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Carson’s smirk fades. “I do believe I’ve hurt his feelings, brother.”
“Seems that way,” Nolan confirms, eyes narrowed into slits. “I don’t like being threatened. Do you?”
“I do not,” Carson says.
“Here’s your board back.” I shove it at Nolan and march past him.
Neither of them says anything. I head back to the towels. Fiona’s watching me, hand shading her eyes. Orin looks like he nodded off, while Molly’s busy reading a beat-up paperback.
“Come with me,” I say, standing in front of Fiona.
She’s on her knees, blinking at me.
God damn, that girl. That fucking girl.
“What happened?”
I hold out my hand. “Now.”
She hesitates. Chews her lip. But Molly only waves her off, not interested in anything but her book.
Fiona reaches out. I pull her up, my arm around her waist.
“What did they do?” she asks quietly. “Gareth. What did the brothers do?”
I steer her back toward the house. “I need you to get changed.”
Chapter21
Fiona
Changed?Changed? “I’m sorry, didn’t we already establish that you don’t get to pick and choose what I wear?”
He drags me through the sand back to the path that winds up the bluff toward the house. My flip-flops slap at my feet. Water drips from his hair, drying on his perfectly muscular chest. Around us, tall dune grass bends in the breeze. He has a very attractive, very nice-looking chest, I’ll admit that, but god, I’m pissed at him.
Don’t get distracted. Focus.
“They were staring at you,” he says through his teeth. “That fucker Carson and his little twat brother, Nolan.”
“Yeah, so what? Aren’t you proud to have a hot wife?”
“I am proud to have—wait, god damn it, don’t twist this.”
“You should be happy I look good.” I pull away from him once we’re out of sight of the others. Angry as I am, I’m aware that I have a role to play. “And I don’t need some macho controlling bullshit, Gareth. Seriously, this is stressful enough as it is.”
He hesitates for a moment. My heart’s racing as I face him. We’re standing on a sandy, rock-strewn path, halfway to the house, in sight of nothing and nobody, only the gulls in the sky and the fluffy white clouds drifting across the sun.
“You wore that outfit to distract me,” he says, eyes roaming down my body. Lingering on my tits. “Well, it fucking backfired. Carson made a joke about wanting to sleep with you. He made it sound like I had to offer you up to win the job.”
I step back as disgust rolls through me. “That asshole,” I whisper, crossing my arms over my chest. “What did you say?”
“I told him that I know how to hurt him.” Gareth puts a hand on my arm. I shake him off, guts twisting.
Ilikedressing to show myself off. I have a good body—and I work hard for it. I’m not ashamed to be young, fit, and attractive, and I refuse to tailor my outfits to someone else’s idea of what’s proper.
Except there’s something sickening about being objectified like that. I knew it might happen—criminals aren’t exactly known for their progressive ideas about gender equality—but hearing it from Gareth just now really hammered home how these men see me.
Like I’m nothing but a pair of tits. Something to be passed around.
