Chapter 13
thirteen
. . .
“So you can’t swim, is that it?”
Heath met Isabella’s shining eyes over the top of the novel he wasn’t actually reading. It was impossible to focus on words when an incredibly gorgeous man was flaunting himself on the beach a few yards away.
The only reason he’d agreed to leave the villa at all was Isabella. She’d made him feel tremendously guilty for the day he’d spent moping, and he didn’t dare invoke her ire further. She wielded shame with the prowess of a nona twice her age.
“I swim quite well, actually. What makes you say that?”
“I haven’t seen you go into the water once.”
“I’m biding my time.”
“For what? Checkout?”
“Maybe.”
Isabella pulled the book from his hands and scooted him over, joining him on the lounge overlooking the blindingly beautiful water.
“Is everything okay with you guys?”
Heath’s stomach rippled like the water lapping the shore. Maybe he should go swimming. Or better yet, snorkeling. You couldn’t talk about fake husbands if your face was in the water.
He put on an exaggerated smile and crowed, “What? Everything’s fine!”
“Heath.”
“Izzy.”
She frowned. “Only my friends get to call me that.”
“We’re not friends?”
“Friends don’t lie to each other.”
Was that ever a dagger to the heart.
“I’m not—” Her perfectly arched eyebrows commiserated with her frown, and Heath immediately buckled. “It’s not what you think.”
“And what is it I think?”
“That we… that he…” He let his head drop back against the cushion with a huff. “I don’t actually know.”
She gave his knee a gentle pat. “I think you look very unrelaxed for a man on his honeymoon. Evan is clearly a handful, but is that all he is?”
Heath stared up at the swaying palms and thought of all the words he’d used to describe Westin since they’d met. The collection made him cringe.
You know nothing about me!
It was true. Every aspect of Westin’s personality was a construct of his own design, a fabrication based on secondhand observation and bias. He’d taken one look and lumped him in with every man of means he’d ever met. Then put zero effort into disabusing himself of the opinion.
“I gave my students an assignment over the break. It felt timely, given the world we live in now.”
If she thought it a non sequitur, she didn’t complain.
“What assignment?”
“The Crucible.”
Her eyes sparked with a smile. “Oh, that’s a good one. Very timely indeed. Now, I wonder why you’re bringing that up.”
Heath chuckled as she pursed her lips and tapped a finger against her chin.
It was ironic, really. He’d picked the 1950s play intending to show his students that accusations and dogpiling were hardly something invented by the internet.
That it was very easy to be swept up in hysteria by bad actors out of fear of standing out and being targeted yourself.
Or because you couldn’t admit when you were wrong.
Yet there he was, letting his terrible experiences color his opinion of anyone he decided belonged in the same group.
If there was anything he hated more than pedantry, it was hypocrisy.
“Evan is a handful, but also very intelligent, and funny, and—”
“And look at him?”
He laughed harder. “I mean, seriously. Do you see that?”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I do. He makes it impossible to ignore.”
“Whoever gave that man a Speedo needs to be flogged. Lauded, but then flogged.”
“It wasn’t you?”
“Lord, no! I wouldn’t have let him out of the house if I’d known those were under his shorts.”
She smirked as they took a moment to admire the man standing on the floating dock about twenty feet from shore.
It was the first time Heath had allowed himself to gawk without guilt or caveat, and he found enlightenment.
Yes, Evan was painfully attractive, but beyond the symmetry of his face and the obscene hours he must spend at the gym, Heath saw a man who was happy and relaxed.
His shoulders were loose and his smile huge as one of the cousins tossed a football his way.
He leapt for it, crashing into the water with a splash that took out Penelope, who’d picked a poor location for a conversation with one of the aunts.
When he surfaced, ball held overhead in victory, his attention briefly panned their way.
A giddy shiver ran through Heath as Westin’s smile broadened and he saluted them both.
That’s for Isabella. Not for you.
“His shameless flirting doesn’t bother you?”
Heath hedged, then sighed. “A little, but he is who he is.”
The honesty made him shift uncomfortably. He had no business feeling any sort of way about Evan Westin’s incorrigible behavior. Not only had he made a promise to avoid irrational emotional entanglements, but he’d implied Andres and Manuel were terrible friends for not believing he could avoid them.
He could only imagine their reaction were they to learn he’d gotten himself mixed up in a pretend marriage with a straight millionaire. Though he’d tied his oath to see the vacation through to the proclamation that he wouldn’t have fun, and that was a complete bust.
Evan strode out of the water and directly toward them, his grin still in place. “You see that catch? Hall of Fame.”
“It was very impressive.”
“Penelope is going to bottle the water you sprayed her with and sell it online.”
“If I get a cut, she can bottle whatever she wants.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
He had his own chair, but Evan plopped on the end of Heath’s now crowded lounger as though it was the most natural thing to do.
“You’re dripping on my book.”
“You have fifty more in your luggage.”
“This is the one I’m currently reading.”
“It’ll dry, pookie. How about you give it a rest and join us on a kayak cruise?”
Isabella brightened and nudged Heath in the ribs. “That’s a marvelous idea.”
“That sounds like a great deal of effort in this heat.”
“You can share with Evan. It’ll give him even more opportunities to flex.”
“Was that a complaint? That sounded like a complaint.”
Isabella narrowed her eyes at him. “Just an observation.”
Evan leaned his way, lips curving into a half-smile. He was absolutely flexing his arms more than necessary and Heath couldn’t find it within himself to be mad about it. “Whaddaya say, pooks?”
They’d nearly kissed last night. The recollection struck unbidden, pushing Heath’s attention from Evan’s eyes to his mouth.
“Eyes are up here, honey,” those lips said, tongue darting out to wet them.
Dragging his gaze upward required more effort than any kayaking, but his reward was long, sun-lightened lashes and irises a deep, mossy green swirled through with golden brown.
“I’m gonna let you two work this out. I’ll meet you at the launch.”
Heath felt Isabella’s weight shift and disappear, but the magnetic pull of his husband held him in sway.
He’d almost gotten a taste of that mouth. Why in God’s name had he stopped it?
“Were you really going to kiss me last night?” he heard himself ask, and though he’d been sitting in the shade the entire afternoon, such brazenness must surely be a sign of heatstroke.
Evan looked away. “Um, yeah. I figured we needed to play into it, y’know?”
Evan had absolutely had too much sun, given the shade of pink dusting his shoulders, but Heath still swore the man was blushing.
“Don’t feel like you’re obligated to do anything against your will just because of—” he gestured between them “—this.”
“Right. Noted. Thanks.” He stood quickly and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You joining us?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say no and continue being a stick-in-the-sand, but Evan’s expression was so close to hopeful that he agreed.
Evan’s smile turned pleased, and he grasped the hand Heath held out and yanked him to his feet as though he weighed nothing at all. It was startling and impressive, and put them both toe-to-toe and damn near nose-to-nose.
Heath could smell the coconut of Evan’s lotion radiating from his sun-warmed skin, and he had a craving for another boozeless pina colada, which he’d confirmed were absolutely delicious.
Or maybe what he was craving was the salty sweetness of Evan’s skin on his tongue, and the flex of those biceps beneath his palms.
“Not so shy today?” Penelope chuckled as she traipsed past on the way to the cabana.
The tension faded but didn’t disappear. Heath could feel it crackling as they put a little distance between them. Room for the Holy Ghost, his Gramma would have said. Though even she might excuse the public display for a shot at Evan Westin.
“I’m gonna…” He averted his eyes and gestured toward the shed where they stored the equipment. “You want your own, or…?”
“Oh, um, yes. I could use the exercise.”
“You look plenty fit to me.”
“Uh… thank you.”
Evan gave him a brusque nod, then turned on his heel and jogged over to Isabella, who had a small kayak balanced on her head. Heath remained in place, a little dumbfounded and still sizzling.
What the hell was that? Had they just…? No, it was definitely heatstroke.
He downed a full bottle of water before grabbing his own vessel and dunking himself in the crystal clear water at the launch point. Whatever steps were necessary to bring his brain back from the broil setting.
Isabella coasted next to him with mischief dancing behind the tint of her oversized sunglasses. “Wanna race?”
“Oh, I don’t—”
Evan cruised by, splashing them both with his oar. “Snooze ya lose, pookie!”
Heath sat there in the wake, droplets clinging to his lashes. Was he snoozing? That would certainly explain things.
With a cackle, Isabella took off, splashing him a second time. Nope, it was too salty to be dreaming.
He dug the oar into the water and felt a shiver of something suspiciously like joy charge through him as the kayak took off at his command. He was pretty fit, and pleased Evan had noticed, but he was also a terrible loser.
He hoped his cohorts were ready to get smoked.