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“Hi,” she said, still beaming when he reached her. “How are you?” With a gesture of her hand, she indicated the chair across from her. “Want to sit?”
“Sure.” He dropped into the seat, eyed the half-glass of OJ in front of her. “Are you finishing up or just getting started?”
“Finishing up.” She crossed one slender leg over the other, her creamy thighs revealed by the short skirt of a blue dress splashed with pink flowers that matched her lipstick. “Did you have a good rest last night?”
He stared at her, contemplating his answer, knowing her breezy tone would be impossible to match. The truth was, he’d stared at the ceiling for hours, recalling every sound she’d made, every restless movement of her body, that moment when she’d shattered, her body a vice gripping his fingers, so damn hard it had shoved him over his own edge.
It probably wasn’t breakfast conversation, however. And perhaps she was going with his first inclination and was intending to pretend last night never happened…so he should follow suit. “I—”
“Wait. Let’s start over.” Her mouth turned down and she shook her head. “That sounded wrong and I don’t want you to think I’m trying to be coy or anything. We had…well, we sort of had sex last night. I’m not going to act otherwise.”
“It wasn’t sort-of sex,” he protested. The orgasms had been completely legit, damn it. He stared at her neck, looking for a light bruise he might have left behind, and with a caveman’s regret didn’t see a single mark marring her beautiful skin. It would have proved their passion.
She waved a careless hand. “You know what I mean.”
The condoms were burning a hole in his pocket. If he’d been so blown away by “sort-of” sex with Lilly, where would the pure act land on the charts? His mind had started to wander in that direction when she spoke again, her voice low.
“I want to say once again how sorry I am.” Her eyes cast down, she drew designs in the condensation on her juice glass. “Things like that—your brother Simon—shouldn’t happen to families like yours.”
His focus tracked back to her, his gaze sharpening. “Families like ours?”
She shrugged. “You know.”
He didn’t, but something told him a huge clue had been dropped. A clue to more fully understanding Lilly Durand and what made her tick. Because you always want to learn everything you can about a casual hookup, a smirking voice said inside Alec’s head.
He ignored it. “Lilly—”
The sound of metal clattering against concrete drew the attention of the breakfasting crowd. Both he and Lilly looked over to see a flustered waiter retrieving scattered bundles of napkin-wrapped cutlery. Alec was about to return his attention to his tablemate, when beyond the server he spied a familiar figure scuttling behind an ivy-wrapped pillar.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“Is everything all right?” Lilly asked.
“Yeah.” He shot up from his seat. “I’m going to hit the buffet table, grab some breakfast, coffee. You stay right here until I get back.”
Without waiting for her acquiescence or refusal, he hurried in the direction of the weasel he’d seen skulking. Sure enough, he found Jacob Belcher just around the corner from the patio, lurking in a shaded corridor.
“What the hell are you doing?” Alec demanded.
“I knew you were staying here and I wanted to talk to somebody.” Dressed in board shorts, chewed-up flip-flops, and a faded shirt, Jacob crossed his arms over his chest. “No one will return my texts.”
“Because you fucking ruined a nice woman’s life, you asshole.”
“But you reached out to me.”
Christ, Jacob sounded like the whiney six-year-old he’d been on the bunk below Alec’s at summer camp all those years ago. But they’d forged a bond of sorts through sunrise nature walks and nightly charred marshmallows—the two youngest in the Walden Pond cabin. Eight Julys later, when they’d “graduated” from Camp Northwood, Alec had felt a responsibility of sorts for Jacob. Over the years, he’d saved him from angry hornets, a kayak excursion gone wrong, and an oversized bully called Moon-Faced Morton.
