When I’d first gotten offered the job to work with Nick Hunter, I had poured through every bit of information on the guy I could find. Dossiers, press clippings, a file composed from his own father’s private eye. Needless to say, it took a while.
There were a few gaps here and there—holes in the timeline—but I didn’t think anything of it. It was impossible to track a person for every waking hour of their life. Most people would have similar gaps. But now, I was beginning to think there was a bit more to it than that. Now, I was beginning to think that it was perhaps intentional...
“You’ve been here a lot, haven’t you?” I asked quietly.
Not only had he admitted as much, but there had been plenty of indicators. Subtle little clues from the moment he stepped into the house.
His relationship with Ferdie. The fact that he knew where the mugs were in the kitchen when we were sitting down to eat. A closet full of clothes in what I’d thought was a guestroom.
Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was his room.
Nick opened his mouth, then closed it again with a sigh. His head bowed to his chest, as his eyes lowered self-consciously to the ground.
“I used to come here whenever my dad was...” He hesitated, unwilling to go forward. A sudden shadow blackened the blues in his eyes, and he shook his head. “James always had a room ready for me in the house. A place set for me at the table.”
I glanced out at the fanatical swimmer, as what felt like an icy hand squeezed my chest.
Never in my life had I felt more belatedly protective and filled with rage as I had the moment Nick let slip that his dad used to beat him. Never before had I understood the desire to actually strangle someone with your bare hands.
That someone could tarnish someone so beautiful. That someone could hurt him, damage him, violate his trust—
“It was a long time ago,” Nick said quietly, as if sensing my inner turmoil. I glanced up, and he actually gave me a crooked smile. “A different lifetime.”
A different lifetime perhaps, but here we were. With his father still calling the shots.
Before I had a chance to vocalize this, there was a sudden splashing as James made his way toward us out of the lake.
Even though the man’s preferences were tilted elsewhere, and even though I was standing next to—quite possibly—the most beautiful man I had ever seen...I couldn’t help but stare.
James Lysander Cross IV was a work of art.
Every muscle was finely sculpted, every angle was sharply defined. Tiny drops of water clung to his long lashes, as his dark hair ran in little waves down his neck. His lips were slightly parted, as he tried to catch his breath, and in what looked like slow motion, little trickles of water ran down the muscular lines of his chest. Making their way all the way down to—
“Hey.” Nick snapped his fingers in front of my face with a bemused grin. “I’m standing right here, you know.”
I blushed a million shades of scarlet, and dropped my eyes with a guilty grin. “You know, some things can’t be translated from woman into man. Trust me: you wouldn’t understand this.”
He snorted and tossed James a towel, as the man joined us with an oblivious smile.
“You guys really should have come out,” he said, as he dried himself off. “Once you get past the initial shock, there’s really nothing like it.”
I glanced over the icy waters with a little shiver.
“Yeah—we’ll take your word for it. In the meantime, why don’t we maybe pick an activity on dry land?”
He flashed me a grin.
“You got it. Oh—actually, I wanted to ask you guys something. But if it’s too soon after your monstrous fight this morning, then just tell me and I’ll leave it for another time.”
Subtle. As ever.
Nick rolled his eyes again, and shook his head with a grin.
“Just say it.”
James wrapped the towel quickly around his waist, as his face lit up with a hopeful grin.
“Well the last thing I’d ever want to do is over-step...”