by Soraya Naomi
I laugh as Henry sits motionless with an unrelenting scowl I find all too appealing, the glare in his expression only rendering him more handsome.
“Mary,” he warns in a low tone.
“Why do you hate animals? You eat them and never want them to touch you.”
“Just because I’m not an animal lover like you doesn’t mean I hate them. I simply prefer systems to animals and people. They’re easier to handle.”
“Such a hacker’s answer,” I accuse, reaching down and picking up Strawberry.
With a wolfish smirk, he places his arm on the back of my chair.
Due to his charismatic arrogance, I hover Strawberry in front of his face, causing him to break his cheeky façade again when he jumps up. “Mary!”
Strawberry barks and I laugh while Henry whispers, “I’m getting you back for that. When you least expect it.”
“Bring it, Henry. I’ve got Strawberry to defend me, and you fear her.” I scratch her neck as she rumbles in delight.
“Yeah, you laugh now,” he counters with a devilishly attractive feigned glare as Luca and Fallon stand up. “I’m not afraid of her. I just don’t want her in my face.”
Luca interrupts us, “We’re going to a bookstore Fallon wanted to visit.”
“Want to come, Mary?” Fallon asks.
“No, thanks. I’m going to take Strawberry to the beach since it’s such a beautiful day.”
“Alone?” Carmine and Adriano inquire at once.
In response, I stare at Henry with an expectant expression, hoping he’ll go with me, or else Adriano and Carmine will probably send a guard to trail me.
Henry watches me as though he doesn’t understand my silent message, making me think he probably has plans for today with someone else.
But then he speaks, “I’m going with her. She and Strawberry need an escort, clearly.”
Smiling, I rise. “We’re leaving now too.”
Before Henry changes his mind or my brothers start to question us, I quickly walk out behind Luca and Fallon, and Henry joins us, mouthing, “You owe me, baby.”
Moving toward the elevator in the hall, I grin, and he runs his hand across my ass. Again, an inappropriate touch I don’t berate him for. Secretly, I enjoy it way too much.
CHAPTER 4
Mary
With its spectacular view of the city’s architectural skyline, Oak Street Beach is swamped on this sunny day at the end of summer. While Strawberry splashes in the water toward a group of children, I stroll along the public beach with Henry, holding my sandals in one hand and kicking the sugary soft sand with my toes.
Due to the heat, I swipe a layer of sweat from my upper lip and Henry grabs his shirt at the back of his neck and pulls it over his head. I can’t help but gawk at his bronzed, inked skin, chiseled abs, and broad shoulders that could shelter a woman for the rest of her life. Maybe I shouldn’t stand where I can almost feel him, breathe him in. Where I could reach out to touch him so easily.
“Christ, I’m roasting out here. Aren’t you hot, Mary?” he asks.
Is there a double meaning in his words?
“Yeah,” I agree as he lifts his arm, taking off the Fedora and placing it on top of my head. Because it’s a size too large for me, I tilt it up a little and strike a pose, making a duckface.
“How do I look?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Without the pout, you look fucking sexy.”
“Oh, then no duckface,” I concede, duly noting his compliment and coming to a standstill when Strawberry circles around my feet before skipping into the water again.
From my back pocket, I get my phone and snap a picture of her and then a selfie, getting Henry in the picture too. But he snatches it from my palm.
“No. Don’t delete it!” I pull his hand down to check the picture. “I didn’t even get your head in the photo.” I quickly steal my phone from his grip.
And he praises me, “Very fast, baby.”
“I have skills you don’t even know about, baby,” I retort, since he’s also been making these suggestive comments the last few days, and he rubs a hand over his mouth, hiding his wide grin. “Let’s take one good pic.”
Henry sends me a bland look. “What is it with women and selfies?”
I ignore his question, imploring dramatically with fluttering lashes, “Please? I promise that I’ll never post it on my Facebook. It’s just for me...”
He bites the inside of his cheek, yet I catch his lips twitching. “Fine. One picture.”
I go up on my tiptoes while standing in front of him to get us both in the shot, which I shouldn’t have done – his bare chest is pressed against my back with only the thin layer of my emerald tank top separating skin-to-skin contact.
Henry places his hands low on my hips and dips his head, bringing us cheek to cheek. Quickly, I snap one photo and step forward – I’m hot and bothered, and it seems like neither of us is setting any boundaries between us anymore. This attraction has grown into something beyond my understanding, beyond my capability to stop myself.
However, everything changes in an instant when, much to my dismay, a brunette in a red striped triangle bikini with legs that go on forever stares at Henry. She has cougar written all over her since she must be in her late thirties, judging by her crow’s feet. She beams crookedly, but he immediately disregards her and tips the Fedora up with his thumb when it slides down my forehead.
“You’re completely flushed from the heat. Let’s swim.”
“I don’t have my bikini,” I remark as he undoes his brown leather belt and strips down to his black boxer briefs, resembling Michelangelo’s David.
Oh dear, he’s hung.
“You wear underwear, don’t you?” he questions, yet I’m focused on the hard lines of his chest until he flexes his pecs, and I look up when he points two fingers to his eyes. “My eyes are up here.”
“Then stop doing that.” Theatrically, I gesture to his chest.
Swiftly, he flings off the Fedora and lowers my hand, keeping his fingers around my wrist as I drop my sandals.
He has the widest smile when he asks, “Are you going commando?”
My head drops back as I chuckle. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but no, I’m wearing panties and a bra.”
Though he appears to be even more pleased. “Then let’s cool off. Take off your clothes.”
“Without any foreplay?” I reply jokingly, making him laugh as he shows me a grin that eases all the way up to his silver-grey eyes.
Walking backward, I shimmy my jeans down my legs and remove my top, throwing them next to his pile of clothes that are lying at the base of the tree where Strawberry’s tethered and digging a hole.
Henry’s gaze rakes over my burgundy lace bra and boy shorts, which I thankfully had the forethought to wear today. I snap my fingers to get his attention, and he smirks before sauntering into the water. He dives in and I follow, gasping when I go under, and as I come up, I push my wet curls from my face. The cold water is such a relief.
Henry stops a few feet in front of me, and his chest and arm muscles bulge as he runs his hands through his thick, black hair. “You can stand here.”
“Yeah, right. It comes up to your shoulders. I can clearly see that it’s deep.” Still, I go forward, drawn to him.
Afraid to get too close and not knowing what game we’re playing, when I’m about a foot away from him, I float in place, feeling for the sand under my feet, which isn’t there as I suspected. Then I arc a brow, throw out my arms, and splash Henry, making him splutter as I dive to the side.
When I come up, the woman in the red striped bikini is swimming past us, trying to get Henry to notice her, but he lunges at me instead. Shrieking, I attempt to surge away by kicking my legs and manage to stay out of his reach, shouting, “Too slow, Henry!”
I swim ahead of him and hear his laugh while I do the breaststroke, stopping when I bump into someone.
“Watch it!” a high-pitched voice yel
ls as the waves come and go.
Blinking through the water that’s obstructing my view, I catch my breath and offer, “Sorry,” just as I realize I’ve come face-to-face with red bikini woman, who’s sneering at me.
“Watch where you’re going,” she repeats with a scowl.
“I said I was sorry.” I didn’t intentionally bump into her.
But her focus is, of course, behind me, and her nasty attitude has me swimming back in that direction to stop her from getting what she wants: Henry.
“Do you know her?” I swim around him.
“I think so,” he answers without meeting my gaze, as if he’s uncomfortable with my question.
“You think so?” I frown, and then, understanding dawns. “Oh, my god. You don’t remember if you’ve slept with her?”
His lips thin into a hard line at my disgusted face, but he keeps quiet. I want to say something yet bite my tongue and drift away, careening around some guys playing with a giant beach ball.
Henry swims a few long strokes until he’s beside me again and demands, “Tell me what you wanted to say.”
I swivel around, treading water. “Don’t you ever think about their feelings?”
“Feelings aren’t involved; they know that.”
“Are you sure about that?” She was obviously pretty jealous.
“Yes. It’s not like I hide how I am or pretend to be Prince Charming. The women that go home with me know the deal. They’re not like you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Oh, please, Mary. You judge me for fucking around, but it’s not like I take virgins.”
I snicker. “I don’t judge you. But you know that sometimes girls want more.”
“Which they won’t get.”
“But what will happen when you fall in love?”
His eyes round at my direct question; we’ve never discussed feelings. “I won’t. I don’t do relationships.”
“That’s stupid. Why not?”
“Why not what?” he retorts, confused.
“Why don’t you do relationships?”
This astonishes me. I gathered he liked screwing around because he’s never fallen in love. How can you not want a relationship? Not want love? All I want is that one thing with a man who adores me wholeheartedly, the same way my father adores my mother and Adriano can’t live without Cam.
He lets out an impatient sigh yet answers, “Growing up as an orphan and without any siblings, I’m used to being alone.”
“That doesn’t automatically mean you don’t do relationships. You said you keep people at a distance because you prefer systems to them,” I echo his words.
“Systems are more trustworthy than people, Mary. Systems don’t fucking cheat. People cheat,” he says, betraying he’s most likely been cheated on, like me.
I gamble with my next words. “Maybe she didn’t love you enough, Henry,” I utter, and he seems taken aback. “Not everyone cheats, I hope. At the end of the day, don’t you dream of having a family?”
He regards me intently. “If you knew what I dreamed of, you’d run from me.”
There it is again – some innuendo he throws in during casual conversation, making me think that he wants to be more than a friend to me.
“I believe that one day you’ll fall in love and do a relationship.” And I’ll hate it.
He freezes for a split second and then recovers with a wicked gleam crossing his face. “I doubt that.”
Suddenly, Henry leaps forward, his arm swooping around my torso as he slaps a ball away before it clunks me in the head, and when he circles us around, water seeps into my nose and mouth.
“Hey, man!” Henry rumbles with an unrelenting glower as strands of his dark hair topple appealingly over his forehead.
“I’m sorry,” the other guy apologizes.
Coughing, I breathe heavily as he holds me up without effort. He’s deliciously big and strong, and I’m much too aware of his imposing upper body, coiled muscles, and the way the sun glistens on the spade tattoo on his neck.
On instinct, I lock my legs around Henry’s hips as he looks back at me, and I murmur, “Thanks.”
His arms tighten around me, and out of the blue, he says, “You’re so petite.”
For some reason, I’m not liking his statement. “I’m not just a petite or sweet girl who needs protection all the time.”
“Why do you say it as if it bothers you?”
“Because it does. People are constantly calling me petite or sweet or short,” I tell him honestly.
“Those are compliments.”
“No, they’re not. You’re short is simply a statement, an observation. And the short and sweet girls are always being friend-zoned by men,” I blurt out, hoping he understands my words, but when a wave hits us and the tip of his nose bumps against mine, it’s like a literal slap back to reality, so we abruptly release each other.
My mind mixed up, I swim back to the shore without a word to Henry and approach Strawberry, my body dripping wet. Henry, who’s followed me out of the water, shakes the sand out of his t-shirt and spreads it out so that we can relax while the warm rays of sun dry our skin.
I observe the clear blue sky and then peek sideways at Henry, who’s lazing back, stashing one arm behind his head and the other over his eyes.
“Stop staring, Mary,” he speaks without moving or uncovering his eyes, and I instantly glance away.
Busted!
Nonetheless, I glimpse at him again to see a smile curving his mouth. Since he seems wholly comfortable, I take a chance and fire questions he usually evades at him. “Why are you named Henry?”
“I don’t know. I only know my birth mother was British.”
“Maybe she named you after King Henry the Eighth,” I muse aloud.
“Who beheaded his wives? Great role model,” he mutters, making me grin.
I think we can establish that Henry’s mom wasn’t a great role model herself, because she dumped him at an orphanage and he grew up with different foster families until he was eighteen.
“Haven’t you ever wanted to know more about your parents or where you come from, Henry?” I probe, genuinely curious.
“Not really. It doesn’t define me.” He crosses one ankle over the other and grunts just as his phone rings from his jeans lying next to me on the sand, so I take it out and read don’t answer flashing across the screen.
He sits up when I show it to him with a frown. “Don’t answer? You have code names? Let me guess...the code names are for women?”
He smirks arrogantly, so I swipe my thumb across the screen and say, “Hello?”
“Goddammit, Mary! I’m going to kill you,” he threatens, sounding authoritative, and reaching for his device as I fall sideways.
No one answers. “Oh, she hung up.” I feign disappointment.
Henry rolls on top of me, but when I stretch my arm as far out of his reach as possible, I accidentally open his messages and see Mary (the hot one).
At that moment, he snatches his phone and rolls to his back. So without thinking, I straddle him, and he pulls up his knees, shoving his phone under him before clutching my waist to hold me still.
“Who’s the hot one?” I want to know, dreading the answer a bit. Another Mary or me?
Henry runs one hand through his hair, making it a sexy mess. “No one.”
My face falls, and his thumb caresses my side as he sighs and confesses, “You are, okay?”
My heart skips a treacherous beat, and I sit back against his knees. “I’m honored.”
“I already regret telling you.” He shifts me a little and accidentally grinds me over his bulge.
I suppress a moan as we both sit still immediately. Then I attempt to move, resting my palm on his pecs, yet he grips my sides again, more forcefully this time, and meets my eyes. The air thickens. Only, now it’s different because we’ve been flirting the entire day. Although we’ve never crossed that line, we’re hovering perilously close to the edge. Or
dinarily, one of us breaks away from the tension, but somehow, with every encounter, my resolve to keep him as only a friend vanishes a little more. And considering he’s just confessed to having me as the hot one in his phone, I know that this attraction I can’t seem to escape is mutual. On the other hand, Henry’s drawn to a lot of women and doesn’t do relationships. And I have Keano to think about – I’m in the wrong here.
With much effort, I try to pry his fingers loose, yet he doesn’t relent. His gaze brands my skin as it travels over my face and down my cleavage, and he breathes harder as he swells beneath me. This is becoming much too dangerous, and I might surrender to him if I don’t put a stop to it.
Though just as I reach the point of no return, he comes to his senses, dropping his head back and glancing away, before – lightning fast – he shifts me off him and deposits me on the sand like I weigh nothing. Then, when Henry surges up as if he needs to shield me, I see Keano charging at us.
“No, Keano!” I shout, jumping up and diving in front of Henry, who shunts me behind him and holds up his palm in a commanding manner that stops Keano.
“Mary, come here,” Keano tells me as the two men engage in a glaring contest.
“No! Stay right fucking there,” Henry orders in a tone I don’t dare to defy, and damn if his protectiveness doesn’t make me feel cherished.
“Why do you keep trying to get into Mary’s pants?” Keano yells to Henry, launching a fist at Henry like a catapult.
Henry catches it midair with shocking speed and spins Keano around, pinning him motionless with his own arm against his chest as a muscle ticks in his jaw. “Why do you keep interrupting us?”
Even though Keano hisses in pain, he stands his ground.
