Page 22 of After Our Kiss

“How many people are living here?”I asked, my voice getting higher. The old home belonged in an episode of Downton Abbey. It was far bigger than it needed to be for this single island. It was also ancient—missing roof shingles, peeling paint, boarded windows. Each time a big wave smashed against the cliff side, I expected the house to crumble from the impact.

His lips twitched into a frown. Suddenly he glanced at the island. I wondered if he wasn't capable of looking at me as he answered. “We'll mostly be alone.”

Our boat glided into the dock. Conway jumped out, tying it securely into place. Constant waves sent the vessel swaying side to side. “Come on,” he said, offering a hand.

I looked back at where we'd come from. With my limbs tied, I couldn't swim the distance. Was it a mile from here to the other shore?I might not be able to make it even WITH my arms and legs free.

“Don't,” he said sharply.

I twisted, catching the distrust in his eyes. And something else—a hazy tension that screamedfear.“What,” I said coolly. “Afraid I'll drown myself before you can have your fun?”

He grabbed for me; I bent away, staying out of reach at the rear of the boat. “Georgia, stop it. Take my hand.”

He's worried I'll do it.I looked down at the swirling water. It had to be freezing this time of year. “Why do you care if I die?” I stabbed him with a glare. “Are younotplanning to kill me, like your dad would have?”

Conway's scowl showed off all his perfect teeth. “No. I'm not going to kill you. Now get up here, before we both get knocked into the damn ocean.”

He could have been lying. The little girl in my past said he wasn't.

I linked my fingers with his. Conway squeezed tight, as if I'd fly away into the sky. Pushing to my feet, I let him help me onto the dock. He held me a second too long, our hips touching, my face pointed up towards his like a flower in the sun.

He turned, the moment gone. “This way,” he mumbled.

With his assistance I made it up the steep path to the chain-link fence. He unlocked it, carrying me through, setting me down to close the gate back up. I watched very closely where he put the key—left rear pocket of his jeans.

His thick arm scooped around my middle. Hugged against his warmth, the only thing shielding me from the salty wind, I let him half-drag me to the front door of the house. The closer I got, the more its worn out state became clear. This house hadn't been maintained for a long time.

We stepped onto the threshold, and as Conway reached for the door, it swung open.

The man who stood inside held the brass knob so tight his knuckles gleamed on his pale skin. It was made starker by his heavy, black sweater. The stranger was the same height as Conway, but he had lighter hair, eyes like stones abandoned at the bottom of a river.

I didn't recognize him until he smiled. The braces were gone, but it was the same, awful grin that had chased me through my night terrors.

“Welcome home,” he said sweetly.

Lonnie.

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