Page 106 of Lost & Found

If anyone approached, I would see them first. After a few minutes, I leaned back onto my forearms and stretched my legs out, the sun soaking into my chest. From this angle, the view of her ass was almost obscene.

Fuck, it was something else.

The curve of it beneath the thin red fabric made my fingers twitch with a need I had no business indulging. The thought of a crop in my hand flickered through my mind uninvited, vivid and dangerous. Here I was lecturing her about men. Meanwhile, I was the one picturing negotiations and safewords.

I discreetly adjusted my raging hard on and exhaled. This was getting out of hand.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the silence between us, steady and rhythmic. For a moment the world slowed enough for clarity to creep in.

My phone buzzed.

COUNSELOR:

Checking in on you two. How is my patient holding up? The girls disappeared earlier and I suspect it was to take a call from her. They came back giggly so hopefully that’s a good sign.

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

DANCER:

She is doing so well. Standing her ground. Putting herself out there. She’s lying next to me in a swimsuit, Marcel. A swimsuit. This trip has me seeing sides of her I never knew existed.

The response came quickly.

COUNSELOR:

It’s amazing what happens when someone feels safe enough to open up. The phone call makes sense now. How are you holding up? With Hannah.

My jaw flexed.

DANCER:

It’s weird. A lot of remorse. A lot of what the hell did I see in her and time wasted. Can I ask a huge favor?

COUNSELOR:

Of course.

My thumb hovered before I typed.

DANCER:

I need accountability.

The message sent. Instant regret followed. Was that too revealing? Should I pivot and make it about Hannah? My brain scrambled for a safer angle, but Marcel’s reply arrived before I could rewrite the narrative.

COUNSELOR:

Okay, on what levels? You’ll need to be a bit more specific than that, Brother.

Specific?

How did I explain that Isabella was slipping into places in my head she had no business occupying? How did I tell one of her brothers that I wanted to help her cross off number three on that damned list—and make damn sure number two belonged to me?

How did I admit that every time I kissed her, the line between pretend and real blurred a little more?

The cursor blinked.

I had no answer. My gaze drifted to her. Sunlight glossed over her shoulders, highlighting the faint sheen of sun cream I’d just worked into her skin. Her head was turned toward me now, eyes closed, lips curved in a small, peaceful smile.