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“Why didn’t you?”
He shakes his head, his chest lifting beneath me. “There was… someone… I was engaged when I was diagnosed. She didn’t stick around.”
“Then she’s a dick.” It’s out before I can stop it. Anger for him—hurtfor him instant. It narrows my eyes and screws up my face. “What kind of person—”
“She doesn’t matter.” He smooths his hand up my arm, then back down to my elbow. “You matter.”
I sigh. Look away, at the broken clocks on his bicep. “Would you still be with her if she hadn’t walked away?”
He shakes his head, a smile tickling the corners of his mouth. “Cara wanted to be a Marine wife, with Marine kids and all the things that come with Marine life. She’s in the past. I have no regrets.”
“Cara? Thenobodyon the phone that day.”
His gaze travels my face, and he twirls the end of a lock of my hair. “She was calling because she wants me to buy her out of the house we had together.”
I stare at the too-random-to-be-random times on the detailed faces and the dates curving the bottom edges of each clock of his tattoo. “Did she get one of these clocks?”
This time his laugh holds zero humor. “No.” I’m flipped on my back, his hugeness pressing me into the mattress, his legs pushing between mine. “But, jealous looks good on you.”
I slap his shoulder. “Tell me what the clocks mean.”
“The past.” He pushes his pelvis into mine. “You have my now.” His head dips and he grazes my chin with his teeth, then pins me with a look that has my thoughts scattering. “And as much of my future as you want.”
“Don’t distract me.” My breath leaves me in a huff, the length of him, thick and heavy sliding over my tender sex. “When I say I want all of you, I mean all of you. Presentand past.”
“My past is nothing you need in your head.” The fat tip of him pushes in, a tiny teasing stretch before he pulls back.
My eyes almost roll, but I keep them on him. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
TWENTY-SIX
Kenzi
“Let’s talk girth.” Rae grins up at me, eyes wide and innocent despite her demand.
“Seriously, woman, let the man have some secrets.” I shake my head but can’t help my own grin from spreading over my face. “But… proportion… everything is in perfect proportion.” I side-eye her and keep walking when she slows, laughing when she groans at the unfairness of the world.
We’ve been on a very, very successful trip to the refurbished electrical warehouse Pete told me about. I’ve kitted out the kitchen for less than half the money I’d originally budgeted. And they agreed to deliver for free!
Great sex and superb savings. I’m almost afraid to give in and let myself ride this high.
We pick our way across the dead leaves strewn over the stone path that leads from the beach side walkway to the restaurant. It’s flanked by trees. The plan was to cut them down, but the more I walk through the towering Big Leaves the more I want to keep them as they are, wrap them in twinkling lights, or drape lanterns from branch to branch. Keep the heady sweet scent of the Mexican winding vines a part of the experience. A magical little walkway to what I know will be my magical little restaurant.
“Gentle, or rough? Did he pull your hair? Man, what I wouldn’t give for some good hard…” She trips over a tree root, her auburn hair loose and flying over her face, her short green sundress and old biker boots making her look like she’s just hopped up from behind her mushroom house. “Ouch.”
“You need to get laid, woman.” I slow my steps as the beach comes into view. You’d think that the turquoise water against pristine white sand would lose some of its impact when you live in a place like this, but it never does. Not for me.
Her shoulders lift, and she blows her bangs out of her eyes with a puff. “I do. But the kind of man I want doesn’t exist outside my kindle. Believe me, I’ve looked.”
I stop where the path meets the mosaicked entrance. The break in the trees is as wide as the building. Chewing on my lip, I glance from the beach to the massive wooden doors I still have to sand and varnish and back again. The idea to keep the trees solidifies. It would keep the restaurant private, like a secret garden oasis.
The view that awaits us when I start toward the restaurant may even be better than the beach. Mylo. Shirtless, sweaty, andbuilding my stairs?This wasn’t the plan. I had no idea.
The sun glistens off his massive shoulders, down his back, his muscles bunching, twisting,rollingbeneath his skin as he lifts a length of wood. He’s already taken off the old handrail leading up to the roof and is building what looks like a structure to widen them.
I stop and stare, my mouth falling open.
