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“Alright, maybe, but in a minute, I’m going to want more than making out, and that’s a hard limit.”
I freeze. “I see your point.” And I do. Because what am I thinking, kissing my assistant? This was supposed to be totally platonic, and she’s on top of me, and my body still isn’t quite up to par, but in a few minutes, if she keeps straddling me, she’ll feel more than I want her to.
But she’s not afraid to tell me that she wants to tear my clothes off. She’s not afraid to tell me that she cares about me. Darby is all softness—her soul, her beauty, her heart. And yet, she’s a fighter. She’s strong. She doesn’t give a shit about all those things that were drilled into me for a good part of my life. No, not just drilled but beaten in, burned in.
“I can make us breakfast,” she says. “Not fish, though. Oh my god, I’m never feeding you fish again.”
“I’m starving.” I’m amazed at the low rumble in my stomach, which sounds itself as if on cue. I usually don’t eat for an entire day after a brutal spell like that, even if it only lasts for a few hours or half a night. I’m never hungry after. My stomach is usually a mess for a good long while after the fact, like it remembers the phantom pain from my head and wants to rebel against it. “I’m sorry I ruined dinner. It was good. Really, I think it might have been the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I’m just telling you the truth.”
“No, don’t say sorry. You didn’t ruin anything. You don’t have to apologize.” She stands up and offers me her hand without bothering to adjust her clothes or smoothen her hair. She reaches formefirst. “You might hate it, but you’re going to need a hand.”
I put my good hand under me, then realize too late how stupid that is because Darby will realize my other hand is all wrong, so I change it up. I give her my right hand, and she pulls me up with an astounding amount of strength for someone so small.
I wait a minute while standing up, but it seems like the tremors have subsided, and my muscles are no longer hot lumpy jelly. “I’m okay.”
She doesn’t ask me if I’m sure. She believes me because I’m telling her the truth, and aside from Kitty, that’s more than I’ve given anyone in a good long time. Instead of wrapping her arm around my waist to support me, she gives me her hand, and I take it, threading my fingers through hers. Then, we walk to the cabin together.
9
DARBY
Leon takes a shower, and I have to trust that he’s okay, though that term might be utterly relative. I can still feel the tremors in my body from the way Leon shook under me on the sand and the feel of his tears so, so hot against my fingertips. I can feel more than the ghosts of his sorrow wrapping around me as I buzz around the kitchen, making coffee and pulling out the ingredients to make breakfast.
It works to distract me from the scars that Leon bears, the ones that go past the physical, but keeping busy doesn’t stop my body from feeling like it’s on fire. I remember exactly the way Leon smelled when my nose was buried in his neck, the feel of his huge back, the muscles tense and rippling under my hand as I soothed him, the rock-hard legs beneath me when I dared to sit on his lap so I could wrap him up in my arms, and the power beneath me as I straddled him on the beach. Yes. Straddled him.Holy grilled cheese sandwiches.Oh, and not to mention, my lips are still tingling from when he kissed me back.
“Hey. Morning.”
I whirl around, nearly flinging the coffee pot across the kitchen as I startle. Kitty puts up both hands. Her dark hair is mussed to one side, her perfect bob looking not so perfect. She also has sheet creases along the whole right side of her face, but she’s adorable. She and Leon really don’t look that similar, but right now, seeing her makeup-free and sleepy, the resemblance is definitely there.
My sister-in-law.
“Leon’s feeling better this morning.” I put her at ease immediately. I’m glad she was spared my early morning panic session of waking to an empty bed with the sheets cold and Leon gone. I can’t remember the last time I felt afraid of anything the way I felt at that moment.
“Oh, thank goodness.” Kitty puts her hands over her heart. “Thank freaking goodness.”
“He’s just taking a shower. He should be out any min…”
“Kitty. The co-conspirator.” Leon steps up behind Kitty and wraps his arms around her waist, hugging her to him. She squirms away, swatting at him. “I wasn’t conspiring. I drove all the way here because I thought you might be on death’s door again, and since you won’t ever freaking tell anyone what’s going on with you, I couldn’t leave Darby alone to face that.”
“And so you then had to tell her our whole sordid family history.”
“Leon!” I gasp. His tone is frigid, but Kitty just rolls her eyes at him. I guess she’s used to whatever this is. I thought we were good when he went into the shower, but I’m not sure what’s going on now.
“I couldn’t bloody tell her that you knocked yourself out a few times playing rugby.”
“Why not? It worked with everyone else.”
Kitty crosses her arms. Her clothes are rumpled, and she looks like she’d desperately enjoy a shower and a cup of coffee, but she’s also not shrinking away from doing this with her brother first. “Because she’s your wife.”
“My wife fancies that she cares about me now. Are you going to take responsibility for putting a monumental wrench into our plans of a fake marriage as well?”
My mouth drops open, and something that feels an awful lot like betrayal accosts my heart. Where is the tender, sweet man from the beach who looked at me for all the world like he needed my reassurance and to hear me say the things I did to make them true for him? Was he freaking playing me?
“You shouldn’t say rude things like that in a kitchen,” Kitty advises. She’s so patient. Not at all rattled. I don’t know how she can stand here and be that way. Then again, Leon didn’t just mock her when she poured her heart out. “Haven’t you heard of frying-pan-related deaths and injuries?”
