Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  Before I can even open my mouth this time, he closes the door.

  I watch him jog across the street and back to his car in the rain. Water presses against the white linen, and it molds to his frame. I see his rear lights flip on a few cars down and watch him pull away.

  Still, I sit and let the events of the evening settle into my soul. After a few long minutes, I start my car and pull onto the street.

  “And I thought the hardest thing would be not having sex with him,” I say aloud. “I had no idea it would be this.”

  I take a right at the end of the park and head back to Holt’s.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Holt

  The lamp on my desktop shines a warm, yellow light onto the papers spread out in front of me.

  My back aches from sitting for four hours and delving deep into the Landry offer. I always work at night but never at my desk for hours on end.

  I sit back and stretch my arms overhead. My muscles scream at the sudden movement. My brain, though, cherishes the opportunity to stop analyzing numbers.

  The reprieve doesn’t last long. It just changes topics.

  Blaire arrived a few minutes after me. I made us a drink while she went upstairs and retrieved her briefcase. Then we sat in the living room—her with her briefcase and me with a book.

  It wasn’t as awkward as I thought it might be, but I do think I pissed her off. She shied away from making eye contact and pulled away when I reached across her to take her empty glass. It wasn’t our usual flirty interaction. It wasn’t nearly as easy either.

  And I hate it.

  It’s because I walked away from her on the street. I know that. But I had to.

  It was clear she didn’t want to talk. Even though I was curious and wanted her to open up, I was exhausted. I’d pushed all day. I’ve pushed people and things and schedules for weeks. I don’t want to have to push with Blaire, too.

  My stomach tightened as she snapped her briefcase shut and announced she was going to bed. I absorbed her grin and little wave good night—neither cold, exactly, but also not filled with the warmth I’ve come to expect—and told her good night. But after a quick workout, a long shower, and too much time to think, I ended up in my office. The place I should’ve been for longer today anyway.

  What makes this woman tick?

  The question has rolled around my mind all damn night. Hell, since the moment I met her I’ve wondered this very thing. But the more time I spend with her, the more I should know about her and the less I do.

  I’m getting tripped up. I’m caring. I’m giving a fuck on a plethora of levels.

  Her refusal to open up to me is irritating. The fact that I want her to is downright infuriating. Me pushing her makes me a dick, but if I don’t, that feels wrong too.

  How did I get myself into this position?

  I bend my neck side to side to relieve some of the tension before turning back to Wade’s plans. I pick up my pencil when I hear something behind me.

  Looking over my shoulder, I see her. Blaire is standing in the doorway in an oversized T-shirt. Her hair is messy, spilling all over her shoulders, and her eyes are heavy yet clear.

  “Everything all right?” I ask.

  She walks across the room and stops a few feet away from my desk. Her features are sober.

  I turn in my chair to face her.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice just above a whisper.

  It’s soft and delicate and void of the confidence she usually oozes into everything. While it’s beautiful to see her stripped of the mask she wears, it’s painful too. Because I’m convinced this isn’t easy for her.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. “What are you sorry for?”

  I want to reach for her, but I don’t. After tonight, I’m not sure what she’ll do.

  I wish she’d fall into my arms and bury her head in my chest. My hands want to squeeze her body and reassure her of my presence and my ability to protect her from whatever is troubling her.

  Because I can. I can help her with anything. But I’m not sure she’ll let me.

  She’s a strong, gorgeous woman on an island by herself by her own choice.

  But why?

  She lifts her chin. “You’ve been so kind to me. You’ve opened your home and given me your time, and I’ve … I’ve not reciprocated any of that.”

  “You don’t have to reciprocate anything. I offer what I want to offer you. It’s not predicated on anything else.”

  Her nod is subtle.

  She blows out a deep, haggard breath. “I know. But—”

  “But do you? Because it’s important to me that you know that.”

  The chair squeaks as I move to the edge. It’s the only sound besides her wispy breaths that gives away how nervous she is.

  I hold up a hand when she starts to speak again.

  “I’m sorry if I pressed today. I just want to get to know you. You’re smart and funny and observant. It feels natural to want to learn more about what makes a woman like you tick. But maybe I shouldn’t. I …”

  I don’t know. If she doesn’t want to go there with me, then that’s her choice. It’s one that I will, without a doubt, honor.

  But it doesn’t feel wrong to want to get to know her more deeply. And that’s what’s worrisome.

  She forces a swallow. “This has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me.”

  I stay quiet. I can see a hundred different things sitting on her tongue and how hard it is for her to choose which thing to say.

  “You aren’t wrong to ask questions, Holt. It’s a nice thing to want to get to know someone.”

  “I’d love it if you wanted to get to know me.”

  She smiles but it falters quickly. “I … I do. You know that I do.”

  “I hope so.”

  She takes another deep breath. “I’ve been lying in bed tonight thinking about you and what you said and what Sienna has been saying. And … I know I have vulnerability issues.”

  I lock my hands together in front of me and rest my elbows on my knees.

  “Letting people inside my world … scares me.” She looks at the ceiling. “I feel like such an idiot for saying that. But it does. You aren’t even asking me anything deep, and I still … shut down.”

  “You know what? It scares me too. It scares me to let people into my inner circle, and it scares me to be inside someone else’s.”

  She drops her head and levels her eyes with mine. “Really?”

  I get to my feet. My hands find my hair. My fingernails drag across my scalp, the bite feeling good despite the pain.

  It’s my turn to take a deep breath as I try to decide if going into all of this is worth it. I’m two seconds away from telling her it’s okay and that I see her point about keeping things superficial between us, but then I look at her face.

  The pain there is unmistakable. The fear, too, is obvious.

  That’s when I know: I have no choice.

  If this walled-off woman is opening up to me of all people, it’s my responsibility to help her.

  I want to.

  “I had a girlfriend a few years ago,” I say. “It started out innocent enough. She stayed here a few nights here and there, and eventually, she lived here. I didn’t even realize it at the time. I guess, in retrospect, I wasn’t around a lot and didn’t really question why she was here when I got home. I figured she just wanted to see me.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “But she didn’t. She’d pretty much just moved in. And when it got to be too much for me—when things settled down a bit at work, and I was home more and kind of put two-and-two together, it got bad.”

  “How do you mean?” she asks.

  “Well, we weren’t compatible. Not to be living together twenty-four seven. But I knew that. She was never that kind of person for me, and my lackadaisical approach with her was the wrong and irresponsible way to handle it.”

  “Surely, she knew that, though,” Blaire says.


  I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t know if it matters because even if she did, it doesn’t change what happened.” My lip hurts as I bite down to brace myself for the flood of memories. “Kendra was really big into the social aspect of Savannah. Her parents are deeply embedded in the clubs and charities and all that shit that goes down behind the scenes.”

  “Are you? I mean, are you a part of that scene?”

  I try hard not to roll my eyes. “Yes. I am. Mostly because I grew up in it and operate a business here. It’s good for networking and for giving back to our community. But I don’t care about the rest of it—the balls and cocktail hours and all that shit.”

  “But Kendra did.”

  “She did. And because she assumed, I guess, that we were a permanent thing, she positioned herself as such. I had no idea.”

  I run a hand down my face as I remember the night I realized what happened.

  “I got an invitation in the mail addressed to a Mr. and Mrs. Holt Mason. Needless to say, I was confused. And I was downright shocked when she sort of offhandedly mentioned that it was from one of her friends in New York. I started putting different pieces together.”

  My chest squeezes as I recall the events of the next twenty-four hours.

  The black stains that marred her face. My utter confusion. The ugliness of the words thrown back and forth.

  “Unbeknownst to me, she had moved in. Let her apartment go. Started getting mail at my house. I’d never saw us like that, but she obviously did.” I blow out a breath. “I tried to rationalize with her, but she wasn’t having it. And it just … devolved from there.”

  My heartbeat quickens as freeze-frame images flash before my eyes.

  I force a swallow down my throat. The passage is constricted as a wash of emotions reminiscent of that day flow through me.

  A chill rips down my spine.

  “When I got home from work the next day, she was gone,” I say, the words tinged with an anger I choke back. “And my house was a disaster. Paint in the bed. Broken windows. My clothes and belongings strewn around the house and in the pool. It was … it took weeks to clean it up.”

  And even longer for me to trust anyone again.

  “I sat in the bed, in the middle of the paint and broken glass, completely numb. It felt surreal. A complete violation of my trust. I questioned everyone and everyone’s motives for a long time after.”

  Maybe I still do.

  My eyes find Blaire’s again. She’s watching me carefully.

  “Wow,” she says. “I’m sorry. For you both, really.”

  “She didn’t come around for a long time. She didn’t show up at the events that she never missed even before all of this. No one heard from her, and her parents wouldn’t talk to me when I tried to check on her. They still won’t speak to me when I see them around.”

  “That’s not your fault, though,” she says. “You didn’t make a commitment to her.”

  “But I didn’t take care of her as I should’ve. I should’ve been clear from the start. I guess I assumed too many things too.” I sigh. “My life goes a million miles per hour sometimes. I’m responsible for so many people, so many families. It’s all I can do to keep my head above water most days—but that’s my choice. I love it. Kendra got sucked in and spit out, and I blame myself for that. Even if I didn’t mean to do it.”

  I push my chair under my desk and then lean against it.

  Blaire stands in front of me, her hands wrapped around her middle. She’s less rigid than she was when she first entered but still too tense to make me relax.

  “I have a hard time letting people in because of that,” I say softly. “I generally don’t like being too incorporated into someone else’s life, either, because then I have a responsibility that I don’t have time to take seriously. I miss stuff. I miss signs. I can’t do things the right way, and the right way is the only way I want to do everything.”

  She leans against the bookshelf and watches me out of the corner of her eye. I think she’s mulling what I just said over and trying to make sense of it.

  I know I sound pretentious—as though I have some crazy pull on women—but that’s not at all what I mean. I hope she understands that.

  “Can I ask you something?” she whispers.

  “Sure.”

  “Why did you ask me to stay?”

  Her eyes shine with some unnamed emotion. Whatever it is staring back at me is raw and unfiltered. This moment, beneath the harsh yellow light and in a plain white T-shirt that hangs mid-thigh—Blaire Gibson is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen her.

  “Honestly? I don’t know,” I say. “You’re strong. You hold your own. You’re gorgeous and intelligent, and I enjoy talking to you. And it probably didn’t hurt that you live a thousand miles away.”

  She almost smiles. “I figured that helped.”

  “At least I’m honest.”

  She blows out a breath and paces a little circle. Her fingers tug at the fabric of her shirt—clenching and unclenching it on repeat. Finally, she stops and looks at me with a resolution that makes me hold my breath.

  “I have trust issues,” she says.

  “I’m aware.”

  She cracks a grin. “I’m serious. I really do. I don’t think I even understood the depths of it until I got here.”

  “Why here?”

  “I’m out of my wheelhouse,” she says, looking around. “I’m out of my routine. The people in my life know what to expect, and none of them pushes the agenda. But then I come here and meet you, and you don’t know the lines I’ve established. And then Sienna, bless her heart, somehow feels like I’m on her turf down here, and now we’re going to be best friends.”

  “She’s a good friend to have.”

  Blaire’s shoulders fall. “I don’t … I don’t know how to be a friend, Holt. I don’t know how to tell you things about me and know you won’t ridicule me for them.”

  I push off my desk. “Do you think I’d do that? Because, if you do, I’ve done something wrong.”

  “No,” she rushes, sticking a hand in front of her. “That’s not what I mean.”

  “I would never ridicule you for anything you say or choose to share with me. Unless you think Boone is a genius. In that case, prepare yourself.”

  This gets a little laugh out of her.

  She’s gathering her courage as I watch her from a safe distance.

  “When my parents died, I was a wreck,” she says, her tone monotone and as if she just needs to get the words out. “They were my lifeline. My safety net. Having them pass away like they did just pulled the rug out from under me.”

  I nod.

  “I had a boyfriend. Jack was his name. And a friend named Lacie. And, at first, they were supportive.”

  My jaw clenches. I don’t think I like where this is going.

  She ignores me. “I couldn’t pull myself together. It was … months before I could even function for a whole day. I had their estate to settle. I had to keep my youngest brother from landing himself in prison. Walker … I don’t even want to go there, and Lance had a health crisis that I had to get him through because if I didn’t, it would fall on our nana.”

  She paces back and forth across my office. The words tumble past her lips in quick succession. It’s as though she’s afraid that if she stops, she’ll never restart.

  “That’s a lot,” I say softly, wanting to offer support but not interrupt.

  She stops walking and looks at me. “It was so much.” Her voice cracks. “And, like you, I looked up one day and realized that decisions had been made without me being asked. Only, Jack and Lacie had decided to move on together, and I was left holding a bunch of broken pieces of a life I had just a few weeks before.”

  I was right. I don’t like where this is going.

  “I remember asking him why he did that to me. How could he do this to me? And he said I was so self-absorbed with my own shit and that I wasn’t there for him. That he needed my support t
o get through law school, and if I wasn’t going to give him that, then he didn’t see why he should waste any time on me.”

  A single, solitary tear slips down her cheek.

  My heart breaks for her. Watching her cry feels like someone kicked me in the gut.

  I reach for her, but she backs away.

  “He told me I was weak and too emotional, and I would never make a good attorney. He threw all the things I’d confided in him back in my face and made me sound like an impulsive train wreck.” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hands. “Maybe I was.”

  “You just lost your parents, Blaire. You’re entitled to be a mess. But you’re also entitled to have the support of your friends when you’re going through things like that.”

  It takes everything I have to be kind and patient. What I really want to do is give in to the burst of adrenaline shooting through my veins and demand to know who this guy is and where I can find him.

  But that won’t help her. And, for what might be the first time in a long time, she needs someone to put her first.

  She sniffles. “I was staying in his apartment. I was on his phone plan. I had everything of mine tied up with his, and when he kicked me out, I had nothing. I controlled nothing in my life. I had to threaten to have the police come and let me get my things because he wouldn’t let me in.”

  I take her hand in mine and pull her closer.

  We stand with a few feet between us. The fear in her eyes from before is faded. A strand of hair is stuck to the side of her face with a tear. I use my free hand to brush it away.

  The contact breaks an invisible wall. Her eyes fill with unshed tears.

  “I broke down, Holt,” she says through a lump in her throat. “I sat one night in the bathroom of this shitty apartment that I found for next to nothing and told Machlan how he had to straighten up. How his future depended on it. How I expected him to make good choices. I hung up the phone and just cried.”

  Tears flow down both cheeks. She tries to slip her hand from mine, but I hold it tight.

  “I sat there that night with a piece of glass in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other and a letter from the university that said if I didn’t get my shit together, I was out. I probably cried enough in that one sitting to fill the bottle up with tears.”