Page 53 of The Rehoboth Retreat
What the hell was happening?
This wasn’t part of the plan. The whole point of this retreat—this week of planned menus, designer beach towels, and morning runs with scenic views—was to get away frommen. From Owen. From drama. From being emotionally available to anyone.
And now Hudson Knight was in my head, taking up valuable real estate I’d been trying to clear out. Just… loitering there like a shirtless squatter with sunglasses and a chaotic smirk.
I looked down at Topper, who stared back up at me with those big, trusting eyes.
“I’m not ready for this, am I?”
He blinked slowly.
“Didn’t think so,” I said, sighing as I let my head fall sideways on the pillow. The cushions smelled like fresh cotton spray. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the weight of the night settle into my limbs.
Outside, the waves kept rolling in.
And somewhere in that darkness, Hudson Knight was probably walking back to his place, just as confused as I was.
But neither of us could take that kiss back now.
And I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
What on earth was I thinking?
Scratch that. What on earth was he thinking?
It had to be the martinis. That’s what I kept telling myself. Three extra dirty martinis, served in those chilled V-shaped glasses that make you feel like you’re more sophisticated than you really are. Liquid courage disguised as elegance. That’s all it was.
And yet, I could still feel it.
His lips—softer than I expected for a man so loud, brash, and utterly inappropriate. The gentle pressure of his fingers circling my wrist before he spun me around. His scent still lingered faintly in the sea air, that ridiculous musky cologne that screamed I’m-a-celebrity-even-if-you-don’t-know-it.
Then, from behind me, came a voice. Smooth. Cool. Mischievous as a stirred cocktail.
“Well, that took a rather quick turn, didn’t it?”
I jolted upright.
Cecilia.Of course.
She glided into the room like a champagne-fueled specter, wearing a flowing silk kimono in hues of navy and wine, a flute of actual champagne balanced delicately in one hand. She lowered herself into the wingback chair across from me, legs crossed with the ease of someone who knew she was about to cause trouble.
I blinked at her. “You’re still awake?”
She sipped. “Darling, please. It’s a vacation. Even I can live a little, too. Besides, I was up on the upper deck, reclined quite gracefully, I might add, when I noticed two dashing figures canoodling just beyond the dune grass. One of them had a noticeable limp. The other—well, the other looked suspiciously like my son.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
“Hudson was drunk,” I blurted. “That was nothing. He had one too many martinis. I pulled away. He’ll regret it in the morning.”
She gave me a look so drenched in sarcasm it could’ve melted titanium. “Suuure.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What?”
She leaned forward slightly, her champagne flute poised like a punctuation mark. “Miles, the man literally canceled a party full of shirtless studs and scandal-hungry gays just to go looking for you. He kicked them all out. That doesn’t sound like ‘oops-I’m-tipsy’ behavior. That sounds…intentional.”
I sighed and shifted to sit next to her. Topper followed, plopping his warm little body against my thigh.
“Believe me,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “It was just a simple kiss. Nothing more. It’s far too early for me to even be thinking about things like this. This whole weekend was supposed to be about me. Reflection. Solitude. Self-care. Not… whatever that was out there.”
