by Skye Jordan
If there’s a spark, fan the flame. See what happens.
I know exactly what will happen. I’m just not sure what the fallout would be. But after suffering the aftermath once before, I don’t want to know either.
“You’re certainly chipper,” I say, leaning against the door to my truck. “This isn’t the tense woman who showed up a couple of weeks ago.”
“Yeah.” She straightens and rests her hands at her hips. “This place always has that effect on me. So, what’s the verdict?”
I reach in the cab and pull out the proposals, holding them up.
Laiyla laughs and pushes her fists overhead. “Yes!”
Her smile makes my body vibrate like a rung bell. She holds her hand up for a high-five, and I meet her palm with my own, but when I drop my hand, she doesn’t let go. For an eternal moment, we stand there, holding hands, neither of us pulling away, gazes locked.
Oh, hell yeah, there are definitely sparks.
Her gaze sobers, and she gives my hand a squeeze. “Thank you.”
Shit just got a little too real for me. I draw my hand from hers. “Have time to look this over?”
“I’ve got nothin’ but time.”
“You’re adjusting to the change from corporate to country well.” We wander toward the dock that broke that first day. “Got it fixed, huh?”
“KT.” She walks to the end and sits down, and I take a seat beside her. The dock here is high, so our feet dangle over the water. “She’s got two of the outboards on the pleasure boats working, and she’s fixing plumbing and tanks on two of the houseboats so that we can all have our own space.”
“Those are interesting skills for a woman.”
“She’s a marine engineer. Works on cruise ships. She’s between gigs for a month, but if we do this, she’s going to quit.”
“And Chloe?” I ask.
She chuckles. “Chloe is…different, but in the coolest way. She’s a self-taught spiritual guru of sorts. Hit number one on the bestsellers list with her first book and stayed there for almost a year. She’s at a crossroads, so to speak, and if we do this, she’ll stay and work on her next book. KT is our mechanical genius, Chloe is our event coordinator, and I’m in charge of PR. Everything else we work out together by majority vote.”
“Interesting arrangement. How did you meet them?”
“Cyclone, of all things. Did you hear about Cyclone Bethany in the South Pacific seven years ago?”
“Yeah. I was in Dubai, and we always watched the weather.”
She smiles, and her relaxed demeanor makes it that much easier to be with her. Her skin glows from her run, color stains her cheeks, and her eyes spark with life. She’s fucking breathtaking.
“We were all on Niue at a retreat, right in the path of the eye of the cyclone. I quickly learned that the eyewall of the storm causes the most damage, and we got it on all sides. It devastated that little island.”
I lift my hand and slide a knuckle over the scar on her temple. “That’s where you got this.”
“Yeah. Man, such a crazy life event.” She shakes her head and looks down at the water, swinging her feet. She seems so young all of a sudden.
“So,” she draws out the word, “I saw Tina at Aiden’s.”
My eyes roll back in my head and my shoulders slump as I mutter, “Jesus.”
She laughs. “Is she a stalker, or do you two really have a thing?”
“It was a drunk fuck. Once. A year ago.”
“I figured. She’s not your type.”
“How do you know my type?”
“People change, but they don’t change that much. You always hated liars and cheaters. She’s a compulsive liar, and you would never have kissed me if you were involved with someone else.”
“True.” I’m not sure if her nonchalance about Tina means she doesn’t give a shit what I do or who I do it with, or if she’s really that mature. I’m also not sure what to say about the kiss.
“But you do happen to be memorable in the bedroom,” she says, “so as much as I’d like to have something to hold against her, because she really is a bitch, I can’t fault her for trying to get back into your pants.”
That makes me laugh and definitely lifts my spirits. It also carbonates my blood. I fuckin’ wish Laiyla wanted back in my pants.
I hand her a copy of the proposal, and we go over it line by line. When she looks at the total cost, she tilts her head. “This looks light. You probably should have padded a little more. It’s always good to under promise and over deliver.”
“Read the last page.”
She turns the page, and I watch her as she reads. I’ve added a clause into the contract that requires her to give Paragon first refusal rights for purchase of the property at fair market value if she cuts out of the project first or eventually decides to sell. She’s quiet a long moment.
“I don’t see a downside to this.” She looks at me. “Do you have a pen?”
A blast of fear burns through my body. What in the fuck am I doing? Promising this woman the next two years of my life? “Did you see the time frame?”
“Two years?”
“Yeah.”
“I saw it. I estimated as much.”
“You’re willing to stay here for two years?”
“Well, I’m not going to try to manage a project this big from LA.” When I don’t respond, she says, “What?”
I shake my head. “What will you do after the two years? Go back to work for your parents?”
She turns thoughtful. “I’m hoping to use the money from the sale to fund a purchase of my own hotel. Something small and boutique. Something that resonates better with millennials.”
“In LA?”
She shrugs. “I know the LA market.”
My stomach turns to rock. Fine. Now I know where I stand—nowhere, because she’s already planning on leaving again.
I grab a pen from my truck, and we go inside the boat to go over the contract with the others. Once I’ve addressed their questions, everyone signs, and I’m feeling a little nauseous. The women, on the other hand, are thrilled.
Laiyla walks me back to my truck, and I share an idea I’ve had about the project. “I know you wanted the restaurant where Otto’s cabin was, and we can do that, stabilize the land with retaining walls, but I think there’s a better spot on the property, and it would cost less because the land is stable.”
“Yeah?” she asks. “Where?”
“Farther along the shore.” I stop at my truck. The sun is setting. “If you have a boat that’s working, I can show it to you before it gets dark. If you like it, I’ll put together a change order and price shift.”
Her eyes are bright. “We can take the Chaparral.”
We veer toward the docks and get barefoot before Laiyla gestures me to the driver’s seat. “You’d better. I haven’t run a boat in years.”
10
Laiyla
I step onto the boat, easily the nicest one in the marina, and Levi slides behind the wheel like the experienced boater he is. He backs the boat out and steers from the marina, picking up speed on the open water.
Complicated, jittery emotions bubble inside me. The warm evening air blows against my skin, the scent of the lake fills my head, and I’m alone on a boat with Levi. It all assails me, threatening to turn back time.
I can’t keep all the memories from flooding in. So many amazing summers when Levi and I were inseparable. The feeling of joy and comfort and so much love from every direction—Grandpa, Levi, friends. Even the adults in town liked me.
Oh, what a difference the years make.
Levi steers us past the cove where my grandfather’s house used to be and around a bend.
In the distance, the other end of the lake comes into view, and by the time Levi slows and shuts off the engine, the sun is gone and the evening is growing dark. But I’m not looking at the land to my right, the potential spot for the restaurant, I’m staring at the stunning, modern lakeside house
on my grandfather’s land. My land.
Levi joins me on the bow. “The land here is on bedrock. It’s not in a slide zone, and we wouldn’t need any grading or engineering here. And you’d have two-hundred-and-seventy-degree views.”
“What’s that?” I say, growing angry. “That house at the end of the lake?”
“Looks like a house at the end of the lake.”
I don’t acknowledge his obtuse answer. “If that’s not something my grandfather had built, then someone is squatting, because that house is on his property.”
“No, it’s not.”
I turn a scowl on Levi. “I know this land, and so do you. We’ve explored every inch of it.” Hurt joins my anger. “That’s our land,” I say, now referencing Levi and myself. “We dreamed of building a house there, all those years ago. What in the hell? How could someone build there? How could the city give a building permit to someone who doesn’t own the land?”
“Hey,” he says, voice calm. “Chill, it’s not on Otto’s land.”
“Why do you keep saying that? You know—”
“Because it’s my land, Laiyla,” he says. “My house.”
My mind can’t get around that. “What?”
He takes a breath as if he’s settling in for a long, hard discussion. “Otto sold me that piece of land. It was all nice and legal. You can look at the records. I gave him a fair price for it.”
I shake my head. “When? Why? He never told me.”
“You weren’t here. You hadn’t been here for a long time.” He’s stoic, his brow creased with unease, his gaze on the house. “As he aged, Otto needed help around here. When I got back from Dubai, I did what I could. He wanted to pay me, but I refused to take his money. When he asked what he could do to repay me, I told him he could sell me that little spot on the lake.”
Hurt batters my heart. And anger—at my parents, myself.
“He really needed you, Laiyla,” he says, voice soft with hurt and disappointment. “We needed you—Otto, the town. Why weren’t you here?”
“He never told me that.” Tears sting my eyes. “Every time I talked to him, he told me he was fine and had plenty of help. Always said he didn’t need anything. Just wanted to hear about where I was and what I was doing. If my parents knew, they didn’t tell me, just like they didn’t tell me about the state of the marina or the landslide on the property.”
The tears spill over, and I wipe them away with both hands. “Goddammit.”
Levi slides an arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” I say it to Levi, but I’m including my grandfather in my thoughts. “I’m sorry it put so much on your shoulders. Thank you for taking care of him.”
“You’re here now. Otto would be proud of the way you stepped up.”
A few silent moments pass between us, while I sniffle and pull myself together. Levi withdraws his arm and wraps it around his knees.
“Did you build it?” I finally ask him.
He nods.
“What’s it like?” I ask.
“Modern. Iron, aged wood, glass.”
“I bet it’s gorgeous.”
“I like it.”
“That’s so cool,” I say after a minute. “You’ve done everything you always wanted. Got your degrees, worked overseas, run your own business, built the house you wanted on the property you wanted.” I turn my head and meet his gaze. “I’m sorry I underestimated you.”
He nods and returns his gaze to the house.
I refocus on the land to our right. “I like this spot for the restaurant.” And idea comes to me, and I look at Levi. “Would it be possible to scavenge some of the logs from Grandpa’s cabin and include them in the restaurant?”
I stare at his profile as he considers. Strong jaw, straight nose, full masculine lips. A familiar hunger gnaws at my belly.
“I’ll look into it,” he says. “I’m not sure the land is stable enough to start pulling stuff out.”
“Okay.”
More silence expands between us. We stay like that, shoulder to shoulder, leaning into each other. The quiet is so peaceful, and with Levi beside me, my heart is easy. “Man, I’ve missed this. Missed you. I didn’t realize…”
I heave a deep exhale and push to my feet. I’m restless, needy, and I don’t know what to do to relieve the inner stress. The waves lap against the side of the boat. The sun is barely a glow on the horizon now, but the night is still warm. It’s so blissfully quiet, not another soul in sight.
“I’m going to jump in before we go back.” The decision is spur of the moment, but it still feels right. So right. I turn my back to Levi and strip off my running bra.
“Laiyla…” His voice is part censure, part shocked humor.
“If you don’t like it, just don’t look.” I push my shorts and panties over my hips.
“Jesus Christ.” The raw hunger in Levi’s voice creates gooseflesh over my entire body.
I step to the edge and cut a glance over my shoulder, smiling at the open, hungry way he’s looking at me. Then dive in.
11
Levi
“Fuck me.”
I hold tight to a rail running along the cabin so I can’t go in after her. She disappears beneath the water a long, silent moment that seems to stretch until my lungs are bursting. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath and let it out in a whoosh.
Right when a tingle of concern burns in the pit of my stomach, her head pops above the surface and the sound of her breathing reaches my ears.
“Oh my God,” she says, “this feels so good.” Then she flips and goes back under.
I hold the inside of my cheek between my teeth to remind me what reality will feel like if I trust her with my heart again. My body is having none of it. I’m already hard, growing harder by the second. Nothing better to calm that shit down than dipping in cold water. Everything between my legs will shrivel. And that might be my salvation, because when she pops above the water again, she lies back and floats. The glow from the sunset plays across her breasts and stomach and thighs.
Fan the flames. See what happens. The flame is raging, that’s for sure. The problem is, this wouldn’t be just sex for me. Somehow, it seems to be all I can manage with any other woman, but something I can’t even consider with Laiyla.
She flips and ducks beneath the water again like a fish.
“Fuck it.” I drop the anchor, grip my shirt, and pull it over my head, then shuck my jeans and boxer briefs, diving into the water just as she surfaces again.
I swim beneath her and grab her leg. She squeals, the sound filling my head as I surface. She’s laughing, smiling, a throwback to the girl I once loved so completely. My best friend. My first love. She’s the only thing I’ve ever truly wanted in life.
“Isn’t it heavenly?” she asks, lying back to float again on a sigh.
“You’re still a fucking mermaid.” Treading water, I slide one finger down her beautiful body, starting at her shoulder, up and over her breast and puckered nipple, down her stomach, her thigh.
When I pull my hand away, she rights herself and slides her arms around me, presses her lips to mine. Treading water and kissing is more challenging than it looks, and we end up breaking the kiss on a laugh.
I glide the short distance to the swim deck and pull the ladder down. Laiyla grips the rail, and her gaze wanders to my tattoo. It’s an artistic rendering of gears with measurement sketch lines. She runs her hand over the art. “This makes so much more sense to me now. I love it.”
She takes two steps up the ladder. I’m right behind her and wrap an arm around her waist, pulling the back of her body against the front of mine.
She’s perfect. So fucking perfect. Warm beneath the chill of the water. The curve of her ass presses back against my groin, and my surprisingly still-erect cock loves the feel of her softness. Blood surges that direction. Hunger grows in the pit of my stomach.
I press my face to the hollow between her
head and shoulder, kiss her neck. And I know I can’t stop. Not of my own accord. I need her. I need her too much. I know it. And I know that makes me vulnerable. I know I’m probably going to get my heart pulled out through my throat before this is over. But there is just no substitute for Laiyla. I’ve been searching for years and always come up empty.
She wraps her free hand back and around, sliding her fingers into my hair, and turns her head to catch my mouth. She opens to me. Drops her head back and utterly surrenders to the kiss.
And I’m drowning. In way the fuck too deep. But I sure as shit don’t want to be saved. The way she kisses mirrors the way she moves, hips rubbing, back arching, tongue seducing.
I’m fighting through the lust, trying to figure out how I want this to go. Quick fuck? Drawn-out lovemaking? I don’t know. I can’t think.
I break the kiss to catch my breath, then, standing on a lower rung, I lean into her and release the safety bar so I can use both hands to feel her body. Cupping her breasts, stroking her nipples. Sweeping down her tight abdomen and around her hips. I slide one hand between her legs and cup her heat. And, God, this feels so different from anything I’ve had with any other woman. The moves may be the same, but what’s in my heart is completely different, making this intimacy deeper and more intense.
“Levi.” Her voice is soft and broken by quick breaths. And even after twelve years, I know everything she’s saying with that one word.
I slide my free hand down the back of her thigh, lift her knee and guide her foot up another rung, giving my other hand room to move. She drops her head back, and the moonlight exposes her raw desire. I kiss her and ease my hand deeper between her legs until I brush my fingers over her heat. She sucks the air from my mouth, then returns it on a moan.
The sound claws through me, sparking a deep, dark passion. I cup her head and take the kiss deeper, needier, and sink two fingers inside her. Another gasp, purrs and moans in her throat, a curse. She shivers, and her hips rock into my hand. She knows exactly what she wants.
