Under the Boardwalk (Costas Sisters 1)

To his credit, Quinn remained silent on the ride to his house. They were headed toward the beach. More than once, he looked into the rearview mirror longer than usual, and took what seemed to be an out-of-the-way route to the ocean.

Although she had a lot on her mind, she sensed he was preoccupied, too. He glanced in the mirror again and she couldn’t take it anymore. Her head pounded as she broke the quiet in the truck. “What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think something’s up?” He squeezed her hand in reassurance.

“You’re antsy. You keep checking the mirrors. And though I don’t know where your house is, I’m certain we’ve circled around a few times.”

“You’re quick, Ari.” He grinned, shaking his head. “I’m just being careful, that’s all.”

“About Damon?” Chills walked all over her skin.

He nodded. “He knows I have this house, so it’s not going to be a problem if he is having me watched, but I’d rather know about it going in.” He rolled his shoulders in a definite release of tension.

“Understandable.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “I don’t know how you live like this.”

He turned his head to the side, glancing at her. “It’s getting harder,” he admitted. “But it’s almost over. Now, what’s going on in your beautiful head? You’ve been completely overwhelmed since the whole foster-care talk back at your parents’.”

Ariana couldn’t believe how perceptive the man was. “It’s my family. Or rather Sam and my family. My parents have to give up being pickpockets and cons,” she said, stating what had been preying on her mind.

Quinn sighed, his understanding clear. “I’ll talk to them.”

“The new business, the spa. It has to be legit.” She was revealing more than he knew about her relatives.

He nodded. “I know. I’ll make sure I oversee it. Nicholas likes me,” he said, and when she turned her head his way, he shot her his most endearing grin.

This time she squeezed his hand tighter. “I like you, too, Quinn.”

“Then tell me what’s really bothering you. It’s not just concern for Sam. I can tell.”

She shut her eyes tight as he pulled into a short driveway leading to a two-car indoor garage. “How about you give me the ten-cent tour first,” she suggested, stalling.

“You got it, but then there’s no more hiding from the truth.”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

“Low blow, Ari. And being angry at me won’t change the fact that you obviously have a hell of a lot to come to terms with. You might as well start somewhere.” He turned the key in the ignition, shut down the motor, and climbed out of the truck.

She joined him at the foot of three wooden steps leading into the house.

“You can park in here.” He gestured to the empty space beside his truck. “I have an extra garage remote in the kitchen drawer, if I can find the damn thing.” He unlocked the door and unset the alarm. “The code is 1213,” he told her.

“Random choice?”

He let out a harsh laugh. “My birthday. I remember my mother telling me she knew I’d be bad luck from the minute she went into labor on Friday the thirteenth.”

Ariana winced and as they walked into the kitchen, she turned toward him. “Are you trying to convince me of what a spoiled brat I am because I have problems with my family?”

He shook his head. “It’s not my place to judge. The only measure anyone can use to judge life by is their own experience. Having a family doesn’t necessarily mean you found growing up to be easy.”

Grabbing her hand, he led her to a cozy room with a cabinlike feel, and they sat on the couch.

“So tell me, are you feeling like a spoiled brat?” he asked.

“I’m feeling like childhood memories are overwhelming me.” She rubbed her eyes and leaned back, sighing. “What if Sam has the same problems I did living with my family?”

“I’m not sure. You’ve never told me what those problems were.” He met her gaze, hoping that by now she knew she could confide in him. When she remained silent, he added, “I don’t have to come from the same background as you to understand.”

She leaned forward. “Let me ask you something. Do you find my family a little . . . weird? Unusual? Strange?”

He laughed. “Well, yes, but that’s what makes them special.”

“Try growing up with that specialness. I’d bring friends home and never know what my mother would be wearing, what language she’d be attempting to learn, or what con my father would be concocting.”

“Like the Indian princess act?” he said, trying not to laugh.

“Or the Martian one.”

He raised an eyebrow, dying of curiosity.

Ari sighed. “When we were thirteen, Zoe and I fell asleep on the beach. Unfortunately we’d covered ourselves with baby oil and fried to a crisp. We were beet red for days. Mom couldn’t help but take advantage of the situation.”