Page 132 of These Summer Storms

“Ah, you see?Mostly.” She flipped his hand over and ran her thumb over his knuckles, raw again. For her, again. “There’s this, too, though, isn’t there?”

His hand fisted and flexed under her touch, and she committed the movement to memory as he raised it to run it through his hair, embarrassed. “Yeah, a little.”

“You can take the boy off the docks, but you can’t take the docks out of the man,” she replied. “I shouldn’t like it, but I do.”

His gaze cut to hers, something flashing there. “Yeah?”

Alice nodded. “Did you threaten Griffin before he left?”

“Hell yes, I threatened Griffin.” She couldn’t help her laugh at that, like he was offended by the suggestion he might have sent weaselly Griffin on his way without striking fear in his heart. “He won’t bother you again.”

“Or he’ll answer to you?” she joked.

“Damn right he will.”

She laughed. “So, tell me, Jack Dean, fixer extraordinaire. Whatisthe worst thing you’ve done?”

Jack’s gaze flickered to the dark windows at the far side of the room, the night beyond so black that the glass had turned to mirrors, reflecting them there, on the couch, wrapped in each other like they’d sat just that way, together, a thousand times. “I don’t think I’ve done it yet.”

The grandfather clock in the foyer punctuated the statement, pulling them both away from wherever the conversation might have gone. Jack looked at his watch.

“What time is it?” Alice had lost track in the vault, and not thought about it once she’d gotten out. (There was plenty of time to get back to being pissed at Sam later.)

“Midnight.”

Late enough that the whole family was asleep, likely. She looked to the door and said what she knew she should say. “I should go to bed.”

“You’re not leaving?” Jack asked.

The question surprised them both. Alice, because at some point she’d forgotten that she wanted to leave, and Jack because—well, she wasn’t sure, but he looked like he wished he hadn’t mentioned it.

“Are you…suggesting I leave?”

“No,” he said, quickly. “But if you want to…I won’t keep you here.”

“Isn’t it your job to keep me here?” she said, coming to her feet at the reminder that however real this night felt, the game was still afoot. Sam had locked her in a vault to keep her playing. “I should go.”

“Alice,” he said, coming to his feet, close enough that she was already regretting leaving their cozy embrace. He captured her face in his hand, stroking a thumb over her cheek. “Listen to me. If the only thing that’s keeping you here is the inheritance—you should go. Let them figure it out.”

“My father wouldn’t like that.”

“Well, maybe my loyalty to your father only goes so far.”

Her brows rose. “How far, exactly?”

Jack was quiet for a moment, his eyes on hers, making promises as tempting as the heat of him wrapping around her, filling her with desire and memories. “How about this; sleep on it. And if, in the morning, you want to leave, I’ll help you.”

It was a generous proposition—one that would make him the villain of the play as much as it made her the villainess. But for a wild moment, she imagined it might not be so bad to be the bad guy…if you had a partner in crime. “Do you have any ideas about where I should sleep on it?”

That sexy smile again, slow and perfect, like he’d won the only game he cared about. “As you know, I’m always prepared.”

She exhaled a little laugh, and took his hand, letting him lead her from the office through the main foyer, out of the house. In silence, they crossed the great lawn, now empty of mourner-revelers and family and chaos and drama, to the boathouse, dark and perfect, three tinyskiffs the only thing left of the day’s events. Three skiffs that could be her exit strategy in the morning, once she was done with this man.

This man, who pulled her into his arms and carried her up to the lofted guest quarters above the boathouse before laying her down on the bed, drunk on the sound of the sea and the wind.

“Wait,” she said, loving the way he stopped the moment she said it, like he’d do whatever she needed. Give her whatever she needed. The truth spread through her, bright and undeniable, and she spoke it, knowing it was the kind that would get her into trouble. “You feel like the kind of guy who might break my heart.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her again, lush and lingering, like they had all the time in the world, and it felt like they did.

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