Page 24 of Broken Rules
She had done it.
She had walked away from the bad boy.
Hopping into her Jeep, she headed out onto the main beach drive toward her cottage. She smiled, feeling that special sense of pride one only feels when they’ve triumphed over an addiction. Like when she quit smoking or that time she refused to go to Vegas with Brandi, knowing the short excursion would just end up draining her savings and adding more notches to her bedpost.
Yes, she, Savannah Honey, had made the hard choice and won against her strongest enemy—herself.
When she arrived home, she unlocked the door and stepped into her small mudroom. Dropping her keys and bag on the slim antique side table she had refinished to shabby chic perfection, she headed into the galley kitchen and reached for the bottle of red on the counter. But then she stopped, and instead, grabbed the small kettle on her back burner and filled it with water.
She was going to have an alcohol-free, caffeine-free, bad boy-free chamomile tea. And more than that, she was not going to stay up until dawn binge watching teen-vampire shows. She was going to sip her tea and go to bed, so that she had energy to enjoy her first day off in nearly two weeks.
If it hadn’t been three in the morning, she might have even called her nonna to tell her how awesome her granddaughter was.
With her steaming mug clasped between both hands, she crossed into her living room and sat in her cozy chair by the window. Bypassing the women’s fashion magazine that was only going to make her feel like her healthy curves weren’t skinny enough, she took up her favorite book that she’d read a million times. Running her hand down the worn cover, she glanced at the many dog-eared pages visible in the binding, but then her smile vanished.
She narrowed her gaze on the cover ofWuthering Heights, starring the ultimate bad boy—Heathcliff before she dropped it back on the table, deciding she needed a new favorite book. No longer was she going to be Catherine racing across the moors in the rain, her heart aching for her tortured love. What she needed was an Edgar Linton type—kind, tender, loving. She was going to take a page from Brandi and find herself a sweet guy in possession of hidden treasures.
She finished her tea and put the cup in the sink before stepping into the bathroom. It was a good thing she wore her blond curls in a bob. Her water heater was small, and the pressure was rubbish. Still, she loved her near-the-beach cottage...although, one day, she hoped to be wealthy enough to buy actual beach-front property, a sail boat, and expensive linen drawstring pants and barely-there tank tops.
Smiling at her future self, she climbed into the shower and rinsed off the day. Inhaling her peach-scented shampoo, she bade goodbye to The Cove’s signature seafood fragrance. Scrubbed clean, she stepped out, dried off, and wrapped her towel around herself before crossing back through her narrow kitchen. Despite the warmth of the night, as she left her steamy bathroom, goosebumps dotted her arms. Shivering, she padded quickly across her living room floor, then up the stairs into her bedroom.
Shuffling through her dresser, she sought her favorite, feather-soft t-shirt when, suddenly, a hand covered her mouth from behind.
Chapter Eight
Heart pounding, sheclawed at the hand.
“Savannah, it’s me,” a soft voice breathed in her ear.
She froze. The hand dropped away from her mouth. She turned around. Her face was a breath away from a familiar black mask.
“It’s you,” she said, her heart pounding. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to be with you in a place with fewer cameras.” He crossed the room to her door and took down her robe from the hook and handed it to her.
Her hands shook as she swept the soft, white cotton over her shoulders. She shimmed her hips, wiggling out of her towel before she cinched the tie around her waist.
