The Billionaire's Island Bride (South Shore Billionaires 3)

She turned her face toward him. “What do you want, Cole?”

He struggled with how to answer. He couldn’t lie. He couldn’t say nothing, and he couldn’t say more than he felt. So he let his gaze lock with hers as he admitted, simply, “You.”

Her chest rose and fell with a big breath, and her eyes widened. “But that’s all, right? You’re not looking for a relationship or a girlfriend or whatever.”

“I won’t lie to you, Brooklyn. I won’t do that just to get what I want, okay? I don’t use manipulation.”

“But you want me.”

“I do. Quite a bit, actually. But we agreed not to kiss again, so I’m lying here, admi

tting what I want, knowing that it all hinges on one word from you. Because I never, ever want to treat you unfairly.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, and her eyes softened. “Even when you were trying to buy my house, you were always honest. I... I trust you, Cole.”

The way she said it made him think that it was not something she admitted very often.

And then she surprised him by lifting up and shifting so that her mouth was against his.

He used gravity to his advantage, moving forward until she was back down on the sand, her head on his jacket, and he was braced above her, tasting her lips, which held the faint taste of vanilla and brown sugar from dessert. She was so sweet, so perfect. Her sweater was soft beneath his hand as he ran his hand up her arm and then behind her neck, cradling the soft skin and baby hairs there. She responded by nudging her left leg in between his, twining them together as he deepened the kiss. Her fingers gripped his arm as he slid his lips off hers and finally tasted the delectable hollow of her throat and she gasped, arching up. Without thinking, he ran his hand under her sweater to cup her breast in his palm, the pebbled tip pushing through her bra.

This was going far faster than he’d anticipated, and while his desire was yelling at him to take this as far as she’d let him, his caution—and conscience—told him to slow down. She wasn’t his to ravish. She was his to protect.

And he had no freaking idea where that notion had come from, but it made him temper his advances, removing his hand from beneath her sweater and instead indulging in long, sweet kisses that drugged his mind.

At some point they slowed to gentle sips and nibbles, and then he pressed his forehead to hers. “Brooklyn. Please don’t ask me to be sorry we did that. I’m not. No matter what happens, I’m not sorry.”

She pushed away a bit. “What do you mean, whatever happens? Is there something I should know?”

Cole looked her fully in the eyes. “I don’t live here. This house, this island, is part of my life but not all of it, not like it is yours. It’s here for me to retreat to, for me to help others, too. Men and women like me, who forget to take care of themselves in their high-pressure lives.”

“It’s a piece of the puzzle that is Cole Abbott,” she murmured.

“Exactly. And I like you and I want you...but I don’t want to build up expectations that aren’t realistic.”

“So this is a fling.”

“No.” He put his hand under her chin and lifted it. “Not a fling. You mean something to me, okay? Flings are...a couple of dates and some hot sex and not calling each other back. That’s not us.” It had been him, though. More times than he cared to admit.

And that alone scared him. The fact that he was saying all this out loud was terrifying. And yet he wanted to deal with her the way he ran his business—with integrity. She deserved it.

“But you’ll be leaving.”

“Yes, and soon.”

She sighed, then sat up. Grains of sand clung to her sweater and he thought about the story she’d shared from her childhood. “Are you still close with your family, Brooklyn?”

She pulled up her knees and rested her arms on them, staring out at the dark ocean. “Not like I used to be. We’re kind of spread out now.”

But there was a hesitancy, a guardedness in her tone that made him curious. She could run her business anywhere. Why here, and why so isolated from everything? What was she running from?

He didn’t have a chance to ask her as she jumped up from the sand and started brushing off her bottom. “You need to get back. You’ve left your guests a long time.”

He gathered up his jacket, but then held out his hand. She paused, then took it, and they went back to where they’d abandoned their shoes. Once they’d brushed the sand off their feet and their footwear was back on, they took the narrow path toward Brooklyn’s house.

The porch light was on, welcoming her back, and he fought against a sense of both wistfulness and homecoming. He was starting to realize how very much he’d wished to have someplace that felt like home and not just a dwelling...even if it was a dwelling he shared with other people. The closest he’d ever felt was Merrick, when he and Jeremy and Branson had been in boarding school together.

Back then it had been the people who had made it his home. But that wasn’t true now. He’d only known Brooklyn a few weeks. He was at a loss to explain why the house felt so comfortable.