one frame of reference,” Byron admitted, “but I’m pretty sure when you love someone, you’ll just know it.”
Her mouth tipped down uncertainly again. “But if I love him, really love him, shouldn’t I already know whether or not I want him? Do I really have to see him to be sure? Or is it just—”
It was impulse. Complete and utter impulse. But chances were, he’d never get to do it again.
He leaned in. She stilled. Her mouth stopped moving, her eyes went round. As he lessened the gap, he saw them begin to close. There, he thought.
His hand found its way into the dip of her waist. It stayed there as he nudged her head back by fitting his mouth to hers.
It was simple. It was soft. For him, it was explosive.
He’d known there was something there. He’d known some part of him had wanted some part of her from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Like all things unattainable, he’d ignored it.
It must’ve festered. Under cover of his ignorance, his attraction had bred on itself.
It had bred like bunnies. He couldn’t count the stupid bunnies.
He broke away, stifling the protesting noise in his throat. It was his turn to press his lips together. She tasted like raspberries. Knowing that definitely wasn’t going to lower the bunny quotient.
Are you happy now, Strong? He sat back. She stared at him, owl-eyed. She hadn’t moved so much as an inch since he’d leaned in.
So much for their friendship. Byron cleared his throat and raised a brow. “Did that answer your question?”
Her round eyes shifted slightly. “Question?” she repeated in a scant voice.
“Who’re you thinkin’ about right now, duchess?” he asked. “Me or Richard?”
“Richard?” She lowered her face. There was color in it again. Lots of color. “Richard,” she said once more without the question behind it.
He bobbed his head in an indicative nod. “Well, there you have it.” When she didn’t move, he lifted her glass from the table and extended it to her.
She took it. Drinking deep, she nursed the remainder as they sat in heavy silence.
“YOU’RE ALL GOING to hell,” Roxie proclaimed. It was Wednesday morning, a brisk forty degrees. Not even the hearty bay pelicans had ventured out for their morning repast. And here she was chugging up the hill from the Fairhope Pier to the towering bluff that overlooked the Eastern Shore in all its splendor.
Adrian Bracken fell into step beside her, moving marginally faster, dressed in a gray hoodie and black yoga pants. A sun-battered baseball cap crowned her red bob. “This was Liv’s idea. Not mine.”
“Oh,” Roxie said, her voice dropping a level. Her breath was whistling at the back of her throat and her calves were screaming. “There’s a special place in hell for you, Liv.”
The roar of a gas-powered motor crept up behind them. Roxie and Adrian glanced over in unison to the woman behind the wheel of a John Deere Gator. She had one UGG-clad foot propped up beside the steering wheel and a gloved claw wrapped around a chocolate éclair fresh from Briar’s kitchen. “You know,” Olivia Leighton said as she chowed down on the pastry. “If the two of you would stop squawking like seagulls, in all likelihood we’d be back home eating Briar’s quiche by now...” She shrugged and stuffed the rest of the éclair into her mouth. “As it is...”
“Are you even allowed to operate an ATV on the open road?” Adrian wanted to know.
Olivia looked around, nonplussed. “Nobody’s stopped me.” She reached inside the box on the passenger seat for another pastry. “Come on, pick up the pace. I brought Gerald’s Indiana Jones whip and I’m not afraid to use it.”
Roxie groaned, falling behind Adrian a few more paces as the stitch in her side flared up and choked the wind out of her. “I’m sorry your doctor says you can’t run yet because you just squeezed two babies out of you. But we don’t deserve this.”
“Huh,” Olivia said with a smirk. “Bitter and out of shape. I’d feel a mite more friendly if I’d spent the night with a certain supersexy Greek man-cake.”
Roxie stopped, planting her hands on her knees. Not for the first time since waking up to him in her apartment Tuesday morning, she felt the urge to wring Byron’s foolish neck.
She’d insisted he sleep on a pallet in her living room, since they’d finished close to two bottles between them. The next morning he called down to the inn for coffee, meaning both Briar and her husband, Cole, knew that he was at her place early enough to be suspect. They’d informed Adrian and her husband, James. Who then told Olivia, who, of course, blabbed the news to everybody from here to the Flora-Bama. Roxie had half expected the stranger standing next to her at the grocery checkout yesterday to give her a sly thumbs-up. She’d tolerated as much from all three of her wedded friends.
When Roxie finally caught her breath, she lowered to the sidewalk, leaning back on her hands to ease the stitch in her ribs.
“Hey,” Olivia said, the ATV coming to a halt as Adrian ran ahead to catch up with Briar. “Ass, elbows off the concrete. You’re falling behind last week’s time, which I’m sorry to say was shameful enough.”
“Shush,” Roxie said, too tired to raise her voice. She closed her eyes. Breathe. Breathe. “I’m trying not to envision man-cakes or any other type of Greek pastry.”
“Why not?” Olivia asked, studying the éclair in her hand with a smug grin. “You still stuffed from Monday night?”
Roxie shook her head and fought hard not to laugh. At this point, it would hurt. Really hurt. “Nothing happened. In fact, I wish I could go back and make that whole twenty-four-hour period disappear forever.”
Footsteps beat toward them. Roxie looked up to find Adrian returning, her high cheekbones pink from the February nip. “I can’t catch Briar. She’s like the female version of the Flash.”
“My star pupil,” Olivia said fondly, gaze combing the cliff above. Catching sight of the blonde along the sidewalk, she lifted the bullhorn from her lap. Her lurid voice boomed over the park, making Roxie grimace and Adrian plug her ears. “That’s it, cuz! Boot and rally!”
“Wonderful,” Roxie said, reaching for the side of her head. “I am now bitter, out of shape and one-hundred-percent deaf.”
Olivia set the bullhorn down and reached back for the lid of the cooler in the Gator’s cargo bed. She lobbed a bottle of water at Adrian’s head. “Stretch and hydrate.”
Adrian lifted her hands to block the bottle from hitting her square in the face. She bobbled it several times before catching it one-handed.
Roxie lazily watched the bottle meant for her sail clean over her head and bounce onto the grass beyond. “Thank you, Derek Jeter,” she drawled. She retrieved the Dasani, cracked it open and frowned at the clear contents. “I’m thinking about getting back together with him.”
