Page 16 of Between the Lines

“I like to keep busy.”

“So I see. Any other skills I should know about?”

And that...? It could have been flirtatious, but Wishart’s delivery was so deadpan Luca couldn’t tell. So he just said, “I can teach anyone to bodyboard. Even you.”

Wishart didn’t respond to that, turning to look out at the water where one of the surfers skimmed along a wave, arms out like wings. “I’d love to know what that feels like.”

“It feels like flying,” Luca said, without thinking.

Wishart looked at him, a brief dart of his eyes, gaze skittering away like a skimmed stone across water. “Yes,” he said. “I imagine it does.” Wistful, unguarded.

Perhaps that’s why Luca said, “So why not try? I’ll give you a lesson, if you want. On the house.”

Wishart laughed. “Me?” It lit up his dark eyes, that low chuckle. It made them gleam.

And why the fuck was Luca looking at his eyes? “Can’t have you drowning out here,” he said gruffly. “Mom would kill me.”

The smile faded, Wishart’s brow creasing as he sank into thought. “Well, I guess thisiswhy I’m here. But—” another fleeting glance “—can we not do it when the sea’s packed with five year olds?”

Luca cocked an eyebrow. “Sure, I’ll tell everyone to leave the water just for you.”

“I didn’t mean—” His eyes flashed. “You’re being sarcastic.”

“No shit.”

Jaw clenched, voice clipped, Wishart said, “I only meant, if I’m going to make a massive arse of myself, I’d rather do it without an audience.”

Which, okay, a little precious, but maybe Luca could see his point—it explained why he was out here so early. “This evening, then,” he said, because apparently he was doing this—he was giving Wishart a bodyboarding lesson. At least he’d earn some brownie points with Jude. “Meet me at six in the foyer and we’ll go down to the Surf Hut, get you kitted up. You can borrow a proper board and a wetsuit.” He allowed himself a quick glance down to take in the guy’s sparely muscled chest and the damp board shorts revealing—He looked up sharply. “Even in the summer it’s too cold to stay in the water for long without a spring suit. And as for the board? A flamingo, dude? We can do better.”

“Thank you, that’s—” Wishart frowned. “But are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“Impose?” Luca swallowed a smile. “It’s cool, your Majesty, I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.” A little color rose into Wishart’s cheeks, only highlighting his general wintry hue. “You should go warm up,” Luca said, giving Wishart’s shoulder a shove to get him moving up the beach. “Your lips are turning blue.”

Wishart touched his mouth as they walked, as if he could trace the cold with his fingertips. And Luca—Luca turned away, went to retrieve his running shoes abandoned above the tide line. But as he laced them, kneeling in the damp sand, he watched Wishart’s awkward tramp up the beach and remembered his brief, amused laugh and the way it had lit up his eyes. And the inconvenient ember of attraction, smoldering since day one, flickered abruptly into flame.

Question was, should he douse the fire or stoke it?

Chapter Seven

Theo’s stomach jittered, half in anticipation and half in dread, as he waited in the foyer for Moretti to show up that evening.

Ifhe showed up...

With a man as attractive as Luca Moretti, there was always a chance this whole arrangement had been a joke, a setup, or even a misunderstanding. Theo might well have overlooked a subtle clue, missed the meaning hidden between the lines. Easy to do when you couldn’t even see them.

To distract himself from his uncertainty, he watched Jude at work behind the desk. She sat at the ancient computer, reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose, a pinched frown creasing her brow. She looked tired, and Theo could easily imagine the burden on her shoulders: three generations of family expectation, loans to pay, and running costs to meet from declining receipts. If she was sick, too, and unable to access the care Don thought she needed, it would only exacerbate her stress.

His father felt a similar strain at the head of Lux, and Theo supposed he would feel it, too, one day—assuming his father ever deemed him worthy enough to inherit. He couldn’t say he was looking forward to the prospect, and, frankly, he wouldn’t blame Moretti for feeling a similar ambivalence about his own inheritance.

Reviving the Majestic would be a huge undertaking. Maybe, given enough investment and imagination, Moretti would have a shot at making it work, but he’d never achieve the same profit level Lux was projecting with the golf resort, nothing close. It could be enough to cover costs, though, and to keep the business ticking over—a comfortable livelihood for someone who was happy to live in and work hard. Jude wasn’t whistling in the wind, but if Moretti lacked the ambition and the business acumen to go for it, then Jude needed to look elsewhere for her successor.

“Hey.”

Startled, Theo’s stomach jumped at the sight of the man himself, crossing the foyer toward him. Dressed in his customary shorts and t-shirt, flip-flops slapping on the marble floor, Moretti looked cool as fuck. Way out of Theo’s league. By contrast, Theo felt overly formal in his golf shorts and deck shoes, but they were all he had. Besides, even the thought of flip-flops between his toes made him squirm.

He stood up and tried to make eye contact. “Hello.”

Moretti’s gaze traveled over him quickly, but he didn’t say anything, just smiled revealing one incisor slightly longer than the rest of his teeth. It was strangely adorable. “Ready to go?”

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