Page 48

Thirty-Six

Huck

I tell Stella about my past in the hallway while she smooths her thumb over my palm, gentle and predictable, like ocean waves across a beach on a calm day.

“It was a big con right after the sixth Casablanca came out. I’d been signing for hours.

I had a planned break so I could eat, go to the bathroom, rest my hand before the second four-hour session.

I was talking to my agent and there was my dad, livid that I hadn’t sent him a check when I made the New York Times bestseller list. He went on and on about how I was an ungrateful and talentless hack and that Clark Casablanca was so clearly him that he should be the one being paid, not me.

The room was still full and noisy, but everyone stopped and they all heard him.

I wrote this guy, and everyone loved him.

The quintessential hero. And all those people stood in line for hours for a signed copy of the books he was in.

They heard my father say that he was Clark—the guy who thought I was worthless—he made them believe that I was a thief, that Clark was his.

It wasn’t true, but that didn’t matter. I was so furious.

I snapped and yelled at him and he shoved me.

My agent got security and they escorted him out. ”

When I stop talking, my hands are shaking. Stella takes them and holds them steady for a moment.

“That’s awful,” she says. “You did the right thing to stand up for yourself. I know it must’ve been so hard.

” Then she leads me toward the front door, wordlessly.

I stop at the hostess stand to leave my credit card for the table, explaining that I’ll be back tomorrow to pick it up.

The hostess looks from my face to the name on the card, and nods.

“Of course, Mr. Sullivan. That will be fine. Thank you for your patronage.”

Outside, Stella turns to me. “Why did you do that? You didn’t have to pay for everyone. Teddy usually takes care of the trips.”

I mull over my response for a moment. “You all were so generous to let me come along and have this experience. Today was one of the most exciting days of my life, and I wouldn’t have had it were it not for you guys. Buying dinner is the least I can do.” There’s more I could say, but I’m not ready.

She seems to accept this answer.

“So where are you taking me?” I ask.

“You’ll see.” I follow her down streets brimming with music and tipsy visitors until the noise dissipates and the path grows darker. We feel like we’re the only people in the world.

“This feels a little ominous,” I say, as she stops in front of a gated entrance. She looks around and then starts to scale the fence.

“Stella,” I hiss. “What are you doing? Are we going to get in trouble for this?”

She lands on the other side, and I stand debating whether I’ll have to follow her over this gate or if I should run. I don’t think my publicist would appreciate having to spin me getting arrested for trespassing in Key West while on a research trip.

“You know what your problem is, Huck? You care too much what other people think,” she says. I’m about to explain that my publicist is a lovely woman who just had a baby and doesn’t need this kind of extra stress, when the gate swings open.

“Don’t you want to see Judy Blume’s house?”

“We did not just break into Judy Blume’s house!”

Stella grins. “No. This is my friend Amber’s Airbnb. It’s actually unoccupied at the moment. I have the code, I just thought it would be fun to mess with you a little.”

“After I poured my heart out to you? You have a mean streak I wasn’t aware of,” I tell her. “Even after you threw me in a salt marsh as jellyfish bait.”

“Consider it inspiration for your next book as a thank-you for buying dinner.”

“I’m relieved to know that we’re not disturbing the peace of Judy Blume, but what exactly are we doing at this Airbnb?

” My mind is racing with possibilities, not all of which are entirely PG.

Especially not after she climbed a fence in that little dress that is so tight up top some people might call it scandalous—not me; it’s fucking sheer tantalizing perfection, the way it hugs and squeezes and flares, in my opinion—and set every atom in my body ablaze with desire.

“I thought we could take a night swim, without the risk of jellyfish this time. Amber has a nice pool in the backyard.” Good idea. I’m practically self-combusting here.

We walk down a short stone path and Stella enters a code on a keypad, which unlocks the pool gate. She turns on a strand of twinkle lights, illuminating the patio. Amber does have a nice pool. It’s one of those natural-looking ones with a little grotto and a short waterfall.

Stella does a little spin in front of me. “Can you get my zipper please?”

I slide the zipper down, and fuck me if I have to stare up at the sky to avoid getting aroused by the sight of her back.

The brush of my knuckles against the skin over her spine practically does me in.

The dress flutters to the ground, and she turns to me.

I’m good. I’m staring over her shoulder at that grotto.

Does she have the fancy underwear on? I have no freaking clue.

That’s an interesting arrangement of succulents over there in the corner. Look sharp. I swallow hard.

This strategy of distraction is why I don’t notice her reaching for me. She undoes one of the buttons on my shirt, and then another before I glance down.

She’s wearing the nice underwear.

Dammit.

She’s another button closer to my waistband, and looking up at the sky isn’t going to cut it anymore. My self-control is like that poor little button she’s wresting free. A goner.

“Cool, thanks, got it,” I say and fling my shirt off and onto a lounge chair. I kick my feet out of my deck shoes and jump into the water without another word. I need to put distance between us, so I swim toward the grotto.

Stella slides into the pool and skims under the surface toward me. I can see her in the pool lights. She looks like a beautiful impressionist painting and then she rises and rolls to float next to me.

It’s not the attraction that’s the problem. I mean, it is. The heat inside of me could boil this pool dry in an instant if I don’t hold back. But the thing is…I can’t.

I’m in burning agony.

I loved her last year. And I love her now. Not one bit less. Not the same.

I love her more.

And there’s nothing I can do. I look at her, with her wet hair and her bare shoulders. Beaded pool water on her skin.

I don’t care about the gold anymore. Or my books. Just a chemical element and words on a page.

Nothing compared to Stella.

“I need to ask you something,” she says, skimming her fingers across the water’s surface. I stare at her, unable to move or speak. “Zoe told me earlier that you still have feelings for me. Why would she think that?”

I close my eyes for a second and take a breath. “Because it’s the truth.”

“Did you leave me behind in Iceland because of what you told me earlier…with your dad? Did you think I wouldn’t want you?”

I don’t even know the answer to that. In some way she’s right, but that’s not all of it. She still hasn’t finished the book. “Does it matter? I can’t imagine any ending in which I didn’t ruin everything, regardless of my motivation.”

She’s quiet for a long time, too kind to admit that I’m right. Then she moves a little closer. “You did have writer’s block for years. Maybe your imagination isn’t what it used to be.”

True, but my imagination is intact now, spinning into overdrive; the stories it’s telling me drown out every other thing that matters, things I shouldn’t forget but which I bury for the moment, because she’s looking at me, breaking me down. Her movements make tiny waves that brush against my skin.

“Is that so?” I manage to choke out.

She nods. “Here’s the thing about treasure hunters.

We’re tough people…with wild imaginations and unlimited reserves of hope.

” She’s getting closer, and I cannot move.

I almost can’t believe this is happening.

But all my dreams of her have either been nightmares of leaving her again and my teeth tumbling out onto the beach and being washed away, or wild X-rated reunion-sex dreams where she finds tantalizing ways to punish me for my bad behavior.

This is neither of those things. My heart smashes against the wall of my chest as she closes in and loops her arms around my neck.

“I really wanted to hate you,” she says.

Fair point, but I’m loving the past tense.

“But I can’t. I don’t. And I’m tired of trying, when all I want to do is this.”

It’s not right. I shouldn’t. I’m not . Stella is.

She’s choosing this. She’s choosing me .

Her lips find mine. The warm lights glisten on the surface of the pool, and then I close my eyes and forget everything but her.

She told me what she wants, and I want it too, and that’s all that matters.

Her mouth is soft, and she presses her entire body into me, and I hold on to her, maybe too tight, maybe just tight enough.

I slip a hand up the nape of her neck into her wet hair to protect her from the edge of the pool when I push her up against the concrete coping.

Is the water boiling now? I pull away for a second to look at her before I lean in to nip at her neck.

She’s so fucking beautiful, I might break into a million pieces in this pool.

Her friend will have to drain the water to find all the shards, like a shattered champagne flute.

Stella digs her nails into my back, pulling me close, closer.

I know she can feel my erection, and I don’t care.

I want her to know what she does to me and how fucking crazy she’s making me as she grinds herself against my body.

I undo the clasp to her bra and toss it on the pool deck before dipping my head to her breasts.

She tips her head back, moaning as I take a taut nipple into my mouth, encircle it with my tongue, suck on it for one moment, and then move on to the other.

The noise she makes does something to me, wrecks my last shred of restraint.

I slide one hand to her lower back and slip the other into her underwear.

God, she’s so soft. She’s breathing hard in my ear while I bite her neck and stroke her into a frenzy.

I hold her firm while she squirms against my hand, the sounds of pleasure from her lips almost sending me over the edge, and then she tenses against me, emits the sexiest little gasp of all time, and reaches for me.

I want her so fucking bad. I need her.

You’re in her friend’s pool, I remind myself.

“We’re in my friend’s pool,” she says, her voice breathless in my ear, as if she’s reading my thoughts.

“We should move,” I agree. “Where should we move?” I look around wildly.

She bites her lip but doesn’t answer. Is her expression contrite?

“I’m sorry. Did I get carried away?” I say, reality setting in. I can delay this gratification. I should. It’s enough for me that I made her feel good.

“I think I did, actually.” She slides over a little, putting some distance between us.

“We don’t need to rush this,” I tell her, and I mean it.

“Exactly. We both, ah, said what we needed to say. Cleared the air, right?” She passes her hand under the water. She’s not looking at me. She reaches for her bra.

“Stella.” I move over to her, wrap her in my arms, and kiss her gently. “To be clear, I just don’t want this to turn into a quickie in your friend’s Airbnb. I’m not going anywhere.”

She softens. I help her put her bra back on, kissing my way over each shoulder to the clasp at the back.

“Let’s just float for a bit,” I say. “We can talk and swim, and then later we’ll go back to the boat and go to bed.”

We lay back on the water, our fingertips touching. “Just float and talk?” she says.

“I’ve missed so many conversations with you this past year.”

“Are you going to break out your question list?” she teases.

“I only did that because I was nervous. You’re this larger-than-life adventurer and I was just a boring failed writer.”

“That’s ridiculous. You weren’t a failure.”

“I felt like one…and then I met you.”

“Yeah, well to be honest, I felt like a failed treasure hunter before we met. You’re not the only one whose parents fucked them up and made them believe they were worthless. Now back to the list. I like the list. Ask me one.”

“Alright.” I think over the questions for just the right one. “What’s your perfect day?”

She turns her head toward me in the water, and I know her answer is the same as mine.

“Today.”