Page 21 of Undeniably Unexpected (Boston’s Irresistible Billionaires #6)

P edro and Alicia are amazing. They tell us all about the island, give us a mini tour of downtown, and explain how they stocked the house with everything we’re going to need for us and the baby. They don’t seem to have a clue who Loomis is, or if they do, they don’t care either way.

They park the car at a marina, and I turn to Loomis with a giddy grin I can’t manage to contain. “This is incredible, right?”

“You left me back at the plane.”

“Huh?”

“You started speaking to them in Spanish. After that, I was lost.”

“Oh.” I snort out a laugh. “Sorry. I hadn’t even realized. I use Spanish so much at work, I just naturally flow with it.”

The back door of the car opens, and I scurry out, taking in everything around me. I’ve been here before on Stone’s sailing yacht, but that’s where we stayed. We came into town for lunch, but we didn’t linger, and we didn’t go to his parents’ cottage.

The marina is stunning, right on the northwestern side of the Key, where boats of all sizes bob gently in the choppy, wind-swept, sparkling waters.

My hair rustles and instantly frizzes in the air, but I don’t care.

We’re at the bottom of Duvall Street, by Mallory Square, surrounded by souvenir kiosks and boutiques, along with sunburned tourists everywhere you look.

I want to go shopping and explore, but now is not the time for that.

Loomis lowers a nondescript ballcap over his head and keeps his face low.

He’s not wearing a disguise as he has been over the past week.

The sunshade on Fen’s carrier is pulled as far forward as it can go, and Loomis keeps it close to his body, his movements sharp and edgy, his gaze wary and distrustful.

So far, no one has spared us a second glance, and despite the reasons for us coming down here, I’m so freaking happy right now.

I didn’t know how badly I needed this break, a real vacation , until this moment. If it wouldn’t be totally weird and draw attention, I’d break out into song and dance like a Disney princess.

“This way, Miss Keegan.” Alicia waves to me, both of them toting our luggage, and I race over to grab my bags from them. Loomis does the same, but Pedro shakes his head, insisting that they’ve got them as they pointedly glance at my broken wrist and Loomis holding Fen in the carrier.

The dock rocks and sways beneath our feet, and we make our way to the end where I emit a small scoff. “Is this Uncle Kaplan’s boat?” I question.

“Sí. Mr. Kaplan’s boat,” Pedro confirms.

I believe Uncle Kap’s words to me were something like there’s a small boat to take us to the mainland .

This isn’t a small boat. I mean, it’s not the Fritz mega yacht—and yes, we have one that rivals most decent-sized cruise ships—or the large sailing yachts various family members own.

But it looks like if you needed to sleep a half dozen people on it and host Sunday brunch for ten of your besties, you easily could.

If his “cottage” is anything similar to this, I have a feeling I won’t have to worry about being up close and personal with Loomis.

I’ll have space to write, and we won’t be breathing down each other’s necks, which, let’s face it, is great for my sanity since I can’t help but notice how his gray eyes turn pale blue against the reflection of the ocean and the blue T-shirt he’s wearing clings to his muscular chest, shoulders, and arms, or how adorable it is when he talks to Fen and tells him everything we’re doing.

I haven’t turned my phone back on yet, and I know I need to. I need to let my people and my parents know that we’ve landed and that so far, everything seems fine. Great even.

But I don’t want to. I don’t want to pop this delicious magic pink bubble I’m floating in with reality. I want to find a cozy hammock or a comfy lounger on the beach, listen to the waves curl in and out, and write my freaking heart out.

You know, if I didn’t have a broken wrist and hand.

Sigh. I need to figure that out and quickly.

After our nap, I spent the majority of the flight thinking, and I’ve wholeheartedly decided that I want this.

I want this contract. I want to write super steamy paranormal romance.

I want to be a full author, not just a hobby publisher.

I want to see the ideas in my head come to life on the page and discover just what I can do from a creative standpoint.

I know what kind of doctor I am. I’m a damn good one.

But, and just between us since we’re being honest, I don’t feel the same sort of passion or thrill about medicine that I do about writing.

I don’t know how to reconcile that. I’ve dedicated nearly every waking hour of my adult life to being the best doctor I can be, but nothing has given my heart and mind wings the way getting lost in stories and characters has.

I don’t know what that means yet. I don’t know what I’m going to do about it other than sign the contract and hope to God I can be both an author and a doctor.

I think it’s safe to say, after six somewhat serious relationships that ended with me in tears and a broken heart, that maybe it’s just not meant to happen for me.

Maybe my perfect guy is a figment of my imagination, and I can live out my wildest, sexiest dreams and fantasies that way.

Real men have been nothing but a disappointment anyway.

Case in point, the man beside me who teases and flirts but doesn’t mean a word of it.

After getting secured on the boat, we cast off toward the giant fireball in the west that’s just starting to kiss the water.

I’m starving. And tired. It’s been a long day for me that started way before dawn, and even though I nibbled on stuff on the plane, I could go for a shower, some comfy clothes, and a seriously kick-ass meal.

We bump along the wake as we head out into the open ocean, passing a large island filled with homes and then a smaller one behind it.

I can’t take my eyes off the setting sun, though.

It’s mesmerizing, and both Loomis and I fall quiet, the only sound coming from the boat’s engine and the slapping of water against the hull.

That is until an embarrassingly loud yawn splits my lips, making Loomis’s twitch.

“That’s my fault.”

“How so?” I ask without looking away from the sunset, afraid to miss a moment of it.

“You’re losing sleep because of the nightmare I stuck you in, and then my son wouldn’t let you sleep for very long on the plane. How about after we get settled, you rest up while I make us some supper?”

I throw him a side-eye. “You cook?”

“Oh, Keegan Fritz. I cook. I’m a brilliant chef. Mum worked bastardly long hours, and I was responsible for myself and my younger brothers. I also liked Mum and my brothers having a home-cooked hot meal they could eat instead of simply heating something in a frozen packet.”

A soft smile hits my lips. “Sounds like you took good care of them.”

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?