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I stared at him, the reflection of the sun highlighting the sharp angles of his profile.
The pain that consumed him was etched all over his face.
I swallowed back the urge to cry again as shockwaves coursed through my body.
For a moment, I considered joining him, but I knew when he wanted to be alone. And his break was short-lived. Soon, he was diving back under the surface of the pool like a seal.
Respecting his need for distance, I turned back to the kitchen.
But my mind was still processing everything he’d told me. I swiped at the dampness on my face and took a deep breath. The truth was worse than I’d imagined. And I was so upset and angry on his behalf, at how he’d been abused and left to fend for himself. He’d had no one to turn to. Not even his mom, who was also a victim.
I heard another splash and looked over to find him swimming laps.
Just like I knew that exercise was one form of therapy, I knew Tate. What he needed now was a return to normal.
Gathering my emotions, I got to work.
I finished the salad and placed it on the table, then went about oiling the indoor grill for chicken kebabs.
Once I got those cooked and set aside, I wiped off the counter. I turned to find a wet Tate standing at the edge of the kitchen, watching me, one of my bright orange beach towels wrapped around his hips.
“Smells good. Everything set?” he asked.
“It’s all done.”
I watched his face for any remaining signs of distress.
“You sure you’re up for this?”
“I’m fine,” he replied with a nod. “And I hope they get here soon. I’m fucking starving.”
The doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Tate announced.
“No, I’ll get it. Go put some clothes on.”
“You mean, I can’t answer the door like this?” Tate quipped as he wandered down the hallway to his bedroom.
The towel around his hips slipped lower and lower, until I got a glimpse of one tan ass cheek.
“I guess it depends on who you’re expecting.”
Jesus, what was wrong with me?
Months of celibacy, that’s what.
Tate’s responding chuckle made me warm all over. And fuck, just hearing him laugh untied the knot that was my stomach. I could breathe again.
Placing the kitchen towel aside, I headed for the foyer, glanced at the security screen, and then opened the door.
“The Hollywood hit makers have arrived,” I greeted Dylan and Max.
“That’s Max,” Dylan smiled at his fiancé, who in turn, blushed and shook his head.
“Don’t give me all the credit. You helped me write the script.”
“Oh yeah. Those steamy sex scenes. It required a lot of research and practice to get them just right.”
