Cade
T hree weeks later
“Pass me that saw.”
The world’s chattiest assistant strolls across the deck, plucking up my hack saw from where I left it on a stool, and carries it back over held out on her palms like an offering for the gods. Riley’s dressed in a green cotton halter dress today, her feet bare and her toenails painted white, and as the wind blows, it plasters her dress against her thighs.
The makeshift workbench I set up out here is wobbly against the uneven boards, but I steady it with one hand, taking the saw from her with the other.
I don’t linger on those tanned legs for too long.
No, Luis wouldn’t like that at all.
Now I’m no great carpenter, but I’m good enough in a pinch. Good enough to fix this rotten deck, anyway, just like Riley isn’t the most knowledgeable assistant, but I wouldn’t swap her out for anything in the world. Because those storm clouds that have crowded my thoughts since Luis died? They ease off when she’s around. I’m not magically better, but I’m soothed.
And maybe it’s wishful thinking, but it seems the same for Riley, too. She’s bloomed over the last three weeks; gone from exhausted and shy, barely talking at all, to chatting my ear off the second she bounds out of the lakehouse each morning.
I don’t mind, even when I’ve barely slept and she wakes me up. Riley’s better than any dream I might’ve been having.
“This is a nice touch.” My best friend’s little sister flicks the pencil I’ve got tucked behind one ear. “Very authentic.”
Fuck. I love when she teases me like this, a wicked smile playing around her mouth. I feel less like some scarred, broody bigfoot and more like the man I was before. She’s only got one braid today, her hair scraped back down the middle, and escaped tendrils of dark hair dance around her cheeks.
“Step back.” My gruff tone doesn’t fool her at all—Riley grins wider, and she tugs at my earlobe before backing away. “Genius at work.”
Her snort is the sweetest sound I ever heard. When she’s not around, I play it on a loop in my brain.
It takes a second for me to find the right rhythm, for the saw to bite into the wood in a way that feels good, then I’m off, sawing steadily, muscles burning and and a bead of sweat trickling down my back. My hair’s tied back in a knot, tickling at the nape of my neck.
We’ve been at this for hours already today. And not just today—ever since Riley and I made our deal, we’ve worked on the cabin flat out. We’ve fixed her hot water and leaking faucets; put in new window panes and changed the lock on the door and done a dozen other things besides.
Truth be told, we’re rattling through the list of projects too fast, because once we’re finished… well. I’ll need to move on.
My gut cramps at the thought, and my arm slows.
“Getting tired?” Riley reaches up, tugging her halterneck undone. Oh, hell. The front of her dress peels down, revealing two pert tits in that yellow string bikini, and below, her tanned, smooth stomach. “We should take a break. Come for a swim.”
This is an offer I hear every day now, and every day, it wrecks me all over again.
Swim with her? Get in that fresh, freezing water with Riley; get close to her wet skin, her hard nipples, her chattering teeth? Without touching her? Without crossing a dozen lines?
“Better not.”
Riley huffs, her smile falling away. “You always say that.”
I shrug, sawing faster again. What else is there to say?
She’s my best friend’s little sister. Maybe Luis meant for me to look out for Riley, but he definitely didn’t want my scarred hands all over her; didn’t want me panting over her tight, perfect body. I’m a decade older than her, and I’m messed up. I’ve seen too much. Done too much.
Riley Sanchez is my miracle. I won’t soil her with my touch. No way.
I stack the freshly cut boards on the end of the workbench and drag over a fresh length of wood. The breeze smells like sawdust and pine.
“I know you can swim, . I watched you do a lap of the lake three days ago.”
“I never said I couldn’t swim.”
There’s a breathless silence, and when I glance up at Riley, I’m startled to find hurt in those wide eyes. My arm slows, sweat making my grip slippery on the saw, but she’s turning away. Pushing her dress over her hips with her back to me.
“Suit yourself.”
No. No, I don’t like this sudden coolness between us, this distance . Riley’s shoulder blades shift in her tanned back, and she steps out of the mound of green fabric, strolling to the edge of the deck.
“Riley.”
No response. Her yellow bikini bottoms hug the swell of her ass, those plump cheeks peeking out below the fabric. God, I want to grip her there. Squeeze her, knead her, part her. Lick the glistening length of her slit. My mouth is so fucking dry.
“Riley. Hey. We’re not done here.”
She purses her lips, throwing me a flat look over her shoulder. “Oh, please. We both know you don’t really need my help, .”
“Yes, I do.”
She smooths her escaped strands of hair away from her face, turning back to the lake. The water is clear as glass, the mossy rocks visible deep below the surface.
“Be careful—”
Riley enters the water in a neat little dive, icy droplets hitting my bare arms and face. She streaks beneath the surface, agile and smooth, so like the mermaid I mistook her for that first afternoon.
My chest aches as I watch her swim away. More than anything, I want to toss this saw aside, tug my clothes off, and dive after her. Cut through the lake water with powerful strokes, catch up to her and…
And…
Yeah. The thoughts swirling through my head, the dark hunger gnawing at my insides—that’s why I stay dressed and firmly on land.
Riley doesn’t know what she’s asking for when she invites me for a swim with her every day. If she did? She’d never ask me again.
* * *
I’ve finished fixing the deck by the time she finally comes back, dripping a trail of cool droplets over the wooden boards. The replacement boards are lighter, smoother, and they wobble less under her steps.
“See?” Riley’s voice is light, but she won’t meet my eye. “Knew you didn’t need me.” She scoops up her dress, then pauses at the towel I set out for her.
The workbench creaks as I carry it around the side of the cabin. No point stowing it properly; we’re bound to need it again tomorrow.
When I come back around the building, Riley’s bundled up in the towel, tucked up to her throat. She stares out at the lake, and she looks so haunted for a second that I can’t breathe.
“Riley.”
Her chin wobbles, but she doesn’t turn.
“Riley. Come here.”
It’s rare for us to touch. Despite living together for three weeks now, despite passing each other tools and cooking together and washing up each night, I can count on one hand the amount of times our bodies have come into contact.
This is why. As soon as Riley walks into my open arms, as soon as her cold nose presses against my throat, hunger rips through me, raw and devastating. I choke back a groan, wrapping her tight in my arms, and cradle my best friend’s little sister against my chest.
“I’m sorry,” Riley whispers, her voice so raw. “Please don’t go yet, .” Her fingertips trail up and down my back, feeling the rough texture of my scars through my shirt. Does it bother her?
“I won’t.” I don’t have the strength to leave her now, not even if I wanted to. Riley is magnetic. She’s the sun I orbit around. “We never said you had to help me with the repairs, anyway.”
A loud scoff. “What else am I supposed to do? Sunbathe while you do all the work? Pick up extra shifts at the diner and keep out of your way?”
Riley’s been working in the nearest town, picking up waitressing shifts for extra money. I keep telling her not to—I’ve got plenty to tide us over for the summer—but she won’t listen. Maybe she needs the space.
Every time she puts on that uniform and heads out for a shift, I’m relieved for half a minute. Then I miss her so fucking much, I can’t think straight.
“You could go for more grumpy swims.”
Slender fingers pinch my waist. “Shut up.”
She’s better now, relaxing against me, the stiffness bleeding out of her shoulders. But I don’t let go. Now that I’m touching her, I can’t make myself stop, and this is why I can’t swim with her. Why I don’t sleep inside the cabin. Why I stare up at the stars and ask Luis for forgiveness every night.
I press my face against the crown of her head. Riley smells like sunshine and citrus and mossy water.
“Luis used to race me around the lake.” She sounds so sad. “Even when I was little, he never let me win. The jerk.”
My laugh rumbles against her, and Riley winds her arms tighter around me. Shit. I angle my hips away, praying she doesn’t notice the hard line in my jeans.
“I’d let you win.”
“You won’t swim with me at all.”
“It’s not like that.” I screw my eyes shut, then mutter my confession against her damp hair. “I don’t trust myself with you.”
Her breath catches. Heat floods my body.
And though it takes every ounce of my will power, I step back, clearing my throat. My cheeks are hot, and there’s no hiding the way lust is riding me hard in this moment; the way my body is crying out for more. Riley stares at me, eyes wide like saucers, and I brace for her to run away screaming—
She swallows. Manages a shy smile.
“Good,” she whispers, and for a second, I think I heard her wrong. But then: “Maybe I don’t want you to be trustworthy, Armstrong.”
Fuck. I’m in trouble.