Page 38 of Undeniably Unexpected (Boston’s Irresistible Billionaires #6)

I texted Mum with the new dates, followed by my assistant to get Mum a first-class plane ticket because my mother would never do that for herself.

After that, I texted Tinsley to tell her the plan, and she told me she knew of something that might help and would get back to me later on it.

I didn’t press it. My head was too full.

It’s not every day your mother tells you something that rewrites how you’ve always operated.

I didn’t linger on it, though. We were moving in fast motion.

It was breakfast and packing everything up—babies have so much crap—before getting on the boat.

We’ve driven it around the island a few times to get used to it, and it’s not that difficult to manage.

Keegan once had a boating license Stone made her get, but that was years ago.

Still, since it’s her uncle’s boat and she has the most experience, we’ve put her in charge.

Both of us are a little nervous now that we’re actually doing this.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a brilliant idea,” I muse as we crawl along at a snail’s pace, the boat slicing through the water as the sun already burns the morning sky and sparkles the water with a million diamonds. “At this point, we’ll reach Key West in two days.”

“No one appreciates your sarcasm.”

“This isn’t sarcasm, love. It’s a fact.”

“It’ll be fine,” she assures me.

I haven’t told her about my call with the studio this morning. I need to, and I will, but I want today and tonight to be special. I want it to be us, and I don’t want to drown it in conversations neither of us is quite ready to have or put a sour note on things.

“You’re in charge.”

“Thank you for that,” she deadpans.

“Only here, though. In the bedroom, I’m in charge, and you’re my delicious little play toy.”

She snorts. “Hardly.”

“I will be if you keep looking at me like that. I didn’t tell you about our suite, did I?”

She throws a quick glance over her shoulder before returning her studious gaze to the water. “No. You didn’t.”

I run my hand up her arse and give it a squeeze. “We have a huge suite. Two bedrooms. A lovely room for Fen with a crib and a bedroom for us. All booked by my assistant under the name of Winston Churchill.”

She snorts a half-laugh. “Subtle. I’m positive no one will know that’s a fake name. And what makes you think I don’t want my own room?”

“Because you love sleeping with me, so let’s end that there.”

She doesn’t respond or even move an inch. She hasn’t mentioned Alden to me in a while. Certainly not since we started sleeping together. But I have to wonder if she’s still missing him or remembering the words of affection he showered her with only to not be able to love her back when it mattered.

Am I any better than he was? The thought chafes my skin and has my insides twisting.

As if reading my thoughts, she says, “I don’t want to get hurt again, and you don’t do this kind of stuff with women.”

I come in behind her and kiss the crook of her neck. “I’ve given you every reason to question me. And yes, this is uncharted waters for me because you’re right. Historically, I haven’t done this kind of stuff with women. But I planned a night together for us.”

“Loomis—”

“Don’t say no. Don’t question it. Just stay with me. Can you do that? Please?”

“What does that mean?”

She asked me that this morning, and I didn’t answer then. I shouldn’t now either. I really shouldn’t. But the words seem to have a life and mind of their own as they spill from my lips. “It means this is more than just some fun for me.”

I don’t give her the chance to ask more questions or rebuke me.

I’m not sure I can offer more than that.

Not right now. I take Fen to the bench seat in the back of the boat, but before I get there, I swear I hear her murmur, “For now, but how long will that last?” before it’s lost to the wind and the sound of the boat’s engine.

We dock at a public marina, and the workers there tie off the boat while Keegan pays the fee. It’s all very easy, and so far, no one is looking at me. The streets are packed with people, and I feel naked and exposed without a disguise. Still, I can’t deny how good it feels to be off the island.

We follow the crowd and head toward Duval Street, which is the main drag that divides the lower half of the key.

Fen’s loving the action as we wheel him in his pushchair, and he waves and says hi to passing strangers.

And with the cute baby and the pretty redhead, I’m easily forgotten, especially as I keep the brim of my ball cap low and my head tilted down.

Regardless, I’m still paranoid, and I turn us up a side street that seems less traveled.

“Here. This looks good.” Keegan stops at an outdoor café, glancing over the menu that’s posted just by the entrance. “What do you think, Fen? Are you hungry?” She snorts. “Silly question. You’re always hungry.”

I watch Keegan lean over Fen’s carrier, her red hair spilling forward like flowing blood as it catches the sunlight.

My son reaches up, his tiny fingers stretching toward one dangling curl.

She doesn’t flinch when he grabs it but instead laughs, the sound like ice in good whiskey, smooth and satisfying.

Ten days we’ve been hiding away from the press, and I still haven’t grown tired of that laugh.

“He’s got quite the grip,” she muses, gently untangling Fen’s fingers from her hair.

She doesn’t pull away, though. She never pulls away from him, and my heart is doing something funny.

Beating erratically and making me sweat.

Almost like I’m dehydrated or just worked out. It must be the sun and the heat.

“He knows a good thing when he’s got his hands on it,” I say, adjusting my sunglasses. I’m still out of sorts from the morning between half-baked conversations that are all my doing and everything else I’m battling. I’m the one testing the heat of the flame, but it’s burning both of us.

The café patio hums with conversation, thankfully loud enough that Fen’s occasional loud babbles, giggles, and other noises don’t disturb anyone. Maybe that’s why Keegan chose this place. It’s tucked away, hidden behind a wall of flowering vines that make us nearly invisible from the road.

We take a quiet moment to peruse the menu when the waitress arrives, a college-aged girl with hair dyed the blue of swimming pools.

I work to keep my head down, but her eyes widen slightly when she sees me, though thankfully, she says nothing.

I’m hoping celebrity sightings are common enough that the locals take pride in their practiced nonchalance.

“Hi. Good afternoon. Can I get you some drinks, or do you know what you’d like to eat?”

“I think we’re ready,” Keegan says, glancing at me and I nod. “I’ll have the lobster roll with fries and a Diet Coke, please.”

“Perfect. And you, sir?”

“The grouper sandwich, also with fries and a soda as well, please. He’ll have the fish sticks with grapes.”

Keegan thanks her, then looks at me with mock seriousness once the waitress is gone. “Sir? Ha.”

“At least she didn’t call you ma’am.”

“So true. But you spoke with your regular accent. I thought you were trying to avoid being recognized as Sir Sexy, Swoony Loomis Powell.”

“Love that you think of me that way. Especially the sexy and swoony part.” I lean over and kiss the corner of her lips. “And for the record, you can call me sir anytime you like. Or you can call me lord and really turn me on.”

“Isn’t screaming Oh god enough for you?”

I bark out a loud laugh, and the full and uninhibited sound feels foreign in my throat after this morning.

When was the last time I laughed in public without measuring the volume or checking who might be listening?

Before Fen, certainly. I didn’t care back then who saw me or what I was doing when I was seen. Everything is different now.

Including the woman beside me.

Fen whines from his highchair, and Keegan immediately turns to him.

“Is someone feeling left out of the conversation?” She wipes her hands and lifts him out of his highchair, making sure her braced right hand doesn’t hold his weight before settling him on her lap with practiced ease.

“There we go. Much better view from here, isn’t it?

But when your food comes, you’re going back in. ”

My son looks ridiculously happy tucked against her chest. Who could blame him?

His blond hair, the exact shade of mine, sticks up in an unintentional mohawk, and his eyes, wide and excited, track a fucking rooster moseying down the street.

They really are everywhere, but they better not find us tonight because I swear, tomorrow I am sleeping in past sunrise.

“He has your brooding stare,” Keegan notes, following my gaze. “Very handy for future movie posters. And those wankers better not follow us to our hotel.”

I cough a laugh at how she just echoed my thoughts completely. “Americans can’t say wanker. It just doesn’t work. And God, I hope not about his future movie posters,” I argue, more seriously than I intend. “I’d rather he become a doctor like you or a pastry chef. Something sensible and anonymous.”

She tilts her head, studying me. The sunlight catches in her eyes, turning them from green to gold at the edges. “Says the man whose last film grossed what? A trillion dollars?”

I roll my eyes. “Three hundred and twelve million,” I correct automatically, then grimace. “Sorry. Force of habit. My agent measures success in zeroes, and Tinsley tracks that like the queen she is, always about figures.”

“And how do you measure it?” She’s bouncing Fen gently on her knee, giving him a spoon to play with, but her attention is fixed on me, unwavering and somehow tender despite the directness.

I consider lying, saying something charming and deflective as I would in an interview. But this isn’t an interview, and Keegan has a way of looking at me that makes prettied-up falsehoods wither on my tongue. I want to be real with her.