Page 74 of Shifting Sands

I lead her to the gourmet chef’s kitchen, which has a large island that seats eight, and then to the connected dining room with a table that seats eighteen.

“That staircase to the right leads up to the second floor, where there are four guest bedrooms and four bathrooms,” I explain, and her eyes go wide.

“Do you have that many guests?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Nope. The only people who ever come here are my friends who live on the island.”

“What about your parents?” she inquires.

“They own the house next door, but they’re rarely here. Mom prefers their house in Charlotte because her country club is there, and she has a lot of friends. My grandfather owns the home on the other side, and he comes by a bit more often, but he travels all over the world during the offseason. My sister, Alexandria, and her family stay here from time to time, but only if Mom is getting on her nerves. Otherwise, they have an entire floor next door.”

“Okay,” she murmurs. “Now I see why you were nervous to show me this. It’s … a lot.”

“Too much?” I ask, stuffing my hands into my pockets.

She turns back toward me, that knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “I mean, the spectacular views are kind of sexy. But don’tthink this gets you out of washing dishes or taking out trash like a normal person.”

My smile spreads across my face. “Nope. I clean toilets and wash clothes too.”

“You do not,” she scoffs.

“During the season when I’m on the road, I have someone who comes to take care of the house because I don’t have much time to spare when I’m here, especially if I want to spend time at Whiskey Joe’s. However, when I’m home for the three months between seasons, I do everything myself. When we get upstairs, you’ll see the massive pile of laundry.”

I lead her through the main room, where the sliding doors open up to the pool deck, the moonlight shimmering across the water. Brandee walks straight to the glass, her silhouette glowing against the ocean backdrop.

She turns toward me, voice soft. “You’ve been hiding a whole damn life.”

“I wasn’t trying to lie,” I say. “I just … I kinda liked being Brew, the guy who fixes cars and slings beers. I didn’t want to lead with the flashy stuff. I wanted you to know me.”

She’s quiet for a beat. Then she walks over and slides her arms around my waist, resting her head on my chest. “I liked you broke. I like you filthy rich.”

I laugh, pulling her in tighter. “Fair enough.”

Then she tilts her head back and grins. “Now … show me your bedroom. I’m dying to see if it lives up to the rest of this place.”

“Oh, it does,” I say as I lead her back to the elevator and up to the third floor. “The attached bathroom even has heated floors.”

She steps off into the large suite.

California king. White linens. Oversize windows that look out over the beach. A fireplace flickering in the corner.

Brandee stands at the edge of it, hands on her hips. “This bed is massive.”

“Good,” I say, stepping up behind her and pressing a kiss to her neck. “More room to wear you out.”

She turns in my arms, eyes dancing. “Oh, really?”

I shrug, smug. “Yeah, no offense to Ida Mae, but that guest bedroom of hers could use a king-size bed.”

She laughs, slipping her hands under my shirt, fingertips brushing my skin. “I doubt she has any guests who need a lot of square footage.”

We don’t make it under the covers right away.

Clothes disappear slowly—her boots first, then her flannel. She lets it slide off her shoulders and drop to the floor as she walks backward toward the bed. She watches me watching her as her jeans come off next. And I give chase.

I let my fingers trail up her thighs and whisper across the slip of silk that covers her. “You know I’m crazy about you, right?”

Her breath catches. “Oh, yeah? Why don’t you show me?”

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