“I didn’t think you’d be game for a workout.” She takes some orange juice and drinks straight out of the carton, leaning back on the countertop. She has a long-sleeved running top on that covers her scar.
I get up and wander casually over, and she pulls the carton away from her mouth a fraction, swallowing, eyes on me. Yesterday I was good for nothing except moaning and hurting. The day off was welcome. Beau seemed present, only marginally distracted. I’d like to put that solely down to her father’s funeral tomorrow and the delivery the next day. Unfortunately, I can’t. Burrows is missing and Beau’s had her suspicions piqued by him, Cartwright, and now Detective Collins. The chances of them all fucking off isn’t likely. So is the chance of Beau letting it go. Letting go and accepting her father really was in the wrong place at the wrong time. What a shitter this is. I need her focused. Focused on me, focused on what she desperately wants. Which leads me back to my day off yesterday. It felt totally wasted not being able to spend it buried in Beau.
But I’m feeling a lot better today. Still a little sore, but I’m not feeling quite as debilitated as I did. “Not that kind of workout,” I say quietly, reaching her, standing toe to toe but keeping my hands to myself as I look down at her.
Go on. Shine for me. Do it.
Blinding white sparkles pop in the depths of her dark eyes, and my heart pops with love. I take the carton from her limp hand and put it on the counter behind her, and then dip and sink my face into her neck, breathing out long and slowly when she wraps her arms around my shoulders and hugs me. Bliss. I lift her from the ground and squeeze her to my body, wanting her as close as I can get her, and she reciprocates, humming her happiness. The signs are good, and I’m quickly hatching a plan to get her back in bed and make up for lost time. But first . . .
“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” I ask, grabbing under her thighs and placing her on the counter.
“How are your muscles?”
Translated, she doesn’t want to talk about her father’s funeral. Okay. “How are you feeling about the delivery?”
She smiles as she watches her fingertip draw a line across my bottom lip. “Fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure I can manage towing a line of jet skis from point A to point B and play a dumb female should the Coast Guard stop us.”
“Play?”
She gasps, punching my bicep, and I hiss. I hate that she’s way more at ease with this than I am, but that’s just Beau. And I am me—totally besotted and maybe a little protective—so I need to be at ease too. “I think I need another massage.”
“Oh, you do, do you?”
“Oh, I do.” I swoop in and claim her mouth, pushing my tongue deep and rolling wide, forcing my chest to hers.
Someone clears their throat, and I pull away quickly, my attempted seduction interrupted. Fuck it. Beau smirks and claims her juice, looking past me. “Morning,” she chirps as I glance back, releasing her. Esther goes straight to the dishwasher and starts emptying it.
“Morning, you two.”
“Otto’s in the gym,” Beau says nonchalantly, making her freeze in her bended position, armed with handfuls of knives and forks. She lifts her eyes. I raise my brows. Beau presses her lips into a straight line.
“Good for him.” She goes about her business, and Beau and I peek at each other, me warning her to leave it there. In all the years I’ve known Otto, I’ve never known him to be committed to one woman. I hate doubting that he has it in him, but I’m being a realist. We have a nice balance here, everyone gets along, and any fornicating could rock the boat. Danny and Otto are already at each other’s throats. This will end only one way. Blood. Because the chances of Otto settling down, and it would be settling down because Esther wants and deserves that and her son wouldn’t have it any other way, is about as likely as Beau becoming consistently submissive.
Of course, Beau doesn’t heed my warning. “Glad to be back?” She slips down off the counter and has another swig of the orange juice.
“Yes, I am, th—” Esther puts a pile of plates down, looking disgusted, and marches over to Beau, swiping the carton from her hands. “How many times do I need to tell you, don’t drink straight from the carton.”
“You’ve never told me that.” Beau laughs, claiming the plates and putting them away.
“I haven’t?”
“You definitely haven’t.”
“So many people in this damn house.” Esther tips the remaining juice into a jug and puts it in the fridge. “I need to call a family meeting. Remind a few people of the house rules.” She returns to faffing around the kitchen, and I jerk my head at Beau, telling her silently to move her arse.
She tilts her head. I tilt mine. She drops her eyes to my groin. I pout as she glances back up. I see hunger. Another jerk of my head. I need her in the best mood today, the most amenable mood. This is a good start.
Goldie walks in, stops, looks between us. “What’s up with you two?” she asks.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing.”
Dubious, she goes to the fridge and pulls out the jug of orange juice, tipping it to her lips, still watching us. Beau snorts, I smile, and Esther yells, “Goldie!”
She jumps, sending the juice everywhere, mostly up her nose.
“How many times have I got to tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Goldie asks, between coughing and spluttering.
“My God.” Esther swipes the jug from her hand and wipes around the rim. “Use a damn glass!” she yells at the top of her voice, obviously hoping the whole house will hear.
Goldie looks thoroughly scorned, shrinking in her suit on the spot. It’s quite a sight. “Sorry.”
“Never mind,” Esther breathes, exasperated. “Eggs?”
“Please.” Goldie settles on the stool, peeking at us in question, to which we both deny any knowledge of Esther’s short mood. “Where’s Otto?” she asks.
Beau chuckles, exiting the kitchen sharply, and I’m soon going after her, eyeing her sweaty form as she takes the stairs, mentally ripping her sticky gym gear from her wet body as I tail her.
I reach for her wrist as we near the top and seize her. “Finally,” I whisper, hauling her around and up my body, taking her mouth. She wraps her limbs around me and devours my mouth as I walk us back to our room. Distract her with work, distract her with sex. That is my mission, and I choose to accept it.
“There you are.” Rose’s voice has Beau pulling away, and I groan my protest, looking up to see her pulling the door of their room closed. She looks like she means business, adorned in a cream silk floaty summer dress and enough gold bangles to stretch her arms to the floor. “Why aren’t you ready?” she asks as Beau slides down my front, rubbing me in places I shouldn’t be rubbed unless we’re alone.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter. “Ready for what?” Where on earth do they think they’re going?
“Shopping,” Rose says confidently, too confidently, fastening her purse as she comes to us, looking at Beau in disapproval.
“Shopping?” I snort. “I don’t think so.” But Beau and Rose leaving the mansion isn’t my main issue here. I have somewhere I need us to be.