Page 107 of These Summer Storms

She pulled him down for another kiss, and he groaned into it, claiming her again, long and slow and lovely. When they broke apart, he pressed his forehead to hers and said, in that delicious rumble, “Alice. It’sdefinitelynot the right time for it.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “But what if it was?”

That won her a low laugh, and for a wild moment, she wondered what it might be like to make him laugh regularly. “Sweetheart, if I thought you wouldn’t regret it, I’d take you upstairs to your tower room and make it the right time.”

Now, why did her heart race at thatsweetheart? Why did she want him to say it again?

This was dangerous.

He was dangerous.

The little whisper, deep in her gut, telling her she should run, because this man, whoever he was, however he’d come into her life, was sure to send it spinning out of control—far beyond the careful boundaries she’d built for herself.

And she might like it.

And that, alone, was enough for her to stop.

“You’re right,” she whispered.

She recognized the emotion in his eyes—a twin to her own.Disappointment.

Unable to stop herself, she reached up and ran her thumb over his lower lip, smeared with her barely tinted lip balm. “You have—”

He grabbed her hand and turned it, pressing a kiss to the soft skin at the inside of her wrist. “Thank you.”

The movement flustered Alice with its easy familiarity, as though he’d done it a thousand times before. As though she were his to touch. To kiss. But before she could find her footing, he dropped her hand and stepped back, waving a hand in the direction of the door leading into the house. Alice sucked in a breath, feeling as if she were on a precipice—like the moment she left this room and its peace and Jack’s protection, everything was going to turn to chaos.

It was a silly thought; everything was chaos already.

They’d barely left the house before proof appeared. Elisabeth had paused on the rise of the great lawn, looking down on the crowd as Greta and Tony approached her from below.

Whatever was about to happen was not going to go well. The least Alice could do was make sure it didn’t happen in full view of the wholeworld. She headed for her mother, quickly, eager to intercept before Elisabeth decided to—

“Where’ve you been?” Elisabeth’s question carried on the wind across the lawn.

Greta sped up in response to the subtext of the question.I needed you. And you weren’t there.Her gaze tracked from Elisabeth to Alice, closer now. “Why? What happened?”

The question set Alice on edge, the crisp meaning impossible to miss.What did you do to her?Alice lifted her chin, her shoulders pushing back. Armor on. “Nothing.”

Greta didn’t believe her. That much was clear. “Mom? Is everything okay?”

Elisabeth ignored the questions, her gaze sliding like an accusation to Tony, then back to Greta. “I see you haven’t done it yet.”

Everything stilled. Greta, Tony, and Alice faltered in their approach, shocked by the words. The sound of the crowd dropped away, Elisabeth’s cool words echoing around them. The wind, ever constant on the island, seemed to die down, like even the weather couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

Greta scanned the area around them and dipped her head. “Mom,” she whispered. “Please stop.”

“You’ve had days to do it, Greta. And instead you’re sneaking off to do God knows what with him duringyour father’sfuneral.”

Greta went ashen at the words, her mouth falling open in shock. As for Tony, he was turning red, and Alice wondered if it was out of embarrassment or anger.

Alice stepped in, keeping her voice low as she drew close. “Mom, don’t do this.”

“I’m notdoinganything,” Elisabeth said calmly, “except what I have always had to do. Clean up your messes.” She looked to Tony. “You’re not a fool, Anthony.”

“Mom. Are you kidding? Here?” This was the antithesis of ElisabethStorm’s life lessons—never complain, and never in front of people. Absolutely not in full view of two hundred people whose opinions mattered—not only to the world, but to Elisabeth herself. “Now?”

She didn’t reply to Alice, instead holding steady, facing down Tony, who did not cower or shrink, meeting her gaze with his own stern look, his shoulders square, his chest barreled and his arms like tree trunks. “No, ma’am. I am not.”

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