Page 41

He glances down at Fen, who is playing with a toy and kicking his legs with the motion of the boat. “I didn’t. I mean, I tried, I guess. Sort of. When I was younger, I did. When I hit sixteen, I became pretty angry and resentful. I got mixed up with the wrong crowd for the wrong reasons and did things I’m not proud of.”

“Things you’re worried about will be held against you now?” I surmise by the flat line of his lips and the dark spots in his eyes.

“I’m an ex-con, as you say here in America. A chav.”

“A what?”

Now he meets my eyes. “A chav. An arsehole. A bastard. A lowlife scum. Yes, I’m an actor, and I make a damn good living at it. But before all that, I was a poor git from the dodgy side of London who grew up too fast, and if I didn’t have money now, you’d never bring me home to meet your mother.”

“I still haven’t brought you home to meet my mother, even with your money.”

He smirks, but there isn’t much humor to it. “My tattoos are considered sexy now, but some of these were street tattoos or tattoos I was too smashed to care about what was inked on me. I did drugs. Sold them too, thinking I’d get us out of our studio flat and into something better.”

I try to rein in my expression, but I doubt I’m managing it.

He takes off his hat and runs his hand through his blond hair. “Would you give a child to a man like that? A man who sold drugs and went to prison for it? Who slept with women he didn’t know and is only likable for how people view him on screen?”

I sober myself up and twist until I’m facing him, placing my good hand on his arm. “Yes,” I tell him honestly. “Because I believe the mistakes you made as a scared, angry kid are what helped to form you into the man you are now. A man who would do anything for his son, even taking on a fake girlfriend when he’s not known for having real ones, and flying down to Key West to hide out on an island to protect him. You were thrust into an impossible situation. A son you had never met was literally dropped on your doorstep, and you’ve adapted as I bet you always have. But more than that, you love Fenric, and that shines brighter than anything. Our history isn’t who we are, it’s who we were. It’s one facet that tells our story, and most of us use it as a steppingstone and learning curve on our way.”

He reaches out and catches a piece of my whipping hair and holds it between his fingers. “You’re pretty incredible, you know that?”

His eyes dance with mine before they dip to my lips and hold. My breath catches when he inches in ever so slightly, but before anything catastrophic can happen—like him kissing me—the engine cuts and the boat slows, pulling us out of this moment.

Loomis pops up, standing and twisting around to find the island we’re headed toward, and I blow out a breath, widening my eyes at Fen as if to ask,did that really almost happen?

It didn’t mean anything. I know that. I said something that resonated with him, and he was moved by it in his already emotional place, and that’s all it was. If I’ve learned anything about Loomis Powell over the couple of years that I’ve known him, it’s that he’s not interested in me. Bad boys never are, and he’s a self-proclaimed one. Which is fine by me. Great even.

I clear all that away and stand to take in?—

“That’s the cottage?”

Loomis chuckles, dragging a hand through his hair. “I was expecting… more.”

I tilt my head. “Same.” When I asked Stone about it, he simply shrugged and said he hadn’t been here since he was a kid, and that it was mostly a love nest for his parents to come to and escape. But nest is an accurate term.

I mean, it’s a beautiful house. Two stories with full porches on both floors, a formidable hurricane-proof-looking tin roof, butter-yellow shaker wood siding, and large windows with shutters. It’s straight out ofSouthern Livingmagazine, especially with all the trees and flowering shrubs surrounding it, keeping much of the grounds and the cottage hidden from view.

But… it is a cottage.

And therefore, it’s small.

The island is too, for that matter, though I do catch a glimpse of a lush-looking pool area, a large sprawling garden that appears well groomed, and a beach. So much for having privacy and not being on top of each other.

It’s also too late to back out now, so I’m just going to have to roll with it and stick to the plan.

The boat bounces against the dock, which upsets Fen. He starts crying, and Loomis takes him out of his carrier and holds him against his chest with one hand while he uses his other on the railing to brace them both. The boat is tied off, and we’re helped onto the long dock and up toward the house.

“Welcome to Casa Del Sol,” Pedro says with a beaming, prideful smile.

Our bags are delivered inside and upstairs with a question about bedrooms that momentarily throws us both until we answer that we’re staying in the same room since we’re here to be a couple. We can move suitcases later, but upon entering, our suspicions are confirmed.

It’s small.

The kitchen is the largest space on the first floor, boasting top-of-the-line appliances and gleaming stone counters alongwith a breakfast bar that seats four on the island. The living room has a long sofa and two chairs on either end with a coffee table in between them and a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Off to the side is a desk with an unplugged monitor, a dining room with a table that seats six, a half bathroom, and a storage room where the laundry is. That’s it.

“Come on. Let’s check out the rest of our temporary love nest,” I tease, only it falls flat, unlike my hair in this humidity. That’s all over the place and more in line with my nerves.

Wordlessly we follow Alicia and Pedro up the winding, metal staircase that’s a bit of a hazard for Fen. A point Loomis proves when he rolls his head and says to me, “We’ll need to get gates.”