Reservation (Preservation Series), page 1
RESERVATION
RACHAEL WADE
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Copyright © 2013 Rachael Wade
Rabbit Hole Press
Orlando, Florida
www.RachaelWade.com
ISBN: 978-0-9840208-9-8 (Paperback)
Editor: Susan Miller
Cover Design: Robin Ludwig Design Inc.
PROLOGUE
1. REDEMPTION
2. BRIDGES
3. HERO
4. PRESSURE
5. DETOUR
6. RUMORS
7. SKELETONS
8. CEMENT
9. BOUNDARIES
10. PATTERNS
11. DIRT
12. BURIED
13. FAMINE
14. SUNRISE
EPILOGUE
DEDICATION
To the ladies at The SUBCLUB Book Club for their fabulous support and friendship. Thank you, Neda and Kari! And to my BBB, Thessa. I love that you hate Amy Mercer as much as I do. I will never get tired of your reading status texts.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:
Thank you to Patricia, Dave, and Cathy—my favorite people on the planet—and to the book blogging community. If I could list each and every book blogger here who has supported my work, I would. Please accept my deepest appreciation for all that you do, and for giving this indie writer a chance.
Thank you, Lord, for your beautiful creation and love.
Thank you to my readers, for all your support. I truly value every Facebook post, tweet, and Goodreads message you send my way. I hope you enjoy Ryan’s Story.
Much love,
Rachael
xo
ALSO BY RACHAEL WADE
The Preservation Series:
Love and Relativity
(Featuring Carter and Whitney from the Preservation Series)
Preservation - Preservation, Book 1
Reservation - Preservation, Book 2
Declaration – Preservation, Book 3 (2013)
The Resistance Trilogy:
Amaranth, Book 1
The Gates, Book 2
The Tragedy of Knowledge, Book 3
The Keepers Trilogy:
Repossession, Book 1 (2013)
Restitution, Book 2 (2014)
Restoration, Book 3 (2014)
AUTHOR NOTE:
Love and Relativity is a stand-alone title but coordinates with The Preservation Series. If you’d like more Carter and would like to get to know his leading lady in Declaration (Preservation, #3), Whitney, then you might want to check it out. Other characters in Love and Relativity will also make appearances in Declaration.
PROLOGUE
Control.
The only thing I learned how to harness since the day Jamie left. The funny thing about control, though, is that just when you think you’ve mastered it, the ceiling crashes down around you and reminds you that no matter how precise you are, no matter how strategic your planning, you never really have full rein. So while I learned control during those post-Jamie years—always having the upper hand in my relationships by keeping them casual, never promising more than a good time— I also learned that I wasn’t invincible to life’s curveballs.
That lesson was driven home the night I’d found Kate’s note that she’d gone to the gala to meet that bastard Mark Burgess after all, after she’d promised she wouldn’t. I knew what a prick she thought I was, begging her not to go, trying to side-seat drive her career choice over intuition I’d had that Mark couldn’t be trusted. Hell, I was man enough to admit that some of that request was in part due to my own insecurity over what happened with Jamie. And then there was the fact that the bastard didn’t like her work the way it was—he’d wanted her to pretty much rewrite the entire novel, basically strip her voice from it and sell some cookie-cutter version of the thing. He only added points to my shit-list score board with that one.
But my request for her to stay away from Mark wasn’t some dumb fucking display of dominance or an attempt to screw with her career plans. And leaving her weeks after Mark and that scumbag assaulted her had nothing to do with me being unable to deal with her fucking independence. I wasn’t out to punish her for ignoring my request or to hurt her because I was a chauvinistic pansy ass, no matter how much it might’ve appeared that way to the outside world.
No, it had nothing to do with any of that shit.
It did, however, have everything to do with the fact that I felt helpless—the exact opposite of feeling in control—to protect the one woman I ever truly loved. Not being able to reach her, not being able to erase what she’d seen, felt, and heard that night reminded me real quick why I valued control when it came to the ones I loved. Because without it, I had to face the fact that they, too, were not invincible to life’s cruelty. They too could be hurt, taken advantage of, and thrown to the fucking wolves, and I absolutely, positively could not deal with that fucking reality.
Not when it came to Kate.
When I stormed through the hotel room door that night and found her there, half naked with those assholes hovering over her like vultures over road kill, I swore I’d never allow myself to feel that helpless again. Feeling fear on that scale was worse than any amount of pain I could imagine being inflicted on my body. Yeah, I fucked it up by breaking up with her not long after they had attempted to rape her. That was my weakest moment, and not one I was proud of. The truth was that helplessness scared the ever loving shit out of me, and I couldn’t take it. I had no idea if I’d ever get the real Kate back after that night. She’d been seeing her therapist, going through the motions, but she was a ghost during those haunted weeks of aftermath. A shell.
That’s the other funny thing about the fear of losing control. Once it manifested itself, it turned into a breeding ground for anger. I only took one psychology class in college, but I learned enough about anger to know it was almost always a result of swimming in a toxic mixture of hurt and fear. That mixture led me to my next truly dickhead move, shortly after I left Kate—stealing her publishing deal.
Yeah, I had anger to thank for that one. That and self-preservation. I’d already lost my publishing opportunity once. I couldn’t let it happen again.
I was sure that if she wasn’t ready to let me take care of her, then it was time to take care of myself again, fully convinced that all of it was further proof that committed relationships were not for me. What was the point if the other person didn’t trust me or my judgment? When there was no give and take, no meeting in the middle or letting walls down? All of this grated on me after her assault.
Hence the bright idea to claim her deal with Bob Hall for myself and return to watching out for me, and me alone.
It didn’t take me long to realize, though, that no matter how upset I was with her for keeping me at a distance, for leaving me feeling helpless that night, it wasn’t really Kate I was mad at—it was the sons of bitches who’d touched her. It was me, thinking somehow I’d failed her, as if I actually had an ounce of control over what happened to her that night, as if I was somehow responsible for it or could have prevented it—all misplaced anger, directed toward Kate. There was that word again. Control.
It was only an illusion.
No, it wasn’t her choice to meet Mark that night that led me to break up with her and screw with her publishing deal. It was me and my fear, my anger. And while I couldn’t take back the ways I’d hurt her because of it, I could spend the rest of my life making it up to her.
Hell yes, I was up for that challenge, and thanks be to God, she actually agreed to give me the chance.
But this isn’t a story about my track record for hurting Kate or a list of all the wrongs I can’t undo. It’s a love story about how Kate’s love saved me. How her ability to penetrate the darkness surrounding me helped to illuminate the good I wasn’t even sure I possessed. How old habits really do die hard, and when love and fear go head-to-head, love always wins when you let it.
Every damn time.
1. REDEMPTION
Leave it to Dean and Carter to get to the resort earlier than I thought. If anything, I thought they’d get lost once they landed on the island or something. Now the two nutcases were at the door, interrupting my morning romp with Kate. And it wasn’t just any morning romp. It was the morning. The morning after we’d celebrated one incredible night; one night I’d never forget. I proposed after delivering the worst apology ever. Shit, that was lame. Could I be any more of an asshole? First I steal her meeting with the publisher back in Seattle, proceed to make her feel like an idiot for thinking she still had a shot at the publication deal, and then show up on one knee with a ring in St. Lucia, where she fled to get away from me in the first place.
The epitome of stupidity. Yup, that was me.
The fact that she’d forgiven me—and said yes—made me question whether or not hell had frozen over. Now those two goofballs stood at the door with snorkel gear and way too many bags for one weekend. Carter brought in the luggage while Dean said something to Kate about Jaws, all bug-eyed and fascinated with the room’s cliff-drop view to the ocean, and
All I could think about was Kate and how she was standing next to me with her hands on her hips, in that sexy little nightgown I didn’t get the chance to tear off, hair still mussed-up from our make-out session on the desk chair. Tuning out Carter and Dean wasn’t anything new. Their buffoonery could drive a man to the brink. But Kate loved them, and they were good to her. Even if they did want to get in her pants, I had to admit they really cared for her. It cost me an arm and a leg to fly them out here, but it was more than worth it if it meant it would make Kate happy.
“So,” Carter said, drawing me back to reality, “go get dressed and let’s paint the town, kids.” He dragged the last suitcase inside and clapped his hands.
“Ah, Kate and I need to shower first.” I latched onto Kate’s elbow and towed her toward the bedroom, leaving Dean and Carter to explore our tropical fairytale retreat. They seemed to get the hint when the bedroom door slammed behind us.
“Smart man,” Kate purred, throwing her arms around my neck the minute we were alone, allowing me to hoist her up against me. I hitched one of her legs around my hip, and then the other, letting the hem of her nightgown ride up until it gave me a healthy handful of her upper thighs and the beautiful curves of her ass. Dear God, the woman had a banging body. Wait...did people even say ‘banging’ anymore?
Ah, fuck, who cares.
Pulling her tighter against me, I groaned. “Mmmm, now where were we?”
“I was being a good student.”
“You haven’t earned your A plus yet, baby.”
“Oh? Where am I now, about a C minus?” She curled her legs tighter around my waist and grinded against my erection, which was damn near painful from the mere thought of being inside of her.
“Getting there,” I lied, shuffling us backward into the bathroom until I hit the wall. She dropped her legs, letting them slide slowly down my body, her hand finding my belt buckle.
“Well, we’ll see what we can do about that, Professor.” Reaching up to nip my bottom lip, she sent a shudder through me with one bite. The plans I’d had for long, drawn-out lovemaking were completely obliterated with that bite. I needed to take her right now.
Fast.
Lifting her up again, I swung us around so her back was pressed up against the wall instead, roughly shoving her against it with one push of my hips. “Assignments, homework...it’s all so overrated.”
“What? But I thought—”
I kissed her hard, wiping that sad little pout right off her face. “You’ve made the grade. I’m ready to take you to graduation.” My lips smashed onto hers again and she welcomed my tongue with a moan that made everything in me melt. It was hot. Too hot. Clothes were too tight, our skin not close enough, and I needed to break the barrier.
Yanking up her nightgown and easing down my zipper in two swift movements, I entered her forcefully and began to move. My name escaped her lips, and I was sure I’d love that sound for the rest of my life. She whimpered and gripped my shoulders, biting her bottom lip to keep from shouting. But I didn’t let up, making sure she had her fill. I needed my girl good and satisfied, because she deserved nothing less. And God, did I love making up for my royal fuck-up. I’d never live it down, but I could show her over and over again just how sorry I was, and how badly I needed her to know I meant it. I’d show her, in mind and body, as many times as it took.
My thrusts grew deeper with each sexy sound she made, my fingers tugging at her hair while her nails dug into the skin of my neck. With one final, desperate push, I felt her climax and pulse with heat around me. We both came hard, leaning into one another for support while the world shattered to pieces all around us.
She let out a laugh against my sweaty neck. “If that was graduation, now I want my graduation present.”
“You greedy, greedy little girl.” I grinned wickedly, sliding out of her. “Your friends are waiting. So your present will have to wait, too, Ms. Parker.”
“Oh, fine.” She lazily lifted her arms, tossed her nightgown off, and turned for the shower. I died a little inside at the sight. Watching her send me a coy smile over her shoulder as she sauntered away and covered her breasts with false modesty made me hard all over again. Mindful of her friends waiting, I followed her for a quick—very cold—rinse, and then wandered into the bedroom to look for my swim trunks.
Kate emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, a vision in red. A tiny cherry-colored string bikini hugged her curves in all the right places, stark against her porcelain, pale skin. My mouth parted at the sight as I drank her in. Steadying myself by gripping the bed’s footboard poster, I silently thanked every deity in the book for my weekend in paradise. And it was just beginning.
***
A soft breeze woke me, the bed’s netted canopy drape rustling against my arm. I peeked to the left, eyeing the dim light of the sunrise. It spilled over the ocean’s horizon and onto the side of our mountain, leaking into the room. I grabbed my watch from the bedside table. Six a.m. Too damn early to be awake. It was Monday morning, my last day in St. Lucia with Kate before I had to fly back to Seattle and resume my classes. It was mid-semester back home, and that meant a jam-packed schedule for professors and students alike. The weekend had been a blur, full of snorkeling, sailing, and lounging in the sun. Carter and Dean left for the airport late last night, leaving me and Kate to sort things out.
There was a lot to discuss since I’d proposed. Not only did we have wedding plans to figure out, but Kate needed to stay in St. Lucia to fulfill her three-month-long obligation at the school. It was March and she wouldn’t be returning to Seattle until June, when school was out, and that meant we’d be separated the next few months while I finished up my last teaching semester at the university back in Seattle. Then I’d be embarking on my first book tour for my debut novel and beginning my new position as Bob Hall’s assistant at Simon and Warden Publishing...right around the same time Kate would be returning home.
Not exactly great timing.
How we were supposed to juggle all of that and hang on to our sanity while being separated for months was beyond me, but one way or another, we’d figure it out.
Returning my watch to the bedside table, I sank back down into the covers and shut my eyes. My attempt to fall back asleep was interrupted by a soft whimper, then another, until in morphed into a quiet barrage of sobs. Kate’s body shook next to mine, her arms tight across her abdomen and chest as she cried into the pillow. She was cradling herself, turning inward as if to curl into a shell.
I turned on my side and slid closer to her, gently pulling apart her arms and brushing onyx locks away from her tear-stained cheeks. “Hey, baby. Sssshhhh, it’s okay, I’m here.”
“No,” she murmured, her brows pulled down in distress. “Don’t. Don’t touch me.”
“Kate, wake up, you’re having—”
“Stop!” her soft plea exploded. “Ryan. Please, make them stop!”
I held her tighter and pulled her into my chest, and her body formed to mine, her trembling fingers clutching my shoulders. “You’re safe, Kate. Safe with me. They’re not here. Wake up, baby, listen to my voice.”
Her body jerked, fingers latching deeper into my bare shoulders. Lashes fluttering, her eyes finally opened and landed on my neck, then travelled up, finding mine. “Ry?” Dazed, her dark chocolate brown eyes searched my face and she sucked in sharp breaths, touching my cheeks as if to make sure I was real. Then she burrowed tighter against me, her face in the crook of my neck. My stomach twisted.
She was still having the dreams.
They started shortly after the attack and were sporadic now, but still lingering. Last I heard, she hadn’t had one in weeks.
“Yeah, I’m here,” I said, my tone assuring. “Was it the same one? Tell me.” I felt her head nod beneath me, and I reached down to tilt her chin up.
“It’s always Eric’s face,” her voice splintered, “hanging over mine. And then I can hear Mark’s laugh.”
“They’re never going to touch you again. Never. You have nothing to be afraid of anymore, I promise.”
