Why do they need us to promote it? Isn’t my father and his success enough cause for intrigue? I mean, there is the whole incredibly handsome and successful triplets thing going for us of course.
But no.
It’s because people are obsessed with money. Nothing captures an audience more than a family dynasty, and the drama that comes with it.
And I refuse to contribute to the family picture I fear they want to paint.
“I said I don’t know. If that’s not good enough for you, I don’t know what is.”
“Don’t be an asshole.”
“You’re one to talk.” I chuckle.
“Look, I know you’re still bothered by Just Ford. I can’t change that. I wasn’t going to tell you until I knew for sure, but I did reach out to the biographer and ask him if we could have copies of all of Dad’s taped interviews.”
“What for?”
“He has over fifty hours of tapes. I thought it would be cool to hear new things about Dad in his own voice. Things we might not have known. Have something to help keep him alive for our kids someday.” When I don’t say anything, he continues, “We don’t have much of Mom so I didn’t think it would hurt to ask.”
“Smart.” My throat feels like it’s constricting. Will tapes only prove I was just a bystander in this family in my father’s eyes? “Hey, I’ve got to go.”
“So the launch party?”
“Ask me next week.”
When I end the call, I’m antsy. Unsettled. Not used to the confines of this small hotel room, I need some fresh air.
But haven’t I felt that way all day even when I have been in the fresh air?
Ellery.
Isn’t that what prompted my restlessness? This . . . irritation?
There must be a simple answer to why she cancelled the dress fitting. Her lack of explanation only served to muddy the waters even more.
Desire is a son of a bitch when you can’t act on it.
A run. Some exercise.
That’s what I need to clear my head. The ocean. The moonlight. Some exertion. Distance from her and her perfume that I catch whiffs of every now and again.
It’s been less than a week here, and I already feel like I’m going fucking crazy. I knew I wanted her. I knew it would be tempting with her so close. What I didn’t know is that it was going to be absolute bedlam to my system every time she gets close to me.
Talk about torture.
I fling open the door to my room and head out into the hallway. I reach the corner and pull up when I come face-to-face with Ellery.
She’s standing there, face scrubbed fresh from makeup and hair piled on top of her head. She has an oversized sweatshirt on that’s lopsided, exposing one shoulder, and a pair of tiny shorts that display her killer legs.
Yeah, desire is definitely a son of a bitch.
“Hi,” she says, her smile sheepish as she takes a bite of an ice cream bar.
“Hi.”
Who knew the sight of one shoulder could be so sexy?
“I’m sneaking an ice cream bar. You caught me.”
“Why do you have to sneak it?”
“Because that’s what women do. If we eat it and no one sees us, then the calories don’t count.”
“So it’s only if someone sees you that they count?”
She nods, her bun bobbing with it. “And now you’ve saved me the hassle of having to hide the wrapper in the trash.”
“There’s a whole routine to this, isn’t there?”
The bun bobs again as she eyes me up and down. “Where are you going?”
“For a run.”
“Like that makes me feel better.” She snorts. “This is why you have muscles that have definition, and I have curves that are squishy.”
“There’s nothing squishy about your curves, Ellery.” The comment is out without thought. Her cheeks flush, but her eyes never back down from my stare.
She nods. “Then maybe I should eat another ice cream bar while you jog. Since these calories count now, and those won’t since you won’t see them. And getting a few more milligrams of calcium is never a bad thing.”
“I think you should.”
“Never openly encourage a woman to eat more ice cream. It will cause an irrational and obsessive attachment to the person doing the encouraging.” She flashes a grin that reminds me of the first night when I thought she was adorable before I saw her as sexy.
Right now, I’m trying to hold on to that picture of adorable because this woman does things to me that shouldn’t be legal.
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“You should. It’ll save you someday.”
“I’m eternally grateful.” I place a hand to my chest and mock bow.
“Go. Run. Before my irrationality sets in,” she says as I simply stare at her and shake my head. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Because the more I know you, the more you surprise me . . . and that’s not a bad thing at all.
“No reason.” I go to jog past her at the same time she moves to the right to let me. Too bad I went to her right too.
We collide against each other, the ice cream bar in between us. Its chill hits my skin, and at the same time she yelps and jumps back.
We both look down at the vanilla ice cream mark squarely in the middle of my bare chest.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry. Let me—” She reaches out with her bare hand to wipe the ice cream away, but once her hand connects, she realizes her hand isn’t going to do any good.
Thoughts of her tongue on my skin as she licks up the ice cream invade my thoughts. Own them. The heat of it. The feel of it. Christ.
I force a swallow down my throat as her hand stills and her blue eyes flutter up to meet mine.
Time stands still for the briefest of moments as I realize my hand is on her wrist and her face is inches from mine.
She’s off limits, Ford.
Fucking off limits.
I draw in a ragged breath. Lips part, but words aren’t voiced as the tension practically snaps between us.
Does she have any clue how bad I fucking want her? Since that first night stranded here. Since seeing her again at the auction. Every minute of every goddamn day I think about her in some way, shape, or form . . . and the notion of her tongue on my chest isn’t helping matters any.
“Oops,” she finally says, her smile widening but her eyes steadfast on mine.
“Don’t worry about it,” I murmur as I consciously try to remove my fingers from her wrist and take a step back. “Next time I know to go to your left.” She nods, her eyes looking at my chest and then back to my eyes. “And now you really need another one since I just ruined that one.”
“Yes. Sure. Okay.” Her words come out in a stilted staccato.
I need to get out of here before I do something I’m going to regret. Like pin her up against the wall and kiss her until that ice cream bar is a melted puddle on the floor.
I take another step back, the smile on my lips strained. “I’m going to go. Take my run.”
She nods and runs her tongue over her thumb where ice cream has dripped. I grit my teeth. “I’m going to get another ice cream.”
“Save one for me, will you?”
She takes a bite of the mess that’s left of her bar, her lips closing around the chocolate innocently as I wipe the ice cream off with the shirt in my hand, but my imagination has already been fired. “So you’re one of those.”