Page 47 of Stealing Blinds

So, that is all I manage. “More.”

He hums in understanding. Another kiss. Another conquering. Fingers in my hair and his cock teasing my clit. Whimpers and moans and sun-soaked rapture. He bites my bottom lip, soothes it with a lick, and releases a wolfish groan. And then we’re on the move, wading toward shore. A cascade of our soiree drips off us with a tinkling melody as he carries me out of the water. I grip him firmer, relishing the skin-to-skin cradling. Coconut and salty heat.

“Now we know.” His glistening blues caper all over my face, his mouth curling into a haughty grin. “Friends it is.”

I’m so dizzy that it takes a second for his declaration to register, but then it pummels me.

“You never leave something on the table unless you know exactly what you’re sacrificing.” That’s what he said right before he kissed me, and I was too spellbound to keep my wits about me.

Trump card.

That was one hell of a way to make his point.

He sets me down on the blanket and drapes a towel around my shoulders, lifting my chin like I’m an overstimulated child. “Once you get your sea legs, we can grab something to eat.”

I huff a quiet laugh, my lungs still fighting for air. “As long as it isn’t bacon.”

He howls, appreciating my reference to our earlier exchange. “Touché, Palmer.”

“You’re what?” I gasp at my mother, my temper barely in check.

After we left the beach, we went back to the house for lunch because my mom had sent me a text that she was home, and I felt it was wise to have a chaperone—not that I relayed the latter. Cash ordered us takeout from a local restaurant, including crème brûlée because he thought I needed it.

Smart-ass.

My mother picks at the fries again as if she didn’t just spring life-changing information on me. “It’s only six months. For now. I’m looking forward to it. You know how much I’ve always wanted to travel for recreational reasons. So, I’m renting the house out.”

Nausea unsettles my stomach, but I force myself to think rationally. I want her to be happy. “Okay, well, why can’t I just stay in the house while you go?”

She wipes her hands on a napkin, a slight frown tugging at her lips. “I already lined up renters. I didn’t want to burden you with looking after the house, and at the time, I didn’t know you’d be leaving New York.”

That’s valid.

“What about Flora?” Resentment seeps into my tone because I’m not ready to be the one showing up for my sister.

She purses her lips, torn up over our falling-out, but respectful of it. “Her health is good right now, and she’s twenty-eight. Don’t you always tell me that I shouldn’t be a crutch for her?”

Cash doesn’t utter a word. He finishes his sandwich and drinks his beer.

Restless, I hop up, grab my plate, toss what I didn’t finish in the trash, and load the blue-paneled dishwasher. I briefly consider asking about Ted or Tom, but stick to what matters. “And you’re leaving Lou?”

“No. She’s coming with me.”

Now I’m pissed. I spin and cross my arms over my chest. “And neither of you mentioned this to me last night?”

“Sylvie,” she sighs. “Your ankle was swollen, and you’d had a terrible day. I didn’t think it was the time.”

“Okay,” I breathe, turning back to her ceramic sink to load more dishes. “You’re right. I don’t want to go back to New York, but I’ll find a place.”

She hesitates, her thoughts skulking around us until she finally voices her motherly concern. “Living alone isn’t smart, so—”

“She can stay at La Lune Noire,” Cash interjects.

“That’s not a good idea,” I snap, not even bothering to look at him because he knows he shouldn’t be getting involved.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” my mother trills with far too much enthusiasm as she gathers her plate and joins me at the sink. “I’ll pay for a membership for you, and he can take a picture of me holding the Mardi Gras mask for collateral.”

Collateral? Like blackmail material?