Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  Footsteps sound from the other side before the door is whisked open by a man standing in a pair of dark dress pants and a blue and white checkered shirt. He’s divine with his freshly cut dark hair and clean-shaven face.

  “You must be Blaire Gibson?” he asks.

  “Yes, I am.”

  A smile stretches across his cheeks. “I’m Graham Landry. Nice to meet you.” He extends a hand as he steps out of my way so I can enter.

  We shake quickly, his palm heavy and strong, then he leads me into the back of the house. I can hear laughter coming from a room in front of us as Graham turns toward me.

  “I’m winding up a business meeting,” he says. “It would’ve been over, actually, had my brother Lincoln not shown up.”

  As the laughter grows again, I laugh too. “I have a brother like that.”

  “So you feel my pain. On a serious note, Sienna has told me a lot about you. I wanted to thank your family for taking her in the way you have.”

  We stop just short of the doorway.

  “She’s so good for my brother. He’s smitten with her,” I say.

  “I think she’s in about the same shape.” He grins. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Linc while I grab the papers you’re after.”

  He enters the room in front of me and makes his way toward a chair at the head of the table. I, on the other hand, stutter step.

  Sitting in front of me is a man in a tailored suit. A Rolex sits on his wrist. A hand runs through his sandy brown hair as he turns my way.

  “And then he …” Holt’s voice trails off as our eyes meet somewhere over the fancy hardwood floor. He leans back as though he can’t quite focus. “Didn’t I …?”

  Recovering more quickly than I anticipate, I paste on a practiced smile. “It’s good to see you again,” I say to him.

  He looks at Graham before switching his eyes to me again. “You too.” It’s more of a stammer, a caught-off-guard statement than anything. “Do you know the Landrys?”

  “I’m just here to pick up a few papers.”

  The gazes from around the room are heavy, heating the air even more than the exchange of energy between Holt and me. The slight drop of his jaw and his furrowed brow are slowly replaced with a twitch of his lip and oh, so narrowed eyes that are enough to make me want to back out of the room slowly.

  “Is this why you were late today?” A man across from him sighs. He looks like Holt with lighter hair and darker eyes.

  Holt responds, bickering back and forth with the man across the table about minding his own business while I take in the men around me. Graham is ignoring them all as he sorts through a stack of papers. A younger version of Graham sits next to him with a wicked grin on his face.

  “Lincoln Landry,” he says with a little wave. “Nice to meet ya. You must be Blaire.”

  “Yes. Nice to meet you too.”

  “Here they are,” Graham mutters, pulling out an envelope and handing it to me. “I put everything she needs in there. If she’s missing something, she can call.”

  “Great. I’ll make sure she gets them,” I say, taking the envelope.

  “We’d love to have dinner with you this week,” Lincoln says. “Mom would love to meet you.”

  “I need to check my schedule,” I say, reverting to my new go-to line. “I’ll get in touch if I can work it out.”

  Holt’s chair scoots back in front of me, and he gets to his feet. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “I can do it,” Graham offers.

  “Clearly, he doesn’t want you to do it, asshole,” Lincoln says to his brother. “Sit down and pretend you can see what’s happening here.”

  My cheeks warm. I look between the Landry men. “Nice to meet you both. And you too …” I say, pulling my gaze to the other man.

  He stands. “Oliver Mason. Holt’s brother.”

  “Nice to meet you, Oliver.”

  “Likewise.” He tucks his tie beneath his jacket as he takes his seat again. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”

  My first reaction is to tell him not to sound so excited about the prospect. My second thought is to ask him what makes him think we’ll ever see each other again. Instead, I catch myself and give him a tight grin instead.

  “Have a good evening,” I say and turn toward the front door.

  Holt’s energy ripples behind me, the musk of his cologne filling my nostrils as I reach the exit. He hops in front of me and opens it before I can get to it.

  “Thank you,” I offer as I step onto the expansive front porch complete with hanging ferns. Breathing in the cut grass and coolness to the evening air, I look up at the colorful sky. “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?”

  “I didn’t notice until now.”

  The gravel in his voice snaps my attention to him without me even realizing it. Before I know it, I’m standing in front of Holt Mason as he peers down at me. His irises flicker, greens and golds swirling together in a heady mix of something I don’t want to name.

  Passing a hot swallow down my throat, I re-grip the file in my hands. “Look at you, being all charming.”

  “It’s one of my many talents.”

  “Your confidence is underwhelming,” I tease.

  “There’s nothing wrong with confidence if you can back it up.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is.” He grins. “It becomes a problem when people tout their abilities and have nothing to fall back on.”

  I ignore the look in his eyes and, instead, pretend to ponder his declaration. “The flaw in that logic is in the definitions. Meaning, what if someone truly believes they’re amazing at something, and the other person finds them to be lackluster. Is that confidence wrong?”

  “Not if they believe it,” he banters back. “It’s their truth.”

  “Fair enough.”

  The air flutters around us, almost dancing a private show for our benefit. Crickets sing in the distance; stars begin to shine in the early evening sky. It’s as if the world flipped a switch for this moment. If I believed in gooey girlish things, I’d be delighted. Too bad I’m more realistic than that.

  I clear my throat and turn toward my rental car.

  “Again, nice to see you, Holt …”

  “Quit it.” He sighs, brushing a stray strand of hair away from my cheek.

  The connection roots me in place.

  His fingertips lightly brush my skin. They’re warm and slightly calloused in a way that makes my thighs ache.

  “Let’s go to dinner,” he says.

  “I already have a reservation.”

  “For one?”

  “For dinner,” I say with a smirk. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  I wait for him to move out of my way, but he doesn’t. He just stands in front of me and flashes a shit-eating grin my way.

  “I’ll take you to the best restaurant in Savannah,” he tells me. “You’ll love it.”

  “Why do men always think they know what a woman wants? It’s annoying, not to mention arrogant.”

  “It’s not arrogant if I’m right.”

  This should turn me off. This should be a blazing, flashing red light to dress him down, put him in his place, and be on my way. It’s what I do to every other guy who thinks he’s something I can’t live without. But I don’t. Or I can’t. I don’t know which, and I can’t even spare the mental capacity to sort it out because every synapse is firing just for him.

  There’s a look in his eye, something behind the brazen façade, that intrigues me. I haven’t given a man more than a dirty look in longer than I can remember. Who has the time? Who has the energy? Who wants to deal with that bullshit?

  But as I stand on the porch of this beautiful home in the middle of a perfect Southern evening, I remember Sienna’s instruction to enjoy my vacation.

  “You don’t know enough about me to be right,” I volley back, continuing the banter because I can’t help myself.

  “I disagree.” He shifts his weight, fol
ding his arms across his chest. “I’ll tell you three things about you besides the obvious. If I’m right, you’ll go to dinner with me.”

  I think this over. I didn’t tell him anything about me, not even my name. So, there’s no way he can actually come up with one thing, let alone three, that’s deep enough to warrant a dinner date.

  If nothing else, it’ll be a fun little experiment and a chance for me to prove that men don’t know everything.

  “Fine,” I say. “But you have to impress me. Hair color, eye color—those types of things don’t count.”

  He grins. “Absolutely not. There’s no fun in that.”

  “All right. Shoot.”

  “Your name is Blaire,” he says, catching me off guard. “You like gummy bears but feel like it’s a childish thing to enjoy, so you try to be discreet about your obsession. You prefer the red ones and hate the green ones. You like shopping but hate spending loads of money on things you think are a waste.”

  My jaw almost hits the floor.

  “And,” he says, taking a step closer to me, “you don’t date because you don’t have time. You also find men to be barbaric, adolescent creatures which, may I add, I find offensive.”

  “How could you possibly know all that?” I demand. “Are you a stalker? Do I need a restraining order?”

  The heat rolling off his body clamors into me, upping the beat of my heart tenfold. I hate my reaction to him, and I hate even more that I can’t control it.

  “Lincoln said your name. You dropped the candy from your purse in the airport, and I just happened to notice you had it hidden in a little pouch. All the red ones were gone, and it was chock-full of the green. Your lipstick was a type my mother uses, so I know it’s expensive as hell, but your earbuds earlier weren’t a name brand, so I put together you don’t value them as much.”

  “I just lose them constantly,” I say, still sorting his observations.

  “And now you lost our bet. Ready to go?”

  My summer dress billows in the breeze, reminding me, once again, I’m not home.

  This wouldn’t be like a dinner with a man I see regularly or could even see regularly if I wanted to. He lives almost a thousand miles from me.

  What could one dinner hurt?

  “Fine,” I say, stepping around him. “But I’m driving.”

  “Great,” he says, much to my surprise. “Let me tell the others I’m taking off.”

  “But you weren’t done. We can pick this up tomor—”

  “Oh, no.” He laughs, his green eyes lighting up with mischief. “We were done a while ago and now we’re just shooting the shit. I’ll be right back.”

  He takes off inside, and I brace myself against the railing.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Chapter Four

  Holt

  They say a person’s eyes are the windows to their soul. You can tell everything you need to know about them by a quick glance. Doors are like that for a business, and the ones leading into Picante are ornate and heavy.

  It’s my favorite place in all of Savannah. Sitting atop a luxury hotel with views across the water on one side and the city on the other, it’s spectacular. Especially at night. It’s also impossible to get into without a reservation.

  “After you,” I say to Blaire as she enters in front of me.

  “I should’ve changed, Holt,” she says under her breath. “Look at these people.”

  “There are people? What people?” I grin.

  She tilts her head, clearly unamused.

  “Fine.” Looking around, I spot the hostess and give my head a subtle nod. She scurries our way.

  “Mr. Mason. Good to see you this evening.”

  “Thank you,” I say, less amused at her wandering eye than usual. Moving slightly to the side so I’m closer to Blaire, I clear my throat. “Two, please. For the Radar Room, if it’s available.”

  “I’ll rearrange for you, sir. Right this way.”

  Blaire casts a look over her shoulder with her lips pressed together to hide a smile. She follows the hostess along the wall to one of the private rooms beside the main dining area. I place my palm gently on the small of her back. I want to touch her so fucking bad, but I don’t want to come across the wrong way.

  She tenses for a brief second before her shoulders relax; mine follow. I flex my fingers against the smooth fabric of her dress, finding her body warm against my touch.

  There’s a conversation between Blaire and the hostess, one I can’t hear, but I’m not mad about it. Just watching her speak, hearing her laugh at the hostess’s jokes, is enough for me. Right now, anyway. It’s a world-class view without any pressure.

  We enter the private room, lit with candles and ambient lighting, and I pull out Blaire’s chair before she sits. This seems to please her, which, in turn, pleases me.

  Once we’ve made a drink selection and the hostess is gone, the energy in the room starts to shift. I finally have her to myself.

  “Thank you for coming with me tonight,” I say as she drapes her linen napkin on her lap.

  “I believe you came with me, but that’s just semantics.”

  “Excellent point.” I laugh. “How do you know the Landrys?”

  “One of my brothers, Walker, is dating, or engaged, I’m not really sure, to their sister, Sienna,” she explains.

  Lifting the glass of water in front of her, she swirls it lightly around. My question seems to have made her think of something else, and I want to know what it is. I want to know everything about this woman.

  “So you grew up around here?” I ask.

  “Me? Oh, no. I grew up in a little town in Illinois. That’s where my family still lives. I live in Chicago.”

  I can’t imagine living apart from my brothers. We all live and work together in some form, except Coy. When he’s not touring with his band, he’s right here with us.

  “Is that hard?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “Not being around your family. I see most of mine every day. Hell, my mom still calls me to make sure I’ve eaten all the colors of the rainbow once a week.”

  A smile parts her lips. “I miss them a lot. But …” Her smile wobbles a bit. “I went to law school and work in the city. I can’t do what I love to do and live in Linton with them.”

  I nod.

  “I’m still really close to them,” she says. “And I visit as much as I can—at least once a month to see Nana.”

  “Nana?”

  “My grandmother. She’s as feisty as my brothers, but God, I love her. She was my dad’s mom and spoiled us rotten growing up.” She takes a deep breath and then adds, almost as an afterthought, “Now I try to spoil her when I can.”

  Something about the way she says this catches my attention. It’s sweet and careful, something I’m not sure I’ve really attached to Blaire so far. But when she looks back up at me, that’s all washed away.

  “What about you?” she asks. “Are you close to your brothers?”

  “I work with Oliver, so we’re together every day. We see Wade and Boone a lot. Coy is gone a lot, doing his thing.” I shrug. “But, yeah, we’re all close. We golf together, go boating, play some poker.”

  “My brother Machlan has a bar,” she tells me. “They tried to have poker night there a couple of times until I advised him to shut it down. I had no idea those things got so serious.”

  “Oh, yeah. If you ever meet Coy, ask him what joker’s wild means.”

  She laughs. “I’ll make sure I never do that. Thanks for the warning.”

  A soft knock on the door sounds through the room, and a waitress arrives. She takes our orders and disappears quietly.

  Once we’re alone again, I relax back in my chair and look at the beauty across from me.

  “So,” she says, resting her forearms on the table. “What do you do for fun?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yes, honestly.”

  “I work.”

  Her laugh is the
freest I’ve heard from her. It causes the corners of my lips to twitch.

  “You sound like me,” she says. “I get such satisfaction from finding a bit of evidence the prosecution didn’t think I’d see or hearing a verdict go the right way.”

  I lean forward and rest my arms on the table. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you ever have to take on clients you know are guilty?”

  “Yes. Sometimes. But, before you go judging me, I’d like the opportunity to explain.”

  I nod. “The floor is yours.”

  She smiles, but her game face is on. A finger touches the gold chain sitting around her neck. “My job is to ensure my clients are tried fairly in accordance with the Constitution. Yes, I’ll represent men and women who I know are guilty if, and this is a big if, they haven’t been accused of a violent crime. And I cannot ethically encourage them to plead not guilty, and I won’t put them on the stand if I think they might lie. I have to sleep at night.”

  Her eyes shine with a ferocity and intelligence that fucks with me. It raises a hundred questions that I want her to answer if for nothing but to watch her speak.

  “For what it’s worth,” I say, “I think that’s highly admirable.”

  And fucking hot.

  I sit back again and try to block out the image of her in a courtroom.

  “What do you do?” she asks. “Work-wise, I mean.”

  “Business shit,” I say, trying to brush it under the rug. Going into the ins and outs of my world seems like a waste of time when we could be talking about her.

  She grins. “I’m going to need a little more than that, Mr. Mason.”

  “I’m the CEO of Mason Limited. My grandfather started it. My father expanded it. Oliver and I are ushering it into a new age.”

  “I love the sound of that.”

  “It’s fun.”

  She slides a lock of hair behind her ear. The candle in the middle of the table casts reflections across her high cheekbones. She looks like a model sitting across from me, but one you could touch without knocking her over.

  I’ve been with a lot of women, but none quite like her. She might just be the total package.