Page 4 of One Last Memory

A noise had my entire body stiffening, my eyes raising to the form that had entered my kitchen. The bottle was halfway to my lips and I couldn’t remember when I had started dancing like a fucking animal in the darkness.

It’s him.

The hottie. The sex guide. The guy that Malia had called dibs on and I really wanted to break girl code for.

And he was here. Inmykitchen. And we were the only two people in the house.

“Fuck.”

MASON

TheReynoldswereastrange family. I dealt with a lot of rich, uppity clients, but the Reynolds were among the worst. Everything had to be to certain specifications, and it was only by some miracle that we had a villa that fit their needs. Even as I met them this afternoon, I instantly hated the chaos they were going to bring to this side of the beach.

Mr. Reynolds seemed to cater to his wife, but like in a rollover, do anything for her kind of way. The oldest daughter seemed like she wanted to be anywhere else. The one with the kids from hell wouldn’t stop eye-fucking me, but I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole. Even if not for the kids, there was just something about her that seemed… off. And the youngest – his fiancé had wandering eyes too. Strangely enough, it wasn’t for me. It was for Mr. Reynolds. I wondered if he knew.

The entire family was a bit of a fucking mess.

Except for the gorgeous woman who seemed a little worse for wear and looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. I couldn’t blame her, what with the family she had been stuck with. But the way she zoned out when I talked – not because she was ogling me – but because she was in her own world, her greenish brown eyes shimmering as they focused on other realities, got under my skin in a way I couldn’t really explain. I couldn’t stop thinking about her as I left the house that morning and hoped I’d meet the skittish young woman at least once more during her stay.

I knew I just needed to fuck something, that this wouldn’t develop any farther than that. I had been burned too many times to count and lost too many things in life to believe that I had any hope of finding my forever. She’d fill the needy, desperate hole in my heart for the time being before she fucked off to whatever rich corner she had come from.

Seven days. That’s all I had.

But when Mr. Reynolds called and mentioned that one of the bathrooms’ vanities was loose, I thought I might have a chance sooner than that. He explicitly mentioned that there wouldn’t be anyone in the house, so I wasn’t expecting to see her here, whiskey on her tongue, her eyes wide as I came back from the quick fix. The dress she had thrown on barely covering her ass, even less as her arm was raised to hold the bottle.

Fuck I wanted to do things to her…

I wanted to kiss those open lips. She mumbled a guttural ‘fuck’, her entire body tense. I was ashamed to admit that that one word went straight to my groin.

BAILEE

Thesexyasfuckman wasn’t dressed in his gray suit anymore, but I didn’t resent the way I could seemoreof him, including the tattoos littered down both arms and peeking out from beneath his dark tank, nearly the entire sides of the cloth missing in action.

“Um-” My eyes couldn’t stop wandering the prime specimen of a human in front of me, the sweat on his brow, the way his muscles kept tensing as if he was just as uncomfortable with the situation as I was.

He gestured toward Malia’s room and hastily told me the reason for his unexpected appearance. “Your father mentioned something about repairs and said there wouldn’t be anyone here.”

I nodded. “Right. Yeah, I’m not really anyone.” I wanted to slap myself because that’s not what my father meant. I dropped my hand, remembering how short my dress was and hoping he couldn’t see my cheeks aflame with embarrassment. My music was still going in the background, but I was too scatterbrained to turn it off. It wasn’t even that loud.

He chuckled, “I’m all done now. I’ll just be leaving. Sorry about the intrusion.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m used to it.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I scrunched my nose and tilted my head as I stared at him, trying to figure him out. This man was very different from the professional one I had met earlier. “Is that a line?”

“If it is? Does that mean you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Talking doesn’t solve anything.” My head bowed, and I stared at the whiskey, wondering if I was brave enough to take a swig in front of him. There was more than enough alcohol swirling through my system but a little more couldn’t hurt.Lee, don’t start. Put it down. Bid him goodnight. And go the fuck to bed.

He shifted the equipment on his shoulder, just enough that his shirt bellowed out and gave me a full-on view of his chiseled stomach.Fucking hell. People are made like that?“I beg to differ. I think it gives you a different perspective. Once the words come out, it makes everything just a little bit more real.”

“You talk like someone who’s been hurt. A lot,” I mumbled, realizing that I didn’t want to talk about this anymore. I wanted to go cuddle my whiskey in my hammock and pretend I hadn’t met the guy. This was fucking embarrassing.

“I have.” It was a blanket statement, but one that held a lot more weight than it should have. And fucking hell, with all the whiskey on my tongue even as I was still between eye-fucking him and the bottle in my hand, I justhadto ask.

“Fine.” I finally took another swig of the whiskey, hating the way it continued to coat my throat with liquid courage. “Doyouwant to talk about it?”

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