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Afraid that Genevieve might catch my woman in the face, I draw Island closer to me.
Genevieve stalks off and her lawyers chase after her.
“Are you okay?”
Island looks up at me. “She’s done some horrible things, but she’s not a bad person. She’s just grieving.”
I love her for seeing the good in people, even if I don’t agree with the assessment.
Cody joins us on the step. “Ya’ll need some towels?”
“I can think of a better way to heat us up,” I say, a brow arched in Island’s direction.
She laughs.
“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” Cody says. “Cody Bolton. This lug’s more handsome younger brother.”
“Island, but I think you know that by now. You were glaring very pointedly in the courtroom.”
“Sorry about that. I didn’t realize you two were going to film the last act of a romance movie.” He rolls his eyes.
“Can you wrap things up for me?” I ask my brother.
“What else are siblings for?”
His sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed, but I’m a little too preoccupied to care.
I take Island’s hand. I’m tired of sharing her with this courtroom step and with my brother. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” she asks, stumbling beside me.
I lean the umbrella more firmly over her head and growl, “Home.”
* * *
She talks in the car—abouther salon, the women’s shelter, and the grand donation that was submitted by our friends.
My hand is on her thigh for most of the ride, sliding up further and further.
When Island loses her train of thought for the fifth time, I withdraw my hand from her skirt.
“Sweetheart, you were talking about the renovations to your office and the desk for Amy.”
“Right.” She blinks once. Twice. Her tongue curls under her teeth as she inhales swiftly. “I’m sorry. I totally forgot what I was saying.”
I chuckle, pick up her hand and bring it to my lips. Her perfume, mixed with the sweet scent of her skin, makes me heady. From her husky voice and the dazed look in her eyes, I could pull over at the nearest exit, drag her into the backseat and finally sink into her soft heat.
But I waited this long.
And after all these months of torture and wanting, I’m not caving on the side of the dusty road with a thousand eyes peering into our car as they roar down the highway.
“Are you thinking of opening another salon?” I ask her, jogging the conversation back to life.
“No.” Her brown eyes flash with determination. “I actually want to be more involved in the women’s shelter. Maybe implement some new programs. Clarissa and I have been talking about an entrepreneur coalition. Getting involved with local businesses and starting a mentorship program for women to learn a trade and get on their feet.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“Yeah, I’m excited.”