Going Under (Wildfire Lake 2)
We all turn toward the voice of a man, calling from the docks. He’s already jogging toward us, speaking a slur of Spanish that doesn’t sound quite like the Spanish I learned in school.
“Never mind,” Kat says with a laugh. “He found us first.”
“What language is that?” Violet asks.
“Puerto Rican Spanish.” Kat lets out a surprised laugh when the guy vaults a low fence instead of stopping to open the gate. “Oh, Jesus.”
He’s young, fit, dark, and on the uncustomary exuberant side. She’s still laughing, sidestepping to put Jazz at arm’s length, clearly prepping for what will be—at least on his end—an ecstatic reunion. “He can be a little crazy—”
My first instinct is to gather the girls close. Jaime doesn’t give me or the girls a first glance, just runs straight at Kat, his grin white and wild.
“Jaime, Jaime.” She’s laughing his name with one arm out, walking backward. “You crazy—”
She squeals as he wraps her in his arms, lifts her off the ground, and spins around with her. She’s hugging him back, her grin broad and sparkling, her laughter high and tinkling with joy.
I recognize bits and pieces of Jaime’s phrases—look at you, you’re beautiful—that kind of thing, but it’s his tone and their natural physical intimacy that tells me far more than his words.
My stomach sinks. My throat tightens. Fuck. I hate that my deepest fears hit a bull’s-eye.
Jaime finally eases Kat to the ground and brushes her hair back from her face with both hands. The familiarity between them is clearly romantic. There’s no fucking missing that billboard.
Kat puts a hand against his chest in a move that appears as if it’s designed to keep him from kissing her. ’Cause, yeah, I’m pretty damn sure that’s next on Jaime’s list.
My jaw is stone by the time she gestures toward us. “Jaime, these are the friends I told you about.”
He forces his gaze from Kat, and it seems to take him a minute to shift gears. But when he does, he showers the girls with the charm of a prince from their storybooks. Dropping to a crouch, he addresses each girl in Spanish, telling them how beautiful they are, how prettily they’re dressed. And even my daughters, who don’t understand a word he’s saying, are grinning at him like he’s a fucking sugar daddy.
It’s petty and childish for me to hate this guy already, right? He’s like a leech, dragging out every last sliver of insecurity I thought was long gone. That, I believe, is not about how I feel about myself, but all about how I feel about Kat.
“He’s telling you how beautiful you all are.” Kat’s smiling down at the girls.
“Does he speak English?” Poppy asks.
“Sí, yes, pretty girl, I do. But when I get excited, I lapse into my native tongue.”
“This is Violet,” Kat says, gesturing to each girl, “Poppy and Jazz.”
“Beautiful names for beautiful girls.” He’s beaming at them. Beaming. And it’s so damned authentic.
“And this is Ben.”
Jaime stands and meets my gaze directly, openly. His smile shifts to something more adult, but still holds the kind of warmth I find in the gazes of old friends. He offers his hand boldly, gladly. Overall, I get the same feeling from Jaime as I do a resident who’s been waiting to meet me.
“Doctor Ben.” I shake his hand, and he returns it with solid strength and continued eye contact. “I admire a man who can manage so many females in his life as successfully as you have.”
I laugh. It’s completely unexpected, and I’m maddened to find I like the guy. He’s equal parts lady’s man and man’s man. Swarthy, charming, and charismatic, but also direct, confident, and masculine. “Nice to meet you.”
He steps back and claps his hands together, scanning the girls’ excited faces. “Who’s ready to look at some boats?”
“Me!” the girls chorus together.
He spirits them toward the docks like he’s part of the family, and the girls seem to accept him just as easily.
Charisma doesn’t begin to describe the man’s magnetism.
Kat comes up beside me, hands in her back pockets, watching Jaime and the girls move down the dock. She’s smiling, and I wonder if she’s seeing Jaime with the girls or the girls with Jaime. Yeah, there’s a difference.
“He’s…” I search for the right word, but of course, one word could never describe the man I just met. “Enthusiastic.”