Bliss Brothers (Complete Series), page 21
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.
But we’re not in the office now. There’s nothing but the lake, and the buoy—I see it now, white and huge, bobbing far out in the water.
I have not spent a lot of time in the past few years swimming. I took lessons as a kid, at camp, but who has time for lengthy summer vacations when they’re trying to live up to their mother’s expectations? I sure as hell didn’t. My shoulders burn, and my legs burn with them. I can’t hear anything except the sound of my own breath and the crash of my hands on the surface of the water.
It’s not pretty, this swimming, but the more I ache, the more I inch ahead of Beau, toward that buoy.
The waves out here are rolling higher, slow peaks and valleys that rise and fall underneath my body. I have never been so aware of the way the water slips across my skin as I am right now, knowing that its moving over Beau’s skin the same way. Half of my mind is focused on charging through the water, but the other half can’t be distracted from the way it laps between my legs.
Focus. This isn’t the time to start fixating on the sexual nature of water. Not now, in the middle of a race.
I put on a last burst of speed toward the buoy. I know Beau’s close—I just can’t tell how close, and it’ll mean slowing down to look, so I don’t look. Of course I don’t look. I summon every bit of energy I have and kick harder. My heart is about to burst, my chest is on fire, and my mind is full of him, my body is full of the will to win, and it doesn’t matter who sees me looking totally undignified on my day off, way out here in the water. It doesn’t matter at all, and the not mattering of it fills my head and my thoughts and that’s why I don’t see the bigger wave coming until I’ve already pressed my hands against the slippery surface of the buoy and started to haul myself up on its wide base.
My weight against the buoy has changed the way it’s sitting in the water, and the wave barrels down on both of us. I try to swing to the side—why? What’s that going to do?—but instead I lose my grip on the thing, and the lake rears up and slaps me neatly across the face. That same lake that I had so many erotic feelings about shoves itself into my mouth. I turn and spit it out, coughing, and another wave follows up and knocks against the buoy, which knocks the buoy into my unsuspecting head.
My foot slips. “Claire!” Beau shouts, somewhere behind me—beneath me? Is this buoy really that far out of the water?—and in a fit of stupidity, I take my remaining hand off the buoy to try and wave him down.
“Everything’s fine—” I try to sputter over a mouthful of lake water, which now that I think of it is not erotic, it’s probably kind of gross, even though Ruby Bay is known for its clarity and gorgeousness, but in the midst of all this my calves cramp.
That’s what I get for participating in some impromptu race with the world’s sexist man.
The cramps force my other foot straight off the buoy, and look at me—another face full of water. Deep water. And I’m going under.
* * *
BEAU
Standing on the buoy itself wasn’t part of the game—those things can be dangerous, if the waves get going. And the waves are getting higher with every minute that passes. It’s foreshadowing. The sky doesn’t have to darken for me to know a storm is coming, and it’s so clear now, even with the sky above us still clear and open.
The waves have never bothered me. Not until the moment I watch Claire tumble from the buoy, hitting face-first. It’s a bizarre and unsettling way to fall.
I’m in motion before I have time to think.
Nobody falls that way because they’re okay.
My heart thuds against my rib cage, beating hard and strong. I knew she was giving it her all on the way out here, but I didn’t expect this kind of outcome, otherwise I’d have called off the race a lot sooner. I only wanted to get her away from the shore. The closer she gets to the sand, the more closed off she is. It’s like something’s waiting for her there on the empty beach—something I can’t see. Surely she doesn’t have a problem with Driver.
Claire resurfaces as I reach the buoy and gasps, an awful, wrenching gasp, her eyes squeezed shut against the water. I’ve never been more relieved to see her face, but the twisted expression makes my stomach sink. Her movements are jerky and strange underneath the water, and she reaches blindly for the buoy at the same time I reach for her.
I took one arm around her waist and balance myself against the buoy. “Hey,” I say, loud and clear, because she’s still kicking. One of her heels lands against my shin, surprisingly hard for the water, and I hiss through my teeth. “Claire. I’ve got you. Are you okay? Claire. Are you okay?”
It takes several repeats for her to whip one hand out of the water and rub it across her eyes, her breathing ragged. “Oh, I—” Pain shines through her voice. “It hurts.”
