Page 13 of Faithless

I glance out at the expanse of the ocean, and a breeze cools my hot cheeks. God, I’m so lucky I live here. Growing up in a small rural town in the Central Valley of California makes Santa Barbara still seem like a paradise.

He found me in a bar on my twentieth birthday. I wasn’t much of a partier, but our local dive bar didn’t card, and all of my friends wanted me to have a wild night after I had been so listlessly depressed from my recent heartbreak.

I was too immature to see that Jason’s defection was a godsend. What we’d had was a childish love. I never really knew him. How well can you know someone who still lives in his childhood bedroom? How intimate can you become when his mother still takes care of his basic needs and most of your sex life takes place in his truck? I sometimes wonder if his decision to propose was mostly an excuse to move out on his own.

Nothing about boyish Jason prepared me for meeting Mark.

Mark was in town overnight after consulting with a client. I don’t know when he spotted me in that bar, but by the time he approached my group of friends, his eyes were filled with the same determination I’ve seen these last several days. He bought me drinks, asked me questions about my life as if the answers needed to be filed in some locked cabinet somewhere. At the end of the night, he was somehow able to convince my protective friends he was the most sober of the group and needed to drive me home.

The next day, he was at my porch at six thirty pm sharp, wearing a button-up shirt and fitted jeans with a bouquet of gardenias for me and an expensive bottle of wine for my parents. They were dazzled by him, and I guess I was too, in a way. Even while I longed for someone else, I was overwhelmed by this rich, handsome young man who looked at me like I was the key to finding joy.

I was no match for him.

It’s no wonder I had this giant stone on my finger four months later, and he was whisking me away to this gorgeous ocean town.

Another warm caress runs up and down my nape, and I wish for the tenth time tonight that I could drown Mark in that ocean.

His warm breath tickles my ear. “I’m ready to cash in on that goodbye fuck soon. Do you think we’ve made enough small talk?”

Heat shoots into my gut, but I keep my gaze fixed on the water. “Yes,” I say. “If we stay long enough, we’re bound to run into one of your girls.”

He grips my nape, and I suppress a groan.

“I don’t fuck women in our circle. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

I release an almost hysterical giggle. “How considerate.”

He squeezes my neck. “We’re getting out of here.” He smiles affably. “I’m ready to show you how considerate I am of your needs.”

Electricity shoots into my groin. Why does his rage against me turn me on like this? I guess it’s because it’s the only sign I have that he still cares when everything else points to the fact that I mean nothing to him.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Just as we make our way through the crowd, a familiar face emerges. Stephen. His eyes meet mine almost immediately. I don’t know if it’s the champagne, but I increase the speed of my step away from Mark and head straight towards Stephen. His grin matches mine.

“My hot divorce lawyer.” My stomach flips at my audacity. What has gotten into me? I really must have had too much champagne if I’m actually trying to make Mark jealous. It doesn’t take much as it is, and his temper is never worth the risk. He’ll embarrass me somehow.

Stephen’s eyes widen slightly before he smiles back. “Well, since you said it first, now I can be out about it too. If you hadn’t, you would have forced me to pretend like we met at another cocktail party.”

I wave a hand. “Oh, that confidentiality stuff. I don’t need it. My cheating husband already knows I’m divorcing him.” My smile grows as I lock my eyes on his. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for clients, obviously.” His grin widens. “Statistically speaking, we’re the most likely age group to get divorced.”

I snort out a laugh, and Stephen’s eyes widen. Goodness, am I really this drunk? I’m acting like a twenty-year-old girl. “I’m not nearly as young as you,” I say. “Are you flattering me, or did you not even check my—”

Stephen’s eyes drift past my shoulder, and his smile falters.

Uh oh.

My bodyguard is probably giving him a death glare. Mark had so much more tolerance for men flirting with me when he thought I was an angel. Now, he treats it like a direct attack. Like I’m going to hump the man right in front of him if he doesn’t intervene.

Like a practiced dance, a big warm hand settles on my waist. “I’m Mark,” he says as he holds out his other hand.

Stephen’s expression grows serious, though something light flickers in his eyes. Amusement, perhaps. He probably sees this all the time. Terrible husbands trying to assert their dominance over him. “I’m Stephen,” is all he says.

“Stephen Garcia,” Mark grits out. “My wife’s divorce lawyer.”

Stephen’s gaze darts to mine, and now I see the amusement fully. I glance at Mark, and the stiffness in his posture makes all the heat leave my body in a rush. I’ve seen him this way plenty of times, and it means nothing.

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