Live to Tell (Live to Tell #1)(22)

“That would have to be pretty early. We’re a long way from the dock and we’re on the 6:30 ferry.”

Beth sighs. “I don’t want to go back to the real world. I don’t want to get back out there with my résumé. Nobody’s even thinking about hiring until September.”

She was, until she got laid off last spring, a graphic designer at a prominent fashion magazine. That drew him to her—the blend of corporate and creative. She would ride the train in suits and heels that were sexy yet businesslike, not easy to pull off. He noticed her long before they ever met; admired her looks in a detached, married-man sort of way. It never occurred to him that he could have her, that he even wanted her. Not until that restless, magical December night, when out of nowhere, forbidden need came roaring to the surface.

Had he even realized, before then, that he was frustrated or unsatisfied by his life?

Does it matter?

Once he understood that he wanted Beth, could have her—had to have her—there was no turning back.

Now, he puts his arms around her from behind and buries his face in her neck. She smells like shampoo and soap and suntan lotion. Not the protective, dermatologist-recommended, triple-digit-SPF kind. No, she smells like coconut oil, a scent that evokes the tropics and bikinis and wanton sex.

“I don’t want to go back, either.”

“So let’s stay.”

“Another night?” Nick lifts his head in surprise. “Can you?”

If she can, he can maybe call in sick to work. No, wait, they have to vacate the rental house for someone else. But maybe there’s an inn, or—

“Not another night. Forever. Let’s just run away.”

He laughs and goes back to nuzzling her neck. “I thought you were serious.”

“I was, for a split second.” She sighs and turns to face him. “Why does life have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t we have met twenty years ago, when we were free?”

“We’re free now,” he reminds her. “Your divorce is final, and mine will be—”

“We’re not really free. We have to deal with exes, and kids, and finances…”

“At our age, who doesn’t?”

But her ex is remarried and left her well-off, her kids are in college, and anyway, Beth isn’t Nick’s age—she’s older.

So much for the theory that men only leave their wives for younger women.

“Reality does bite, doesn’t it?” Beth shakes her head. “It’s a nice fantasy, though. Running away together.”

It’s what his mother had done—just took off with another man.

He never imagined in a million years that he’d be able to forgive her for that, but maybe he has, now. Maybe he’ll find her and tell her.

Maybe not.

After all, he’s done just fine without her, all these years. Was probably better off. His father did a great job raising him. His mother had never been the maternal type.

“Where would we go?” he asks Beth.

“I don’t know…the South Pacific?”

“Or Europe. Tuscany. Think of the views. And the food—organic, fresh…”

“I’ve never been, have you?”

“To Tuscany? No. How about Morocco?”

“That’s not in Europe,” she points out.

“No, but I’ve always wanted to see it.”

“Rio.”

“Hawaii,” he counters.

“Some deserted island in the Caribbean? Or we could just stay here. Forever.”

“That,” he agrees, “would be amazing.”

“Let’s do it.”

Seeing the serious expression in her brown eyes, he says, “Wait—you’re serious?”

“No. But let’s pretend I am, just for tonight. Let’s talk about all the things we’d do if we never had to go back.”

“Deal.” He pulls her closer. “Maybe we can even do one of the things we’d do a whole lot more if we never had to go back.”

She laughs silkily. “Is that a proposition?”

“Hell, yes.” Grinning as she reaches up to untie the halter of her sundress, Nick decides that life is just about perfect.





CHAPTER FIVE




Jay-Rod, his teammates called him, back when he was playing third base for his high school team on Long Island. Of course, Jason Thomas Rodriguez is no relation to the Yankees’ A-Rod, but no harm in letting people assume so. Not that many people did—unless he managed to mention it.

Like many a teenage athlete, he’d always dreamed of playing in the majors. And like the vast majority of them, he didn’t even come close. Flubbed a minor league tryout after graduation, and that was that. Jay-Rod gave way to Jason again—just another screwed-up kid from a lower-middle-class broken home.

Dream over.

Nightmare begins.

For a few years, he got himself into and out of trouble, onto and off of the streets. Drugs, petty crime. Then he met Irena, fell in love, cleaned up his act.

He found an affordable studio apartment in Queens, landed a job in Manhattan—custodial work at Grand Central Terminal, but still.

Now he goes by JT, having distanced himself from both the disappointed athlete and the street thug he’d once been. These days, he lives his life on the up and up—most of the time.