Break of Day. Andie J. Christopher

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      She’d never been like this before. Always the fun one. Perpetually up for a party. Until Geoff undermined her confidence on the way out the door.

      Now, she didn’t know who she was anymore. She didn’t know who she wanted to be—who she could be—if she wasn’t in a relationship. She’d always had a boyfriend. A man to impress, someone to keep her safe.

      Once she stepped out, the ocean air and sounds from neighbors, already well into their day, threatened to overwhelm her. Her throat closed up and her pulse raced faster with every step she took away from the house. She’d put on heels, even though it was a terrible decision, because they made her feel confident, and she needed every bit of confidence she could get right now.

      But swagger wouldn’t keep her from face-planting when her heel caught in one of the cobblestones.

      So she walked carefully up the block, several men hanging out in doorways smiling at her and saying lewd things to her in Spanish. Just a few months ago, it might not have bothered her. She might have been able to flash her sparkly engagement ring at them, like a force field. It had been so big, it had chastened even the most brazen catcaller. Either that, or the thought of mugging her distracted them from catcalling. Unconsciously, she’d been using it as a symbol of her own worth. That symbol had come back to bite her the first time she looked down at the thin tan line where the ring had been. Even now that it had faded, she caught herself looking at her left hand like it would tell her where she’d gone wrong.

      And even though she could admit that she and Geoff weren’t right for each other, she’d thought he’d been solid. They had no heat, nothing going in the bedroom. She’d thought that their genuine affection would grow into something more. So, she’d waited and compromised her passion and excitement about life day-by-day, month-by-month, until there’d been nothing left of her. She didn’t know who she was anymore because Geoff had left her with nothing. Worse, she’d abandoned herself.

      The unfamiliar sights and sounds and smells gathered around her and made her chest feel tight. She could have sworn there was a coffee shop a few blocks from her aunt’s house. But, by the time she’d walked what felt like ten miles in her stupid shoes, she was limping and still un-caffeinated. Panic was closing in, and she was too far from home to just turn back empty-handed.

      Then, she looked back and saw the group of guys who’d been talking to her following her. Just what she needed, a pack of admirers. As she moved more slowly, they picked up their pace until they were about ten feet behind her. There was nothing in her stomach, but she felt the bottle of water she’d had lurching around. If she could have just found a coffee shop, she could have waited them out. Now, she needed to get the hell out of here.

      She looked around for a taxi, but she’d walked away from the busy streets. Thinking about all of her stupid mistakes, she’d walked off course. She started looking for an open door to a church, a shop, something. After about a half-block, there was an older woman hanging laundry outside of her house.

      Carla rushed over, and explained in Spanish—as quickly as she could and without pointing them out—what was going on. The woman gave her a genuine smile Carla trusted, and motioned her into the house. Carla walked straight through to the back of the house and across a tiny garden.

      She opened up the garden gate to an alley. There was no sign of the guys who’d talked to her, so she walked out of the garden and finally took in some air.

      Her eyes stung, and she squeezed them closed. Jesus. What was wrong with her? She imagined Geoff calmly explaining that he knew that she was a nut job underneath the thin veneer of socialite. Of course he had. That’s why he’d left her. A tear slipped down her face, which she brushed away.

      She leaned against a brick wall, aged and scummy-feeling from disrepair. What she really needed was to get her shit together and get home. If she could just make it out to a busy street, she could find a taxi, but she wasn’t ready to take her chances on a busy street yet.

      Think of something happy.

      Unbidden, Jonah popped into her head. His smirk, the one that told her he thought she was full of shit, pushed back some of the anxiety ripping through her system.

      Then she opened her eyes and her distress ramped back up. She hugged herself around the waist and bowed her head, trying to get her breathing back on track. She wished there was someone she could call, but her cell wouldn’t work down here. And she didn’t want to be the one calling for help anymore. She needed to be the person who picked herself up and dusted herself off.

      Carla didn’t know how long she stood there. She lost track of time and space, digging deep inside, trying to remember how it felt to be safe.

      Blood still rushed past her eardrums, creating a mighty white noise that drowned out the people sounds, the street noise. She gulped down deep, slow breaths until a clicking—the kind a camera shutter made—came close, and she felt the heat of a huge body.

      She knew it was Jonah before she opened her eyes. His minty soap was distinct among the rotted food and garbage. Hell, she’d known it was him as soon as she’d heard the first shutter click. Every bit of her was aware of him in a way she hadn’t felt in years—maybe ever.

      He stopped about a foot from her, but he didn’t try to touch her. Of course, he wouldn’t. He probably didn’t have a sick preoccupation with her like she did him. She could admit that the last two nights’ solo fun had been weird and creepy on her part. Still, her lower abdomen tugged inward when she got a smell of his sun- and work-warmed body.

      “Breathe.” He commanded her, but the word was soft. Like he could make her breathe, but he wanted her to do it on her own.

      “Trying.” Sweat trickled between her breasts. She was sure she made a really attractive picture right now, sweaty and falling apart.

      “Can I touch you?”

      His words buzzed through her. She opened her eyes then. Seeing him standing there, in a T-shirt he’d probably had for decades and jeans worn to the exact specifications of his enormous quadriceps, she had to stop herself from begging him to touch her.

      “You’re asking?”

      “Of course I’m asking.” He ran a hand over his head, bringing the strands of hair that made him look like a jacked-up pirate away from his brow. “Can I touch you?”

      “To do what?” Carla huffed out a breath, noting that she wasn’t shaking anymore, and she didn’t feel like she was going to puke. Progress. “Are you going to pick me up and throw me into the ocean?”

      He laughed, and it was the most magical sound on the entire island, maybe in the whole Caribbean Sea right then. His laugh vibrated through her skin. She felt as though she was being washed in his amusement, which was all well and good until she remembered that he was laughing at her.

      She scowled at him despite her sudden, inexplicable urge to join in his little giggle fest. “I’m serious. You think I’m trying to scam a member of my family. Why wouldn’t you want to hurt me?”

      He moved closer, so close she could feel his breaths, big breaths, against her cheek. He rested one clenched fist against the wall behind her, leaving her an escape. She wouldn’t take it because she wasn’t sure she could make herself get out of the shelter his body created right then.

      “One.” He stuck up the index СКАЧАТЬ