"Jackson's okay," Belle said. "He's off work today and wasn't in the wreck."

Mariah sighed, rolling her shoulders as if a burden had just been lifted from them. "Good. What else did you guys talk about?"

"Well, we're going to Moreno's for dinner tonight."

"Nice. So, all it took for you to realize you're definitely still interested in him was thinking that he might be dead."

"I was always interested in him I'm just not sure how serious he is about me. I'm still going to tread carefully. If it turns out all he wants is s.e.x, he can forget it."

"I doubt that's all he wants. It was always obvious he had a thing for you when we were younger."

The feeling had been mutual, and in a way it had made leaving him after they'd finally gotten together a little more bearable. She'd liked him so much that the thought of having him like that and then watching him lose interest in her afterward had been unbearable.

This time, there would be no packing her bags and moving on to another life in another state. She wasn't going anywhere, and neither was he.

Heading to Belle's apartment on Sat.u.r.day evening wasn't like the time before. This time, she wanted him there.

It made all the difference. Jackson's blood rushed through his veins, as hot as the setting August sun. He was glad he'd brought her the flowers and stashed his number among the blooming lilies. This time, he approached her door empty-handed, his head full of memories and hopes so thoroughly intertwined that it was hard to tell them apart.

He'd give his left nut to see her strip naked for him again, to run his hands up her thighs and bury his c.o.c.k between them. The memory of doing exactly that had stayed vivid all this time, unfaded by the half a dozen years gone by. That was more than he could say about anyone else he'd ever been with.

Belle had been different special. And not just because he'd been the first to have her, the only one who'd ever claim the thrill of thrusting into her tight, virgin heat. That'd been exhilarating on every level, but he wasn't a Neanderthal. He'd valued Belle for Belle, not her inexperience or the chance to take something no one else would ever be able to claim after him.

The real reason it had been so d.a.m.n amazing was because it'd been so unexpected. By the time she'd started college, he hadn't been able to look at her without feeling a wrenching in his chest and a swelling in his groin. She'd always been beautiful, intelligent and friendly toward him. And she'd been untouchable in his eyes not because of her virginity, but her perfection.

h.e.l.l, he hadn't even realized he was her first until it'd already been done. She hadn't said anything.

She'd been privileged and driven in ways he'd never been. As much as he'd l.u.s.ted after her, he'd never seriously considered trying to drag her down to his level. While he'd been breaking his back beneath the summer sun on construction sites throughout the Lowcountry, she'd been a university student on break from the studies that would secure her a solid future. She'd worked her a.s.s off at school, maintaining a near perfect GPA, and her summers at home had been her only real breaks.

Even in his early twenties, he'd seen the disparity between them, the difference in the paths they'd been traveling. They'd both grown up on the island, just a few streets apart, but that had been where their similarities had ended.

Their differences hadn't mattered much when it came to hanging out at the local beaches and piers with other young South Islanders, and that was where he'd gotten to know her.

They'd swam together, eaten together and soaked up endless rays of sun. Usually in a group of friends and acquaintances they'd made in high school, but occasionally they'd gone for a short walk or swim alone. He'd relished those times like something stolen, something precious.

He hadn't planned on reaching for anything more, on asking for anything other than the pleasure of watching her laugh and relax on the beach, totally oblivious to what a f.u.c.king bombsh.e.l.l she'd been in her bikini.

Then there'd been the party that summer night before she'd left the island for her final year of college. It'd been informal, a gathering of a couple dozen friends in honor of Belle and a couple other kids she'd graduated high school with. He couldn't remember the names of those girls, but he remembered every other detail of that night.

They'd had a couple drinks at a seaside bar before hitting the beach, goofing around in the nighttime surf and chasing ghost crabs with flashlights. At some point, he and Belle had wandered under the pier together and the chemistry between them had finally combusted he hadn't been able to resist kissing her.

It'd been a combination of things that'd pushed him over the edge: moonlight. Her laughter. The sweet summer air. And most of all, knowing that she was leaving the next day and that he might not see her again.

She'd been about to start her senior year, which meant no more coming home for the summer, no more living with her parents when school was out. She'd talked about her plans to look for a job after graduation, and he'd been keenly aware that with her intelligence and drive, she'd find one one that probably wouldn't be anywhere near South Island.

He hadn't planned on indulging in anything more than that kiss, but once they'd started neither of them had been able to stop. After what'd felt like an eternity of making out beneath the pier, she'd asked him to take her to his place.

After he'd recovered from his shock, he'd taken her to his apartment. There, he'd kept her to himself for hours, living out his most visceral fantasies twice before taking her home.

The encounter had left him stunned for weeks. Stunned that it had happened at all, and stunned that she'd trusted him to be her first. He'd ached for more, but she'd left town for the start of the fall semester the next day.

He'd stayed behind, working construction, and although the shock faded somewhat, his desire for her had become a constant, silent companion. It'd dogged him throughout the years, around the island and through the police academy, riding with him on every call, haunting him every night. Belle had become a fantasy, a summertime mirage he saw sometimes when he was in the shower or in bed with the blinds drawn and the AC cranked up.

It was crazy how he'd held onto the memory of her, how his desire had never truly faded and had come roaring back like a solar flare when she'd rolled down her window the other day and he'd seen her face.

Maybe it was because he hadn't had a chance to f.u.c.k things up after they'd spent those incredible hours together. Those hours were perfect in his memory, and he couldn't help thinking back.

It was crazy, too, that he had another chance now.

Even crazier that during their years apart, he'd made something of himself.

He'd grown up ashamed of his family, ashamed of a lot of things. But four years ago, he'd experienced pride for the first time when he'd graduated from the police academy. He still carried that sense of pride, just as he carried his badge and gun. He was no millionaire, no paragon of society or success. But he was a cop, and that suited him better than anything else he could imagine.

Law and order. Fairness and justice. His early life had lacked those things, and now he upheld them, enforced them to the best of his ability. He was proud of that, and so when he knocked on Belle's door, he stood straight and tall.

CHAPTER 7.

When Belle opened the door, their eyes met and desire gripped Jackson anew, vise-like.

She wore a dress that bared most of her shoulders and fell to just above the knee. It was the deep blue-green of the sea on a clear day, and the color contrasted nicely with her fair skin and dark hair and eyes. Her hair was up in some sort of knot and little jewels dripped from her ear lobes, glittering. All those cool, dark colors, and then there was her mouth: stained a soft pink that glowed in the evening light.

She'd chosen every detail of the outfit knowing he'd be coming for her, that she'd be spending the evening with him. The knowledge simmered under his skin, making his nerves buzz as he remembered how soft her skin had felt beneath his work-calloused hands.

A G.o.ddess. That was what she looked like: some beautiful being risen from the sea, inhumanly perfect.

"Evening, Belle." Even her name was just right for her. Her mother must've had a premonition when she'd been born some foresight of the beauty her daughter would become.

She smiled. "Hey, Jackson. You look nice, and you're perfectly on time."

He had to look down to remember what he was wearing: khakis and a polo in a safe, easy shade of blue. His clothes would fade into the background next to her, a neutral backdrop for her beauty. In that respect, they were perfect.

"You look gorgeous," he said. "You need to grab your purse or powder your nose before we go? I need a minute to put my eyes back into my head."

That made her laugh, and he reveled in the sound, his gaze drawn to the way her earrings glimmered and swung when she tipped her head.

"Flatterer." She pointed one sandaled foot, glancing down at her skirts. "This is the first time I've worn this. Mariah talked me into trying it on a couple months ago."

"Mariah Cardiff, right? Y'all are still friends?"

"The very best."

"Well, I haven't seen her in years, but if I do, I'll have to thank her. That dress was made for you."

He couldn't help fantasizing about sliding his hands up her thighs, straight under the skirt. Hopefully, it didn't show on his face.

After last night, he got the sense she was a little wary of his motivations.

"Let me grab my purse," she said, and disappeared into the apartment.

She was back within seconds. He'd barely had time to blink, and he certainly wasn't done staring.

Training took over when they got to his car, though after opening the pa.s.senger side door for her, he managed to keep his eyes on the road.

The drive went by slowly. When they got to Moreno's, it was a relief to park and walk around to the front door with her by his side.

She paused by one of the building's corners, beneath a palm tree, to cast her gaze out to sea. She'd always loved the water and had spent endless hours on the island's beaches during her summers off from college.

So had Jackson, whenever he'd had the chance, as much for the view of her as the view of the ocean. Now, he studied the curves of her shoulders as she stood facing the sea, her dress bright against waves that were darkening as the sun set.

An ocean breeze carried the smell of salt off the water and it combined with a light floral scent, like something tropical her perfume.

He breathed deeply, and almost reached out to touch her.

"It's been a while since I've been to Moreno's." She turned to face him again, and he stilled his hand at his side. "I never get tired of the view, though. Do you think they'll have any tables open on the upper story?"

"I made a reservation. Asked for a table on the second story, by the window."

Her smile sparkled brighter than her earrings. "Nice."

His satisfaction was quickly tinged by a sense of wariness. She couldn't really be so easy to please, could she?

She'd been easy to please years ago, but then, she hadn't asked for much: just for him to make her his for a night. Making it as pleasurable as possible had been his own mission, a task he'd embraced with a pounding heart and watering mouth especially after he'd realized she'd been a virgin.

She hadn't been his first, and he'd been glad of that he'd known his way around a woman's body well enough to show her what it meant to writhe with pleasure before he'd given her any pain. Before he'd indulged in the intense bliss of burying his c.o.c.k inside her, he'd done a dozen other things he'd fantasized about.

He'd never fully understood why she'd been so eager for him to be her first, though. The fact that she'd been a virgin at twenty-one showed that she was anything but casual with her relationships. After holding out for so long she'd enthusiastically spent a night with him, knowing full well she'd be leaving the next day.

Maybe she'd wanted to get her first time out of the way so she'd have a little experience an idea of what to expect when she found someone she genuinely wanted to be with in that way. And although he hadn't been that person for her, she'd trusted him enough to grant him access to her body for a night.

It made sense, in a way. He couldn't blame her. But for some reason, thinking about it felt a lot like being kicked in the gut.

"Is something the matter?" she asked when they were seated at a table for two by the huge panoramic window. The Atlantic rushed and ebbed against the beach below, darkening as night began to descend.

"No."

"You look tense."

Her eyes searched his.

"I have a hard time keeping my mind off work sometimes. Sorry." It was only half a lie although his mind had been drifting much further into the past, the situation with Sanders and his wife had been a thorn in his side for days now.

Her expression turned sympathetic, her gracefully arched eyebrows knitting together. "They say being a police officer is one of the most stressful jobs out there."

"It can be, at times."

She leaned toward him, her menu forgotten. "Did something happen lately at work? That crash, maybe?"

He mustered up a smile. "I don't bother to let myself worry about the possibility of being mowed over by a bad driver. I figure it's a risk I signed up for, policing in the Lowcountry."

"I have to admit: after living out of state, I can see that we have a distinct driving culture here."

"That's one way to put it. But no, I'm not bothered about the wreck. I barely know the officer, and he should be okay. Just needed a few st.i.tches."

She looked at him as if she was waiting for him to continue, and he found himself telling her about the domestic situation at Sanders' house and the cl.u.s.terf.u.c.k it'd turned into. By the time he was done explaining, they had drinks and had paused to place their orders.

"Wow," she said, "what a mess to be dragged into having to make an enemy out of someone who's supposed to have your back."

Her words echoed his thoughts, and he sat up straighter in his seat. "Exactly. It's a s.h.i.tty situation for everyone involved, but especially his wife and kid. Worst part is that I feel like I'm the only one who sees that."

"What about your lieutenant? I thought you said you two were on the same page."

He nodded. "Yeah, but there's not really anything she can do about it. Sanders isn't in my platoon, and with no charges being pressed..." He shrugged as a hot p.r.i.c.kle of irritation made the back of his neck itch.

"At least that means you don't have to work with him."

"There's that." It was a silver lining around a dark cloud. And now that he'd born witness, he felt partially responsible for whatever horrors his wife would endure next.

"Maybe his wife will come to her senses and press charges after all."

"I doubt it." It was hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He knew d.a.m.n well that most women who were abused by their partners either couldn't or wouldn't leave. It just wasn't that simple.

"Well, you have a much more experienced perspective on this than I do."

Something must have showed on his face, because she grimaced. "I meant because of your job. I wasn't trying to say"

"It's okay. You're right either way." Belle already knew he came from s.h.i.tty stock. Anyone who'd known him prior to his police days did. It was hard to keep stuff like that quiet when your dad was constantly checking in and out of jail as if it were a cheap motel and you were always showing up to school bruised.

And then there were the charges his father been arrested on... Possession. Dealing. Once, picking up a prost.i.tute. Jesus, the humiliation still grated, even after all these years.

The only thing stronger than the embarra.s.sment was the relief. Relief that he was a grown man, years from the tumultuous s.h.i.t storm that had been his childhood, and relief that he hadn't been sucked into the same sort of pathetic, wasted life.

That was the one good thing his parents had done for him: disgusted him so thoroughly that he'd been repulsed by the things they'd idolized. Their lack of shame had left him with an excess of it, and it'd kept him on the straight and narrow path they'd never shown any interest in.

"I'm setting records left and right when it comes to putting my foot in my mouth," Belle said. "At this rate you'll be sick of me within a week."

"Not hardly."

She smiled, and he admired the smooth line of her jaw and her creamy, unblemished skin. Fair, with the barest hint of golden tan from the South Carolina sun.