Page 66 of Must Have Been Love

He leads the way down, and I follow gingerly behind, taking off my stupid shoes because even with the threat of splinters in my soles I’m still more likely to survive than if I try descending to the beach in my heels. Hudson, on the other hand, manages to carry the blankets in one hand and the cooler in the other, not having to touch the wooden banisters once before we reach the sand.

If it was pretty from above, right now this little cove is breathtaking. The water is lapping gently against the golden sand, and there’s a copse of bushes growing up from a dune on the left. You can’t see the rest of the island from here at all, just the ocean. We could be stranded on a desert island with how quiet and secluded it is.

“What a place,” I say, looking back up at the cliffs. “Are you planning to build here?”

“We are. An exclusive retreat.” He nods. “But tonight it’s ours.”

He lays out one of the blankets and tells me to sit down and wrap the other around my shoulders, before he puts the cooler down next to me and starts to wander off.

“Hey, where are you going?” I call out, alarmed. Because we’re a good couple of miles away from town and there’s no way I can find my way back in the dark.

“Collecting firewood,” he shouts out, pointing at a pile of sticks and twigs next to the sand dune. “Well, strictly speaking I got one of my staff to collect it earlier. I’m just bringing them over.”

I start to laugh, because it feels so like Hudson to have his staff do personal things like this. He shakes his head and brings the firewood over, then starts to stack them expertly.

“Couldn’t you have asked your staff to build the fire too?” I ask, still amused, as he flicks a lighter and puts it to the edge of a rolled up piece of newspaper. “Hell, you could have had them come and join us. Bedless sex all round.”

“Shut up. I had too many meetings today. Otherwise I would’ve done it.” He slides the lighted paper between the sticks and softly blows on the flame as it licks against the pile of wood he’s created. To my shock, they ignite. He smiles at his own skill as the orange flames light up his face, making it glow.

“You look so damn proud of yourself right now,” I tell him.

“Still got it.” He winks at me.

“What is it about men and fires?” I ask him, tipping my head to the side. It’s funny seeing him this way. Genuinely relaxed, with a smile on his face.

My heart does this weird little twisty thing. I’m almost getting used to it now.

“We like to provide,” he says. “It’s genetic. You should just let us.”

“Very caveman,” I say. But I have to admit, it’s kind of sexy seeing how easily he can light a fire. “What made you decide to bring me here?” I ask him, still trying to reconcile this fire-building, picnic loving man with the devil-in-a-designer suit he usually is.

He sits down next to me, then deliberately lies back. “Mostly this,” he says, smiling over at me. “Horizontal bedless sex.”

My mouth gapes open. “You’ll do anything to get around the rules, won’t you?”

He sits up, still grinning. “I thought of this place the other day. Remember when you asked me about my favorite memory? It was here. Me and my brothers and sisters used to come here to swim when we wanted to be away from the crowds at the main beaches during the summer. I guess I wanted to show it to you.”

A wave of emotion washes over me. I look at him, blinking. So not just about horizontal sex.

“Come on,” he urges. “Where are your smart ass remarks? You can tease me about how skinny I was as a kid if you like.”

“You were skinny?” I ask him, my throat still feeling tight.

“As fuck. Filled out in junior year, thank god. We were all the same, Asher, Zach, Wyatt.”

“More genetics,” I murmur. “I’ve only met Asher, right?”

“Yep. My tech bro.”

“He’s a tech bro?” I grin. “I didn’t know that. What do your other brothers do?

“Wyatt runs a charter boat company down south,” he tells me, tracing my skin. “And Zach runs an art gallery in Chicago, but I’m pretty fucking sure he makes most of his money gambling but he hides it from me.”

“You don’t like the idea of him gambling?” I say, remembering the way his dad lost everything to poker.

“Not much. But I dislike him hiding it more.”

Of course he does. One thing I know about this man is that he dislikes being blindsided. Like me arriving on the island without him knowing. “Maybe you need to relax a little about it,” I say.

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