The drive to Dune Point Country Club takes fifteen minutes along the coast road. The sun’s setting in streaks of orange and pink over the water. The tension from earlier hasn’t gone anywhere. If anything it’s thickened.
"You look like you’re thinking very hard about something serious," he says after a while, glancing over with that crooked smile. "Let me guess. You’re mentally rewriting the guest list to exclude anyone who might flirt with me."
I shake my head but can’t stop the twitch at the corner of my mouth. "I’m mentally preparing questions that won’t make us sound as if we’re investigating a crime. And I’m wondering how long we can keep this up before one of us slips."
He reaches over and gives my hand a quick squeeze before returning it to the wheel. The touch is brief, but it leaves an imprint I can’t ignore. "We won’t slip. We’re good at this. You’re a natural, by the way. On the beach? The way you had those women eating out of your hand while I was busy trying not to stare at your legs? Oscar material."
My cheeks heat again. "You were supposed to be gathering intel, not staring."
"Multitasking is a skill." He winks. "Besides, staring at you is the most believable part of the cover."
I turn toward the window so he can’t see my face. The man is purely impossible. Arrogant and charming and far too good at making my stomach flip. I came here to stay safe and help my sister from a distance. I didn’t sign up for whatever this is turning into.
The club sits on a bluff overlooking the water, all white columns and manicured lawns that glow under string lights. We hand the Jeep to a valet and walk inside arm in arm. The dining room is elegant but not stuffy. Candlelight flickers on white tablecloths. A quartet plays soft jazz in the corner. Melissa and Brooke spot us immediately and wave us over to a table for six.
The men are already there. Melissa's husband is a broad-shouldered guy named Tom who sells yachts. Brooke's husband, Richard, owns a string of restaurants along the coast. Victor is apparently a friend of theirs who couldn’t make it tonight but whose new place at the marina is the talk of the club.
Dinner passes in a blur of good food and careful conversation. Jace keeps his hand on my lower back whenever we stand, or rests it on my knee under the table when we sit. The touch is constant and deliberate and it is doing terrible things to my concentration. Every time he leans in to murmur something in my ear, his breath brushes my neck and I have to remind myself to breathe normally.
The banter between us is effortless and it draws looks from the other couples. When Tom asks how we met, Jace spins a story about a charity event in Halo City where I supposedly told him he was too cocky for his own good. I counter with, "And he has spent every day since trying to prove me wrong. It’s exhausting but oddly effective."
The table laughs. Brooke fans herself dramatically. "You two are disgusting. In the best way. The chemistry is unreal."
Jace's thumb strokes the inside of my knee once, hidden by the tablecloth. "She keeps me in line. Best decision I ever made, convincing her to give me a chance."
I shoot him a look that’s half warning, half something softer. "You didn’t convince me. You wore me down with persistence and bad jokes."
"Same thing," he says, and the grin he gives me makes my pulse skip.
I lean close to his ear, for only him to hear, and whisper, “Recycling material, huh?”
He raises a brow. “What do you mean?”
“Best decision you ever made?” I laugh lightly.
“Classics get encores, sweetheart.”
The other couples exchange glances that are equal parts envy and amusement. I catch Melissa watching the way Jace's hand stays on me, the way we finish each other's sentences without trying. It should feel fake. It doesn’t. And that’s the dangerous part.
After dessert the men excuse themselves to the terrace for drinks and cigars. Jace stands, squeezes my shoulder, and bends to kiss my temple with an ease that steals my breath. "Don’t have too much fun without me, Wells."
"Try not to corrupt the husbands," I answer, and the smile I give him feels real.
He winks and follows the men outside. I stay with Melissa and Brooke, who’ve moved to a smaller table near the windows with coffee and tiny glasses of something sweet. The view outside shows the terrace lit by lanterns, the dark water beyond, and the distant flash of the candy-striped lighthouse. Jace stands with his back to the glass, one hand in his pocket, laughing at something Tom said. Even from here he looks like he belongs in this world and somehow above it at the same time.
Melissa sighs happily. "You’re so lucky. Jace is... well. He’s perfect. The way he looks at you? With a kind of awe that makes everyone else fade into the background."
Brooke nods, eyes sparkling. "And that body. I mean, I love Richard, but Jace is what happens when trouble learns how to make good decisions. The forearms alone. How do you even function?"
I take a sip of coffee to hide my face. My cheeks are already warm. "He’s... attentive."
They both laugh as if I’ve said something hilarious.
"Attentive," Melissa repeats. "That’s one word for it. The way he had his hand on you all through dinner? I thought Tom was going to take notes. And the banter. You two spark. It’s actually unfair how much chemistry you have. We’ve been married ten years and I can’t remember the last time Richard looked at me like he wanted to drag me into the nearest coat closet."
Brooke leans forward, lowering her voice but not enough to actually be quiet. "Okay but real talk. The sex must be incredible. He has that look. The one where he knows exactly what he’s doing and he enjoys taking his time. Does he? Is he as good as he looks?"
My entire body goes hot. I can feel the blush spreading down my neck and across my chest. I try to laugh it off, keep it light and romcom-serious the way I always do when things get too close. "I’m not discussing my bedroom activities over coffee at the club."
