Page 40 of The Romance Adventure
“Yeah, it’s a conflict of interest.”
“Whose interest? The guy who has a cage around his heart? The one who is afraid to look at the past because of what it might tell him about the person he is now? Who can’t slow down long enough to see what he’s given up and the loneliness he hurtles toward if he doesn’t change course?”
The wind picks up and we’re close to the water. I can’t be sure if Strawberry Shortcake spoke or if those words were echoes in my thoughts.
Letting her go, I stand there, frozen in the warmth of the day because the truth is icy, sharp, and painful.
Her gaze doesn’t waver from me as if she’s waiting for me to reply, to atone for my errors in judgment and the distance I’ve placed between myself and the world.
“Who put you in charge?”
“Your grandfather.”
“I don’t answer to him.”
“No, you answer to me. Now, please pick me up. I can’t walk with these pegs on the ends of my feet.”
The intensity of the moment explodes with my laughter.
A deep, genuine belly laugh pours out of me at her comment because it reminds me of when my brothers and I would play pirates. One of us always had to have a peg leg. Another, a hook for a hand. An eye patch for the third, and the lucky one would get to have a big, bushy beard.
Like a contagious yawn, she sputters a laugh and then it grows between us until our gazes catch. Her smile is magnetic and I notice her front tooth on the left crowds the one on the right ever so slightly. Silver specks make her blue eyes striking, and the sound of her laugh is like a song I’d forgotten.
“I suppose it’s not safe for you to be at the Driftwood barefoot. At least not in its current state. You’ll get a splinter or tetanus. Come on. I’ll carry you, Strawberry Shortcake. Hop up.” I crouch down and gesture, she gets on my back.
“I was hoping that you’d cradle me in your arms like you’d just rescued me from a shipwreck.”
“We’re not quite there yet.” And it’s too dangerous because then her lips would be close enough to mine to kiss.
Isla
CHAPTER 11
Should you ever find yourself gazing longingly into the pewter eyes of a strong man with a deep tan, powerful arms and quads, who’s well dressed and successful, does extreme sports, and knows his way around trucks, don’t be tempted to plant your lips on his if you meet the following criteria:
Your ex-boyfriend is potentially hunting you down
After said ex ripped your heart out on New Year’s Eve, you made the resolution to remain single for the foreseeable future
And you qualify for at least one of the following:
The handsome man with gainful employment thinks you work for his late grandfather’s lawyer
You pretended to be your sister, aka Miss Pratt
The circumstances surrounding your proximity are built around what could generously be called a white lie
Oh, what, that’s just me? If the situation were different, you’d better believe I’d lift onto my toes and pucker up.
We’re so close I can smell Royal’s spicy, manly, expensive aftershave cologne. I’m not sure of the difference. Dax couldn’t grow anything that would require shaving and all my previous boyfriends sported various stages of: Too lazy to shave regularly, Shaved the other day, or What’s a razor? styles.
That’s all to say that Royal McGregor is quite the catch. Not that I’m looking. Well, I am. At him. It’s hard not to get snagged by the smile he teases like it’s a treat or the fact that when I said that I was hoping he’d cradle me in his arms, he replied, “We’re not quite there yet.”
Emphasis on the word yet. Meaning we could be someday.
As I slingshot myself onto his back because Bean’s high heels broke in a spectacularly dramatic style, resulting in Royal and me sharing genuine laughter, I let myself soak in the warmth of a reverse embrace. I’m one big heart hiccup, which is different from butterflies but in the same family.
Since we came up here to the resort, I’ve sensed that hidden behind his Fortress of Solitude silhouette is disappointment, pain, hopelessness, something else, or a combination of all of it. I’m not sure exactly, but I’ve caught glimmers.
