Page 34 of Just a Plot Twist (Tate Brothers #7)

“He wasn’t expecting to have to deal with this at this point in his career. He assumed he had things in place for a smooth transition to full retirement. Now? He might come back and play a bigger role, instead of stepping back like he wants to.”

“And that wouldn’t be a good thing, I take it?”

“He’s changed a lot over the years, from what I hear, but a lot of that has to do with learning how to delegate. I’m worried that will go away if he has to jump back in at full capacity.”

“But it’s not like he’d become an old sour grump again. He’s changed for real.”

He shrugs. “I hope so.”

“How are things between the two of you? It’s probably strange having two dads, sort of?”

“And three mothers, in a way. My birth mother, Ellen, my adoptive mother, Leila, who is my real mom in all the ways that count, and now Celine. She’s been so sweet.

And Thomas and I struggled at first, but then I stopped trying to put him in a fatherly role.

We’re more like colleagues and friends. Things aren’t so weird between us now. ”

“That’s great, Benson. I love that you have that.”

“I tried not to expect something big between us. I’m trying to deal with the plot twists as they come, instead of worrying that life is different than what I thought it would be.”

“The only given in life is the certainty of plot twists.”

He chuckles. “Yes.” He reaches over and takes my hand in his, playing with the lines on my palm, drawing lazy circles across my skin. Cinnamon nudges my leg with her enormous, flat nose. I reluctantly release my hand from Benson’s and start petting her.

“Hey, you know what? I like you, Claire. And the kids like you.”

I meet his gaze, and the swoons register inside my chest—a bursting, breaking open sort of feeling.

“And Cinnamon really likes you,” he says. “More you than me.”

“Nonsense.” I glance at the dog’s smooshed face. “She has stars in her eyes when she looks at you, Benson.”

“Kinda like when I look at you.” His gaze bores into me. My glance dips down to his lips.

I swallow hard. “Guess what? I like you, too.”

Dax’s shout startles me. “Dad, you’re up! We beat Indie and Alec. Singles. You and me.”

Benson closes his eyes and presses a kiss to my upturned palm, near my wrist.

I shiver.

“I’ll be back,” he says.

“You’d better not lose to Dax,” I tease.

“What will you give me if I beat him?”

“Your man card for one thing. But I’ll be thinking about something else.” Again, I can’t help my gaze going to his mouth.

Especially when it curves into a gentle smile and I give him one to match.

After the recreational activities, Alec and Oakley work on readying the boats while Benson and I take the kids inside to the corner eatery for a quick dinner.

Then we’re back outside, this time to the dock.

Once we get our life jackets secured, we board the boat.

Alec drives, but he shows Benson the ropes, and then it’s Benson’s turn to manage the lever as the motorboat purrs along the cool, turquoise water, smooth as glass.

“Later on in the summer, we’ll bring out the jet skis and have you guys back,” Oakley says.

There’s a lot of laughing and talking—the kids love all of it. But then we’re quiet when the glossy ibis come into view on a sand bar near the far edge of the lake.

Alec cuts the engine, and we watch as a flock of six, with their long, noble beaks, take plucking steps on delicately webbed feet.

“The glossy ibis embodies exploration and trust,” Oakley says quietly.

“According to Greek tradition,” Alec adds.

I steal a glance at Benson, and when he returns my gaze, it’s as if I’m suddenly totally and completely seen . Understood.

I like it. Everything in my life lately is about exploration and trust, and Benson is the reason for that.

I have to swallow away a lump in my throat.

The sun is low in the sky, and soon, Alec’s got the boat revved up to top speed, racing back to the resort.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Dax shouts over the hum of the engine, his fist in the air and his brown hair flattened by the uptick in wind.

After popcorn and a movie in the suite they’re staying in, Benson gets the kids settled in their beds. They protest, saying they’re not ready to go to sleep .

“But Cinnamon is,” Benson says. “Be a good older brother and sister to her and go to sleep so she will, okay?”

The kids nod, but it’ll likely take them a while to fall asleep.

“I’m going to walk Claire out to her car. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Do not leave this room, okay?” He waits for their nods. “Your uncle Henry’s security team has cameras in all the halls, so we’d know immediately if you try.”

I give the kids high fives and Cinnamon a pat. “Thanks for letting me come, you guys. I had a blast.”

“Will you come back when your ankle is better so we can play doubles with you?” Dax asks.

“Only if you promise we’ll beat your dad.”

“Of course we will.” Dax gives his dad the grin of a champion.

Instead of going into the parking garage in the basement of the resort where we’re parked, Benson tugs on my hand, guiding me to the automatic double doors that lead out to a massive back patio and eventually the beach.

“I don’t want to make you walk, but I also don’t want to say goodbye yet,” Benson says, pulling me into a hug.

The sun is nearly set, the oranges and pinks now only a mere smudge across the darkened sky. “I’m feeling a bit lazy after all the fun you guys had. I hate my ankle right now.”

“Want to go lift some upper body weights in the workout room inside? They have state-of-the-art equipment.”

“No.” My tone is teasing, but I can’t help it. “For my ankle’s sake, we should…get in the water. Swimming can be helpful for sprained ankles.”

Desire soaks his gaze as he tugs me even closer. “A little night swim? ”

I nod. “Just so my ankle can get better.”

We both know it’s not just for my ankle.

We take it slow, our feet sinking into the sand, holding hands. Once we reach the water, we pause, glancing at each other like, Are we sure about this?

“The water’s cold,” Benson warns.

“I grew up in Longdale, Benson. I’ve been in this water a hundred times. It’s frigid, but it’s great, I promise.”

In answer, he pulls his shirt off. The planes of his upper body cause me to stare, his shoulders and biceps rippling with the movement as he discards his shirt on the sand.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I whisk my sundress over my head and then tug down my black swimsuit, making sure both cheeks are sufficiently covered. It’s nearly dark out, but still. I’m not exactly excited about standing here in front of him like this.

I begin walking into the ice-cold water, not sure if I’m more uptight about the swimsuit look I’m rocking or my feelings for him. It only takes about ten steps for me to be submerged, and I can’t help the intake of breath at the temperature.

It is cold.

But just as I surface, there’s Benson, in the water by my side.

“You got right in, without hesitation,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I didn’t want to lose my nerve.”

He wraps an arm around my waist and then lifts his other hand to peel a strand of hair off my face. I shiver at his touch.

“You are cold,” he says, his concerned gaze flitting over my face .

I shake my head. “If we keep moving, we’ll be fine. And maybe there are other reasons I’m shaking.”

“Yeah?” His voice is husky.

“You make it hard for me to breathe, Benson Kilpack.”

It’s his turn to shiver, his hands moving up and down my sides with a stutter breath.

His eyes ask for permission. I start to give a nod when he presses his lips against mine. Softly teasing me, coaxing me. Torturing me.

At first, I don’t even close my eyes. Which is weird, right? I mean, you’re supposed to close your eyes when you kiss. But I catch the tick of his jaw, his wild heartbeat rioting under his tanned skin, and it thrills me to my core.

I close my eyes against it because it’s a dangerous thrill.

Just thinking of the sight of his tightening jaw causes the chemicals in my blood to sit straight up and whisper, it’s him. This is it. This took so long because you had to wait for him.

My legs tremble and yes, I’m cold. But I’m also hot to the core at the same time. It’s a feverish delirium of nothing but sensation. His teeth graze my bottom lip, so urgently gentle, like he’s telling me that he cares about me. He cares about how this is for me.

Over and over again, his lips pucker and tease, and when my legs finally give out, and he senses I’m sinking, his grip on me tightens with one arm. Then, the other one lifts me, his hand snaking down my leg, guiding it around his waist. The slosh of the water and the spray it causes awakens me.

“Bens.” I break apart at the newness of it all. His gaze, with pupils rimmed in the color of hot tar, takes all of me in. He’s full of need and care and tenderness. I wrap my other leg around his waist and now he’s holding me here and I’m weightless. I’m not just floating, I’m flying.

And I don’t ever want to land.