Dirty Secrets

Edgy

God, I was edgy.

I'd been like this all day, ever since our erotic encounter at the beach. Never had I desired anything, or anyone, more than Jessica Clarke. I hadn't thought I could be hornier than when I first met her, but I was wrong.

I was like a walking erection. Christ. It was hard enough to will the condition away and get some work done, but my mind kept turning.

My needs were complicated, that was the problem. The one thing I wanted—spending the night with her; Christ, spending a lifetime with her—was the one thing I absolutely, positively shouldn't do.

Not after that little episode in the truck the other night. Jessica had enough going on, between her sister and the hotel and the grief over her mother. No way did she deserve my burdens added. And even though we'd revealed so much about our lives to each other over the past several days, I couldn't tell her about the nightmares.

Or about New Orleans.

Or about how I'd soon have to turn myself in to the cops.

Those things would devastate her. It would only be worse if I took things further. And yet, I fucking melted every time she looked at me. That's why I'd felt like running away when she told me she wanted me.

Again.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I sank into a booth at the bakery in front of my laptop. Upstairs, the contractors clomped around the attached apartment. I had mountains of work here, what with local food vendors and ordering and anticipating the opening week rush. I needed to focus.

A male voice startled me, but the military had conditioned me not to outwardly flinch. Not ever.

It was the contractor, an older guy with white hair.

"I've got some bad news."

I glanced up from my laptop and arched an eyebrow. Bad news in my world meant death and bombs and war. Whatever this guy had to say probably didn't fall under that category.

"Asbestos. We found it when we were ripping out the old sheetrock and drywall upstairs. A lot of these old art deco buildings have it."

"Okay." I shrugged. "So, what does that mean? I'll pay for extra safety equipment, hazmat suits, whatever you need."

The worker nodded. "We've got all that, and we have an asbestos surcharge. But it'll tack a week or two onto the job."

"Fine. Do what you need to do."

The man nodded and took a few steps away, then turned back. "Hey, I saw the futon. Is someone living up there? Because now that we've been poking around, we've kicked up a lot of dust. I don't think anyone should be breathing that crap."

My mouth dropped open. Damn. There was no way I could sleep up there now. Not with those fine, lethal particles in the air. But where the hell was I going to go? I'd heard Jessica talking about how the island was busier than usual because of Winterfest.

I didn't have time to scour the area for a place to stay. Where was I going to find an available room on short notice on an island filled with tourists? I didn't think I'd be staying long enough to rent an actual apartment, so...

My first instinct was to call Jessica, to get her advice. But, no. First, I'd try to find a place on my own. Or maybe sleep in my truck, handcuffed to the steering wheel so I wouldn't be able to sleepwalk.

That'll work real well, asshole.

I tapped on my phone and made a few calls. As I feared, all the nearby hotels were booked. Then I dialed The Beacon. It was probably a long shot, but even if they didn't have something, I could ask for advice. I didn't want to spend any more time on this than possible.

Nicole answered.

"Of course we have a room for you," she said when I explained my problem. "There's a guest suite on the first floor. Right next to Jess's apartment."

The idea of being so close to Jessica filled me with fresh energy, even if I was worried about how I was going to control the nightmares and sleepwalking. And how I was going to stop myself from giving in to my desire to sleep with her.

I read my credit card number to Nicole, my heart kicking in anticipation.

____