Page 4 of Rex's Honor
No one she’d met could ever hold a candle to Rex.
She sucked in a deep breath, the salty air burning her lungs as she stepped with wobbly legs onto the dock. Wearing three-inch heels had been a dumb idea, but Rex had always loved it when she wore sexy shoes and formfitting clothes. He worshipped her body and admired her brains.
At one time, he loved her.
And she still loved him.
He lowered his head, looking over his designer sunglasses, mouth gaping open.
At least she still affected him ten years later. Though she wasn’t exactly sure if he was gawking or glaring. Either way, she figured he wouldn’t be too happy she’d just shown up. The last time she’d seen him, he’d mentioned that living in a dumpster would be better than ever having to lay eyes on her again.
She did her best to ignore the group of people that had exited his yacht as they passed.
The closer she got to the boat, the slower she walked. She breathed slowly, trying to calm her racing pulse. Clutching her purse, she hoped her trembling hands didn’t give away her lack of confidence. She hated being vulnerable, but she’d made a promise.
If anything, she was as good as her word.
“Hello, Rex,” she said, lifting her sunglasses up, letting them rest on the top of her head, keeping her recently styled hair from falling in her face.
“What are you doing here?” He planted his hands on his hips, just over his low-hanging shorts. On his chest, he’d gotten a tattoo of some kind of compass with fire around it.
She tilted her head, searching the side of his arm for the tattoo he’d gotten when they’d been dating. He must have sensed what she was searching for as he twisted his body, givingher a bird’s-eye view of the two hearts she’d doodled on her notebooks in high school with the words:2 hearts 1 love.
Heat burned her cheeks.
“I’ve come to talk some sense into you,” she said.
“You came on your own? Or did someone send you?” His accusatory tone smacked her skin like large water pellets slamming to the ground.
“Does it matter?”
“It always matters.” Rex stepped back, ducking his head into a cooler. He lifted a beer, twisting the top and chugging half.
“You’re not going to invite me aboard?” She put one hand on her hip.
“Nope. And I’m not going home either, so you can tell my mother I got the message.”
“You’re being a childish asshole.”
Tilly took a deep, calming breath. “Help me on the yacht,” she said.
“Not with those shoes. You’ll either tear the leather seats or break your neck.”
“Fine,” she said, leaning over, pulling one shoe off, then the other. Tucking her purse under her armpit, she dangled the shoes from one hand, holding out the other.
“I still don’t want you on my boat.” He took a long draw from his beer, eyeing her with his golden eyes. “Go home, Tilly. Tell my mother whatever you want, but I’m not rushing to her bedside.”
“Your mother didn’t send me.” She tossed her shoes and purse on the boat and stretched out her hand.
He just stood there.
“Jerk,” she mumbled before grabbing the railing and climbing aboard. “Your father did.”
He gagged on his beer, spewing the liquid down his chest and onto the deck.
She breezed past him, lifting the lid on the outside cooler and grabbing a cold one for herself. Her entire life, she’d been called a contradiction. Raised a socialite, she had a flare for the finer things in life, like her three-hundred-dollar shoes on the luxury cruiser's back bench. Her closet was filled with designer clothes, much like the one-of-a-kind dress she had on, which was created by an up-and-coming designer.
Tilly might have been homecoming queen and dabbled in modeling during high school, but she’d also been captain of her volleyball team, which got her a college scholarship to the same school Rex had been recruited to play golf. She’d never been afraid of hard work, and upon graduating, a year after Rex had walked out of her life, she volunteered for the Peace Corps, spending over three years as a health advisor in a remote village in South America. She had survived living on about a dollar a day, with no running water and no air-conditioning. Her bathroom was a shared outhouse, and she had to take bucket baths.
