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Or maybe it’s not the distance.
Maybe it’s just that everything seems insignificant when compared to my woman.
The enclosure is built of utterly transparent glass so that it’s as if we’re sitting on the deck. We get all the view without the biting coastal wind. The heat comes up from the floor, shimmering in the air, turning Kimberly’s cheeks a spank-me shade of red.
Fuck, I need to get my thoughts under control.
“Ah, dammit,” I smirk. “I’ve failed at honesty—always, haven’t I?”
Kimberly glows. I love making her look that way, all fluttering eyelashes, and quirking lips.
I’ve alive to every tic of her expression, every motion.
“What’s that?” her sister asks, sitting beside her.
“Just this thing we say,” Kimberly murmurs, her words shimmering as her smile distorts them. “It means we’re always going to tell each other the truth.”
“Always,” I affirm.
Jackie nods slowly and then takes a sip from her sofa.
“I like that,” she says after a pause. “I’ve been with some real dickheads in my time, and now that I think about it, it always came back to deceit. Honesty—always. Yeah, I really like that.”
I almost let out a sigh of relief. I know how important Jackie is to Kimberly, which makes it important for us to get along.
“So, Jackie,” Mother says, leaning forward. She’s sitting next to me, with Tinkerbell nestled comfortably in her lap. “My son tells me you’re an artist.”
“Yeah,” I chuckle. “Because you wanted to know every last thing there was to know about them.”
Mother giggles, waving a hand. “Men will never understand how insatiably curious we are about people. What sort of things do you paint?”
“Abstract, mostly,” Jackie says, looking down at the table, picking at the edge with her thumb. “I trained at art school for a while, when I was a kid. I learned how to paint properly, whatever that means. Portraits, things like that. But I like abstract. I like the freedom it gives me.”
“She’s amazing,” Kimberly says, reaching over and squeezing her sister’s hand. “But you’re a little shy about your art, aren’t you, sis?”
“Just a bit,” she says self-deprecatingly. “Thank God I’ve got Kimmy to push me. She’s been great.”
My mother turns to me significantly, as if to say, You’ve done well here, my son.
“Well, I absolutely adore the both of you,” Mother says. “You must let me see some of your art, Jackie. In your own time, of course.”
“Sure,” Jackie says, smiling at my mother. “I’d like that.”
She pauses, glancing at the life vests that sit in the corner of the enclosure.
“Can I ask you something?” she says, turning to me.
“Of course,” I tell her.
“Why did you send us life vests for a yacht? And, if you feel like we needed them, why aren’t we wearing them?”
I grin, wolfishly, captivated by the way Kimberly’s lips mirror mine. It’s like our expressions are reflections of the other.
“The vests aren’t for The Wanderer,” I tell her. “They’re for the jet skis.”
Chapter Thirteen
Kimberly
“I can stay if you want,” I murmur.
Jackie and I stand just beyond the enclosure where Kristian waits with his mother. My heart floods with warmth as I glance over at them speaking together, at the way Kristian grins at his mother, at the love flowing between them.
My heart flares even brighter when I think about how quickly Carmela has seemed to accept me—us, Jackie and me, and even Tinkerbell.
Jackie said she doesn’t want to go out on the jet skis and then excused herself and went to use the bathroom. Maybe it makes me a bit crazy that I followed her. But I have to know that she’s okay with all of this.
“Kimmy,” Jackie says, placing her hand on my shoulder. She leans in close, smiling. “I like him. I like his mother. Tinkerbell loves his mother. I don’t want to go out on the jet skis because I like him. I want you two to have an adventure together.”
“But you’re more than welcome,” I say, part of me struggling to believe that she’s really okay with all this.
But then, I struggled to believe I was beautiful back in the restaurant, and Kris got me to say it, to mean it.
Maybe I should get him to spank me every time I doubt my sister?
“I know,” she laughs, shaking her head. “But I want to hang here with Carmela. She whispered something to me about getting champagne while you two are off jet-skiing together. Have you seen the way he’s been watching at you this whole time? I thought you were smitten, Kimmy, but it’s him that’s smitten.”
My belly goes tight, a thousand impulses surging.
“You think so?” I murmur.
“Yes,” she says firmly. “Now go. Have fun. And don’t for a second worry about me. Carmela and Tinkerbell and I are going to have the time of our lives.”
What the heck am I supposed to say to that?
