Page 73 of One Billion Reasons

When we reach the path down to the water, my arm is aching from carrying the board and my fingers are stiff. Lane makes her way down the steps even as the wind pulls at her clothes, and I keep a wary eye, waiting to lunge for her if she slips on her weak ankle. The beach is deserted except for a few gulls. Just the way I prefer it.

“You don’t want to take a spin?” I ask.

“No way.” Lane grimaces. “Remember the one time you tried to teach me?”

“I thought you were going to drown. I didn’t know it was possible to tread water and make things worse.”

“I thought so too. You took me out on the roughest day of the summer, you jerk.”

“I thought when you said you wanted to learn, that you meant in the general sense, not that you had never been on a surfboard before.”

She throws her arms wide, but she’s grinning. This is old territory. “You are the world’s worst teacher. All, like this, Lane. No, I can’t explain, but you’re doing it wrong.”

“Like a newborn colt trying legs for the first time.” I shake my head, but I’m smiling too.

“Patience is not your strong suit, Mr. Becker. You would be a terrible teacher.” She rolls her eyes as she takes her camera out and lays her towel on the sand.

“Good thing I’m just a mercenary billionaire then, isn’t it?” I flash her a charming smile.

“Stop.” She settles onto the towel. “I told you I would like you just as much if you were poor. And sometimes I think you like to pretend you are.”

The breath leaves my chest. She’s not even looking at me, but she sees everything. I do sometimes pretend to be a regular guy, one without the weight of thousands of employees and a family with a legacy to maintain, and an image to burnish. A mom to take care of, and Aunt Grace, and Lane and Liam. And Jonah, who works too much, and Theo, who I haven’t seen in years. The weight of the world is on my shoulders, and I can’t afford to crack.

“It’s the T-shirts,” she adds. Her eyes flick up to mine, sparkling in the light. “If you’re wondering how I could tell. I’ve known you a long time, Miles Becker. I know those T-shirts are armor, just like the suits are.”

I stare down at her, my throat working, my hand flexing around the board. She’s so beautiful in the sun, and so smart, like one of her photos brought to life. All hazy light and wisps of hair and knowing glances. I want her for myself.

“But I make them look just as good.” I’m deflecting, and she probably knows, but she laughs.

“You know you do. I’ve never met someone more aware of his own good looks. You would not believe the questions I’ve fielded about our sex life.” She shakes her head.

“Now this, I can get behind. What did you tell them, Lane?”

Her cheeks are pink when she responds. “That you love dirty talk and have a huge cock.”

I burst out laughing. “Tell me the lie. But did you tell them you also love it? Did you tell them how good it felt when my hand was wrapped around your throat?”

Her tongue dips out to lick her bottom lip, and I want to bite it. “No, but it did. I loved it.”

“Me too.” Her eyes flick over me, and the hunger in her gaze makes my breath whoosh out. “Let me show you how much.”

She shakes her head. “Stop deflecting. Get in the water.”

I freeze. “It’s been years, Laney. I don’t want to disappoint you. You might not get the shots you want.” I don’t want to disappoint myself.

“So you might be bad.” She gives me a meaningful look. “Get back on the horse. Besides, you can’t be worse than I was.”

I swallow hard and stare at the water. The waves are powerful today, whipped up by last night’s wind. Frothy, we would call them. My dad hated surfing on days like this. He was a bad swimmer, and the surf lessons we took helped, but his heart wasn’t in it. But me? I loved the bad weather days, even the days when it was raining but the waves were so good, we couldn’t resist. The best part of those days was coming back to the house, shivering and wet, and finding Lane curled up, enjoying the summer storm. She would always make extra coffee and hand us towels while she shook her head at how rabid we were about getting out on the water. I look back at her now, fiddling with her camera, unbearably lovely in the sun.

And then I grab the board and walk into the water, ignoring the wet suit, and hoping the waves will cleanse me.

34

Lane

I shiver as I watch Miles paddle out. The air is warm, and I could strip off my dress, but I want the protection. From the heat of his gaze, and from my own feelings. Because being with him makes me feel settled. Like everything is right in the world. Like I’m having the best day ever with my best friend, but it’s every day with him.

He thinks he’ll scare me or disappoint me. Nothing about Miles Becker can scare me. I prop my arms on my knees and fiddle with the camera settings, then I watch him through the lens. He was nervous when we arrived, but I think the water has chased the nerves away. He paddles in quick, hard strokes, the muscles in his arms flexing as he propels himself forward. He misses the first wave, and then he waits. I snap a few shots, but none are winners. Of his face, tight with concentration, of his surprised gasp as a wave nearly smacks him in the face. Of his body as he finally strips off his T-shirt and shoves it in his pocket. He’s going to freeze out there, and soggy cotton will only make it worse, but I sense he doesn’t care, that maybe he wants the numbness and tingling pain.

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