“Wow, first I’m prancing, and then I’m parading. We really need to get dressed and go downstairs, because I’m going to need some serious caffeine if I’m going to have enough energy to do all that.” I slip into annoying little sister mode, hoping it will help put some distance between us. Too much has happened in the last thirty-six hours; I can’t process it.
Just like that, those parentheses pop out and his eyes soften as he smiles down at me. I’m purposely ignoring the subtle shift I see in the depths of those dark eyes.
Turning, I hip-check the giant pain in the ass out of the way and grab a teal bikini from the drawer. The back ties with a string and the top is like a halter around my neck, but Mr. Caveman over here should be pleased because the front covers the girls in a full panel of material with only a small strip of open zigzags at the very top. My tan line game is on point with the variety of styles I shift between.
Not wanting to encourage another round of nookie, I slip the boy short bottoms on underneath my towel and get the top into position, tightening the tie in the back once I lose the terrycloth.
Pretending I don’t feel the weight of his gaze is a feat in and of itself. Has he always looked at me this way? Have I just been a straight-up Dory about it, noticing only to promptly forget?
Inside my closet, I tie a sarong around my waist, adjusting it so it’s knotted at my left hip, leaving the gap to expose my left leg as the gauzy material floats down to the ground like a maxi skirt.
Slipping into a pair of teal flip-flops since it’s a beach day, I tie my hair into a messy bun, grab my beach bag, and am ready to go. No muss, no fuss.
Thankfully, Dex is dressed by the time I step out of my closet, but the way he wears a plain white t-shirt and simple pair of black and gray board shorts isn’t really any better for my sanity than the towel.
Having intimate knowledge of what he looks like under all that only makes him more tempting than the spindle of a spinning wheel. Keeping my distance until I can make sense of everything jumbled up inside me is going to be one hell of a challenge.
But like Dory says, ‘Just keep swimming.’
Walking over to the French doors leading out to the deck, I open one and gesture for Trident to go out. “Go head, baby. Go do your thing and meet me downstairs for your breakfast.”
The house is eerily quiet as Dex falls into step beside me and we head downstairs.
My gaze snags on the gallery wall running down the length of the staircase, following the visual representation of how defective my heart is when it comes to love.
I lock onto the framed shot of Ryan and me at Jake and Jordan’s wedding, both of us looking dapper in our formal wear—me in my bridesmaid gown, him in his tux—beaming smiles stretching ear to ear on our faces. We were so happy, but when push came to shove, I threw it all away.
I felt so much guilt about how our relationship ended that in the years since, I haven’t been able to bring myself to sleep with someone else and have barely even dated.
Yet look how fast you jumped into bed with Dex…
Dammit, Jiminy.
A guilt trip is the last thing I need this morning.
Yeah, you dumb cricket, don’t slut-shame her.
You act like Dex was some rando in a bar.
He’s special.
I stumble down the last step at what they are insinuating. They aren’t wrong per se; Dex is special, but he’s not special special. A strong arm wraps around my middle to steady me, and my body—not on the same page as the rest of me—melts back, enjoying the familiar embrace.
I’m so conflicted about how to feel and what to do I can’t even. Sex isn’t complicated my ass. I’m punching Tucker the next time I see him.
The flop-flop-flop-flop of my sandals echoes down the hall. There may be a storm brewing inside me, but outside is the most perfect sunny day illuminating my home with a warm glow.
I push the button on my coffee maker, but nothing happens. I check the plug, try pulling it out and putting it back in, but still nothing. Then I realize why it seems so quiet—there’s no hum of the refrigerator, no breeze from the vents of the air conditioner.
“Is the power out?” I ask, moving to flip the switch closest to me and getting nothing.
Dex’s brows form a dark slash as they merge together in contemplation. The immediate transformation from my Hook to super SEAL Dex is staggering. The way it has me instantly on alert is enough to override the panic I’m sure would normally set in from thinking of him as my Hook.
He starts to move around the island to where his laptop is and stops short. If I thought his earlier change was scary, it has nothing on this version that snaps his back up ramrod straight, nostrils flaring, hands clenching into fists so tight they turn white. The Tink Train is pulsing harder than I’ve ever managed to get it, his jaw is clenched like he’s a McClain and not a Stone, and his eyes narrow like he’s about to shoot lasers out of them.
Murderous death glare is too tame of a description.
What is he looking at?
I start to turn to follow his gaze but stop at his harsh, “Don’t.”
Swallowing thickly, I start to shake. I’ve never been one to follow orders, especially ones that are barked at me, but Dex has never been like that with me. For him to do so now only adds to the severity of what is happening.
My eyes bounce around the room, looking for anything that is amiss, but whatever it is that has Dex’s attention is only behind me. I wait for him to pass before I disobey orders—are you really all that surprised?—and turn around. Unfortunately, he has a should-be-on-a-romance-novel broad back, so I can’t see a thing.
Worry slams into me when he stops at the doors leading to the deck. “Trident,” I cry, my feet already moving of their own accord.
“He’s fine.” The dark edge to Dex’s voice does little to reassure me that’s true, and I take another step. “Madison, stay there.” The use of my full name roots me to my spot.
This is bad. Bad, bad, bad.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
To go from the highest of highs in the shower to the lowest of lows when Maddey mentions the power’s out is enough to give a person whiplash. The way I have her security system setup, both Jamie’s firm and myself should have been alerted the second it cut off. The fact that it didn’t isn’t a good sign.
Talk about an understatement.
Looking past the beach babe vision standing in front of me, I catch sight of something that wasn’t there before.
Motherfucking cocksucker asshole.
Fury burns through my veins as I try to make out the details from a distance. Unfortunately I can only tell there are pictures taped to the glass of the outer wall, not what the subject matter is.
Maddey attempts to check out the situation, but I need to keep her as far away from it as possible. There’s no missing the flash of hurt on her beautiful face at how I command her to stay, but she’ll get over it. Her safety is paramount, and she’s not some precious snowflake that will crumble from a few hurt feelings.
Each step feels like walking across broken glass, not wanting but needing to know what the latest thing her stalker has left is.
“Fucking hell.”
My heart stops then takes off like a runaway train as I take in the different snapshots.