He let the tactless choice of farewells pass without comment, but not the underlying attempt to stand her ground. “Lauralie, it’s time to go.” He closed his hand around her arm, and gently but firmly guided her toward her car. Out of nowhere a memory rose up, of the same gentle but firm hand guiding her off the beach a lifetime ago, rescuing her from her own bad judgment.
Funny how history repeated itself. Still, she wasn’t sixteen anymore, and she took pride in having the strength and smarts to deal with any situation she faced. On her own. She genuinely appreciated peoples’ kindness today, and their efforts to help, but she’d sent them away for a reason. Laurie Peterson didn’t lean on anyone. She gave out advice. She supplied a shoulder to cry on, not vice versa. Chelsea was the only possible exception, and even their dynamic tended to work the other way.
Fumbling the good-bye to Booker didn’t qualify him as the second exception, especially not to confide all the troubles weighing on her now. She needed time alone, all the more so because some weak part of her longed to crawl onto his lap, and bawl her eyes out against his chest while he held her in his arms and told her everything would be okay.
No bawling except in absolute seclusion. Forcing her spine straighter, she dug her keys out of the front pocket of her shorts. “I can drive myself. You must have had plans for today.”
“I’m wide open at the moment.” He looked around the empty parking lot. “I’m also stranded.”
The secluded bawling part of her day just got pushed. She unlocked her truck. “Hop in. I’ll give you a lift to your car.” It was the least she could do after…everything. She could hold herself together a little longer.
Dark eyes roamed her face, looking for what, she wasn’t sure, and even less sure she wanted him to find it. But she couldn’t turn away. After a moment, he nodded. “Thanks.”
She started the engine, and waited while he got in and buckled his seat belt. His five o’clock shadow from last night was now a full-blown unshaven jaw. His finger-combed hair waved back from his face in the kind of ridiculously attractive disarray that only worked for guys. All the rugged masculinity sent her mind back to this morning, when she’d left him sprawled in her bed. Her system reacted with a violent and inappropriate burst of lust—like an engine backfiring in a funeral procession.
Reassuring how in the midst of a crisis, your hormones remain in full working order. She put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. The burned-out remains of Babycakes slanted across her rearview mirror, and failure sat like a boulder on her chest. She pushed through the pain to locate her voice. “Where’s your car?”
“At my parent’s house.”
Her foot smashed the brake. “Where?”
“I left it there last night.” He looked uncharacteristically defensive. “Is that a problem?”
“No.” She shook her head, and resumed driving. Not a problem. A reminder. They called the same town home, but Booker and she came from very different worlds. His parents lived in the most coveted part of Montenido. The part she only visited as a member of the hired help. Yes, technically, for a moment there, she’d clawed her way up to business owner, but fate had kicked her back down.
A hand moved her hair behind her shoulder. “Tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“I spent the better part of a decade watching you, and the best parts of last night inside you. The tough-as-nails act you put on for everyone else doesn’t work on me. Tell me what you need.”
The whole curl-up-on-his-lap-and-cry scenario suddenly threatened to become a mortifying reality. Slippery panic and a desperate need to push him a safe distance from the shit-storm of her life had her responding with a cynical laugh. “I need six grand in the next thirty days. How much can I put you down for?”
“Six grand.” His reply came without hesitation.
A scrolled iron gate flanked by carved marble lions passed on the left. She drove on, steering her SUV up the winding, palm-lined road to the rarified hilltop Montenido’s wealthiest families called home. His family included. He didn’t choose to live like this, but six thousand wouldn’t set him back. Not in the least.
It set her back though—to a place she’d sworn she’d never go. Just asking for the money made her exactly like her mother, approaching every person in her life with her hand out and a hard-luck story on her lips. Her mind recoiled from the realization, and struck back with unflattering meanness. “That certainly puts a price on last night.”
She braced for anger. Disgust. She had it coming after such an obnoxious comment. But he laughed.
“Yeah, right. If we’re charging by the orgasm, you owe me for last night. I would have let you try to even the score this morning, but you chickened out.”
“I didn’t chicken out.”
“No?”
“I had…reasons…for leaving.”
“I checked the surf report. The waves weren’t that good.”
The quiet disappointment in his voice tempted her to come clean. “My…” Nope. She couldn’t do it. God, she sucked. “This is a pointless conversation. I’m not
taking your money. I’m not a freaking charity.”
“I’m not offering a donation.”
She expelled her breath and prepared to cut him off, but he kept talking. “Once you get the bakery running again, you can pay me back. In the meantime, I reduce the amount of time I’m deprived of my morning carbs and coffee.”