kiss began, it ended.
His breathing heavy, he said only one word. “Chloe.”
And she understood.
After ten years of rage and resentment, multiple women under his belt and a few measly men under hers, their sexual compatibility was still off the charts. To a degree that if there was any couple forever should’ve shown up for, knowing the sex would see them through the tough times, it was them.