by Olivia Hayle
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh?” I toss the cover back so she can see just what the sight of her naked body is doing to me. “You’re so gorgeous, and I want you so much. All the time. All I want is to feel you beneath me, to spread your legs, and fuck your tight pussy until—”
Faye shuts the bathroom door with a bang, and I burst into laughter. She must have heard me, because a second later, her voice calls through the door. “Save it for later!”
I brew coffee as she showers and get dressed. It’s the first time she’s meeting my family since the wedding weekend, but they’d been completely smitten with her—she has no need to be nervous. Besides, things have been good between us since we got back together. Well, good is perhaps somewhat of an understatement. Fucking fantastic is a much better description.
It was made better by the fact that we work next door to one another. Rykers has the office space next to Marchand’s, so Faye and I spent most evenings together, either at mine or hers. Mine was closer to work.
I smile into my coffee, thinking of the last time she’d spent the night. I’d casually suggested she get some stuff to keep at mine—a blow-dryer, her shampoo and conditioner, a drawer of clean underwear—to make the mornings before work easier. She’d been floored, and then kissed me in a way that made it clear the suggestion had been very, very appreciated.
We’ve taken things slow, but there is no doubt in my mind where this is heading, if I don’t accidentally screw things up again. I couldn’t handle another bout of separation between us. And never before had I met someone who understood, even appreciated, the person I am at work. Building is a part of me, just like it is for Faye.
She emerges fifteen minutes later, hair loose and a navy dress hugging her figure. She looks like a million bucks.
“Quit staring, Marchand. We have a brunch to attend.”
“When did you get so bossy?” I reach for her, wanting her hand in mine again. “Don’t ever stop.”
“When you stopped,” she says, grabbing her handbag. “Now, remind me—what terms are you and your father on at the moment?”
My good mood doesn’t vanish, but it sours slightly. “Speaking terms, of course. But the last time was a few weeks ago. He’s still upset about Chicago.”
She squeezes my hand. “His loss. You made the right call.”
“I know.” And I do, but it’s nice to hear her say it—especially because she genuinely thinks it, too. It’s coming from a place of both support and honesty. She’s as knowledgeable about this business as me or my father and understands these decisions.
We walk over to my parents’ house. Faye asks my opinion on one of the projects she’s working on, and we’re deep into a discussion of structural materials when we arrive at the end of Ocean Drive.
Lily and Hayden are waiting for us on the porch, Parker sprawled in a sun chair nearby, a pair of sunglasses on his face. He looks half-dead. I shoot a look at Lily, and she nods in confirmation. He’s hungover.
Stopping by my brother, I reach down and yank the sunglasses off. He sputters in surprise. “Hey!”
“Late night last night?”
He puts a hand to his temple. “Yes. And don’t speak so loudly, Jesus, Henry.”
“Are you twenty-nine, or nineteen?”
Lily plucks the sunglasses out of my hand and puts them back on Parker’s face. “Don’t answer that, but don’t let Mom see, either. Or Dad.”
“I know, I know,” Parker grumbles. Our parents have been forgiving with their youngest son—his mediocre grades were always compensated for by his athletic prowess—but they’re not lenient about partying.
Faye steps around me and gives Lily a hug. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
Lily smiles at me over her shoulder. “You too. We missed you around here this summer.”
“I did too.”
“And now we’re all here, together again.” Lily shoots us all a wide grin, using her announcement voice. I narrow my eyes at her.
“Rhys isn’t coming?”
She shakes her head. Damn. He’s always had a tendency to go off the rails, to make rash decisions, or retreat back into himself. The last text he’d sent me was just a picture of a sunrise somewhere in Asia from one of his photography trips.
Parker snorts. “He’ll be back. He always returns.”
We all hear the word he doesn’t add. Eventually.
“Yes, he always does,” Lily says, smiling happily, but no doubt she’s worried. She’s always worried about Rhys, despite being the younger sibling. I’ll talk to her about it later and reassure her. “Anyway, we wanted to tell you guys something before Mom and Dad join us outside. We don’t want them to know quite yet.”
Hayden slides an arm around her waist. His face is relaxed, eyes happy, even as they watch both Parker and me intently.
Parker straightens. “Lily…”
Her smile widens. “I’m pregnant. It’s early, still, but I wanted you to know first.”
For a moment, all I can do is stare at her, at them both. I didn’t know they’d decided to start trying. Next to me, Parker seems similarly frozen. Faye is the one who says congratulations and rushes forward, enveloping my little sister in a hug.
“Wow,” Parker finally says. “Congrats. Wow.”
I hug Lily, and she fits neatly into my arms. Her cheeks are rosy with happiness. “Congrats, Lilypad.”
She smiles up at me. “I’m making you all uncles, you know. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Uncle Henry.”
I have to swallow before I can reply. “Yes, it does.”
Parker has his arm around Hayden’s shoulders. “Uncle Parker. Man, do I sound old. This is unreal.”
“I know. Trust me, I know.” Hayden is grinning too, an unusual expression for him. “And amazing.”
“Good thing you guys got married.”
Lily gives me a gentle shove. “Hush, Henry.”
Hayden meets my gaze head-on. He’s a few years younger than me, but his years in the Navy changed something in him. The broken boy I’d once met is gone.
“The house is perfect,” he tells me. “You’re basically the architect of this pregnancy, since you added a nursery to the master bedroom.”
Lily laughs. “We just had to fill it right away.”
Faye leans into my side. “You designed their house?”
“Yeah. Just the remodel, though.”
“That place is gorgeous,” she says, sincerity in her voice.
Lily beams at her. “It is, isn’t it? Henry did a great job.”
“He has a fantastic eye,” Faye agrees. “You should see the project he’s working on now—it’s a skyscraper for a medical company, the most boring client ever, but Henry is making it stunning. Adding details they couldn’t dream of, and all within budget, too.”
My little sister’s eyes widen in excitement, and I ignore the amused looks both Hayden and Parker shoot me. “Really? Henry, you’re designing a skyscraper?”
“Well, that’s sort of my job.”
“You never tell us anything,” Lily says, turning to Faye. “He never does.”
Faye’s voice is amused. “Not hard to imagine.”
“How exactly did this conversation swing back around to me? Lily, let me know if you need anything, all right? Anything at all. That goes for you too, Hayden.”
They both nod at me, but if they think I’m being overbearing, neither of them mentions it. They’re grown-ups, but it’s hard to ignore the urge to fix things for them. This is one time where I can’t show them the ropes, though. Lily will be the first of us to try parenting. Faye is smiling beside me, her face the picture of happiness, and my mind immediately wanders to her expecting. To a child with our features mixed together.
She smiles up at me. “What are you thinking?”
“Just about you,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her temple, calming my racing imagination.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur. It’s early Septem
ber, but the weather is still warm, and we eat on the porch. I watch in amazement as my dad teaches Faye how to grill lobster.
“The claws need to be on the upper level,” he instructs her, “because they need more heat.”
She handles the creepy crawlies like a pro before returning to my side, a glass of white wine in her hand.
“That,” I say, “was very impressive.”
“Oh? A woman by the grill is a turn-on for you?”
I snort. “You by the grill, yes. But I was referring to how you wrangled the beast.”
She laughs. “Your dad can be nice.”
“Yes, because he loves you.”
“So arguing with Marchand men is the way to their hearts?” Her brown eyes glitter, the way they do when she’s teasing me, and my arm tightens around her waist.
“Yes. Be as argumentative, as challenging, and as ambitious as you want, and you’ll have us all wrapped around your little finger in no time.”
“Well, as long as I have you wrapped, I’m happy.”
After dinner, Dad asks me to join him in the study. It’s subtle—one of his looks and a nod—but I recognize it for what it is. So do my siblings, who watch in curiosity as I follow him into the house. Our difference of opinion has lasted for months this time. It’s almost a record.
I watch in silence as Dad rummages through papers on his desk. What will it be this time? Another flawed investment opportunity? A chance to disparage my business decisions?
Finding what he’s looking for, he hands it to me, a frown on his face.
Ah. It’s a short excerpt of a newspaper article, but the message is clear. A group of city planners, activists and lobbyists had managed to stop the Chicago project and the city’s building council, buoyed by the momentum, is set to announce new zoning laws for the area.
I lower the paper. “Rolfe and Pierce can’t be happy about this.”
“They’re not.” Dad leans back in his office chair. “But I was.”
It’s impossible to hide my surprise. “Did you end up investing?”
“Yes. But not as much as I had originally planned. They’re going to reimburse me every last penny, too.”
Through the window in his study, the sun is setting, bathing the backyard and the shoreline in warm golden light. Studying it gives me a moment to compose my features. “All right,” I say finally. “I’m glad you weren’t more exposed.”
His grin is crooked, containing something rare. Self-mockery. “If you won’t say it, I will. You were right, son.”
“Wow.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he says with a snort.
A smile is slowly spreading on my face. “Oh, I won’t.”
“I shouldn’t have dismissed your opinion like that. Now, what’s this I’ve heard about a split between Marchand & Rykers?”
My grin is full-blown now. We haven’t discussed business or building for months, so he hasn’t been able to ask me about this. It must have been eating him up inside.
“We can discuss it,” I say, coming around to his side of the desk. “I’ve been lining up projects for the coming years, deciding on a profile for the new firm.”
He fires up the computer. “Show me?”
“I will.”
It’s late when Faye and I finally walk home that evening, taking the route along the beach, her hand in mine. The sun might have set but the boardwalk is teeming with life, with teenagers skateboarding and couples in hushed conversation on benches. The unseasonably warm September evening has brought everyone out.
Faye squeezes my hand. “I love this place.”
“Mmm, good. You’ll have to be here a lot, you know.”
She chuckles. “Good thing I like your family too.”
“Even better.” I press a kiss to the top of her head, conveniently within reach. “Tell me again what your parents said when you told them about me.”
Faye elbows me. “You vain creature.”
“Tell me.”
“Finally, they said.” Her cheeks flush. “That I’d finally met my match.”
I slide an arm around her waist, bending so my lips are close to her ear. She smells divine. “Don’t be embarrassed. My mom told you they’d been waiting for me to meet someone. To meet you.”
She clears her throat. “Dad also said that I sounded head over heels when I described you.”
“Did he?” Interesting.
“Yes.” She sneaks a sideways glance at me. “Mom agreed.”
“You sound head over heels, or you are head over heels? There’s a difference.”
She pushes me away, her laughter exasperated. “Henry!”
I catch her. It’s not difficult, wrapping her in my arms and tipping her head back. She kisses me back, surprised, warm and lovely.
“I am head over heels,” she murmurs finally. “You’ve tortured it out of me.”
I grin. “Tortured? You wound me, Faye.”
“Not in the least,” she says. Her eyes glittering with happiness might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Come on.” I pull us along toward the cottage. Her words have worked like catnip. The past month has been one of the best of my life with her in it, and the need to be alone with her—to show her that—is nearly overwhelming.
Faye laughs as she hurries along beside me. “Hey! My legs are shorter!”
“Sorry. I’ll slow down.”
“Or I’ll speed up.” She releases my hand and starts to jog, her hair trailing behind her. “Down for a little competition, Marchand?”
I grin at her. “You know I don’t lose.”
“No,” she says, already ahead of me. “Only to me!”
We reach the cottage almost neck-and-neck, neither of us running to win. Faye laughs as I lift her up and carry her across the threshold.
“Getting ahead of yourself, Marchand?”
I don’t reply. I kiss her instead, and she melts in my arms, my hands flattening against her back as I press her closer still. Her lips move hungrily against mine as I kick the front door shut behind us. A month together and I still can’t get enough. I doubt I ever will.
I walk her backward toward the bedroom. “Are you still wearing that thong?”
“Of course.” Faye’s lips trail down my neck, undoing the buttons in my shirt. Her response sends fresh need pounding through me and my hands fist the fabric of her skirt, wanting to tear it off, to see the little piece of lace she’d bought to tease me with. It barely covers anything.
She pushes me onto the bed, eyes blazing. “But you’re going to have to earn it.”
“Oh?” I put my hands behind my head, letting my gaze sweep across her body. “I do love a challenge.”
Faye proceeds to give me exact instructions, her cheeks on fire from the words she’s using. She’s gotten better at handling the dirty talk—but I hope it never stops embarrassing her a little.
“God, you’re sexy,” I breathe. “Come here.”
“You do your part first.”
“Want me to sign a contract as well?”
She shakes her head, eyes following my hands as I unbuckle my pants, following her instructions to the T. It’s not difficult—I’m already hard. “This is what you do to me,” I say. “Every day.”
She swallows. “Uh-huh.”
“Want to see just how badly?”
She nods, hand toying with the zipper in her dress. I grin and tell her in excruciating detail what I feel, what I want from her. How I need her tonight. I use all the words she likes—the ones she’s admitted get her even wetter than she thought possible. It takes a long time before we finally settle down to sleep that night, every minute more enjoyable than the last.
Spoiler: we both win.
Afterwards, she’s warm in my arms, body curved neatly against mine. The scent that clings to her skin is intoxicating. Sea and sex and sun. My arm is resting around her waist, and her hand smooths up and down my skin lazily. I close my eyes.
It feels too g
ood, this. A dream. A fantasy.
“Henry,” she murmurs softly. “You didn’t tell me earlier. Are you head over heels, too?”
I smile. “I’m weak after sex. Are you exploiting it?”
Faye laughs, burying her face against my neck. “Maybe.”
My arm tightens around her waist. Her body against mine is something I’d never stop taking for granted. The quiet is expectant, but not uncomfortable. Faye will be okay with whatever I reply, as long as it’s the truth.
“In every relationship in my life, there have been... expectations. I have to be someone. A son. A big brother. A winner, an instructor. A role model. A boss.” My thumb rubs a circle over the silken skin on her stomach. “But here with you, I’m just me. And it’s enough.”
Faye is quiet for a long moment. Then her lips, gentle and warm against mine. “Henry,” she murmurs.
“That was a yes,” I clarify. “To your question.”
Her laughter is soft in the dark, surrounding me completely. “I’m glad.”
The next day…
“I’ve been practicing my knots,” Faye says. “I bought some string at the supermarket.”
“That’s it, you’re the best student I’ve ever had.”
“Anything to impress you,” she says with a smile, grabbing her bag from the trunk. Lily and Hayden’s car is already here—parked next to ours. They should be waiting by the Frida.
My phone rings, and it’s a number I don’t recognize. On a Sunday? I debate letting it go to voice mail, the ocean beckoning, before I decide differently. Still watching Faye, I answer.
“Henry Marchand.”
“Hi, I’m so glad I could reach you. My name is Richard Drew from the Architecture Society of New York. As you might recall, we’re in charge of the jury selection for the new opera house.”
My throat has gone dry. “Yes, I recall.”
“Well, we were very impressed with your submission. The jury has met and deliberated, and they have unanimously chosen your design. Congratulations!”
