Chapter 3
STEPHANIE
My ears are ringing from Sam’s whistle.
My brain is stinging from lack of sleep.
My heart is beating a million times a minute from the adrenaline rush of the last thirty seconds.
And my eyes are burning from seeing Cooper Mallory’s bare chest.
I’ve never seen him with his shirt off before. His clothes have always been somewhat fitted, and—because I’m not blind—I could tell he was fit. But this isn’t fit. Fit doesn’t begin to describe it. As much as I try so very, very hard to look away, my attention keeps drifting back to his chest.
What the tattoo?
Since when did he get an arm tattoo? And when did I start thinking tattoos were sexy?
My eyes finally snap to his face, and I register that he’s grown a short beard since the last time I saw him.
It’s that just-right balance between scruffy and immaculately trimmed and pairs perfectly with his almost-black hair that’s longer on top with slight curls at the end.
Right now it’s slightly mussed—since he ran his fingers through it (something he does all the time)—yet somehow perfectly balanced between casual and impeccable.
Looking at him, it’s easy to understand the concept of drooling over someone, because my saliva glands are working overtime.
I’m still on the bed, propped up on my elbows in a half-lying half-sitting position, but I let my body drop back onto the mattress and squeeze my eyes shut—a needed change. My retinas were about to burst into flames.
Mallory (I’ve taken to referring to him by his last name because it helps me keep my emotional distance) is the last person I want to have any kind of attraction for or chemistry with.
Unfortunately, I have to remind myself this almost every time I see him, because I’ve always felt an undeniably magnetic pull toward him.
Most people think he’s fun and charming—which to be fair, he is.
But, according to some phone calls I overheard, he’s also a lying, stinking rat.
So it can’t matter how much I’m drawn to him, because I’ll never trust a man like him.
“—so how about we all go into the kitchen and figure this out?” Sam had obviously been saying more before this, but I hadn’t been paying attention enough to catch anything else.
“Yeah, that sounds great.” I jump off the bed with a little too much enthusiasm in my voice, and Sam gets a funny look on her face—followed by a roguish grin. Busted. There are very few things I can hide from her. She knows I was checking Mallory out.
I walk toward the door, catch my reflection in the mirror, and realize that I’m still wearing my clothes from yesterday.
I also have bed head, and based on the taste in my mouth, my breath is stale.
“I'm going to get my toothbrush and a comb, and I’ll be right in.” While Sam and Deke head to the kitchen, I get my suitcase, rip it open, and grab my toiletries bag from between the sock and swimsuit packing cubes.
As I straighten up, I catch Mallory staring at the inside of my suitcase.
“Something you’re wanting to borrow, Mallory?
Cuz I don’t think I have anything in your size.
” I’d been going for biting sarcasm, but my tone of voice sounds awkward, and even I know it was an epic fail.
Instead of delivering a good zinger at his expense, I only make him crack a smile big enough that one of his dimples pops out and waves at me.
Not fair! I wish I wasn’t such a sucker for dimples.
“That’s a very neat and tidy suitcase. I didn’t expect that from you. I’d figured you were the kind to throw everything in and then sit on it to make it close.” He shrugs a bare shoulder.
“There are a lot of things about me that would probably surprise you, Mallory. But if I have my way, you’ll never know any of them.” Good one, Steph. Your tone of voice was perfect. Now make your eyes ice cold.
He says nothing as he bends down, picks up his pants from off the floor, and begins pulling them on.
What the overdue library book!
How did I not realize that I was having a conversation with him while he was wearing—only—black boxer briefs? Nervous energy builds in my body, and I start to tap my toes.
My emotions are a minefield, and at any moment I might start pacing, dancing, or leaping around the room.
That’s how I deal with emotions: movement.
The stronger they are, the more I need to move to sort through them.
I’ve been told my leaping looks more like a prancing deer, but that’s only when my dancing and leaping intertwine. So cute.
“I’ll let you finish,” I generically point at the lower half of his body, “putting those on . . . your body. Putting the things on your legs. So you won’t be . . . ya know,” I let out a shaky breath, “naked.” Keep it together, Steph.
Mallory lets out a coughing laugh as his perfectly thick eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Naked? You and I have very different definitions of the word.”
“Well, yeah.” It’s all I can get out as my feet take me toward, well, any room with a little less Mallory so that I can brush my teeth.
A few minutes later, I’m pacing by the kitchen table, using the movement of my body to sort through everything going on inside of me. The events of the morning have my mind swirling in a dozen different directions, so my movement isn’t helping as much as it usually does.
Sam is sitting next to me and eating Lucky Charms straight out of the box. She’s tamed her wild hair into a messy bun and turned her pajama top around to face forward.
Deacon is sitting on the edge of an armchair and looks as if he wants a few more hours of sleep. He catches my eye and nods. “Hey, Steph.”
“Hi, Deke.” My pacing is starting to have a leaping look, but I’m not in the mood to appear like a deer, so I’m trying hard to not succumb to the impulse.
I need a distraction. Something to help calm me down.
“Where’s Lou?” Lou—or Eloise Maxine Huntsman on her more formal days—is Deke’s six-year-old niece.
She has the bluest eyes, golden curly locks that fall just past her shoulders, and a tiny body that makes her seem even younger than she is.
She's sunlight in human form, has energy that never dims, and gives the absolute best hugs. Deke and Sam have been raising her since Deacon’s sister, Amber, passed away eight months ago from cancer.
I have emotionally adopted her as my niece and made it my goal to be her
“favorite.”
“Cheryl was over last night and ended up taking her home for a sleepover.” Sam gets the words out between bites of Lucky Charms. Disappointment crashes down on me, but the news isn’t surprising.
Cheryl, one of Sam’s friends on the island, frequently has Lou over for playdates or sleepovers.
A hug from Lou would really help me out right now.
“Why is Mallory here?” The words come flying out of my mouth, and I say his name the way Jerry Seinfeld says “Newman.” In other words, with squinting eyes, a snarled lip, and disgust dripping off my words.
I have more animosity for him than usual, but considering everything that’s happened this morning, I’m not surprised.
The first time I saw Mallory was on Deke and Sam’s wedding day around eighteen months ago.
He was with Lou, and I thought I was going to fall in love with him right then and there.
The two of them were on the beach talking, and the way he spoke with and reacted to her was so sweet.
You can learn a lot about someone by the way they act with children when they don’t think anyone is around, and that man checked alllll the boxes!
Unfortunately, Mallory went from a daydream to a nightmare later that day, when I inadvertently overheard him making the phone calls.
I wasn’t meant to hear them, but they made me realize that he isn’t the man everyone thinks he is.
Ever since then, the two versions of Mallory war inside me: the man who is kind and amazing, and the man who’s a player.
But today, there’s no war. There’s only one kind of man who would crawl uninvited into bed with a woman.
Out of respect for the fact that Mallory is Deke’s best friend, I’ve never told Sam or Deke what I overheard.
They’ve noticed that I treat him differently than anyone else, but Sam’s never asked me about it.
It’s not that I try to treat him differently—it’s simply a protective instinct, I guess you could say.
After the fated phone calls, I immediately constructed a Malloryproof wall around my heart.
Regrettably, while engineering said wall, I didn’t plan on many factors, like the effect of seeing him dance with all of the older women and children at the wedding reception several hours later.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him most of the night.
He made every person he danced with the center of his attention and focus—but never to the extent of excluding anyone who approached him.
He probably made every grandma and little girl feel like the most beautiful woman there or a perfect princess, respectively.
I’ve never seen someone so effortlessly ensure that everyone around them was relaxed and having a great time.
It was one of the most attractive things I’ve ever seen.
It also didn’t help that the man can dance. His moves were as smooth as anything I’ve seen. If he were to ever dance with my nana, she would not only be completely taken in by his charms but also probably make a pass at him—or at least try to grab his backside.
I kept working on my Mallory-proof wall all night, giving him a cool, closed-off look whenever our eyes caught on each other. It never deterred him, though. He always sent me a fun wink, a friendly wave, or a little head movement, inviting me to join him on the dance floor.
After the reception, I ended up back at the condo wrestling with a bra hook that was stuck on my dress. I couldn’t reach it, so when I heard Amber come in, I asked her to help me. I told her to be careful because it was my favorite bra and I thought it was wicked sexy.
Here’s the thing: I never turned around to verify that it was actually Amber who’d walked in. After my hook was freed, a rich baritone voice whispered in my ear, warm breath tickling my neck and sending goosebumps down my spine, that he thought it was wicked sexy too.
I whipped around and saw, much to my mortification, a man—not Amber!
And not just any man, but Cooper Mallory.
Out of pure shock, I slapped him across the face.
It was all so embarrassing. When he handled it calmly and didn’t make a big deal out of anything, I was even more embarrassed (if that was even possible).
After that, my traitorous heart continued to torture me—his sweet charm with grandmas and children was nothing compared to this.
He was unabashedly flirtatious and dead sexy.
There was an undeniable chemical reaction between the two of us that sent sparks through my entire body.
The thing is, I’ve been around incredibly attractive men before, and they typically don’t have that effect on me. I simply appreciate that God has really outdone Himself and move on—I rarely feel so flustered.
Ugh. But I can’t fall for someone like Mallory! I’ve learned from experience that what someone does in public doesn’t always translate to their private behavior.
Hence my dilemma with Mallory: Do I concentrate on what I’ve seen him do or what I’ve heard him say? One version of him is the kind of man I’ve always wanted. The other is the kind I fear. Unfortunately, I know the damage a two-faced man can inflict.
I break out of my memories and see both Deke and Sam staring at me expectantly.
For the second time this morning, I’ve missed what someone was saying. “I’m sorry, I was lost inside my own brain. What did you say?”
“You asked me why Coop was here,” Deke explains, “and I was telling you that an old client of ours called in panic mode. Coop flew in so that we could try to help him.”
“And help him we shall.” Mallory walks in from the bedroom wearing low-slung gray sweats and a T-shirt.
He’s obviously showered, and droplets of water still cling to the ends of his hair.
It looks maddeningly thick, and—not for the first time—I fight the desire to go over and run my fingers through it.
Instead, I give him the coolest stare I can conjure up, clamp my eyes closed, and repeat my Mallory-proof mantra to myself: He’s a cheat and a liar. I will not get burned by someone like him again.