25. Jezebel

CHAPTER 25

JEZEBEL

D amn, my head hurt.

Frankie was a lunatic. Erin’s sister from another mister. I’d expected to hate her, but at midnight, I’d found myself doing no-hands shots with her and Toni while Cole looked on in horror-slash-bemusement. Frankie had nearly choked, but I’d thumped her on the back until she coughed up tequila, and she’d declared us besties.

When I fell out of the cab in front of Frankie’s upmarket home—there was clearly money sloshing around somewhere—Cole had insisted on carrying me up the stairs, and I’d had to accept because I wasn’t certain I could have made it on my own. And when he tried to leave, I’d dragged him into bed with me.

And then I’d fisted his cock and demanded he fuck me hard and dirty, but he’d refused and spooned me instead, one hand splayed across my stomach and his breath soft on my ear.

It had been a mistake.

Probably.

And I’d made another mistake this morning because somehow I’d ended up on Frankie’s sailboat, and for the first time in my life, I was seasick. And full of regrets. I never got drunk. Never. Not even on vacation. The thought of losing control terrified me more than anything, and yet Cole had needed to talk me out of entering a wet T-shirt contest.

He’d taken care of me.

And now I was going to stay at his house.

I didn’t know what the future held, but I did know that in the two days after I’d walked away from him, I’d felt hollow, and now I felt whole again. Once, I thought I’d been in love with Bastian, but he’d never made me feel that way.

I was…confused.

And still mad at Echo.

“Hey, look at the dolphins,” Toni called from the cockpit. She was sitting out there with Cole and Frankie while I lay on a bench in the saloon. The middle of the boat was the steadiest—a Navy SEAL had told me that when the Choir went through a private version of BUD/S training. Fuck, I’d rather be carrying a RIB along the beach on my head while the instructor riding in it whacked me with a paddle than sailing in this boat right now.

Cole crouched beside me. “Feeling any better?”

“No. How are Frankie and Toni still functioning?”

“Their blood is eighty proof. You normally quit after a glass or two, don’t you?”

I nodded and quickly regretted it. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I tried. You accused me of being the fun police and threw an ice cube at me.”

“Sorry.”

He kissed my forehead. “We’ll be there soon. I’ll deal with our bags, and you can sleep for the rest of the day.”

Damn, this man was far too good for me .

“I’m also sorry about last night. I realise I’m blowing hot and cold, and I shouldn’t have said the things I did.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to fuck you hard and dirty. I just didn’t want to do anything you’d regret in the morning.”

“My head is so messed up.”

He brushed hair away from my face.

“I’ll give you as long as you need to unravel those thoughts of yours. When you get things straightened out, let me know what you want.”

“I want you in my life,” I blurted.

Shit.

“Good.” This time, Cole kissed me on the lips. “I promise we’ll find a way to make this work for the both of us.”

I’d seen satellite photos of Cole’s home, but they didn’t do it justice. The inside was tasteful and minimalist, and he’d told me he did much of the work on it himself after he bought it in desperate need of renovation. The money had come from Uncle Mike, leftover from Cole’s generous college fund after he won several scholarships that cut his tuition costs.

“I have three spare bedrooms,” he said. “Pick whichever one you want.”

“What if I don’t want any of them?”

“How are your coins doing?”

“There are a few in the pot. And soon you’ll be gone for weeks.”

“My bedroom is the first door on the left at the top of the stairs. I’ll bring your suitcase, and if you need to work, there’s a desk in the corner of the living room. I can move my things to the side.”

I wasn’t a hugger, but it felt appropriate to wrap my arms around him at that moment. Sigh. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t think like that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“It’s bullshit. What do you want for dinner? I can grill on the terrace if you want?”

“Fish?”

“I’ll catch something good.”

“Catch?”

“You won’t get fresher.”

I didn’t rest right away. No, when Cole drove off in an ancient but serviceable pickup, I did a walkthrough of the house. Old habits died hard. If it had been in Bora Bora, the villa would have been a million-dollar property with its spacious rooms and stunning views. Downstairs, the living room, dining room, and kitchen were arranged side by side so they all had views across the lagoon. A wide, partially covered terrace stood between the house and the beach, with another dining table and an outdoor kitchen. Frankie had been right—narrow steps led from the terrace, between two boulders, and down to an expanse of white sand. Most of the furniture was pale wood or white, and Cole was a better housekeeper than me because everything was spotless. The place was a far cry from Uncle Mike’s hodgepodge of doodads back in Vegas.

Upstairs, the master bedroom also looked out across the sea, and a huge tub took centre stage in front of the window, set into a platform with steps up from the main level. A small bookshelf sat alongside, and a trio of candles were arranged on metal plates. Did Cole seriously sit in his swimming pool of a tub and read by candlelight? He was more like Marcel than I’d ever suspected, although Marcel wouldn’t be going fishing any time soon. He freaked out if the fish from the grocery store came with eyes, and one of us had to cut the head off for him.

A shower room occupied the rear corner, and the other three bedrooms had en-suites as well. There was also a half bath off the foyer, and an outdoor shower graced the side of the deck. It was a beautiful house. A home.

No wonder Cole hadn’t wanted to come to Las Vegas.

The downsides were that he didn’t have an alarm system, and there were no locks on his windows. They all opened smoothly. Good in the event of a house fire, not so great if a burglar happened to swing by. The crime statistics for Emerald Shores were better than average, but every place had a criminal or two lurking in the background.

After I’d finished my recon, I nosed through Cole’s books. He seemed to be a fan of nonfiction. I picked out a hardcover chronicling the real pirates of the Caribbean and headed down to the terrace, where a pair of sun loungers offered a view of the handful of paddleboarders and swimmers making the most of the crystal-clear water. Maybe I’d try swimming later?

Or maybe I’d just sit here and chill.

After European diseases wiped out most of the indigenous people, the Caribbean had become a haven for pirates, buccaneers, and privateers, where the hundreds of islands and thousands of bays made perfect hiding places. The galleons carrying Spanish treasure to Madrid meant there was plenty to steal, and strongholds such as Nassau provided markets for the thieves’ ill-gotten gains. A flyer tucked in the back of the book advertised the San Gallicano National Museum, where coins and jewels recovered from pirate hordes could be seen, along with a preserved shipwreck. While some treasure had been found, billions of dollars in gold was still lying on the seabed from the Bahamas to Colombia, according to the book’s author .

Didn’t he understand the real treasure was the marine life?

I woke to the smell of smoke and a mild case of sunburn. No, the house wasn’t on fire. Cole was cooking, and he’d arranged an umbrella over me so I was in the shade. For years, I’d thought my job was everything, but I was slowly beginning to learn there was more to life than work.

Cole was teaching me.

And now he turned. “Sleep well?”

“Like the dead.”

I hadn’t even woken when he brought the umbrella, and he must have dragged the heavy base across the deck. In my normal life, that slumber could be the difference between life and death.

“You needed the rest. And you also need to wear sunscreen.”

“I forgot.” Then I smiled. “Are you gonna do my back?”

“How is that even a question? Dinner’s nearly ready—we’re having snapper with grilled pineapple and rice.”

Cole looked so much more at home here, shirtless by the sea, casual in board shorts and flip-flops. I foresaw a lot of air miles in my future.

We ate on the terrace, and Cole pulled gauzy nets across the dining area, mostly to keep any bugs out but also for privacy. There were still people walking by the lagoon as he fucked me on a sun lounger, but neither of us cared. We only had eyes for each other.

And I had a heart full of guilt.