40-Love (There's Something About Marysburg Book 2)

by Olivia Dade

  His heart nearly exploded before she completed her cupcake-eating process for the second time and used a wet wipe on her hands.

  Then she leaned forward, and the cleavage on display made it hard to swallow. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this. Your head is big enough as it is.”

  He opened his mouth.

  “Yes, yes, I know.” She flicked her hand in dismissal. “Let’s just assume you already made a joke about the monstrous size of your penis yet again.”

  He smirked at her. “Oh, it’s no joke, Tess.”

  “For God’s sake, Karlsson, I’m trying to give you a compliment.”

  His mouth opened again.

  “Not about your penis.” She raised that single, expressive brow. “Do you want to hear what I was going to say or not?”

  He leaned back and spread his arms. “Have at it, Dunn.”

  With a little, self-deprecating shake of her head, she said, “I arrived early to our date so I could observe the last few minutes of your lesson with that young couple.”

  She had? He hadn’t spotted her. Then again, he’d have guessed she was more likely not to show up at all than to show up early. Also, both members of that young couple were the same age as him, but he wasn’t going to mention that. Not for any amount of money.

  Then she proceeded to knock a few more foundations out from beneath him. “I was beyond impressed. You’re an excellent teacher. Organized, knowledgeable, articulate, and able to break complicated processes down into simple, understandable components. Respectful but friendly. Authoritative without being an ass about it. And from our few encounters, I know you’re clearly very intelligent. The resort is lucky to have you, Lucas, despite your automatic flirtiness and”—she crooked her fingers—“al fresco shenanigans.”

  His mouth was open again, but not to say something. In shock.

  An unfamiliar pressure was clogging his throat, provoking an odd prickle in his sinuses, the physical manifestations of a burgeoning emotion he didn’t quite recognize. Maybe because he hadn’t felt it for a couple of years now, not in reference to something outside his athletic or sexual prowess. Never in reference to…him. All of him.

  “I hope you enjoy your work. But if you don’t, you could do pretty much anything, given the right training.” She waited, but he didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. “Do you? Enjoy your work, I mean?”

  A quick glance down at his tennis shoes, then at his watch, allowed him to gather himself.

  “Uh…” He cleared his throat, uncomfortably aware of her scrutiny. “I have another lesson soon, unfortunately. Let me clean up while I answer that.”

  She rose to her feet. “I’ll help.”

  They worked together to gather the detritus of their meal with surprising ease. And as they stacked containers, deposited trash in the appropriate bin, and consolidated leftovers, he tried to give her an honest response to her question.

  “I love tennis. Always have, from the first time I held a racket at four years old.” The glass bottles of sparkling soda went into the recycling container, and he took care not to break them. “Teaching is usually fun too, although—”

  Damn. He probably shouldn’t admit that.

  She was watching him from beside the trash bin. “Go ahead. Say whatever it is you were going to say.”

  “All right.” Hopefully she wouldn’t be offended. “I usually prefer lessons with intermediate or advanced students.”

  She inclined her head in understanding, no evidence of offense in sight. “I’m not surprised. As I know from personal experience, you’re great even with rank amateurs. I’m sure advanced students are more of a challenge, though. And with them, you’re not wasting all the tennis expertise stored in that sharp brain of yours.”

  Her words struck him silent. Again.

  Talented teacher. Expertise. Sharp brain.

  Something was cracking inside him.

  It kind of felt like his heart. Or at least something that had surrounded his heart for way, way too long.

  After tucking the last few containers of leftovers inside his bag, she zipped it up and joined him near the sturdy wooden rail. “Are you here indefinitely as the resort’s tennis guru? Or is it more of a contract-to-contract sort of situation?”

  Below them, the startlingly blue ocean rushed toward the rocks in rhythmic pulses, the impact spraying water high into the air, while seagulls circled and called to one another. In the distance lay white sands and a plethora of sunscreen-covered tourists, as well as the courts where he spent virtually all his waking hours. Beyond that, the clubhouse beckoned, with the shop below and his barren apartment upstairs—the latter full of furniture and notes with various phone numbers inscribed on them, but empty of him in every important way.

  It was gorgeous here on the island, of course. Easy.

  But what was he doing here, really? How long did he actually intend to stay?

  His voice emerged thick, for reasons he couldn’t have explained. “My current contract lasts until the end of the year. At that point, I could sign on for another year or do something else.”

  What would that something else be, though?

  What did he really have to offer?

  You could do pretty much anything, given the right training.

  In the breeze, her hair blew against his cheek, and he resisted the urge to gather handfuls of the silky strands and bury his face. Hide himself until he sorted out what he was thinking and how he was feeling, other than lost and disoriented.

  She tapped her knuckles against the rail. “Do you think you’ll commit to another year?”

  The question sounded odd. Tentative, when Tess usually spoke firmly, with ease and authority. She was staring down at the water, her brow pinched as wave after wave piled on shore and wore away those rocks bit by bit.

  “I don’t know.” His voice wavered, which was humiliating. So he straightened and offered her a lazy grin, complete with another wink. “You know how it is, right? I need to live in the moment. Get my fill of the sun, sand, and relaxation and not worry about what’s coming next.”

  Even though he was willing her to look, to see how unbothered he was, how confident, she just blinked down at the water some more.

  “Ah.” She was silent for a long time. “I see.”

  He fumbled for a different topic. “You never did tell me what you and Belle did for your birthday. Did y—”

  “Excuse me.” A low, feminine voice came from the top of the stairs, and under the harsh island sun, a familiar white-clad figure glowed like a ghost. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to head to my spa appointment, and I wanted to catch you before your next lesson, Lucas. One of your coworkers said you were up here.”

  For just a moment, he wanted to slam his head against the rail.

  Fuck. Fuck it all.

  He should have fucking remembered. It was the first Thursday in August, and Karolina had arrived. One of his favorite clients. Amusing. Smart. She visited the island like clockwork, reserving a long weekend every month to spend time with her equally-wealthy girlfriends, intent on being pampered, having fun, taking tennis lessons with the island’s star instructor, and…

  Well, she knew what she wanted, and he hadn’t minded giving it to her.

  “I wanted to find out when you’d be free for dinner, but you weren’t answering your cell.” She directed a gleaming smile toward Tess, who’d eased a step back from the rail. From him. “I didn’t mean to intrude, ma’am. I’ll be gone in a moment. And you picked the exact right person to ask for help. Lucas knows everything about the island.”

  All evidence of the picnic had been packed away. She thought Tess was a random tourist who’d cornered him for information.

  To her credit, Karo’s smile, her reassurance, was genuine. She wasn’t mean, or he’d never have allowed even their limited sort of relationship. But Tess didn’t know that, and she could surely hear the proprietary tone of the other woman, could surely see the way Karolina looked at him, as if
he were her favorite toy on this island of countless amenities.

  Which he supposed he was. In the past, that hadn’t bothered him.

  But now, wariness was blooming once more on Tess’s lovely, round face.

  “Karolina, I’m not—” Unsure what to say, he pressed his lips shut.

  He couldn’t simply send her away and tell her he no longer wanted dinner with her, that he was aching to spend more time with the silent, still woman beside him instead. Karo deserved better than a public termination of their very private—if very casual—arrangement, and she deserved an actual conversation before he put an end to what they’d had.

  But if he chose Karo over Tess now, Tess would never, ever look at him that way again. The way she had mere minutes ago. With soft eyes and curiosity and openness and approval.

  This was his one and only shot with her. He knew it.

  Maybe he shouldn’t want that shot, but he did. More than he was comfortable admitting.

  He respected both women. He wanted his actions to show it. Maybe he could ask Tess to wait at the bottom of the steps for a few minutes while he had a private conversation with K—

  “No worries. I’ve gotten answers to all my questions.” Tess smiled back at Karolina. “Thank you for everything, Lucas. You kids have fun.”

  Kids. He closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose. Shit. He hadn’t even considered the fact that Karo was in her mid-twenties. Thanks to the magic of makeup or dermatology or good genes or something, she looked even younger than that. And now that he thought about it, had she called Tess ma’am?

  When he opened his eyes, Karo was lounging at the top of the steps in one of her usual impeccable white outfits, her blond hair sleeked back into some kind of twist.

  Twenty-four. Undemanding. Pleasant. Willing.

  Brushing past her with another polite smile, there was Tess, her silver-streaked hair tangled and whipping in the wind as she made her exit.

  Forty. A little rumpled and sweaty from their time in the sun. Prickly and encouraging and determined and sly and funny and so fucking hot he was surprised the cupcakes hadn’t melted in her hand.

  She wanted more from him than Karolina did.

  Correction: She had wanted more. For several fleeting, vulnerable minutes.

  Karolina moved closer, rising on tiptoes to brush a kiss across his cheek. “So when are you free tonight?” She gave him a familiar-looking wink. “You know I always look forward to our dinners the night I arrive.”

  Those dinners usually occurred in bed. But not tonight, since he refused to use one woman as a substitute for another. Both women deserved better than that. Hell, so did he.

  Maybe he’d feel differently tomorrow or next month.

  Tonight, though, he was going to bed alone.

  “Karolina…” He leaned down and kissed her on her forehead, and then moved a step back. Two. “We need to talk.”

  Eight

  When Belle glanced across the room for the umpteenth time, brow furrowed, Tess ducked her head and jotted gibberish in her spiral-bound notebook, feigning intense concentration.

  If she made eye contact, her friend would apologize. Again. And Belle hadn’t owed her one apology, much less six of them and counting. Even if that weren’t true, Tess would gladly forego penitence in favor of forgetting Lucas Karlsson existed and never mentioning his name ever again.

  She’d been a fool. Idiotic enough to believe, if only fleetingly, that a barely-legal flirt might consider a woman like her anything more than a convenient distraction until something better came along. Ridiculous enough to have felt betrayed by concrete evidence of his other casual entanglements. Irrational enough to have been stung by the stark contrast between her and his…Karolina.

  Apparently, she was still a fool, because her stomach churned once more at the memory of that stunning, elegant, young woman kissing Lucas’s cheek, claiming him for her own.

  But that foolishness was no one’s fault but her own, no matter what Belle believed.

  “Put your notebook down, babe. You need to get ready for your lesson.” Belle spoke from her double bed, where she was thumbing through a paperback. “Unless you want to cancel, which I’d understand.” Her wide brow furrowed as she hesitated. “It’s your birthday vacation. You should do whatever you want. Again, I’m so sorry I pushed you into all this.”

  There it was. Heartfelt apology number seven.

  It was sweet of her best friend to worry, but the contrition needed to end. Immediately.

  Tess laid her notebook and pen down on the coffee table. “We worked this out already, Belle. Don’t worry, and please don’t apologize. I know your intentions were good.”

  Honestly, despite the dueling distractions of work and Lucas, Tess should have realized her friend was up to something even before that first lesson. The two of them had taught in the same department for several years and worked in the same school for even longer, besties the entire while, until Belle moved to Boston for her boyfriend-turned-ex-boyfriend. And during all that time, Belle had been a pink-clad, sequin-loving catalyst for action. Not fearless, but unwilling to be guided by those fears. She couldn’t tolerate dithering, and she refused to stand by idly when she saw a problem she thought she could fix.

  Tess might not have considered her current sexual and romantic drought one of those problems, but Belle obviously hadn’t agreed. Which was unfortunate and, frankly, irritating.

  But on the occasional teaching days when mingled exhaustion and frustration had left Tess in tears after the last bell, Belle had listened and located tissue boxes and helped however she could. No one had supported Tess more in her quest for an administrative position. And Tess had never met anyone, absolutely anyone, more loyal to her friends.

  She had written Belle a glowing reference letter, celebrated when her friend landed a new teaching position in Massachusetts, and helped with the packing. But not seeing that huge smile, that bright crown of blond hair, in the halls of Marysburg High every school day had hurt. Badly.

  So Tess could forgive Belle a little meddling. Hell, she’d forgive much, much worse.

  Belle had just wanted Tess to have a little adventure on their vacation. A few hours of relaxation. Memories of a hot night or two she could use as a man-shaped reminder of her birthday trip. Worst-case scenario, in Belle’s estimation, the appointments would roust Tess from her notebook and let her stretch her legs in the fresh air, even if she decided not to pursue her handsome tennis instructor.

  No harm, no foul. Just fun and exercise and eye candy.

  But Belle had underestimated Tess’s foolishness. They both had.

  And neither of them could have known how a simple picnic would echo the single worst, most painful moment of Tess’s adult life. The moment that had ended her long engagement and demonstrated the wisdom of a wholehearted commitment to work and friends and nothing more. Especially not romance.

  Even sex, she could take or leave. Unless said sex involved only her and her trusty vibrator. Or maybe two trusty vibrators, if she was feeling frisky.

  “Let me say this one more time, and then I’ll let it drop.” Belle pressed her lips together, brown eyes soft with regret. “I should have listened to you. Your feelings and your knee both got hurt, and I’m sorry.”

  Since the prospect of seeing Lucas again had her tasting bile at the back of her throat, Tess couldn’t dispute those hurt feelings, much as she wanted to and as unjustified as they were. But she could get over her humiliation like a grown adult and move on.

  She figured the pain in her knee, courtesy of bounding down countless steps earlier that afternoon, would last much longer.

  “I’m sorry I’m spending so much time on work, instead of hanging out with you.” Tess pushed to her feet, her knee protesting the sudden motion, and adjusted her ponytail. “You deserved to take a vacation with better company.”

  Belle flicked a dismissive hand. “You’re still hanging out with me. We’re taking plenty of tours and sn
orkeling trips and wolfing down plenty of really expensive tasting menus. And when you need to work, I’m more than capable of entertaining myself. Speaking of which…” She pointed to the phone. “From what I can tell, you still have lots of planning to do tonight. Why don’t you call the concierge and cancel the lesson?”

  Tess shook her head. “I hate to waste money, and you spent a crapload of cash on those appointments, so someone is having a damn lesson tonight. Are you sure you don’t want to go instead of me?”

  “I would.” Belle sounded sincere. “I know you need the time, and your lunch date today ended kind of…”

  When her friend paused to find the right word, Tess filled it in for her. “Unfortunately.”

  Or maybe that was the wrong word, since the arrival of Lucas’s playmate had stopped Tess from making a critical mistake: taking him more seriously than she should.

  She should be thanking the young woman. Possibly by offering her informational brochures about her upcoming SATs and college choices.

  Okay, that wasn’t fair. Tess knew how to judge kids’ ages, and that girl was definitely legal. Maybe even out of college. But also definitely young. So damn young.

  Just like the sweet, clueless grad student she’d discovered her ex-fiancé, an ancient history professor, fucking.

  She’d come home to grab her forgotten lunch and found the two of them in the master bedroom. On the king-sized bed, which she and Jeremy had bought together. On her favorite blue sheets, the ones with the high thread count.

  She’d let Jeremy keep those sheets, but she hadn’t let him keep her, despite all his pleas.

  “Unfortunately about covers it. So I would do the lesson for you, but when we thought you were busy tonight, I accepted a dinner invitation from Brian. I have plans involving room service and a complete lack of resort wear.” Belle tilted her head toward her cell. “Unless you want me to cancel on him? I can, no problem.”

  No way Tess was vagblocking her BFF, much as she might want to.

  “Nope. I’ll be fine.” Tess lifted her sundress over her head and began to change into an entirely inadequate sports bra. “Does Brian know what’s in store for him tonight?”