Page 17 of Savage Ruin
Something shifted inside me in that moment, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t get back to the old me. The cavalier attitude I’d adopted is disappearing, but what that means, I have no fucking clue.
Pulling myself out of the introspective sinkhole I’ve dropped into, I roll out of bed with a groan. I don’t want to think of the past or the kiss or work or anything. An idea pops into my head. Maybe we all should escape.
She’s been here two days now and all she’s done is work. Mateo and Thiago might be okay with that scenario, hell, Henley is probably fine with it, but she’s not going to heal if she doesn’t take some time to relax. Without a computer or a phone.
Thiago stops beside the kitchen island where I’m sitting and shoots me a contemplative stare. I know he’s looking at the dark circles under my eyes, but I refuse to acknowledge his worry. He’s always been overprotective, but this situation has given him an excuse to level up a notch or three.
“I’m not going into work today,” I coolly inform him. When I hear him drop his bag on the counter, I hold up my hand. “Stop worrying. Everything is fine. I’m fine. We’re all safe in this new fortress of security you’ve forced upon us. I’ve got everything under control.” I don’t tell him my plans to take Henley to the beach, because he’ll worry himself to death, force a bunch of rules down my throat, then decide it’s too risky. Sometimes what Thiago doesn’t know…
His head tilts to the side while he considers his options. “If this is triggering you, I need to know about it.” When I simply raise an eyebrow, he jerks his messenger bag off the island. “I mean it, Grayson. I need to get to the office, so I’ll drop the subject for now. If you want me to pick up something for dinner, text me. Try to be nice to Henley today, too.” He grunts at my lack of response and walks out.
When Mateo walks in an hour later, rubbing his eyes and yawning, I inform him of our plans. “Help Henley get ready. All three of us are taking the day off and going down to the beach to relax. No excuses. No computers or phones.”
Expecting him to argue, I’m startled to see a slow smile break out on his face. “Fantastic idea. I completely agree.” The phone in his hand rings and he answers. “Thiago, what’s up?”
Waving my hands in front of Mateo, I shake my head back and forth, silently telling him not to say anything to Thiago about our plans.
He rolls his eyes but agrees. “I’m here. I just got up and haven’t really thought about it. Let me get Henley up and dressed and get some stuff done. I’ll call you back later.” He mumbles an agreement to something Thiago says, then hangs up.
“Why are we hiding our plans from Thiago?” He quirks his eyebrow while he waits for an answer to his question.
“You know why,” I reply with an exasperated expression. “Thiago will veto a perfectly fantastic idea. Now, go. I’ll get the food and drinks together. You get dressed and help Henley.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Henley walks into the kitchen, her hair in a ponytail, wearing one of Thiago’s white tanks over a swimsuit, with her long legs bare and on display. I chuckle and snap a pic. I won’t send it to him now, but it’s a sight worth capturing, and I’m sure it will mess with his mental control.
I motion to the island where I’ve laid out scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee, knowing morning is not her favorite time of the day. With a sigh of relief, she eases onto the barstool and takes a big gulp.
We usually have a maid service, but none of us wanted to take the risk right now. I snatch up the pan and quickly wash and dry it. Once Henley is finished, I take her stuff and add it to the dishwasher. When I look up, she’s watching me with a fascinated look on her face. I raise my eyebrow.
“You love being in the kitchen,” she says with a smile, but her tone is questioning. “Have you always been this way?”
Feeling the back of my neck tighten, I focus on scrubbing the counter while I answer. “If I hadn’t learned to cook, I likely would’ve starved. Foster kids are sometimes forgotten.” I rinse out the dishcloth and leave it on the side of the sink, then walk over to her side of the island. “More than that, it gave me a sense of control and independence, not to mention something to leverage.” She tilts her head in confusion, so I explain. “When they assigned me to new foster parents, I always volunteered to cook. Once I made them something incredible, things usually eased a bit. They’d bring in more groceries, give me a little freedom, and generally, treat me better. It was a win-win situation.”
She tilts her head to the side, blue eyes entirely focused on me. “I’m surprised you still want to do it. You’ve got so much going on already with work, your boats, the NFTs, and everything… else. I’d have thought you guys would have a chef.”
“I don’t want another chef in my kitchen,” I inform her with a mock glare. “Honestly, if I didn’t cook, we’d never see each other. Thiago would exist on protein bars and salads. Mateo would eat takeout every day.” She flushes. I’m guessing she’s guilty of the same bad habit, and I just shake my head at her. “If I cook, we have dinner together. Even when Marcos was here. Except on Sundays, when we used to go over to Mariana’s.” It pangs me to realize we haven’t gone to Mariana’s for Sunday brunch in a long time. With this threat hanging over our head, I’m not sure if it’s a good idea, but maybe we need it. Something to discuss with Thiago later.
“Well, I severely lack any ability to cook, so I’m truly grateful for all your meals,” she states firmly. “And I love eating dinner with all of you. It’s nice. Like a family. My dad died when I was little, and as a single parent, my mom worked a lot. It sounds like you didn’t have much family until you came here. Given our backgrounds, maybe it’s something we both need.” She slides gingerly off the barstool.
Exactly, family dinners, I muse surprised to find something in common.
Mateo strolls into the room. Trunks on, flip flops, and no shirt. I watch Henley swivel toward him with a smile on her face and a hint of desire in her eyes. The same heat graces his face. Something is sizzling between them.
Riveted, I watch him lean down and capture her lips in slow motion. A hand snakes round her back and slowly glides down her tight left cheek to give it a squeeze before settling.
She gasps, and it goes straight south. With an almost silent groan, I reach down and shift myself so it’s not obvious how turned on I am by watching them. Damn Mateo. He knows exactly what this is doing to me. Watching a woman being pleasured by another man, hearing her involuntary cries, makes me harder than steel. Most women don’t mind having another man watch them, and Mateo and I have indulged this habit in the past, but we’ve always been sure to ask permission. I wonder whether Henley would be open to it.
I tear my eyes away, pick up our picnic basket, and head out. “I’ll see you two on the beach.” She moans when I pass the patio doors, and it takes everything I have to keep walking. I don’t dare look back.
When I get to the beach, I set up the umbrellas and chairs, put the picnic basket in the shade, and practically race to the water to cool off. I dive into the first wave and swim out a bit before riding another back to shore. Striding out of the water, my eyes lock on Henley’s, and her pink tongue swipes across her bottom lip. Without breaking my pace, I turn around and head straight back into the water.
After I get my body under control, I manage to drag myself out of the water and over to the lounge chair beside Henley. With a flop, I lie in the sun drying off while I catch my breath.
“The water looks incredible,” Henley states softly. “Mateo, would you mind helping me up?”
I open my eyes and look over at her. “Do you think you should get in the water? The waves can be pretty strong.”
Mateo helps her up. “I’ll go with you,” he offers.
