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“Not a soul.”
She cocks her head as if she’s listening for sounds from inside. “The house seems awfully quiet this morning. I wonder where everyone went… Do you want coffee?”
As she rises to her feet, I follow suit, scowling when she won’t meet my gaze. Is she embarrassed that she spent all night pressed against me? Does she suspect on some level how personal last night was?
“Sure. That would be great.”
Without even thinking, I drop my hand to the small of her back and guide her inside. She bustles away from me, almost running for the kitchen.
Yes, she knows exactly how personal last night was. She’s feeling cautious again. Her walls are up.
As she turns on the coffeemaker and retrieves a pair of mugs from the cabinet, she looks decidedly nervous. I lean against the island and regard her with a considering stare. “Beth, in case you’re wondering, we spent last night together platonically. I’m not going to jump on you this morning.”
“I never said you were.”
“But you act as if you’re worried I might.”
She retrieves the cream and sugar. “It’s just…I don’t make a habit of spending the night with anyone. Maybe waking up next to someone you’ve only known a few days is normal for you. For me, it’s not.”
I wonder how much sex she’s actually had beyond Dalton the First, who apparently sucked in bed. Is it possible her experiences have been few and far between?
As sexy as she is, that possibility blows my mind.
“It’s not normal for me, either,” I admit. “But this isn’t a big deal. We’re friends.”
“We are.”
The quick snap of her agreement makes me think she’s also thought about us being more. My cock perks up again at the thought.
Ignoring it, I lean closer and murmur softly, “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, I promise.”
She shoots a skittish glance my way. I see the wary question in her eyes.
But what if I do?
“Thanks.” She turns her focus to the brewing java instead. “I’m sorry. I’m handling this badly. I’m not a morning person, especially before coffee.”
“And you’re not looking for someone right now. Neither am I.”
But the suggestion is between us now. I know we both feel it.
Her face softens. “Clint, it’s not you.”
“No worries. After coffee, I’ll leave you to enjoy your day off.”
I’ll use the time to regroup and figure out how to approach her from a different angle, one that skirts the sexual tension brewing between us. I don’t have a choice.
“No rush.” She hands me a cup of steaming joe, then sets about making her own.
After a few sips in the awkward silence, she sets her mug down and scans the bottom floor of the house. “Hello? Anyone home?”
No answer.
“Maybe Maxon is at the office and Keeley went somewhere?” I suggest.
“It’s New Year’s Day. He and Griff both planned to take the day off. Keeley isn’t going much of anywhere these days since she keeps having labor pains.”
I shrug. “Did they text you? Leave you a note?”
“Good question.” She goes in search of her purse and retrieves her phone. “Oh, they’re at the birthing center! Keeley’s water broke at six this morning. They want me to come when I wake up so I can be there when their daughter is born and I become an aunt again. That’s so sweet.” Tears fill her eyes.
There’s no faking how genuinely touched she is that they included her.
“Finish your coffee, and I’ll take you where you need to go.”
“It’s your day off…” And she clearly hates to impose.
“It’s okay. This is more important than random sightseeing.”
“Let me grab a quick shower and… There’s an outdoor facility if you want one, too. I can get you a towel. Maxon has some clothes you can borrow.”
A shower would clear my foggy head, and I need to be at the top of my game around Bethany. “I’ll take the towel. I stashed some clean clothes in the gym bag I keep in the trunk.”
A few minutes later, she’s putting herself together in the cottage out back, which they call an ohana in Hawaii. That’s where she’s staying. I wish I could get into the place to search her personal belongings, maybe find proof of her guilt…or innocence. But there’s no time now, so I enjoy the hell out of the hot spray and the morning breeze on my skin.
When I finish putting myself together, I wait for Bethany in the kitchen. A few of the inn’s guests mill in for pastries someone left on a plate on a nearby buffet table.
When I hear the back door open, I turn to see Bethany enter. She’s wearing a lacy white tank and faded jeans that hug her sleek thighs—and make me want to be sure she knows I’m a man. She’s arranged her hair into a loose braid that tumbles over one shoulder. Platinum wisps surround her face. She’s tossed on some mascara and lip gloss, and she looks amazing.
