Chapter Four
Isla sat on the tufted sofa watching Sangre as he checked the windows and sliding door in the family room. Each time he reached up, his T-shirt would rise, displaying seriously defined V lines, which slipped beneath his tight as hell jeans. She leaned back, enjoying the view of his hard butt. So he’s a sexy biker, who belongs to a motorcycle club. What did he say the name of his club was? Night something.
“Your windows and doors are good. I’m gonna run down to the basement and make sure all is well there.”
“Yeah, okay. What did you say the name of your biker club was again?”
“Night Rebels.” He walked out of the room.
“Are you sure you don’t want something to drink? I have coconut water and regular water. I could make fresh squeezed lemonade. It’s my mom’s recipe.”
He popped his head through the doorway. “Lemonade? I haven’t had fresh lemonade since I was in high school. A friend of mine’s mom made the homemade stuff too. I’ll go for that.”
“Great. It’ll give me something to do.” Besides watch your firm butt and fantasize a whole lot of dirty stuff I’d love to do with you. She went into the kitchen and grabbed several lemons from the fruit bowl.
Gazing out the window, warmth spread through her as she admired her herb garden next to the weeping willow tree as its branches swayed gracefully in the breeze. The large backyard and the tree were what sold Isla on the house. Ever since she was a child, the weeping willow was her favorite. She’d loved sitting under it, mesmerized by the shimmering leaves and the sound of their rustle from the branches bending as the winds came through. The idea that the tree was weeping had always fascinated her. They were so different from the solid oak trees, which stood tall and rigid, fighting the elements. The oak trees always reminded her of her dad: unbending, hard, and stiff, while she was the willow tree: yielding, strong, and elegant. The cascading branches had hidden her more times than she could count when her father had been in one of his many foul moods. She picked up the knife and began slicing the lemons.
When she brought in two tall glasses and a pitcher of lemonade on a silver platter, which she’d picked up at a garage sale a few months before, Sangre was already sitting on the couch, leafing through the latest copy of Rolling Stone. He looked up when she came over to the coffee table.
“Everything secure?” She poured the pale yellow liquid into the glass and handed it to him.
“Yeah. You have a good house. Your alarm system is top-notch too. You just need to remember to always put it on. Most people who have the systems rarely use them.” He brought the glass to his lips.
“I’m not one of them. I can be a bit paranoid, so I make sure it’s on all the time. I even have it wired so I can open my windows a certain amount and it’s still armed.” She poured herself a glass.
“Damn. This is really good. It tastes just like the kind I used to drink a long time ago.” He took another sip and ran his eyes over her face. “We haven’t met before, have we? I mean you seem familiar to me, but I can’t figure out why.”
“You look sorta like a guy I used to know when I lived here.”
Sangre’s gaze widened. “You used to live in Alina?”
She nodded. “Yeah. You didn’t know that?”
“No. When did you move?”
“Before my junior year in high school. My dad got transferred and we moved to California. I was bummed and so was my sister. She was going into her senior year.”
He just stared at her, confusion creasing his forehead. “Where did you go to high school?”
“Jefferson High. Are you from here?” she asked him.
“Yeah. I went to Jefferson High.”
“That’s a coincidence. I’m not originally from Alina, but I moved here from Des Moines when I was about six years old. My dad works for an agriculture company, and they transferred him here.”
“I think we know each other. Wait … I fuckin’ know you, but your name wasn’t Isla back then.”
She laughed. “My legal name is Isla Rose.”
“No, it’s not.”
“I think I know my name”—her mouth went dry. Do we share memories of a joint past?—“and I’m sure I didn’t know anyone named Sangre. I would’ve remembered that.”
He put his glass back on the tray, looking at her intently. “I can see some of your features are the same, but your eyes. Fuck, that’s throwing me. They’re fake, aren’t they?”
“Fake eyes?” She chortled. “I don’t think so.”
“I meant the color. You’ve got that smart-ass way about you, just like Jordan did.”
Everything stopped—and it seemed like the room was spinning away from her. Her ears pounded, making it hard to hear or understand what he was saying. She could see his mouth moving but couldn’t hear anything coherent coming out of it. All sound was garbled. Then his cool hand on hers pulled her back in.
“Are you okay? The color just drained from your face, and I thought you were gonna pass out.” He picked up her glass and handed it to her. “Here.”
“What was your name in high school?” she whispered, running the cool glass over her face.
“Steve. Last name was Ansell.”
“Fuck! I can’t believe this!” Is it possible that this hunk is my bestie from the old neighborhood? The one I fell in love with in high school? The one I spilled my guts out to whenever I needed to share, and who I told I loved him in a letter that he never responded to? The one who broke my heart? “My name was Jordan Burnside,” she said in a barely audible voice.
“Fuckin’ hell! I knew there was something familiar about you.” He leaned back, put his foot over his thigh and ran his gaze over her. “You filled out real good.”
“I just can’t believe this. How did I not know it was you? Now that I do, I can see it in your face, but this is too damn weird.” She shook her head. “You didn’t know I was in a band? Didn’t you ever creep on the internet about me?”
“At first I did, but when I didn’t hear from you, I moved on. So why’d you change your name?”
“You first.”
“I’m a biker.”
“That’s it? Why did you choose Sangre? I mean, who calls themselves Blood?”
Pressing his lips together, he wiped his hands on his jean-clad thighs. “I just liked the name, let’s leave it at that. So why did you pick Isla? It means island in Spanish.”
“I know and that’s exactly why I loved the name. I always wanted to run away to my own private island, especially when things got real shitty at home.”
Reaching out, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “I remember that. You had it hard at home with your dad. Is he still the same?”
She slipped her hand away, and for a split second, she saw the look of surprise then disappointment in his gaze. “I’m sure he is. I don’t really see my parents that much. I skipped out the minute I turned eighteen. I got a scholarship to UCLA, and I couldn’t run away from home fast enough. Katherine married right out of high school to get the hell away. She’s only thirty-four and has just divorced her third husband. Fiona is an overachiever and does nothing but work. Never had a real boyfriend once we moved to San Diego. She’s thirty, lives in San Francisco, has a very high-paying corporate job, is anorexic, insecure, and a basic mess. And Jerry went all the way to the east coast to get away from the family. He works for a bio-tech company, and he talks to me maybe once a year but hasn’t talked to the rest of the family for over five years.” She took a large gulp of lemonade. “Thanks, Dad,” she said softly.
For the space of a held breath, there was silence. Then his gravelly voice banished it. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing to say. It is what it is. I used to wish I had a normal family like yours. Your parents seemed to really love and care about each other. I bet your sisters and brothers are married with kids, and you all have big family gatherings and everything.” She looked down, hating that her voice quivered, that the tears, hot behind her eyes, threatened to spill.
Then he was right next to her, drawing her into a big bear hug just like he used to do when they were in high school any time she was sad or freaked out about something. It felt so good, so natural. As Isla’s body instantly molded into Sangre’s, and her head tucked under his chin with the scent of him—spicy and fresh—cocooning her, she felt safe for the first time in a long while.
Sunlight flooded in through the window, making patterns on the Moroccan rug she’d purchased in a small shop off Ventura Boulevard the year before. She’d fallen in love with the colors and the geometric shapes that were unique to the Berbers. Beneath her cheek, she felt Sangre’s heartbeat, and she nestled closer to him as he held her tighter.
I never want to leave his arms. This feels so right and so familiar. God, I’ve missed this. Him. A niggling in her brain reminded her that he never wrote to her after she’d left the letter professing her love for him. He hasn’t even bothered to look you up on the internet. He always just saw you as a friend.
“Feeling better?” he asked, the vibration in his throat making her smile.
She pulled away. “Yeah. Thanks, I needed that. I still can’t believe it’s you. After all these years. I wondered if you still lived here.”
“Why didn’t you look me up when you got here?”
Because you broke my heart all those years ago. Doesn’t he remember that he never wrote back or contacted me? Should I say something about it? Not wanting to spoil the moment, she just shrugged. “I was so exhausted and such a bundle of nerves when I got here that I just wanted to lay low. I didn’t look anyone up. I just spent days reading, sleeping, and watching movies. My brain and body needed that. The only people I saw were my neighbors and those at the grocery store. The mailman and I got real friendly.” She took a breath and kept rambling on, “Oh … I’m also best friends with the two sweetest little girls who live next door to me. I’ve promised them that I’d make lemonade so they can sell it. Their dad is making the stand. He just dotes on those two, and so does Faith, his wife.”
“Take out those blue contacts. You have the most amazing hazel eyes.” He lightly brushed his fingertips over her brows.
“Benz loves my ‘blue’ eyes. I started wearing them because of the blue color I put in my hair and, the name of the band—Iris Blue.”
“They look like shit.”
She threw her head back and guffawed, her hands pressing against her belly. “You always told it like it was. Good to know you haven’t changed.”
“We’re friends. Of course, I’m gonna tell you the truth. We were always honest with each other before, why would it be any different now?”
“Are we still friends?”
“Why not? Time doesn’t stop friendships. We just lost touch, that’s all.”
“You were my best friend back then.”
“Mine too. Damn. You know a lot of shit about me.” He laughed.
“At least from back then I do. I don’t know much about you now.” She took another gulp of lemonade. “Are you married?”
“Nope. I’m leaving that to my brothers and sisters. They’re all saddled down with kids, except for Connor, but he’s been dating Kayla for a while, so you never know.”
“Conner? Isn’t he like nineteen or something?”
“Twenty-one. What about you? Ever been married?”
Shaking her head, she leaned over and put her glass on the table. “No. I’ve been so busy with the band. It’s hard to find a guy who gets that you may be out of town for seven months out of the year. You don’t have a girlfriend?”
“Not right now. I just broke up with someone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said, his gaze fixed on her. “It ran its course.”
The screams of the kids on the block, the whirr of lawn mowers, and the squeak of the occasional car driving past, filled in the nooks and crannies of the quiet space between them.
Sangre rose to his feet. “I should get going. I meant to tell you there was a change in plans—before I took a sip from the lemonade that opened the door to our past. I got some business at the clubhouse, so Mark’s gonna be on for tonight. Eagle will relieve him in the morning, and I’ll take over tomorrow night. Maybe we can get some dinner if you’re up to it. Do you still like chili cheese fries?”
“More than ever.”
“If you go out tonight, Mark will follow you. Don’t feel like you have to chat with him or anything. He knows his duties. He’s an ex-Marine, so you’re in good hands. Give me your phone. I’ll plug my number in, and you can call me if you need anything.” He took her phone then handed her his. “Plug in your number.”
She opened the front door and walked out with him. She saw a tall, built man with a crew cut, baseball hat, jeans, camouflage T-shirt, and black military boots getting out of an SUV. Sangre waved to him. “That’s Mark. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With her hands on the wrought iron bannister, she watched him go, admiring his corded legs and sexy butt. When he was halfway down, he turned around and threw her the most charming smile. “It’s good to have you back in town, Jordan. I missed our friendship.”
“It’s Isla. I legally changed my name. And I missed it too.” She watched him amble toward Mark, then talk with him for a few minutes before jumping on his Harley and riding away.
He just wants to be friends. I think I liked it better when he didn’t know who I was and was hitting on me. Now he just sees me the way he used to for all those years. A buddy.
Waving at Faith next door, she opened the screen door and went back inside. Feelings she tried for years to suppress dug their way through her heart and her brain. After all this time, she still cared for him. A lot … Too much … and all he wanted was to be friends. She wasn’t sure she could do it. It’d taken a long time for her to reconcile the fact that she’d made a fool of herself and had probably driven him away after he’d read her love letter.
Embarrassment strangled her, and she hid her face behind her hands. I hope he doesn’t remember about the letter. He didn’t act funny or anything. I can’t make a fool of myself again. I’m older, more mature now. But why did she feel like she was fifteen and back in high school secretly crushing on her best friend?
Not wanting to sit around all night thinking about Sangre, she tapped in Gage’s number.
“You guys going out to eat tonight?”
“Yup. Benz was just gonna call you to see if you wanted to join us. We’re in carnivore mode, so the biggest, juiciest steaks are what we’re seeking.”
She laughed. “Count me in. Did you decide on a restaurant? I can meet you guys.”
Some ruckus in the background and then Benz’s deep voice came over the phone. “We’ll pick you up. Maybe we can hit a bar afterwards. I’ve missed you.”
“We’ll have a good time tonight. Give me an hour to get ready.”
She put her phone away and sighed. It’d be much easier if she loved Benz, but she didn’t. Come to think of it, she’d never been in love with any man except for Sangre. But that was when you were a teenager. The right man just hasn’t come around. I refuse to settle like Katherine. She’s already divorcing Dan, and they just got married ten months ago.
Dashing up the stairs, she vowed that she’d have a good time that night and not think of Sangre once. She went into the bathroom and stepped into the shower, wondering if he was thinking of her.
She turned the knob and groaned as the warm water cascaded down her back.