Page 65 of In It to Win It

I purse my lips. “Um, impulsive sex with a stranger the night of the wedding rehearsal?”

His eyes widen, then darken. “Right.” Our eyes meet and hold. Heat shimmers between us and my insides roll over. We’re both remembering that night. Images flash through my mind like a porn movie—JP’s beautiful, hard body, his hands on me, his mouth on me, his eyes hot and appreciative as he gazes down at me . . . I shift on the sand. I want to have that again.

I almost whimper.

He looks away. “Well, I sure as hell didn’t tell Grandpa about that mistake.”

Mistake.My heart squeezes. But I know it was a mistake.

“Grandpa was pissed that I was with Théo’s ex.”

I don’t really want to hear about JP and Théo’s ex. Emma. I resist the urge to imitate gagging and say, “I think I like your grandpa.”

“He’d probably like you too.”

Our eyes meet and hold for another heated moment, then I drop my gaze to Byron and stroke him again.

“Anyway, living here actually makes it easier to be part of the Wynn family. There’s a lot less attention.”

“Hmm.”

He picks up a handful of sand and lets it sift through his fingers. “Why do you sound so . . . skeptical?”

“I think you like the attention.”

He laughs. “Why do you say that?”

“You have an image to uphold. That bad boy who doesn’t give a shit about anything.”

He’s silent for a moment. I’ve probably pissed him off. Finally he says lightly, “Yep, that’s me.”

“I don’t believe you stole your brother’s ex.”

“Huh?”

“You let people think you did that. But I don’t think you did.” I meet his eyes challengingly.

“Okay, fine. She told me they’d broken up.”

I nod. He gives off the air of not giving a shit, but he wants his grandpa to be proud of him. He wants to live up to his grandpa’s accomplishments. He loves his brother and hates that he hurt him. And . . . he really likes Byron.

“I still shouldn’t have been with her,” he adds. “Even if theyhadbroken up, which turned out to be not true.”

“Did you . . . really care about her?” A sharp pain pierces behind my breastbone.

He doesn’t answer for so long, I say, “Sorry! You don’t have to answer that question. None of my business.”

“I thought I did at the time.” He shakes his head and sifts more sand. “But basically I was just being an asshole.” He pauses. “You and Martinez . . . at the wedding . . . you weren’t seeing each other anymore.”

“No.” I frown. “I told you, we used to go out. He left town and I didn’t hear from him for months.”

“You didn’t actually tell me that.”

“What?” I frown.

“You said he came to see you and apologized. I thought that meant you worked things out and you were seeing him again.”

“No.” I shake my head slowly. “He dumped me with barely a goodbye. Then he started a stupid fight. Why would I go back with him?”

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