CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 5

Gideon was waiting for her. Standing at the bow of his sailboat, he leaned over the rail to watch her approach. Flint-colored clouds gathered overhead. The wind was up, whipping Gideon's open shirt away from his body to reveal his torso, one she knew all too well.

Sipping from a mug, he stared at her as she climbed out of her SUV and slammed the door shut.

You can do this!

She marched across the uneven lot, where only a smattering of vehicles were parked—pickups and vans mostly and, of course, Gideon's monster of a motorcycle. It was parked in its usual space, next to a shed where seagulls perched on the spine of the roof.

She held his gaze.

Her heart was pounding, her nerves tight as bow strings as she strode along the dock and up the gangway to his sailboat.

She was determined to end this. Now.

While driving to the marina she'd considered what she was going to say and had decided it best to get onto the boat, away from the eyes and ears of anyone who was hanging out on the docks. Now, seeing his hair catching in the breeze, she felt a clutch in her heart and reminded herself of the reason she was there.

A smile stretched over his jaw at her approach, and though his eyes were hidden by sunglasses, she saw the corners crinkle—a sincere smile. "Hey," he said and reached for her.

"Stop!" She held up a hand and took a step back, every muscle in her body tense. "What the hell were you doing delivering the pizza to my house last night?"

He chuckled. "I thought you'd appreciate that."

"Appreciate it? Are you insane? We had a deal," she reminded him, churning inside. "My house was off-limits. My family is off-limits. My daughter is definitely off-limits!"

"Your daughter?" he repeated, amused.

"Don't go there, Gideon," she warned, balancing against the rail as the boat gently rocked. "You tried to flirt with her."

"Oh, right. Come on, she's just a kid." He sounded dismissive. Shaded eyes continued to stare at her. "But you sound a little jealous."

Jealous? Was he kidding? She scoffed, "How did you know? About the pizza? How did you find out what we were doing and how . . . how on earth did you manage it?"

His lips twitched. "I have my ways."

"This is not a game!"

"Isn't it?"

"It's harassment."

"Harassment?" he spat out.

"I'm serious. Leave us the hell alone."

"Or you'll do what?" His smile faded. He tossed the dregs of his coffee over the side of the boat. "What could you possibly do to me?"

"Don't try me," she said between locked teeth.

Setting his empty cup on a small folding chair, he said, "You reneged."

"I reneged?" she repeated. "No—"

"You left here yesterday and everything was fine. And then, not even a couple of hours later, you called with a message that I assumed was a joke."

"No joke."

"So you're serious?"

"As serious as I've ever been in my life." The wind blew a strand of hair over her eyes and she pushed it aside and glared at him. "It's over, Gideon, just like I said."

"Why?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Like hell."

"I'm going to make it work with Neal, if I can."

"You're not in love with him," he charged and she noticed a muscle work in his jaw.

"That's where you're wrong."

"That's what you told me."

"No," she countered, remembering the conversation that had occurred on this very deck. "I told you I wasn't in love with him anymore and that's true. But I still love him and I love my daughter. I want us to be a family. And maybe I'll fall in love with him again."

"Oh, sure. That's the way it works," he mocked. "And maybe he'll show up on a white steed and whisk you off to his castle and you'll live happily ever after."

"Maybe," she said, refusing to take the bait, refusing to get into a fight. "So that's it. You wanted a face-to-face and you got it. It's over, Gideon."

"Jesus, Brooke." His cocky smile faded as he finally realized she wasn't playing games. "You can't do that. Turn it off and on at will."

"I told you, it's been coming for a long time."

"You were just here yesterday." He jammed a finger downward, past the decking and toward the cabin below. "With me. In my bed."

"It was a mistake."

"It didn't seem like a mistake to me. Not then, not all the other times." Undaunted, he leaned back against the rail again. "You're telling me it was a mistake when you wrapped your arms around me as I steered the boat. Remember that? Or when we drank champagne right over there?" He hitched his shoulder toward the stern. "Or when we took off in your damned Explorer—that SUV?" Motioning toward her vehicle, he ranted on, "We spent that weekend away in your grandmother's cabin. Hell, we even took your damned dog with us. You're telling me you don't recall that?" He scoffed in disbelief. "What about that?" Anger cut through his words, the muscle in his jaw working overtime. "And how about all the times you were in my bed? Begging me to fuck you? Remember those?"

She did. Vividly. Even the dirty talk in the throes of passion. She remembered the feel of his fingers running down the length of her spine, the desire that always burned when she was around him, the heat that dissipated quickly as her guilt took over and she came to her senses.

"Well, maybe it wasn't your mistake," she said. "But it was mine. I'm the one who's married, the one who has a daughter. We both agreed when this started that either one of us could call it off at any time. And that's what I'm doing."

"You wouldn't dare." She noticed the cords visibly pulsing in his neck. Didn't care.

"Wouldn't I?" Tension seemed to crackle in the air.

His eyes narrowed. "I can make your life a living hell, you know."

"And you'd do that?" She lifted up her chin, goading him. "Because that's how much you ‘love' me?"

His lips flattened. "I just want us to be together. We belong together."

"No, Gideon. We don't. And don't make the mistake of threatening me. It won't work." She held her ground. "If I have to, I'll come clean with Neal."

"And your daughter?"

Her insides twisted. Oh dear God, Marilee would hate her forever. As bad as their relationship was now, it would only get worse. Much worse. She steeled herself and silently prayed he was bluffing. He was, wasn't he? He wouldn't dare try to ruin her life.

He prodded, "What would pretty little petulant Marilee say?"

He knew about her daughter's attitude? It curdled her blood to hear her child's name on his lips. She remembered the intense look he'd sent Marilee's way on the porch last night. The flirtatious wink. Nausea roiled her stomach. "She would understand."

"Oh, sure." He laughed harshly. "You're going to tell her how you've spent your afternoons and weekends away and the reason you're always late to pick her up from school?" His skin was stretched tight over his features, his eyes dangerous.

"If I have to." Her voice was surprisingly even, though her heart was galloping and every instinct told her to run. "So, now we're clear," she said, taking one step backward. "Don't call or text me, okay? And for God's sake, stay away from my family. Don't show up on my doorstep again. Whatever we had, whatever this was, it's over. Just let it go."

She turned for the gangway.

He caught her wrist. "No."

"What?" She tried to snatch back her hand, but he spun her around to face him. So close. Too close. His face was just inches from hers. She tried to yank away her arm, but his grip only tightened. "Let me go, Gideon."

"I love you." There it was. The words he'd whispered to her time and time again. The three simple words she'd never uttered back. Because she'd known. Deep down, she'd realized what they had would never last.

The boat rocked on the water, the masts creaked with the wind, and she was hit by the scent of the sea, but she didn't take her eyes from his.

His grip tightened. "I want you."

Did a part of her long to be with him? To forget the complications and stresses of her daily life?

She swallowed hard, the silence stretching between them.

"You want me too. You know, Brooke, that we're meant to be together. Forever." As if he sensed her wavering, he pulled her even closer. "We could go away. Just the two of us. Right now. Leave everything behind." Was there a desperation to his words, a rending of his soul?

Her own heartbeat was pounding in her eardrums.

She thought of Marilee. And Neal. And the life she had with them, the life she'd worked so hard for, the life she loved despite the stress of a husband with a wandering eye and a teenager who was outwardly rebelling, a job hunt and health issues and . . . "No." She shook her head, the brief temptation withering away. She peeled his fingers from her wrist. "No. I can't do this anymore and I don't want to."

"I can't let you go."

"I'm not yours to lose." She angled up her chin and said, "This was a mistake. I know it now."

His face twisted, pain and anger wrenching his features. "I said, ‘I love you.'"

"And I'm saying goodbye."

"Don't, Brooke."

But she was done, and this time she made it to the gangway before he leaped forward, caught her in both hands, and yanked her against him. "No."

"Let go of me."

But his grip only grew stronger and she felt the length of his body pressed against her back and, worse yet, through her jeans and his, the hardness of his erection.

Oh God, really? This turned him on? She was suddenly disgusted.

She struggled and he whispered into her hair, "We should be together. You feel it. I know you feel it."

"You're wrong. Let go of me!"

"I love you," he repeated.

"You don't." And then she understood. His form of "love" was total control. She'd realized that too late. When he tried to pull her even closer and leaned around to kiss her, she twisted her head, bared her teeth, and bit.

He shrieked, releasing her, blood spurting. "What the fuck?"

"Just leave me the hell alone."

"That's not what you want." He was dabbing at his lip with his sleeve. "You're crazy!" His face twisted, and if her gaze could have pierced his dark lenses, she guessed she would have witnessed fury. Maybe pain as well, and an intense, dark rage. But she didn't wait, just turned on her heel and headed for the dock.

"You can't just leave me."

Oh no? Just watch.She kept walking, heard a rush of footsteps, and when she turned he was already leaping at her, his body slamming into hers. Her knees buckled and her ankle twisted painfully. As she fell, her head crashed against the deck, chin bouncing, cheek scraping.

Bam!Her head cracked against the deck.

"Ooh," she moaned, feeling blood bloom on her cheek. Pain radiated from the back of her skull.

Then she blinked, tears springing. Burning. Eyes closed, she retreated. Darkness. Escape. The world spinning out of control. She was falling . . .

"Brooke!"

Her eyes flew open.

Gideon was on top of her, gunmetal-gray clouds whirling above his head, blood trickling down his chin, mirrored glasses reflecting the horror in her face as the world came back into razor-sharp focus.

"Get off me," she ordered. Was he really going to rape her? Oh, Jesus. No way! She struggled, fighting. He was on top of her, breathing hard, his weight pinning her down, his hands pulling her wrists over her head.

What?

"Gideon, stop!" She was frantic, kicking and trying to roll away. "Get off me. You can't . . . get the fuck off me!"

"You love it."

"Are you insane?"

"Brooke!"

"Get. The Fuck. Off. Me." She was panting, her pulse thundering in her brain, but she fought. "This is assault! I'll go to the police!"

"Like hell you will." A small, cruel smile crawled across his lips. "So this is how it's gonna be, huh? A little rough. You like that?" His voice was a growl.

Bile rose up her throat. "I hate this!"

"Do you?" He mocked, blood dripping onto her sweater.

"I swear, Gideon, if you don't get off me this second—"

"You'll do what?" He leaned closer and she reacted, biting his lower lip again. Harder, as she swung up one leg. Her knee connected with his crotch.

He squealed. "Whaaa—?" He fell to the side.

She scrambled backward as his body convulsed, his legs bending, his body curling, his grip slightly loosened. She didn't wait but gave him another swift kick to the nuts with her boot.

"Ooowoow." Recoiling, he howled in agony.

She rolled swiftly away.

"You goddamned bitch!" he hissed, spittle flying.

Staggering to her feet, she took off.

"This isn't over!" he yelled after her, gasping as he rose up on his knees. "It will never be over!"

She tore down the ramp, mindful of the older guy with the ring of red hair. He'd been washing his boat and had stopped, sponge in hand, soap dripping onto the dock, as she raced by.

"Hey—hey, are you okay?"

She didn't answer, just kept running, her feet pounding down the long dock, fear propelling her, pain radiating up one leg. She kept going, across the small bridge spanning the water between the shore and the boats and into the parking lot.

She heard the man call out, "What the hell's going on?"

She didn't turn around. Didn't look. Just ran. She ran as if her life depended on it. Pain screamed up one leg. She ignored it. Clenching her jaw, limping, her mind racing, she ran. The flock of gulls took off from the roof of the shed in a thunder of wings and caws.

Still she ran, past his damned bike, over the potholes, tears blinding her, her fingers fumbling in her pocket for her key chain.

At the Explorer she hit the remote. The lock clicked. She threw herself inside and yanked the door closed. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," she murmured, her insides shredding as she caught a glimpse of Gideon through the passenger window. He was crouching, gasping for breath, his face red, his eyes fixed on her.

She rammed her SUV into reverse and gunned it.

"Hey!" a throaty, panicked voice yelled.

She stood on the brakes.

The Explorer screeched to a stop. A teenager on a skateboard flew past the driver's side, narrowly missing her side-view mirror. "Why don't you watch where the fuck you're going?"

"What?" Her heart was pounding so fast she could barely breathe.

Blond hair flying around an acne-riddled face, the kid cut around the front of her SUV, the wheels of his skateboard scraping against the uneven asphalt. She flopped back against the seat, adrenaline scorching through her bloodstream at the close call. Through the windshield, she watched him sail across the parking lot, flipping her off with a long, angry finger and turning to look over his shoulder one last time to scream a last epithet: "Fuckin' bitch!"

She let out a shaky breath, her heart hammering wildly.

She could have hit him. Hurt him. Maybe killed him. She hadn't even known he was in the parking lot. All because she wasn't paying attention, because she was freaked out, her mind still swirling with images of Gideon's attack.

She took in deep gulps of air and looked back at the sailboat.

No Gideon.

Her heart bucked.

Frantically, she looked around, at the boat, at the dock, in the lot, between the parked cars . . . Where the hell—?

Go! Just get out of here!

She threw the Ford into Drive.

Glanced at the rearview.

Oh shit!

He was right there! Hunched over and running through the trucks, trailers, and parked cars, he loomed, racing toward the passenger door, only a few steps away.

He sprang.

His hand appeared on the window.

She hit the gas.

Her Explorer shot forward.

Just as the scratch of fingernails scraped down the passenger door and it flew open. She cranked hard on the wheel and he flew off.

She heard a sickening thud, and in the side-view mirror she saw him on the pavement, on all fours, staring after her, breathing hard. She slowed at the entrance and pulled the passenger door shut.

Then she punched it again, her tires squealing as she drove through the marina's entrance.

Gideon was climbing to his feet.

She hit the automatic locks, gunned it, and didn't look back.