by Avery Flynn
“Do you think they’re okay?” she asked as she looked out over the water in the general direction of Treble Key that Alberto had pointed to when they’d sat down for drinks and appetizers.
Alberto gave her an indulgent smile and poured her another glass of wine. “The captain said he dropped them off in the designated spot and everything was fine. Now we just have to wait and hope the beauty of the island works its magic.”
“I’m not sure it will be that easy.”
“It will. Have faith, bellissima.”
“I hope you’re right about that.”
Alberto sat back in his chair, the warm breeze ruffling his hair and his aviator sunglasses giving him a rakish look. “I’m right about almost everything. For instance, I was correct in knowing that you would be the perfect partner for this endeavor.”
He couldn’t have really known that. The man was a hopeless flirt. Still, she found herself playing along. “And why, exactly, is that?”
“Because you like to meddle in everyone’s business.”
Only years of training kept her jaw from dropping. “I do not.”
He waved his hands around as if he could brush her denial out of the air. “But of course you do, but you do it out of love…and boredom.”
“I am never bored.”
“You wouldn’t be if you let me seduce you as I am trying so very hard to do.”
“You’re very forward.”
“I’m Italian. It’s in our blood.” He took a sip from his wine, the movement drawing her attention to his very kissable mouth. “Plus, there’s no other way for me to be when I’m around beautiful women, let alone the most beautiful woman.”
“That ship sailed years ago.” Sure, she’d kept herself up; she had an image to uphold. “I’ve aged into being regal, if one is generous.”
Alberto leaned forward, propping his surprisingly toned forearms on the table. “I know this will shock you, bellissima, but you are wrong.”
Wrong? Her? Almost never. She wasn’t foolish enough to say absolutely never. Any sign of weakness, though, wasn’t acceptable. A woman didn’t get to her rung on the Harbor City high-society ladder by allowing for personal vulnerabilities. Time to end this little talk.
“I won’t have this discussion with you.”
“Why?” He drew off his sunglasses and gave her an assessing look. “Because of your Michael?”
Just the mention of his name was enough to make her chest clench. Three years and it hadn’t gotten any easier. Every room she walked through in the home they’d made together echoed with his absence. Every fund-raising event she attended was a battle of self-control not to give in to the melancholy. Every night alone only served to highlight the emptiness of their bed.
“I love…” She paused, taking a deep breath to slow her heart rate before correcting herself. “Loved…my husband.”
“No one would argue that. It is as obvious as the feistiness of your nature. But was he the type of man who would want you to live out your days alone?”
Is that what she was doing? No, she wouldn’t accept that. “I’m not alone. I have my children.”
“That is not the same, bellissima, as you very well know.”
It wasn’t, but it was her life, and she wasn’t about to allow some overgrown man-child with his handsome face and flirtatious ways to know that. It wasn’t the Harbor City way. She played things close to the vest. Always had. Always would.
Setting down her wineglass, she pulled her most impervious mask into place and let her voice drop the temperature out on their waterside veranda. “It is enough.”
“For a woman like you?” he asked, not taking her hint to drop the subject. “No.”
Of all the— “And who are you to tell me what I need?”
“A man who has been in your very spot.” He reached out across the table, taking her cold hands in his warm ones. “Losing my Sophia so many years ago…I thought the hurt would never go away, but it did, leaving behind an empty place in my soul. For many years, I thought it would consume me.”
“Until you filled it with much younger women and wine, I suppose.” Just like a man. She’d been appalled by the number of men who so casually dated around after losing a spouse. She’d never dishonor Michael’s memory that way.
“No.” He gently squeezed her hand, holding it firm in his as his gaze pierced her with an empathetic sincerity she hadn’t expected from a man who seemed to flirt as easily as he breathed. “That place, Sophia’s place, in my heart never closed up, but it changed from one of cold emptiness to a warm place filled with all the laughter and love we shared—and it happened when I let myself stop focusing on the fact that she was gone and instead began to remember how we lived.”
Helene had never cried in public a day in her life. Not as a child. Definitely not as a full-grown woman. Even at Michael’s funeral she’d maintained a stalwart appearance for the sake of her boys. But Alberto’s heartfelt advice—though not asked for—shifted something inside her and the tears slid down her cheeks. It wasn’t a waterfall, but it was enough. Slipping her hand free, she patted at her cheeks with a napkin and took several steadying breaths. When she had herself back under control, she looked at the man who understood, knowing he deserved more than a cold brush-off. He deserved the truth.
“I’m not sure I can do that,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “I know it’s been more than three years, but even considering moving on still feels like betrayal.”
“I understand, but I hope that will change and when it does you will reach out to the bold Italian who would like nothing better than to sweep you off your feet.” His face broke into a broad smile, and there was a little something extra twinkling in his eyes. “Just make sure not to wait too long; we’re not getting any younger.”
Despite the emotions swirling around inside her, Helene couldn’t help but laugh at his audaciousness, more than a little grateful that he didn’t press for more confessions. His flirting she could deal with. His quiet understanding she could not, not without losing her composure again. “No, we’re not.”
Alberto lifted his wine, the sunlight piercing the glass, turning it into a prism and making a rainbow on the white tablecloth. “To the tomorrows we’ve yet to see—may they be as wonderful as your smile and as exciting as a first kiss.”
She clinked the tip of her glass against his, a weight she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying lifted from her shoulders. And as they sipped their wine, both watching the ocean, she couldn’t help but think that the man next to her might be onto something and that it just may be time to stop mourning in her heart and celebrate what she and Michael had had instead.
Chapter Seventeen
Everly’s pinkie toes were staging a rebellion. Who’d have thought a well maintained but still dirt path on an island ninety miles off Cuba would finally be the thing to make her curse her addiction to high heels? Okay, any non-crazy person would have known that, but she hadn’t been dressing for sanity this morning. She’d been putting on armor—because of the man currently walking next to her, hauling her suitcase and his as if they didn’t weigh an ounce when she knew damn well hers, at least, weighed close to forty pounds.
She took another step forward, and her right heel sank into the ground and stayed there, making her lose her balance. Desperate to stay upright, she flung her arms out and clamped down on a very firm biceps. One she still hadn’t seen, despite the fact that he’d been buried inside her with another part of his anatomy. The whole situation made her pissed off at herself again, but it didn’t stop her body from reacting to him with a stomach flutter and a hello-there-hottie clench in her core. This was fucking ridiculous.
“You okay?”
“Fine.” Holding onto him, she yanked her foot and the corresponding shoe heel out of the dirt.
“I have a pair of tennis shoes in my bag. We’d need to stuff some socks in the toes, but it might make the last mile easier.”
“I said I’m fine.”
She sounded like a petulant bitch. She knew this. She had to.
“What in the hell is your problem? You’ve been a pain in my ass since the parking garage.”
“You mean since we fucked on my car?”
“Yeah. Tell me, do you have some weird disease where orgasms make you mean instead of relaxing you?”
“That’s totally it, so you’d better stay away.”
Of course, the skies took that cue to do one of the Florida-midday-sudden-rainstorm things. One instant it was hotter than hell, more humid than a sauna, and sunny. The next it was pouring gigantic droplets of rain, was still hotter than hell, and—weirdly enough—sunny. It made no sense.
“Come on.” He swapped a bag so he was holding one under his arm and the other in his hand, then looped an arm around her waist and half walked her, half propelled her under the protection of one of the few palm trees dotting the path.
Since getting soaked to the bone wasn’t on her agenda for the day, she went with it. Okay, the fact that her body had reacted with the “Hallelujah Chorus” when he’d touched her and short-circuited her brain probably helped make that happen. He set their suitcases down and shoved his fingers through his wet hair. His now partially see-through white button-down shirt clung to his chest. He’d rolled up the sleeves earlier, and she’d been tormented with some solid forearm porn during the flight. This was worse because all she wanted to do was look and touch and taste what had stayed covered the other night.
He threw open his suitcase and rummaged around in the distractingly organized interior, then pulled out a pair of Nikes and some gym socks. After flipping the lid shut again and zipping it closed, he stuffed the toes of the shoes and only then did he look back up at her. The combination of now wet black hair, determined blue eyes, and hideous footwear made her catch her breath.
He pointed to a stump next to the palm tree’s trunk. “Sit.”
“You don’t get to order me around,” she said, falling back on the one thing she could always count on, her attitude.
“Sit or I’ll make you.” He took a step toward her, frustration coming off him in waves, practically sizzling the rain that had the balls to land on him. “There’s no way in hell you’re wearing those shoes for the rest of the walk. I can actually hear your feet crying out in agony. ‘Please save us, Tyler. You’re our only hope.’ That’s what they’re saying.”
The Star Wars reference was what made her sit down on the uncomfortable stump that was still better than standing in her demon heels. It was funny. It surely wasn’t the buzz of anticipation vibrating along every inch of her skin. “It’s just the toes.”
She expected him to hand her his shoes. Instead, he squatted down in front of her, wrapped his strong fingers around her left ankle, and lifted it. The gesture was intimate, more than she could handle at the moment, and she stiffened.
He let out a deep sigh but went to work on unbuckling the strap around her ankle. “I have no clue what I did to piss you off so much, but whatever it was, I’m sorry.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
“Really?” He undid the strap and slid off her heel. “Coulda fooled me.”
The Waterbury he tried so hard to hide slipped into his speech, letting her know just how much of a bitch she was being and how unfair it was to him. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself.”
He kept his gaze on her foot as he slid his size-twelve tennis shoe on it and began to lace it up. “Why?”
“Because…I confused fighting with foreplay. We both know nothing more could ever happen between us.”
He didn’t disagree. That hurt. It wasn’t that she’d been expecting him to but, yeah, a little protest would have been nice. Instead, he went to work on the strap of her other shoe.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” he said, pulling it off and sliding on his tennis shoe.
“Then let’s not.” She brushed away his hand, needed desperately to regain a semblance of control, and tied the shoe herself. “I’ll stop being a hag and we’ll move on as if the parking garage never happened.”
“The incident that will not be spoken of.” The seriousness of his tone was totally ruined by the twitch of his lips as he tried not to smile.
“Now a butchered Potter reference?” She accepted his outstretched hand and stood up, her fingers tingling. “You really were a library nerd.”
“I’ll break out the Tolkien later,” he said, not bothering to stop the smile now. “I can tell you all about the one ring and do it in Elvish.”
“Oh my God.” She laughed. “Please don’t.”
He slapped a hand over his heart. “Direct hit.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ll live.”
He peeked out at the sky, which was a beautiful blue without any hint of its weather split personality. “You ready to do this?”
Looking down at his shoes on her feet, she wiggled her toes. It felt like heaven. “Always.”
“Once more into the breach.” He grabbed both bags and headed back onto the path.
Taking a few tentative steps, she followed him. It was weird to have her feet flat on the ground, and she felt way shorter than she was used to being but lighter, too. Maybe she and Tyler could find a way to go from being warring parties to one-time lovers to actual friends. In the moment, it totally sounded plausible. Of course, that was if she ignored the fact that she was walking behind him just to watch that glorious ass of his as he trudged forward.
Girl, you’re officially a hot mess.
…
Tyler spent the last mile tormenting Everly with Elvish—or at least what she thought was Elvish. Since ninth grade had been a long time ago, he’d improvised. She didn’t seem to notice, judging by her fits of giggles. Now that was something he hadn’t expected. His hard-ass Riverside girl was a giggler.
Your Riverside girl? That was so wrong on so many levels. One, she most definitely wasn’t a girl. She had the brains and body of a full-grown woman, a fact that hadn’t gone unnoticed by his dick giving him the uncomfortable knowledge of what it felt like to walk a mile with a semi. Two, she wasn’t his. As she’d so kindly pointed out, there wasn’t anywhere for the intense attraction between them to go. Not that he was looking for a Mrs. Jacobson just yet, but he’d worked too hard to shake off the last vestiges of Waterbury to have her bring it all back. And she did a little more each time they hung out, not just the speech but the overwhelming urge to haul her up and fuck her hard against the nearest available flat surface. Or horizontal. Or just about anywhere. That had never happened with any of the Harbor City women he’d dated, which was for the best. It let him focus on what was really important—solidifying his position.
“Oh wow,” Everly said in an excited whisper, coming to a stop in front of the gate leading to Alberto’s island home.
He couldn’t have put it better. Shaped like the Pentagon, the two-story house had solar panels on the roof, warm soft-brown wood, and windows everywhere. There was a kidney-shaped pool next to it, a luxurious fire pit, and a hammock big enough for two. It almost made him want to chuck it all and move.
“It’s gorgeous.” She swung open the gate and walked inside.
He followed, and they strolled across the stamped concrete patio to the French doors leading into the house. He punched in the security code provided at the bottom of Alberto’s note and they walked inside. It was cool but not frigid—a miracle in South Florida with how everyone blasted the AC—and the interior matched the exterior, making the whole thing look like a rich person’s version of Swiss Family Robinson.
Setting down the suitcases on the bamboo floor, a little cloud of dust floated upward.
She glanced at her dirty suitcase. “We should clean up. I don’t want to wreck the place before Alberto and Helene even get here tomorrow.”
Of course, the first image to appear in his head was of her naked and soapy in the shower. “That’s a great idea.”
It would be better if he was in the shower
with her, but that wasn’t going to happen. They were going to do this whole pretend-it-didn’t-happen thing instead. That sounded about as much fun as experiencing the Red Wedding firsthand.
They headed up to the second floor. She took the first bedroom. He took the next. He was shucking off his shoes when he heard the shower go on. Hello, insta-boner.
His imagination didn’t have to do a lot of work to picture her in there with the warm water trailing over her skin. He hadn’t gotten to look as long as he wanted the other night, and God knew he hadn’t gotten to touch or taste her enough, but that didn’t matter in the moment. His horny brain filled in all the missing pieces. The part that almost killed him was the image of big white soap bubbles sliding across her pretty peach nipples. They’d gotten so hard the other night, and her moans of pleasure were so hot that—
Stop acting like a fourteen-year-old perv, Jacobson.
He stomped into his room’s private bathroom, stripped down, and turned the water on full blast. Then, for good measure, he turned the knob all the way to cold. If a little hypothermia didn’t make things better, then he wasn’t sure what would. Twenty shivery minutes later and he was in a T-shirt and board shorts, convinced he could spend a night alone with Everly and not have another parking-garage moment. Why? Because she’d been right, and sex would only complicate the truce they’d been able to make.
That certainty lasted right up until he walked into the kitchen to find her in a flowy white sundress that covered her completely down to the ankles except when she stepped in front of one of the large windows overlooking the pool and the sun outlined exactly what she was hiding underneath the miles of cotton. Yep. Mr. Semi was back. Needing very badly not to be looking at her right now, he hustled over to the fridge and opened it.