Chapter 23

She wanted oblivion, but more than escape, she wanted him. Not just the primal relief sex offered, but him, Russell Crawford.

Once again, he pulled away from her embrace. “We shouldn’t do this. Not now.”

She bit back her frustration. “Why not?” Did she have to throw herself at him? Oh, wait—too late. She’d already begged him to make love. His reluctance was definitely not good for a girl’s ego. Not good at all.

He threaded his fingers through his hair. “I don’t have any protection.”

She blinked. “You don’t have anything?” She certainly didn’t. The last time she’d had sex was so long ago, any condoms she’d bought would have long passed their expiration date.

He grimaced. “Not here. I have some on the boat, but not with me, and somehow, I doubt Angus kept any around.”

His mention of Angus Crawford doused her passion like a blast of frigid water from a fire hose. She jolted free of his arms and sat up. “That’s probably for the best.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded stiff.

“Look. I’m sorry, but this doesn’t mean I don’t want you.” His eyes darkened. “You know that, right?”

She twisted her hands together in her lap. “You’re right. We’re adults. We don’t want to do anything foolish.”

“You little liar.” He drew her closer, capturing her mouth with his.

A riot of sensations rocketed through her. Damn, she wanted this man.

He pulled back, his warm, chocolate-scented breath brushing her face. “Can we spend the night together?” He shook his head. “Not making love, though that would be awesome, but—” His throat worked. “—we could just hold each other. Would that be okay?”

She stared into his golden eyes, and her heart melted. He wanted to cuddle? With no possibility of sex? Wow! He really was an Eagle Scout. “I…I’d like that.”

His smile widened, and the dimple in his lean cheek peeked out. “All right.” He gathered her in his arms and pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin.

Strands of her hair caught in his whiskers, and the heat from his body engulfed her. She snuggled closer. Outside the window, the storm raged, but inside the dark, quiet room, wrapped in this man’s arms, for the first time in years, she felt safe. “Mmmm. This is nice.”

His chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. “Not too shabby.” He planted a soft kiss on the top of her head. “Not too shabby at all.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was a whisper of sound.

“For what?”

“For this, for being here with me, for agreeing to help.” She gulped. “Just thanks.”

He smoothed the palm of his hand over her back. “So, tell me why you don’t drink alcohol.”

She stiffened. “You want to talk about that now?” She didn’t discuss her drinking issues. Not with anyone, not with her co-workers, not even with her closest friends. Even Aunt Clara had had to pry the truth out of her. How could she explain without coming across as pitiful?

He rubbed his callused fingers across her skin, his light sweeping strokes soothing. “Maybe you’d feel better if you did.”

She chewed on her bottom lip and winced at the raw tenderness from his passionate kisses. What did she have to lose by revealing the truth? After he returned her to the mainland, and she signed over Angus Crawford’s estate, she wouldn’t see him again. They lived in different cities, hundreds of kilometers apart.

She inhaled a shaky breath. “I…I started drinking when I was thirteen, sneaking wine and hard liquor from my aunt’s cupboard. I hung around outside liquor stores and convinced people to buy me booze so I could party with my older friends who drank.” She grimaced. “Cliché, right? I guess I was trying to deaden the pain over the loss of my parents.”

He tucked a curl behind her ear. “Did the alcohol work?”

She shook her head. “Not really, but I didn’t stop. I was the life of the party. You know, the girl who could outdrink anyone. I was a champion. The boys thought I was pretty cool. So did I.”

He continued his soothing caresses, holding her close, giving her the chance to spill her secrets.

“When I moved away from home to go to college and lived in a dorm, my drinking wasn’t a problem. It was under control. At least I thought it was. I got drunk most nights, but I made it to my classes every morning. I drank heavily all through law school. It’s a miracle I passed.” Now she’d begun, the hideous truth spilled out. “When the blackouts started, I’d wake up hungover, not knowing what I’d done the night before. Sometimes I wasn’t even sure where I was.” A sob hitched in her throat, but she swallowed it back.

“Soon I wasn’t just drinking at night. I needed some hair of the dog in the morning and another shot of booze at lunch just so I could make it through the day. There were so many days when I lay in bed, and I didn’t know if the sun was up or it was night, and the sky was dark. And I didn’t care.”

Tugging free of his embrace, she flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling, willing away the burn of tears. “At first, I blamed everyone else.” She swallowed. “You know, it’s not my fault. Poor me. I need this drink because my parents abandoned me.” Her mouth twisted. “I had a dozen excuses.” The familiar sour taste of disgust filled her mouth. “Somehow I managed to get my degree, but the situation wasn’t pretty.”

The bed creaked as he shifted onto his elbow and stared down at her. “But you did it. You stopped drinking.”

“Not at first, and not for a long time.” She shrugged. “Not until Otis came into my life.”

“Your dog?”

She nodded. “When I found him in that back alley, his fur was matted and dull, and his ribs were sticking out. He had a wound on his hindquarters as if someone had kicked him.” She twisted the sheet into a knot. “He was so happy to see me, so loving, so trusting. He gave me a reason to stay sober and get up every day so I could feed him and take him for walks.”

Russ chuckled. “He’s quite a character, all right.”

“But I still drank. Not all the time. I was trying to quit, but quitting wasn’t easy.” The sheet was in a knot. She forced her fingers to relax. If she kept ripping at the fancy material, she’d tear the high-thread-count silk. “My aunt encouraged me to go to AA, and my boss ordered me to get sober and stay that way.” She met his gaze for the first time since she began her sordid tale. “You’d like Clara. She’s a force of nature. Once she sets her mind on something, it happens. No choice about it.”

He laid his hand on her hip.

She squirmed away. Might as well tell him all the details, the whole squalid saga. “I attended meetings, and they helped. Knowing I wasn’t alone in my struggle was important. But I still drank.” She heaved a breath. “Not like I used to. Not every day. I’d be sober for two days, sometimes even up to a week, but I always drank again.

“The longest I stayed sober was twenty-one days.” She sniffled and wiped her damp eyes with a corner of the sheet.

“Twenty-one days is pretty good. That’s three weeks. You should be proud of yourself.” He caressed her arm.

She stiffened. She didn’t deserve his compassion. “You don’t understand. I broke that record the day I met you in the park.” There. She’d told him. The truth was out in the world, warts and all.

“You were drunk?”

“No, but I did have a drink.”

The bed bounced as he shifted closer. He smoothed a lock of hair back from her damp face. “But you stopped. You only had the one drink.”

“But I ruined my twenty-one days of sobriety.”

He tilted her head so she faced him. “Thank you. I know telling me this wasn’t easy.”

She couldn’t speak over the lump in her throat, so she nodded.

“I admire you.”

She’d expected disgust, pity, any number of reactions, but not admiration. “Why?”

“You recognized you had a problem, and you’re doing something about it. Not everyone does that.”

“But—”

He placed a finger over her mouth, silencing her. “Getting sober is hard. I know people with drinking problems, close friends of mine. I’ve seen them struggle. You’re trying. That’s what counts.”

She shivered at the rasp of his callused finger trailing across her cheek. “But—”

“Shhh.” Again, he silenced her. “You’re going to beat this. I know you will.”

His faith in her warmed her soul, but it was misplaced. “I’m an alcoholic, Russ. It’s not a disease you cure overnight. I’ll always be an alcoholic, and I’ll probably drink again. Falling off the wagon is inevitable.”

He teased the skin on her neck with the pad of his thumb. “Now I understand why you’re so determined to find the answers to what happened to your parents.”

“I guess I’m hoping if I find out the truth, I’ll have closure, and I won’t have to deaden the pain with alcohol.”

He nodded. “Okay. I’m in. I’ll help you. No promises that we’ll find any answers, but I’ll do my best.”

“I didn’t tell you of my drinking problem so you’d feel sorry for me.” She didn’t want his pity.

He grinned, and the dimple she found so irresistible popped out.

“Sorry is definitely not what I’m feeling.” His eyes smoldered. “Athena Reynolds, you are one beautiful woman, inside and out. I want to kiss you more than I want my next breath. Is that okay?”

Okay? This was perfect. He was perfect. She smiled and nodded.