He was standing in the corner talking to one of her great aunts with an empty glass that my brother had kept filled with scotch all afternoon. I wanted to help—to do something, anything to take that stormy look out of his eyes. I asked him if he wanted to get some air. He'd taken my proffered hand without a word, but instead of taking me outside like I expected—maybe to the front porch for a breath of the cool February air—he'd towed me upstairs after him. And straight into the bathroom.
Without a word he pulled my black cashmere sweater off over my head. I stood there shocked for a few seconds. This was Shaw—my former best friend and secret life-long crush. And he had just been through the most traumatic event of his twenty-six years—losing his wife to a drunk driver. Yet here he was—singularly focused on getting me naked, and seemingly as quickly as possible.
He unsnapped my bra and then his hot mouth descended, latching onto my nipple—sucking hard and making me cry out despite my reservations. And even though I was twenty-five at the time, now twenty-six, I was new to this level of quick intimacy and raw carnal desire.
My head was spinning as he unbuttoned the black dress pants that I'd bought just for the occasion and placed me roughly on the countertop next to the sink. I should have asked him what he was doing, but honestly, questioning him never even entered my brain. Then before I could think his mouth was on mine— hungry and demanding and his fingers were in my panties. I groaned again, palming his heavy election through his slacks.
“Chloe?” my brother’s terse voice snapped me from my erotic daydream.
“Yeah?” My voice sounded breathless and my cheeks were flushed from that memory alone. Not just because of how crazy-good the sex was, I’d come three times around his thick, powerful cock, but because the entire encounter was laced with illicit undertones. It was forbidden and wrong on the most basic of levels, we could have been discovered at any moment, overheard by a nosy relative, but in that moment, we gave zero fucks. After, of course, guilt like I’ve never experienced before slammed through me and kept me in bed for the next three days. I didn’t know Samantha well, but that didn’t matter. I’d used Shaw in a vulnerable moment for my own pleasure. I’d gotten off on the whole thing, been totally out of my mind with wanton lust. What I’d done was wrong. And worse? I wanted to do it again.
“What the hell is with you?” Jason asked.
“What?” I tossed the laundered towels into a basket and hefted it up onto the counter.
“You're as distracted and jumpy as a hooker at church. What's up with you lately?”
“Nothing,” I lied. Everything had changed over the course of a few short months.
That somber day might have been how everything initially started with Shaw, but now it’s changed into something even darker.
“Well I need your focus today. We have six groups checking in and the McAlpherson party wants to charter a fishing boat this afternoon. You’ll have to call Shaw and see if he can accommodate them on such short notice.”
“Why can’t you?” The thought of calling Shaw on the phone made my stomach hurt. That’s not how our interactions worked. I never asked questions, never demanded anything of him, in fact. Everything was on his terms. His schedule. His way. A silent chill ran through me.
“Because I’ve got a plumber coming in ten minutes to fix the leak in the Grande suite, which means I have nine minutes left to finish checking out the ...” He thumbed through the invoices on his desk. “thirteen people leaving today.”
“Fine,” I grumbled.
If Jason knew what was going on between Shaw and I, I knew I’d feel the shame of his harsh judgement for years to come. And since we worked together seven days a week, it wasn’t something I ever wanted to come between us. He and Shaw were also close friends and he was fiercely protective of him ever since the accident. He looked out for Shaw like a brother, and I was sure he’d find a way to blame me for my disgraceful, opportunistic behavior—even though Shaw had been the one to seduce me. None of that would matter in my brother’s eyes.
I loved my brother, but apparently I liked being naughty just a little bit more. Sometimes things were black and white, and this was one of them. Shaw was well known and well-loved in our island community. He ran a marina that his now-retired parents owned. He spent his days out on the water, or on the dock, fueling boats, calling out orders to his staff, helping families take off in their rented pontoons. He was confident and sure, and I loved watching him work on the rare occasions I ventured down to the marina. His skin was always bronzed and golden, his jaw perpetually in need of a shave.
The people of our sleepy island town felt deep sympathy for him—brought him home-cooked meals, left flowers on Samantha’s headstone, and hugged him with tears in their eyes at diners and drug stores. He was practically a local celebrity. Both because of his family’s business here, but also because of the tragic circumstances surroundings his life. I was sure I’d be painted as a harlot who tempted a grieving widower, taking advantage of his situation for my own personal benefit, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Every time he left, it almost killed me inside.
I grabbed my purse and slipped on my favorite tan and pink flip flops.