Chapter 6 #2
I lead her through the entryway, past the sweeping staircase and into the open-plan living area. The mansion opens up around us, all vaulted ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the ocean like a living painting.
Josie's eyes widen as she takes it in. The driftwood chandeliers. The plush sectionals arranged around a stone fireplace that we've never lit.
"Wow," she breathes.
"Yeah. It's not bad."
"That's one way to put it."
Before I can respond, Beck's voice drifts in from the deck.
"Well, well, well. Look who it is. The miracle worker herself."
I close my eyes, silently praying for the patience my sister shows whenever she's talking to her daughter.
Josie turns, and there's Beck, leaning against the sliding glass door with a margarita in one hand and a shit-eating grin on his face. Mason is behind him, looking vaguely apologetic. Diego appears at his elbow, the towel still over his shoulder.
"Senorita!" Diego says, his face lighting up. "What a pleasant surprise. Can I offer you something to drink?"
Josie blinks, clearly thrown by the hospitality. "I—thank you. That's very kind, but I really just came to grab my laptop."
"Nonsense." Diego waves a dismissive hand. "You're here. You're a guest. You'll have a drink. It's the law."
"I don't think that's a law," Mason says mildly.
"In my house, it is."
"I'll get your laptop. It's in my bag," I say, turning away from the chaos.
I can feel her eyes on me as I cross to the entryway table where I dumped my gear. My sports bag is sitting open, and sure enough, there's a sleek silver laptop poking out from under a sweaty practice jersey.
How the hell did that get there?
I grab it, turning back to find Josie exactly where I left her, but now she's holding a glass filled with margarita. Diego, the traitor, winks at me from the kitchen doorway.
"Just a small one," he says. "For the nerves."
Josie's cheeks flush, and I realize she's nervous. Actually nervous.
Good. So am I.
"Here." I hold out the laptop, and when she reaches for it, our fingers brush. Just for a second, but long enough for me to remember exactly how those hands felt on my skin. "You need this for tomorrow? More torture planning?"
She takes the laptop. "It's called marketing."
"Same thing."
Josie's gaze drifts around the foyer, her head tilting as she takes in the sheer size of this place. She turns on the spot, her white sundress spinning with her, and I watch the way the fabric catches on every gorgeous curve of her body.
I can't help but stare either. At her.
At the way her hips sway when she moves, at the soft shadow between her breasts where that neckline dips, at the miles of bare leg that draw my eyes down.
My fingers twitch at my sides.
I could step forward. Right now. Lift that hem up, bunch it around her waist and remind myself exactly how sweet she tastes. I remember the sounds she made when I had her against that hotel door, the way her nails had raked down my back, the desperate little whimper she let out.
Fuck. She was so good that night. So fucking good.
"Would you... uh…" I clear my throat. "…like to see the rest of the place?"
She blinks, a pink flush creeping up her neck.
"Um, is that weird? Sorry if I'm being weird. It's just… this house is beautiful. I've never been in a place like this."
"Not weird at all. Come on."
I spend the next ten minutes showing her through the mansion, watching her eyes widen at the many bedrooms, the huge main bathroom with a clawfoot tub she declares 'her dream' and the study I've barely ever stepped in.
Eventually, we make our way back out into the main foyer, her fingers trailing along the driftwood banister as we move. Then, as we reach the bottom step, I catch the soft intake of breath when she sees the infinity pool glowing against the sunset.
"You wanna see the deck?" I ask, enjoying this more than I thought I would.
She smiles with a nod. "Yeah. Then I'd better get going."
The scent of Diego's dinner still lingers in the air, but they have all moved inside to the dining table. Beck and Mason give me a wink as we step through the kitchen, and Diego tops up Josie's glass.
The moment we step outside, the noise of the house fades.
The deck stretches out before us, a sprawling wooden paradise that overlooks the pool and, beyond that, the dark, endless expanse of the Pacific. The sound of waves crashing against the shore fills the silence as Josie lets out a slow breath, her shoulders dropping as she takes it all in.
"Okay," she says, her voice quiet. "I get it now."
"Get what?"
"The whole 'I don't want to work' thing." She turns to me, a small, almost wistful smile playing on her lips. "If I had a place like this to come home to every day, I wouldn't want to do any work either."
I lean against the railing, folding my arms over my chest.
"It's not bad."
"Not bad?" She laughs, a soft, surprised sound. "Declan, this is insane. You have a private beach. An infinity pool. A house manager who makes margaritas appear out of thin air."
We stand there for a moment, the silence oddly comfortable. This can't be the same person I've been butting heads with all week. This feels too easy.
"Can I ask you something?" she says, sipping her drink.
"Depends on the question."
The fairy lights swinging between the palms shine across her face, and I watch her tongue dart out to collect the droplets of margarita on her lips.
Damn. She's pretty.
"Why did you come to Beachside? I mean, really. You could have gone anywhere. All three of you could have played for any team. But you chose a brand-new franchise that was basically a gamble from day one."
I'm quiet for a moment, weighing my options.
"Because it was easy," I finally say. "Just hockey and the beach and… nothing else."
"Nothing else?"