Bliss Brothers: The Complete Series Boxed Set, page 21
“You just…” Claire prompts, letting the book settle against her thighs. I really cannot look at her thighs again.
“I wouldn’t have thought you’d want to spend your day off at work. You’re not exactly dressed for it.”
She whips her head around to look at me. “Not dressed for it? I’m dressed for the beach. Or the pool. Or wherever else I want to be, really.”
I choke down a laugh, because she’s serious about this—it’s not funny to her. “I only meant that I couldn’t imagine you setting foot on anything associated with the Bliss family in anything less than business casual. Ever.
“And normally I wouldn’t, but—” She makes a helpless gesture. “It’s my day off. And it’s really hot.”
I can’t help staring.
She notices.
“What are you looking at?”
There’s only one answer. “You.”
“Inappropriate.”
“It’s my day off, too.”
It makes her smile, and for a few long minutes we look out over the lake, the waves lapping at the shore twenty feet in front of us. She’s chosen the spot precisely—close enough that it won’t be an arduous walk back to her towel if she takes a swim, but not so close that she’d risk getting splashed while holding a paperback.
“What are you doing out here, Beau?”
It’s obvious, from the way she sounds—that’s all, the way her voice hits me, the way it registers—that I’m now talking to Not-Office Claire. A man could get addicted to this. “I had to come witness a miracle.”
She makes a show of looking around. “I don’t see any miracles.”
“The miracle is you, relaxing, in a bathing suit. On my beach. Which is no small thing, when you think of all the driving you had to do.”
Claire snorts a laugh. “It’s a ten-minute drive if traffic is heavy. And traffic is never heavy in Ruby Bay.”
“Just wait until the festival next month.”
“By then, I won’t have to drive here.”
“Who knows? Maybe Roman will give you my job.”
There’s a long silence, and then, “Maybe we should make a pact.”
“A pact? That sounds like something for a day off.”
“I agree.” Claire fans the pages of her book. “Let’s not talk about work today. On my day off.”
I turn my body almost totally sideways to face her. “It’s hard to vow about a negative. What about a dual pact?”
Her eyes light up with a cautious enthusiasm that nearly breaks my heart. “A dual pact?”
“You make it sound so dirty.”
Claire’s face is instantly red, and she draws in her bottom lip between her teeth. “I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“Say, Beau, I agree to be honest with you today, because I don’t actually hate you, and if I spent a day with you, I might realize that you don’t despise me either.”
“Beau, I agree to be honest with you today, because I don’t actually…” Her voice trails off into silence, and then, slowly, as if she’s long out of practice, Claire wrinkles her nose. I don’t know how to translate that expression and I’m on the verge of asking her what the hell it means in her world, when she speaks again. “I don’t know if that counts as honesty. I do kind of hate you.”
She says it to me with wide eyes, and it hits me a moment later: Claire is making a joke.
I laugh until my abs hurt, and then I laugh some more. Then I head up to the bar and get us both a drink.
12
Claire
This is a day off like any other day off in the summer—warm and sunny and lazier than usual. It isn’t even the first time I’ve decided to hit the beach with a book and a towel and let the sun have its way with me until it’s too much warmth and heat.
But being here with Beau?
Oh, that’s a different story. My body reacts to that like it would react to a pair of eyes glowing in the darkness. I’m scared, and I’m excited, and my heart doesn’t care which one is which. It just pounds—thud, thud, thud. Rapid and loud. I’m surprised he can’t hear it.
I’m listening for him this time, so I hear his footsteps long before the champagne glass appears in the air in front of me, dangling from his fingertips. “A mimosa,” he says from behind me, waiting patiently until I’ve got a firm grip on the glass. Then he stretches out next to me in the lounge chair.
His swim trunks today are a bright red with a pink flower pattern, loud and ridiculous and utterly Beau, and he’s paired them with none other than a white button-down shirt.
The look, I have to say, is beginning to grow on me.
I take two sips of the mimosa, letting myself indulge in a satisfied sigh.
Then I have to take another sip, because….
“Is this a virgin drink?”
I look at him from beneath my floppy hat.
“Yeah, of course.” Beau crosses one of his ankles over the other and sips at his own drink. He is completely nonchalant, as if bringing virgin mimosas is a hundred percent normal.
It’s…not, though. I shouldn’t have to question that. Roman told me, in one of our earlier conversations, that his brother is heavily invested in partying. I got the distinct impression that Beau loves to drink and that he’s rarely sober, even if Roman didn’t get that specific about it. He did point out that it might be difficult to schedule meetings with his younger brother based on his erratic schedule.
Now that I’m sitting here with a virgin mimosa in my hand, the whole image is crumbling.
“Is it…for me?”
He shoots me a look that’s tempered by an impish grin. “If it was for me, you wouldn’t be holding it.”
“I mean—did you get virgin mimosas because of me? Because I—”
“Because your standards for appropriate office behavior are so high they can’t even be reached from the stratosphere?”
“Sure,” I say stiffly, taking another sip of the drink. It tastes good, just without any of the welcome sparkling heat of champagne. “If that’s how you want to put it.”
“It’s a compliment, really. You elevate every room you step into.”
Beau’s wearing a pair of dark sunglasses. He downs half his mimosa and rests his head back against his beach chair.
Is he serious?
“You’re staring,” he says, after a long minute.
“How can you tell that without moving your eyes?”
“My instincts are honed. Also, you’re really staring. It burns me.” He waves a hand in the air, pretending to fan his skin. It’s ridiculous and I smile anyway.
“Am I seriously not supposed to ask any more questions about this?” Another realization dawns. “Is this one of those weird pranks from a prank show? Because I hate prank shows?”
“What’s the prank?”
“You brought me a drink. You went all the way to the bar to get it.”
“And?” Beau folds one arm behind his head, hiking up his shirt a couple of inches. Not enough inches, in my opinion.
“And it’s orange juice.”
“It’s orange juice and Sprite.”
“So what is it for then?”
“It’s a refreshing morning drink.”
I chew on the words before I say them. “So it’s not a…message of any kind?”
“What would the message be? That I thought you’d like a refreshing morning drink?”
“You have to stop saying refreshing morning drink.”
“Why?” Beau laughs. “It’s a refreshing—”
“I drink alcohol,” I say quickly. “Do you…drink alcohol?”
Now he turns his body toward me, lifting his sunglasses so I can see his eyes. “Do I?” Beau raises his eyebrows, the morning sun catching the blue of his eyes. That’s when it sweeps over me—a strange, sweet warmth that moves over every inch of my skin like a ten-foot wave, covering all of me. This conversation is so awkward and weird, and yet—yet—Beau is not the shallow party boy I’d been primed to expect. He’s not. And suddenly I have a ravenous hunger to know more about him. I was curious before. Who wouldn’t be, looking at him? Now I want more. More.
“Yes,” I answer, when I finally dig the words out from the back of my mind. “You do. You drink all the time. You drink so much your brother is worried about it, I think.”
“Do I?” He pitches his voice slightly lower, which causes what can only be described as a low hum, down at the pit of my belly.
“Well, don’t you?”
The air between us thickens. I’m surprised there’s not some supernatural sign of it, a star-like glitter out of a sci-fi movie. It feels that real—like a physical connection shooting from my chest to his, pulling us tight.
Like lightning about to strike.
I want to lean in to it.
I want to lean into it physically. So badly. I reach down and wrap my hand around the frame of the beach chair so I don’t climb out and throw myself right into his. If he tells me this—reveals this—then I could reveal things, too.
Could I really do that? Is it possible? There’s a lot of ground to cover, and he might not want to cover it with old wounds from a limited-time coworker—
He’s still watching me, his blue eyes another source of light on my face. I’m ahead of myself. The glass hasn’t yet tipped. He hasn’t yet told me any secrets of his. The honesty is still waiting in the air between us.
“You want secrets, then,” he says, as if he’s been sitting here in my mind the whole time, watching my thoughts swim by like tropical fish. He’s not asking a question.
There’s only one answer, and it’s simple.
“Yes.”
He shifts, dropping his sunglasses back into place and raising the mimosa in a funny cheers that makes it easier to breathe. Beau takes a deliberate sip, probably so that I have to watch his perfect lips on the rim of the glass. “I don’t drink very much.”
“No?” It’s too early to respond. I should wait, and listen, like I’ve been taught for many, many years. I want to hook him. I want him to know he should keep talking.
“No. I couldn’t make it through the late nights if I was drunk off my ass all day and all night. That’s one reason.”
“There are others?”
Beau arches an eyebrow, which I can see behind the sunglasses. “It would be extremely difficult to maintain my gorgeous physique if I actually spent all my time drinking. It would also be difficult to maintain the…integrity of the parties I host if every drink anyone saw in my hand was alcoholic.”
“So you don’t like drinking then?”
“I like drinking as much as the next guy with responsibilities. Fine. Maybe I like it less. But if you’re asking if I’m an alcoholic, then the answer is no.” There’s no cheeky grin on his face now. He’s serious.
“I didn’t think you were an alcoholic.”
“Just a guy who swims around in a bathtub of alcohol and lets people destroy rowboats?” A wry smile curves up his mouth, and it’s beautiful.
“Roman did hint that it would be hard to find you to schedule meetings. Because he thinks…” There’s no need to go there, really, because I have no idea what Roman actually thinks. I only know what he hints. “Why do your brothers think you drink so much, then?”
He turns his head, and I’m treated to a view of Beau Bliss in profile. I’ve seen it a hundred times, sitting next to him at various dining tables and meeting tables and sweetheart tables. I’m still not used to it. “My brothers see what they want to see. And I show them what they want to see. It’s easier that way.”
This, somehow, seems to tread into the kind of territory that’s too heavy for the beach. I’ve only met one of Beau’s brothers, but Roman seems like a stand-up guy—if a little stressed out by the burden of running the entire resort.
I do want to know why it’s easier to play a part. But then again, I already know that, don’t I?
I look down into my own drink. “So you start every day with a virgin mimosa?”
“Some days. Some days it’s not virgin. But no matter what, it’s one in five.”
“One in five?”
“Every fifth drink is a real one.” He uncrosses his ankles and re-crosses them. “It usually takes me most of the day to get to the first alcoholic beverage.”
“Why?”
“Staying power. Like I said.”
A light breeze licks up through the sand and whispers across my skin.
“I don’t like to get trashed, either.”
“It’s not fun.”
“No. And being in charge of anything when you don’t have your wits about you is a recipe for disaster.”
“So…” I twirl the champagne glass between my fingertips. “How long have you been hiding this from your brothers?” It seems like the kind of question you’d ask about an alcohol problem, not the opposite. I half expect Beau to shut down completely, to make a joke, to brush this off.
He holds up a finger. “Not a chance. I want a secret from you, too.”
“Are we really doing this? Are we exchanging secrets on the beach?”
“Where else?” He looks around, shading his eyes with his hand. “The closest person is Driver, and he can’t hear us. Even if he was walking right in front of us, he still wouldn’t hear. He’s looking for beach glass.” He turns back and lifts the sunglasses again. “I want to know your secrets, too.”
A door slams shut in my chest, locking down over my heart. “No, you don’t.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Fine. Okay.”
It’s hard, getting up the nerve to say anything. I’m wearing a bathing suit, but that needs to be professional…it’s still settled over me like heavy armor that I can’t take off. Not easily, at least.
“I moved here for a guy.”
The change in Beau is instantaneous. A new tension radiates from his toes all the way up to the top of his head, though his face stays relaxed—a practiced move I should have recognized from my own repertoire by now. “A guy I’d know?”
“Not—not really. To get away from a guy, is what I meant.” The door in my chest inches open. There. I’ve given him a crumb. The rest of the story can come later.
“What happened?”
“I want another one first. Why haven’t you told your brothers that you’re not a lush?”
He laughs. “Turnabout’s fair play, but I don’t know if that’s a secret. It’s a role I play. Don’t you ever do that?”
“All the time.”
“Then you know why.”
“Why? Would they hate you for it? I don’t see how that’s possible.”
“It’s not a matter of hate.” Beau digs the glass down into the sand and leans back, his relaxed body in contrast to the tension in his voice. “I don’t know if they can see me any other way. No matter what I tell them.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I look out at the waves running up onto the shore.
A minute passes, then another.
“You’re hot.”
A flush of pleasure moves through me at that. “What?” The word is almost a giggle.
“I mean, you’re hot. Obviously. You had to know that when you put on the bathing suit. But aren’t you also hot? I’m dying.” Beau stands up and strips off his button-down, because of course he’s wearing a button down. Even now. “Let’s swim.”
13
Claire
The summer heat has soaked into the shallow water, and out here away from the land we…start to talk to each other.
There’s nothing to plan, here in the lake, running my knuckles over the surface, and so there’s no opposition—nothing about values, nothing about whether centerpieces are important, nothing about kegs.
It feels…really good.
“What’s that like, not having any siblings?” Beau asks, once we’ve established that I’m not from Ruby Bay.
My throat tightens up, even though the question is as innocuous as you can get. “It’s…intense.”
“Really? I’d have thought it would be easier. My brothers and I were always trying to get the upper hand when we were kids. Shifting alliances and all that.”
“Sounds like something from HBO.”
“Yeah, except nobody got pushed out of a tower window, and no incest.” He laughs at his own joke, and I’m charmed, a golden firework of feeling centering in my chest.
“How boring.” I pat my mouth in a faux yawn. “I thought everybody expected a little incest after that show.”
“What about you? Did you get to do all kinds of exciting things, since there was only one of you?”
“Exciting things.” I give a thoughtful half-laugh that makes Beau swim closer. “I went to a lot of etiquette camps. That’s the kind of thing my mom was into. My dad wasn’t in the picture.”
“Etiquette camps? Is that where you come by your taste in business clothes?”
“Probably.” I turn around and kick away, putting some distance between us. The way he looks at me in this bathing suit makes me want to wear it forever. Screw the skirts and blazers. But I can’t do that. I can never do that, and out here in the lake, with the water holding me up, it…hurts.
“I’m a good swimmer,” he calls when I’m about ten feet away.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You can’t run away from me out here.”
“I haven’t been running away from you on land, so—” Before I can finish, there’s a great splashing sound, and adrenaline spikes into my veins. Oh, my God, he’s chasing me. He’s actually chasing me.
“First one to the buoy!” Beau shouts, and I don’t know what buoy he’s talking about. I haven’t been looking for buoys—not with all of his muscles on full display. But I kick out hard nonetheless. It’s like a magnet, pulling us closer. I don’t want to leave his side…until I do. I want to beat him to the buoy, and I want to cling to it, my heart in my throat, laughter on my lips, and tease him in a way that I can’t do at the office. That everyone would disapprove of at the office.
