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“What did you want to talk about?” she asks suddenly.
“You.”
“Me?” Another tiny frown. “What about me?”
“About you staying here.”
“Oh.”
“I have rules.”
“Keep myself covered,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“No,” I growl, dumping chips onto her plate before starting on my own sandwich. “That’s not a rule, Raven. That’s me trying to do the right thing. Brant would have ripped my balls off if he knew the things I’ve thought about doing to you.”
She watches me silently for a moment, thinking about something. I know the moment she gathers the nerve to say it. I see it in her eyes. I watch determination cross her face and lift her chin. I see it subtly change the air around her. She changes from shy little lamb to confident woman, exactly like she does when she steps onto the stage.
“I’ve thought about things too, Rhys,” she says, her voice soft. “More than I should. For longer than I should have.”
“Jesus.” I narrowly avoid slicing my finger open instead of the tomato.
“The first time I saw you, I was attracted to you. But you were his best friend. I know that makes you untouchable. I know that makes the things I want wrong.” She glances away. “It doesn’t make me want them any less.”
“There is nothing wrong with you,” I rasp, heat in my voice. “Don’t ever think otherwise.”
“If you say so,” she says doubtfully.
My stomach churns, my guts twisting at the realization that she thinks she’s bad for wanting me. It’s one thing for me to feel that way, but for her to feel it? Unacceptable. There is nothing bad or wrong or less than perfect about her. Not a damn thing.
“What are your rules?” she asks before I can tell her that.
I hesitate, unsure if I should drag us back to the other conversation. And then I reluctantly decide to let it go for now. Nothing good will come of talking about the way we both feel. It won’t change anything. She’s still Brant’s kid. I’m still unworthy of her. That won’t change. It can’t, not when she doesn’t know the truth.
“Rule number one, you’re here for summer vacation,” I say. “That means you spend your summer enjoying yourself as much as possible. You aren’t my maid. You aren’t responsible for me. You don’t have to earn your keep to stay here. You stay for as long as you want, and you spend the time doing what you want.”
“What if I want to cook or clean?”
“One day a week.”
“Three.”
“Two, final offer.”
“Agreed.”
“Rule number two, you don’t go out on the rocks or on the water alone. The island is beautiful, but it’s dangerous. Don’t underestimate it,” I order. “Too many people get cocky and get in over their heads. If you get yourself hurt, I’m going to be pissed.”
“I think I can agree to that,” she says.
“Rule number three, no investigating your dad’s death.”
“No way.”
“Raven, you don’t even know what you’re looking at or what you’re looking for,” I say. “You don’t know the first thing about criminal investigations. The best you can hope for is that you don’t fuck up Seattle’s case or end up in a jail cell or a victim yourself.”
“I have a right to ask questions.” She shoots me a mulish, mutinous look.
“And what happens if you ask the right questions to the wrong people?” I press. “What happens if you end up with the wrong attention on you? What do you do then?”
