Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
No way. No how.
My mind keeps flashing back to those moments up on deck when he thought enemies were coming to kill us. He mistook thunder and lightning for gunfire. And the way he shielded me…I can’t get it out of my head.
And now it’s time for me to shield him.
I own this rig.
If I never sell it, he’ll never have to leave, right?
Or at the very least, he’ll be able to remain here in the only place where he feels safe for a long time. In addition to the oil rig, my father’s savings—albeit a small amount, thanks to some dry seasons—are now mine. I can use that to stock the rig with food for Butch down the road. As an American citizen, don’t I owe that consideration to this soldier? This hero? How incredibly selfish would I be to evict him from his safe zone so I can make a heap of money? No, I won’t do it. I can’t.
I love him.
I’ve fallen in love with this scarred man who keeps his demons at bay in the darkness of the engine room. And I refuse to hurt him for my own gain.
But I can’t stay here, either.
I can’t live three floors below sea level and be scared to come out into the sunshine, worrying Butch’s PTSD will cause another state of confusion or pain. I can’t leave my life behind and never plant flowers again. There is no color here at all, save blue and gray. It would starve my soul, even if Butch fed my heart.
With tears in my eyes, I dress and climb the stairs, all the way to the top. I go into my father’s office that overlooks the deck. I stand in the exact spot where I spoke to the lawyer yesterday, but I’m not the same girl. Not even close. My heart is shattering, for one. And I’m no longer making decisions solely based on how they will affect me. I’m making a choice that is heavily influenced by love and I can’t seem to make it any other way.
Though my arm weighs a thousand pounds, I pick up the phone on my father’s old desk, dialing the number on the business card left behind by the lawyer. He answers on the third ring, sounding tired. Rightly so. The sun has barely risen in the sky. I don’t even know what time it is. Only that I have to leave, return to New Orleans right now, before Butch wakes up and convinces me to stay. He could do it so easily. He could tempt me back into bed with promises of pleasure—the kind I never even knew existed—and I would go eagerly.
I could lose myself here.
I could lose myself to lust and obsession and wake up years from now, realizing time has marched on without me. As someone who values the life they’ve carved out in the world, as much of a struggle as it can be sometimes, I can’t do that. I can’t give myself up.
And I can’t ask Butch to come with me. I can’t see him in pain and panic the way I did last night. Even the memory is like a knife sinking between my ribs.
“Hello?” the lawyer repeats himself in my ear, more impatient now.
“Yes, hello. This is Cindy Carter.” I swallow the knot in my throat. “Can you please arrange for a helicopter to come pick me up now?”
When I hang up a few moments later, I start to shake.
Even more proof that I have to leave now. One more night with Butch and I will never be able to walk away. He already has a hold on my bones, my heart, my desire. He’s made his mark everywhere. With a trembling hand, I write out a note for him and leave it on the desk beside the lawyer’s business card. Maybe he’ll never see it. Maybe after the setback he suffered because of me last night, he’ll never want to venture up this high on the rig every again. But it seems I can’t just take off without leaving some part of my heart behind.
I go out on deck with tears streaming down my cheeks and I sit cross-legged, looking out at the ocean. Last night’s storm is long gone, but the water is still moody Salt air throws my hair around, though it hardly matters. It was in disarray from being underneath Butch last night. At his mercy.
My breath catches when the flesh between my legs constricts hungrily.
More.
I want more. I want back in his bed.
The pulse points in my body are drumming, my tummy muscles trembling.
I’m never going to find anyone like him again—and I don’t want to.
I’ll feast on the memory of our one time together for the rest of my life. There will be no other men for me. Not ever.