Quinn sighed. “It’s the arms that get me,” she agreed. “Jasper’s got such lovely arm porn. Makes my brain—and other parts—go all mushy.”
“Yes!” Skye exclaimed, happy to finally have a name for it. “Arm porn. Perfect. Grant’s is…” she sighed. “Transcendent.”
Quinn chuckled. “I recognize that look. I should, I wear it enough. Lady, you’ve got it bad.”
“Which is my point,” Mandy said. “It’s not sordid because, honey, you’re much too involved for this to be just a hookup. Sounds like he is too.”
“Except, and I’m not trying to be a bitch here, but he didn’t mention you this morning. Jasper and I went over this morning. The man wouldn’t rest until he’d checked Twist out for himself. It’s not like him to bug out without a word, and I could tell when I talked with Twist at the reception that things were…not right.”
“Yes!” Skye agreed. “He’s different than the last time I saw him. Harder.” But no less compelling to her for it. In fact, she was even more attracted to him now she could see the dark layers he was protecting from her.
She caught the flash that went through Quinn’s eyes at her words. “You know something.”
“Look, Twist is having a hard time of it right now. Though he’d spit to hear me say it. He and Jasp went through something awful right before they came here to work your sister’s wedding. It’s not mine to share,” she added hastily when Skye opened her mouth to demand more. “He’d never forgive me, and, more importantly, Jasper would be livid with me, and I try not to piss my husband off when I can avoid it.” A soft, beautiful smile eased the concern from her face. “My husband,” she repeated. “I love being able to say that again.”
By the look of it, Quinn loved the man she said it about even more. “We wouldn’t ask that of you,” Mandy said before Skye could beat her to it. “As for you, Skye, honey, I know it started off in a mish mosh of crazy and emotional overload, but it sounds like you’ve got a second chance with a man who means something to you.”
“He makes me feel safe,” she said softly. “Even back then, when he pulled me out of the pool,” she huffed out a humorless chuckle, “lifting me up like I was nothing even though I was weighed down in wet silk and tequila. I was—mortified. Publicly humiliated by my own family and he was…there. Strong and stalwart. And he wanted me when no one else did.”
She looked at her friends and wondered what they saw in her face that made them look so sad and hopeful at the same time. “I needed to feel that again last night. It was selfish and wrong and he was right to deny me. I shouldn’t have tried to use him that way.”
“People have sex for all kinds of reasons,” Quinn said. “It’s not necessarily using someone as long as both parties get what they want out of it. And I guarantee you, Twist Sisti isn’t about to sleep with a beautiful woman and not get what he wants out of it. Now there’s a lot I can’t say about him, but I can give you this: He needs you.”
Skye looked at her askance. “Why would you say that?”
“There are demons plaguing that man, and for some testosterone-fueled, brainless reason, he refuses to deal with them.”
“I’ve seen them,” Skye whispered. “He’s not the man I knew before. He’s darker. A bit meaner, even if he won’t fully commit to it. Like a lion with a thorn in the paw that he can’t reach so he’s not even trying.”
“Wow. Perfect analogy. He thinks he’s hiding it,” Quinn confirmed. “Well, he can be an idiot like that. Did you know he’s a shrink? He’s so used to making people talk about their problems, he can’t turn that analysis inward. ‘Physician heal thyself,’ and all that. But listen, he wants to puzzle you out? I say, let him.”
From the corner of her eye, Skye saw the spa attendant headed their way. Quinn must’ve spotted her too. The woman leaned forward, intensity vibrating off her like heat waves from the sauna room.
“And while he does, be that same safe place for him that he was for you,” she urged quietly before the attendant could interrupt them. “He has no idea yet how much he needs you to be that, I promise you. These guys, they come off so über strong and alpha, and it’s such a turn on, I get that. Hoo shah, do I get that. But they’re men; beautifully flawed and fragile because they think they shouldn’t show feelings and that they can’t, under any circumstances, break. Shit happens that weakens their foundation, and those cracks are wicked and jagged. When they split and fracture because no one filled in the gaps, everything is at risk, even for someone like Twist. Especially for Twist.”
Could she be that for someone—for Grant? Skye didn’t think so. She was the easy Thornquist, the one person sure to go along with what she was told to do. Until she’d run away—and exactly how is it that a thirty-two-year-old woman could be seen as running away from home? Only in her family. But until she’d left that family, Skye had been the picture of compliance her entire life. She didn’t bat an eye when they investigated her fiancée (though someone had certainly screwed the pooch there) and had been about to allow some hired hand to plan her wedding with barely any input from her. How could so spineless a woman as her be the strong haven for a man like Grant?
Quinn certainly believed she could do it. The woman looked at her now with such confidence, a wealth of knowledge in her warm brown eyes, and no small amount of understanding and compassion. “Beneath that charm and all the jokes and the occasional asshole tendency, he’s,” here her mouth twitched, “totally twisted up. The man’s in ten kinds of pain, not that Twist will ever admit it. And he’s a special guy. He deserves so much more than sucking it up and pushing through it. He needs a woman with the strength to see that and the grace to stand up to his bullshit. Trust me, he’s worth the work.” She leaned back in her chaise and her smile broke wide, beautiful and bright. “Lord knows, mine was.”
The attendant finally reached them. “Are you ready for your massages, ladies?”
“Yes, we are,” Mandy confirmed, startling Skye who’d been so deep into Quinn’s words, head swimming with the implications and terrifying emotional risks she read in them, she had forgotten her friend was even there.
With the attendant’s help, the women carefully rose from their loungers. Skye teetered for a moment, feeling the tequila rush to her head as she stood. She caught Quinn’s assessing eyes on her and resisted the juvenile impulse to stick her tongue out at the woman. She may have blown the pieces of Skye’s relationship with Grant, such as it was, into a new, uncomfortable pattern. That didn’t make Skye exactly grateful, so much as leery, with a wonky belly that was only partially due to too many margaritas.
Straightening her spine, she followed the attendant down a white hall with soft lights as Bach switched to Handel and Water Music became their soundtrack.
They separated into three separate massage rooms. Skye, for one, was grateful for the solitude. Quinn and Mandy had given her much to think on, and all of it involved Grant Sisti. She liked thinking about Grant; it was becoming her favorite pastime, at least when it didn’t involve her behaving like a stereotypical ditsy deb.
She settled on her belly along the massage table and let the strong hands of the masseuse works out kinks and knots Skye hadn’t realized were twisting her up. Manual labor wasn’t easy on the body. There’d been times in the beginning when she’d hurt so much from bending over tubs and toilets and vacuums. She almost quit a dozen times, crying at night in the hot shower over all her new cuts and bruises. Only to feel ashamed for crying over such petty traumas when thousands of women did the same tasks day in and out without the luxury of knowing they could walk away at any time like she could whenever she wanted.
She’d long since toughened up so that wasn’t why she was so tense. She’d had this sense of inevitability in her gut ever since reading her grandmother’s death announcement.
Skye’s time here at Casa Blanca was about to end.
Quinn wanted Skye to be Grant’s safe haven, but how could she be when this place, this life, was only hers for a
finite time? Being on Barefoot Bay felt to Skye as though she was in a separate world, one not connected to the realities that plagued her usual life. Perhaps that’s why she’d come here of all places. Not that it was familiar or convenient, but that even for someone accustomed to the finer things in life, the lush tropical beauty of Mimosa Key felt otherworldly. As though this whole island was disconnected from the real world.
It wasn’t like Grant was a local either. He’d go home soon too, wherever that was, and back to being a SEAL. She didn’t really want to think about what he did on the job. Picturing Grant in combat risking his life did bad things to her heart rate. What kind of…thing could they have together even if they tried?
Bristling with conflicted resolve, Skye quit her massage early and rushed through changing back into her clothes so she could hurry out of the locker room and through the spa before the other women could catch up. Head down, arms tightly wrapped around her chest, she bustled through the lobby on a beeline for the employee parking lot where she’d stashed the sensible 2006 Tercel she’d bought for cash.
“Look out!” someone yelled and then Skye heard a deep male voice call her name in alarm, which brought her head up. She froze, full on deer-in-headlights immobile, only able to watch as the overloaded luggage trolley barreled toward her across the gorgeous Moroccan tiled floor, a bell boy in hot pursuit, who would not be fast enough.
“Skye, MOVE!” someone behind her roared.
“Oh!” She zoned back in at the last second and managed to stumble out of the way in time, only to careen into a man who’d been lurking in her blind spot. Hands landed on her shoulders with a firm grip. “I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed, breathless. The man squeezed her shoulders, harder than she thought required. Frowning, she looked up into a pair frighteningly familiar, smug blue eyes.
“Hello Skylar,” her ex-fiancé crooned. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Oh,” Skye managed as her past rumbled into the building and whacked her upside the head. “Fuck.”
Chapter Eight
The woman was going to be the death of him.
Grant couldn’t remember the last time so many emotions had quickly changed through him in such a short space of time. When he’d seen Skye hurry out of Eucalyptus, he felt a surge of fondness. His little socialite trying to duck her streaked head low enough to go unnoticed in a sea of blonde and mink hair-colored women. She could wear a hat and a veil and still be the most striking woman he knew. Mystery and contradiction did it for him, apparently. Not to mention the way she filled out that bikini top and those shorts. Most of her length was in her thighs, and the tattered cuffs showed off their muscled curves.
He’d been busy checking out her ass and only noticed the runaway luggage cart a few seconds before it would’ve hit her. He managed a choked shout of her name before she clued in fast enough to get out of the way.
He’d been too busy snagging the cart and reaming out the bellboy to note the man who’d steadied Skye. But when he saw the alarm in her face, Grant made tracks for her side.
“Fuck,” he heard her say as he got close and had to bite back a bark of laughter. Hearing that pristine, Katharine Hepburn voice of hers swearing killed him. He recognized the idiot McLaren owner in the next second. The sight of that smarmy asshole’s hands on his girl made a red filter cloud his eyes.
“Nice,” the bastard drawled. “Only a few months living at their level and you’re as vulgar as the next slag. Really, Skylar. Housecleaning?”
“Hello, Brandon. How very not nice to see you,” Skye replied, her voice so cool, Grant almost checked for frostbite. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to bring you home. Whatever…adventure you think you’re having is over.”
Skye tried to pull free, but Grant saw the asshole tighten his grip on her and he was done.
“Get your fucking hands off her,” he ordered. Skye jumped at the sound of his voice, but didn’t resist when his arm slipped around her waist, hand firm on her hip. They formed a tight knot of tension in the middle of the room, both men with a hold on Skye that could, Grant knew, quickly make her a tug toy between them.
Brandon’s gaze sharpened when he recognized of Grant. “You again,” he sneered. “What kind of bad penny are you?”
“Man, you don’t want to know the trouble I can bring down on you. Let her go, before I show you.”
“It that a threat?” Incredulity was in his voice, as though he couldn’t believe Grant would dare. “Who is this guy?” he asked Skye.
“Lieutenant Grant Sisti. And I don’t make threats, pal. I will break your hand in five seconds if you don’t get it off her.”
Skye went rigid under Grant’s hand. “This is super,” she said under her breath.
The dickwad kept smiling.
He also didn’t move his hands.
It was Grant’s turn to smile as he shifted on his feet to make his move.
“Stop it,” Skye hissed before he could. “You’re only making it worse.”
Grant glanced down to see ice in her flat eyes. “Skye. I got this.”
She ignored him and engaged with the asshole. “Brandon, you are creating a scene. Kindly, step back.”
Instead, the guy deliberately ogled Skye’s chest.
Jaw clenched, Grant took half a step forward. “You fucking dick.”
“Grant!” Skye shouted, tugging at the arm around her waist. When she couldn’t budge him, she appealed to the other man. “Brandon, back off!”
Brandon took a step back, releasing her. Before Grant could move Skye aside and wipe the smirk off his face, Quinn rushed up to them with another woman in tow.
“Oh my god, we saw the whole thing. What an idiot! Skye, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Skye reassured her. She waved off the resort staff clustered around them as well. “Really, there’s no need. The cart didn’t hit me. I’m perfectly fine.”
She was far from fine, Grant knew, but it had nothing to do with nearly getting wiped out by a luggage cart.
The woman with Quinn pushed herself between them and Brandon. “Here, let’s get you out of the way. You may be fine, but I for one need to sit down after that scare.” She took Skye’s elbow and started for an empty corner alcove furnished with a loveseat, a set of leather armchairs, and a pair of end tables. Grant had an instant to decide whether to maintain his grip on Skye, but the woman shot him a look over his shoulder that dared him to try.
Reluctantly, he released Skye into her care and gestured for Brandon to proceed him before bringing up the rear. Removing them from the center of attention for the resort’s roaming guests wasn’t a bad idea. He had a feeling there was more drama yet to be revealed. This dick didn’t show up on a whim and Grant would just as soon have privacy for whatever bullshit he was here to deliver.
“Where did you go?” he heard the woman ask Skye as they walked. “Your masseuse said you ended your session early.”
“Sorry Mandy. I wasn’t feeling well.” She shot Grant a glance he couldn’t interpret before until she added. “Probably too much tequila.”
When they reached the alcove, Grant sat next to Skye on the loveseat, his arm secure around her shoulders. Mandy must’ve sensed she’d pushed him far enough because she took a chair without objection.
“What are you doing here, Twist?” Quinn asked as she took one of the remaining chairs. She pinned the arm around Skye’s shoulder with a speaking look. “Or do I even need to ask?”
Grant jerked his chin at Brandon, who didn’t sit, and ignored Quinn’s bald insinuation. “Came to get Skye. Ran into this guy.”
Skye glanced back and forth between the two men with obvious confusion—and no small amount of alarm. Which Grant found very interesting.
“You know one another?”
“Met this asswipe downtown on my run. Terrible taste in car paint.”
A surprised giggle escaped Skye. The sound of it settled something in Grant.
She was oka
y, his girl. Whatever this was, whoever this guy was to her, she could handle it.
But he’d be at her side while she did nonetheless.
“I’m not surprised. He’s always had terrible taste. You drove here?” she said to Brandon. “From Miami?”
“Your father has the jet in Shanghai.” It appeared that Brandon had had enough. “If you’re through discussing my mode of transportation, it’s time we left, Skylar.” He glanced contemptuously at her clothes or lack thereof given she was back in her tee shirt and cropped shorts. “I’m sure you’ve nothing here worth keeping.”
“Who is this guy?” That was Quinn.
Grant opened his mouth to give his thoughts on the matter, mostly filled with descriptors like “ass” and “fuckwit”, but Skye got there first.
“Mandy. Quinn,” she introduced without taking her eyes off the guy. “Meet my sister’s husband, Brandon Collinsford. Formerly my fiancé.”
That red film once again covered Grant’s vision. Fiancé? What the everlasting fuck?
“Grant, you’re hurting me,” Skye gasped.
“You were going to marry this guy?”
“Yes, but I didn’t. Stop trying to boa constrictor my shoulders.”
Only then did he feel her nails clawing the arm he’d tightened around her to a painful degree. Instantly, he eased his grip, but kept her close all the same. No way was she gonna be out of reach so long as douchebag here was around.
Hang on. There was something he should know about this guy floating around the back of his brain. Part of him faded out to dig back through his memory. Something about the Collinsfords and the Thornquists…
“This is the guy?” Quinn asked. Her eyes lit with humor. “Babe, you so traded up.”
“This conversation is ridiculous.” Distain dripped from Brandon words. “Your family needs you, Skylar. It’s time to come home.”
“Skye’s not going anywhere with you,” Mandy announced with a Mama Bear glare. “And nowhere she doesn’t want to go.”
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