Page 87 of A Quick Stop in Paradise

I wasn’t the eagle-eyed journalist here, but I was pretty sure thatthank youwasn’t just about admiring her ass. I held her into me, kissing her as much as I could right now, and when I parted from her lips, I said, “It’s really my pleasure.”

She tightened her grip on my hips. Wasn’t hard to work out what she was thinking behind that subtly strained, subtly sad expression, but she didn’t voice it—no point in voicing it, for either of us. “Brooklyn…”

“Yeah?”

“Take your shirt off, please.”

I laughed, mostly in surprise. “Do you want breakfast first?”

“Yes,” she said, voice petulant. “And I want you to have your shirt off while we do. Please. And thank you.”

“Hmm.” I traced a hand down her side. “It only seems fair if I get to pick what you’re wearing, too, then.”

She batted her eyelashes at me. “Whatever you like.”

It wasn’t very often I found a woman who could keep up with my sexual appetite. Damn, but I was going to miss her. For all kinds of reasons.

“Sounds like we have a deal, then,” I said, sliding my hands higher under her shirt, and she closed her eyes with a soft noise that I took as signing on the deal.

Chapter 22

Ryan

The ocean was beautiful glistening in the night with the lights from the beach and the restaurant, but I just felt petulantly nostalgic for something I hadn’t even left behind yet. I’d always loved the ocean. How long was I going to look at it and just think about Brooklyn?

The host directed me and Oscar to a seat on the back terrace, wood floor and railings giving a cozy feeling from up here overlooking the beach, string lights bundled up along the length of the railing, glowing against the early night. The host spoke warmly as we sat down at a table too big for the two of us. “Can I get you two started with something, or will you be waiting for the rest of your party?”

“We’re fine waiting,” Oscar said, and I was committed to being annoying, because I said, “I’ll take a glass of Chablis.”

Oscar gave me a dry look once the host was gone. “I hear you had fun at breakfast.”

“Maybe let’s reevaluate our sources, then, because I wouldn’t go that far,” I said lightly. “I should probably regret it, but I don’t.”

“You shouldn’t.”

I paused, studying him. He wasn’t usually keen to weigh in on something like that, clear and assertive with it. “Thanks,” I said, and he shrugged.

“Shane’s kind of a dick.”

“Don’t tell me you’d also been thinking that and just didn’t want to weigh in.”

He put his hands up. “Didn’t really seem like any of my business, honestly.”

“Well, quit that,” I said, my voice low, turning to face him. “You can let me know when you think these things.”

He flashed a grin. “So that means you’re not walking out of the family? That’s what I thought you wanted to meet with everybody for.” He paused. “That and because your girlfriend is at work so you’re bored.”

“Ugh, don’t call her that,” I groaned. “I already feel like crap over the fact that this is over tomorrow.”

“Sorry.”

I waited as a waiter came out with a bottle of Chablis, introducing himself and showing me the label, and poured me a taste—sniffed it, sipped it, signaled it was fine, and once I had a full glass and the waiter had gone back to another table, I turned to Oscar and said, “I want to try.”

“Try what?”

“Fixing things with my family. No… fixing implies I’m getting it back to how it was.” I shook my head, swirling my wine under my nose, letting my gaze drift out to the ocean. “I feel like I’ve just been… passively… letting a family exist. Maybe it’s corny, but I want to cultivate something I love. And I don’t think I can do that without pissing off the people who aren’t right for me.”

He chuckled. “Damn.”

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