Page 35 of Sapphire Storm

Like a rock Roman could hold on to inside the storm that washis life.

Which was why, with each passing second of the drive, thememory of Ethan standing in his kitchen, boner inside his jeans, cheeks flushedas he lectured Roman about appropriateness and confusion was starting to feelmore intoxicating than insulting.

The idea of landing a crack in the man’s perfect composurethrilled him now, and for an entirely different reason than the one that hadbrought him to the penthouse suite.

And maybe a night of rolling around on Ethan’s floortogether—naked, this time—was exactly what they both deserved. In a way, they’dboth been hurt by his dad’s secrecy, and so now, years later, they had theright to comfort each other any way they chose.

Or maybe he wanted Ethan’s comfort because nobody hadcomforted him like Ethan before. Since his mom’s death, he’d found himselfjerking awake once, sometimes twice in the middle of the night. But not thenight before. Not in Ethan’s arms. His sleep had been deep and dreamless.

Safe. And it wasn’t just Ethan’s embrace that hadquieted his soul. It had been his cooking and his conversation and his absenceof judgment. It had been the way he’d appeared out of the dark canyon, bringinglight and comfort and warmth to shadows Roman’s mind had filled with angryserpents. He’d brought something else with him to, something that felt like—

Not love. Don’t use words like love. Not with him.

Roman had never bothered to sit down and write a list ofwhat the man of his dreams would be like. But if he tried now, he was prettysure it would end up sounding a lot like Ethan Blake.

In hopes of avoiding Diana, he was already planning a quickflight down the Castle’s exterior staircase as he punched in the motor court’sgate code. But when the wooden gates retreated into the stone walls on eitherside with a low whine, there was no sign of his boss’s rose-gold Maybach on theother side. The Escalade she was always chauffeured in was still there. DianaPeyton, it seemed, had struck out into the world on her own, and thank God.

The kitchen was on the southwest corner of the house’s topfloor, with a breakfast nook sporting dazzling ocean views and a picture windowabove the sink offering tree-studded glimpses of the steep public staircase tothe beach next door.

Hank was loading the fridge full of sparkling water, someexpensive European brand Diana ordered by the caseload and which Roman hadapproved of because it sported no hidden sugars. The man’s unofficial uniformwas a pair of black jeans and a white dress shirt—long sleeve or short sleevedepending on the weather. Today it was short. He was spritely for sixty-five.Years of stunt work had managed to keep him in fit condition while sparing himthe kind of serious injuries that had taken a lot of his buddies out of thebusiness. If anything revealed his age, it was his insistence on a helmethairstyle and bushy mustache that made him look like he should be gueststarring on aCHiPsrerun, a show he’d died on twice as a young man.

“Mr. Walker,” he said without turning away from his work.“Someone had a sleepover.”

“Where is she?”

Startled by his abruptness, Hank shot him a look. “LA. BackTuesday night.”

Roman tried not to sigh with relief.

“Late night, party animal?”

“Sorry. Just distracted by stuff.”

Hank shelved more bottles, but he kept shooting curiouslooks his way. Maybe because Roman’s answer to his question hadn’t been ananswer.

Could he trust Hank? He’d been at Diana’s side for decades.They’d met on a set when Diana was in her prime and Hank was doing the stuntwork for a drug dealer character who got blasted out of a third story window beforelanding in a dumpster below. Today he was the chief of her large personalstaff. The minute their boss rolled into her primary home in Pacific Palisadesshe’d be swept into the arms of her LA-based bodyguards and housekeepers, butthey all answered to Hank. Did that mean he was in on the wedding plot?

The Castle by the Sea, once an idyllic refuge, had become aminefield in less than a day’s time.

“Why didn’t you go with her?” Roman asked.

“Meeting her later. She wants me to drive out to the storageunit in Victorville and bring back some of your stuff. She says your room lookslike a mediocre hotel—and I’m quoting now—that I wouldn’t make a fired agent stayin. After that, I’m supposed to head up to LA. She’s got meetings with thewedding planner tomorrow to look at designs for this enchanted forest thingthey’re going to do for the wedding.”

He pretended to gaze out at the sea so Hank couldn’t see hislittle burst of anxiety. “Scott’s not coming back, is he?”

“Nobody said anything to me. Oh, and she wants to train atten thirty Wednesday morning. Out on the beach, like usual.”

Roman nodded, Diana’s strategy becoming clear. She wasgiving him time to digest her offer, while subtly pressuring him to makehimself more at home in her home. Her second home. Of several. But comeWednesday morning, she’d expect his decision. Which was good news. BecauseRachel flew back tomorrow night.

Boom, boom, done. Good-bye, bougie Laguna life. Hello…Hehad no idea what.

At the risk of being rude to Hank, Roman whipped out hisphone and texted his best friend for the first time since discovering herfiancé was cheating trash.

What’s up, superstar? Need you for a mtg atSapphire Cove Tuesday afternoon. You free?

No response.

“Hey, so, um, what do you want me to pull out of storage?”Hank asked, turning from the fridge.

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