Sugar on the Edge (Last Call #3)(72)

I’m whipped. Fucking whipped, I tell you.

But how could I not be? I remember telling Savannah that I was fortunate to have just a ray of her light touch me, and truer words were never spoken now that her light isn’t here with me in dreary England. The shadows seem darker and my blood icier when she’s not around. I long for just a sliver of her brightness right now.

Great… now I’m f*cking waxing poetic. I better purge this shit out of my system. I have a f*cking erotic thriller I need to write, and there’s no room for romantic sentiments. I need to buckle down and write some scenes that involve some hardcore, dirty, f*cking. Animalistic f*cking.

Groaning, I realize that makes me think of Savannah too, and I can’t help the smile that comes to my face when I realize that there isn’t much that keeps her far from my thoughts.





I open the door to my house, about to jump out of my skin over the prospect of seeing Sweet in the next few seconds. I had texted her as soon as my plane landed, On NC soil. Be home in three hours. Be naked.

She texted back. K. See you soon.

I had expected a flirtier response but then I didn’t give it much thought because the mere thought of her waiting for me naked had me pushing the Maserati a little too fast during the three-hour drive from Raleigh to the Outer Banks. By the time I got home, I was convinced she’d meet me at the door without a stitch of clothing on.

The house is quiet when I walk in, but I know she’s here because her car is out front. The fact she isn’t jumping naked in my arms right now is bothersome.

“Savannah?” I call out.

There’s no answer, and I think perhaps she’s in the shower. I start for the stairwell, but then from the corner of my eye, I see her sitting on the back deck, huddled up under a blanket while she sits on one of the deck chairs, staring at the ocean.

When I open the back deck door, her head swivels to me, and I see something odd in her eyes. Anxiety maybe? Just as quickly, it’s gone and a sweet smile shines at me.

She stands from the chair and throws the blanket to the ground. In just a moment of time, she’s in my arms and hugging me tight, her face pressed into my chest. I lean down and put my nose to her hair, inhaling the flowery fragrance of my Sweet.

“Hey,” I say as I squeeze her and note that she clutches me almost desperately. “What are you doing out here?”

She doesn’t answer me at first, but then shrugs as she pulls back a bit. “Just enjoying the view.”

Her eyes meet mine for a second, and then drop away, and I know without a doubt that something isn’t right. Releasing my hold on her, I grasp her chin with my fingers and raise her face to mine. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to talk,” she says nervously, and a hard knot forms in the middle of my stomach.

The cold, ocean wind gusts and catches Savannah’s hair for a moment, lifting it up so it billows around her head like it’s got a life of its own. But then the wind is but a moment of time, and her hair falls back down softly on her shoulders… almost as if it has died. It seems like an ominous premonition to me.

“What is it, Sweet?” I ask gently, although my own blood seems to be racing.

Stepping back from me and crossing her arms over her stomach, as if to give herself a hug, she says quietly, “I’m late.”

“Late?”

“My period.”

Apprehension and dread boil up hot, and my knees go weak. “Your period is late?”

“Yes,” she says quietly but still holds my gaze.

“Fuck,” I mutter and turn away from her. Running my hand through my hair, I look out at the ocean and try to think what to do. “We need to go buy a pregnancy test. No sense in getting worried—”

“I already took one. It’s positive.”

My head snaps back to her. “Are you sure?”

She nods her head and finally averts her eyes from me.

I let my eyes slide from her and back out to the Atlantic. “Fuck,” I say again, softly. Then again not so softly, “FUCK!”

White-hot rage lances through me and I don’t know where it’s coming from, but I’m powerless to stop it. All I see is Charlie’s little body facedown in a creek bed, and I know that is something I can never go through again. Spinning back on her, I snarl, “How the f*ck did that happen? You said you were on the pill. Was that a lie?”

Savannah’s eyes go wide and fearful, and she takes a step backward. “I was… I am,” she stutters.

“Well, did you forget to take them?” I ask wildly. “Because please explain how you could be pregnant and on the pill.”

With her hands wringing one another, she whispers, “Um… the antibiotics I took… I read they can reduce the effectiveness of the pill.”

“Mother f*cking Christ,” I yell at her, and to anyone else that might be willing to engage in my anger. “Did you know that when you were taking them?”

She nods hesitantly and says, “I think I remember reading that somewhere… but I guess I had forgotten.”

“You forgot?” I ask incredulously. “How could you f*cking forget something so f*cking important?”

Anger fills Savannah’s eyes, and she throws her hands outward. “I don’t know,” she yells back at me. “I just forgot. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, but I just forgot.”