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It was so easy for a man to want a woman, but wanting didn’t mean a relationship and love. How many women had Dane drifted through? He dated for a few weeks, sometimes even a couple of months, then moved on. He wasn’t callous; he didn’t want to hurt anyone. She was sure he was upfront that he didn’t want a serious relationship. She was pretty sure he’d never been in love, not even before she’d met him.
She’d thought she was in love twice, yet in the end, both men hadn’t felt the same. She couldn’t make another bad decision, especially not with Dane. He was her livelihood. Even more, he was her best friend. Now that her uncle was gone, he was the closest person in the world to her.
Climbing into his bed would ruin everything because she wouldn’t accept anything less than love the next time around. And if she put her heart on the line, he could crush her with only a few agonizing words.
She could never tell him how she felt. She could never ask for what she wanted. She couldn’t even ask him what he was offering. Because if she asked for specifics, he would tell her he wanted a hot and heavy sexual relationship.
And that would absolutely kill her.
* * *
Dane followed her to her room, only to hear the lock click on her bedroom door. As if she were afraid of him.
All he wanted to do was make her feel good. He wanted to hold her in his arms, wake up beside her in the morning, open his eyes and see her face next to his.
But she’d run from him. Just the way he’d feared.
Maybe he’d jumped into the conversation too quickly. Tomorrow might have made more sense, when they’d both calmed down, and she’d had a chance to think about what she really wanted.
He could only hope it was him.
He dumped the robe in his room and pulled on sweats, then wandered along to the kitchen. He should tell Fernsby they hadn’t eaten all the food. Fernsby could pack it up. Or eat it himself.
He stared at the door to Fernsby’s suite just off the kitchen, exactly where the man had designated it should be. With a sitting room, bedroom, and bathroom, the suite also acted as an office, where Fernsby could sit at his desk to take care of the household accounts. Dane trusted him implicitly.
Fernsby had been with him for close to fifteen years, since the first resort. They knew each other’s character, each other’s foibles. But they never really talked on a personal level. He knew little about the man’s past. And he would never ask Fernsby for details. A man had to offer his past, and once given, it couldn’t be taken for granted.
If Dane had ever gone to Fernsby about any of the women he’d dated, Fernsby would have looked down his nose and sternly said, I’m your butler, sir, not your therapist.
But these were desperate times. As much as his brothers and sisters were his best friends, as much as they were a team—not just in soccer but in life—he couldn’t talk to any of them about this. If he’d been at a Maverick barbecue, he might have turned to Susan Spencer, but he couldn’t wait even a week for the next one.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he knocked on Fernsby’s door.
The man opened it still wearing his bespoke suit, even at this late hour. His face remained expressionless, though the number of times Dane had knocked on his door could be counted on one hand.
Dane finally spoke. “I need help.”
Fernsby stepped back and waved his hand expansively, entreating Dane to enter. “Tell me what I can do, sir. And I will do it.”
Yet Dane could almost feel Fernsby rolling his eyes. Except that rolling his eyes was beneath him.
So he said it. Because Fernsby was the only one who knew Cammie almost as well as Dane did. “I need advice.” He breathed in. Then practically spat out the words as he exhaled. “Cammie and I shared a kiss on the island.”
Was that a twinkle in Fernsby’s eyes? He had to be mistaken. Fernsby absolutely did not twinkle.
Dane admitted the whole truth. “Then we kissed in the hot tub.” Damn, this was humiliating. But Cammie was worth any humiliation. “Actually, it was far more than a kiss. It was romantic—the stars overhead, the bubbling water, the champagne, the feast you prepared.”
Shockingly, he swore that Fernsby’s eyes did twinkle.
Suddenly, he got it. “Damn it, you were setting us up.” He pointed at Fernsby. “In fact, you’ve been trying to set us up for twelve years, haven’t you?” He threw his hands in the air, circled the room, and came back to Fernsby once more. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”
