Page 5 of High Stakes (The Morrison Brothers #2)

I'm an idiot.

This thought keeps cycling through my mind as I stand under the shower, letting hot water pound against my shoulders. What kind of fool pushes away someone who sees through them? Who actually sees them?

"Yes, you're wrong," I replay my own words, cringing at the memory. The hurt that flashed across Elena's face before she smoothed it away into professional blankness haunts me. I lied to her face when she had the courage to speak the truth.

And for what? To protect myself? To maintain some illusion of control?

I turn off the water and grab a towel, roughly drying myself.

The snorkeling had been a brief respite—underwater, with only gestures to communicate, we'd found our rhythm again.

Elena had been magnificent, fearless and graceful in the water, her eyes wide with wonder behind her mask.

For those hours, exploring the reef together, it felt like we'd transcended last night's awkwardness.

But the moment we returned to shore, reality crashed back. I retreated again, unable to handle the simple warmth of her compliment without panicking.

I dress in casual clothes, linen pants and a light shirt, feeling oddly vulnerable without my usual armor of tailored suits. Part of me wants to skip lunch, avoid another painful interaction, but that would be cowardly. And whatever else I am, I've never been a coward.

When I reach the terrace, Elena is already there, her hair still damp from her shower, wearing a simple sundress that somehow looks more elegant than the designer gowns I see at charity galas. She's reading a paperback novel, completely absorbed. I take a moment to just look at her, unobserved.

This is how I want to see her: relaxed, at ease, not constantly vigilant around me. Not overthinking her responses to avoid triggering my retreat.

"Good book?" I ask, announcing my presence.

She looks up. "Just something light for vacation."

I sit across from her as the staff brings out our lunch—a fresh seafood salad and cold soup that looks perfect for the hot day. "I didn't know you were a reader."

"There's probably a lot you don't know about me," she says lightly, but there's an edge there.

I deserve that. "Probably," I concede. "Though not for lack of interest."

She glances up, surprise flickering across her face. "The snorkeling was wonderful. Thank you for teaching me."

"You're welcome." I take a bite of the salad, searching for a way back to the ease we'd shared yesterday. "Would you like to try it again tomorrow? There's supposed to be another reef on the north side of the beach that has even more marine life."

"If you'd like," she says.

I suppress a sigh. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. This distance, this professional politeness. I did this to us, and I have no idea how to undo it.

"Elena," I begin, then stop, unsure what to say next. I'm not good at this—vulnerability, apologies, emotional honesty. My natural instinct is to power through awkwardness with action, decisions, forward momentum. "What would you like to do this afternoon?"

She seems surprised by the question. "Me? I thought you might want to rest or go snorkeling again. The doctor said—"

"I know what the doctor said," I interrupt, then soften my tone. "But relaxation doesn't have to mean doing nothing, right? Those were your words. Besides, we did something I wanted. Now it’s your turn."

She nods slowly. "There's supposed to be a beautiful drive along the coast. The villa manager mentioned it leads to a lookout point with views of the entire island."

"That sounds perfect." I make a decision. "No driver, though. I'll drive us myself."

Now she looks genuinely startled. "You want to drive? Yourself?"

"I do know how," I say dryly. "I wasn't born with a chauffeur."

"I just..." She shakes her head, a small smile playing at her lips. "I can't imagine you driving. It seems so..."

"Normal?" I suggest.

"Exactly."

This is better. Not quite the easy banter we had at dinner, but not the painful politeness of earlier either.

"I'll have you know I was an excellent driver before I could afford not to be," I tell her, remembering my first car—a beat-up Honda that I'd saved for through high school jobs. "My brothers and I used to race on back roads upstate."

"Now that I can picture," she says, her smile widening slightly. "Competitive even then?"

"Always." I return her smile, "Though Ethan usually won. He has no fear."

"And you do?" she asks, then immediately looks like she regrets the question.

I consider deflecting, returning to safer ground. But that's what got us into this mess. "Yes," I admit. "Different kinds than Ethan, but yes."

"Thank you for telling me that."

It's such a small confession, hardly earth-shattering, but her response makes me realize how rarely I admit to any weakness, any humanity. The fact that she treats it as a gift rather than a vulnerability to exploit says more about her character than a thousand résumés could.

"So," I say, finishing my soup, "coastal drive after lunch?"

"I'd like that."

An hour later, we're in a convertible Jeep provided by the villa, wind whipping through our hair as we follow the coastal road.

Elena has tied a scarf around her head, looking like a 1950s movie star on vacation.

I'm wearing sunglasses I bought from the villa's small shop, feeling oddly liberated without my usual formal attire.

The island is even more beautiful from the road.

Lush mountains rising on one side, the Caribbean stretching endlessly on the other.

We drive in silence for a while, the rushing wind making conversation difficult anyway.

Elena occasionally points out particularly spectacular views, and I nod, slowing down so we can appreciate them.

At a scenic overlook, I pull over, and we get out to stretch our legs and take in the panorama. The entire island seems spread before us, green mountains, white beaches, and the endless blue ocean. It's breathtaking.

"I can see why the doctor recommended this place," Elena says, leaning against the Jeep's hood. "It feels a world away from New York."

"It does," I agree, standing beside her. "I haven't felt this disconnected from work in... well, ever."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" she asks.

"Surprisingly good," I admit. "Though don't tell the board I said that. They'll think I've gone soft."

She laughs, the sound carried away on the breeze. "Your secret's safe with me."

I look at her, the wind playing with escaped strands of her hair, her face relaxed and sun-kissed. "I know it is," I say, more seriously than intended.

Her smile fades slightly, her eyes searching mine. For a moment, I think about closing the distance between us, consequences be damned. But I've already made a mess of things once; I won't risk it again without being sure.

"We should probably continue," I say, looking away. "The villa manager mentioned a small town further along the coast that might be worth exploring."

Elena nods, and we get back in the Jeep. As I start the engine, I can feel her watching me, but I keep my eyes on the road ahead.