Page 30 of The Malibu Destiny

Fuck. My blood burns at the thought of her driving on dangerous tires. Mateo at Superperformance Foreign Auto Repair might laugh when I roll up with her beat-to-hell Prius instead of my Bugatti or Rolls, but he'll shut up when I slam my black Amex down. If our situations were reversed, I'd rather walk barefoot through broken glass than take my cars to whatever discount tire hell she uses.

I can't help the possessive smile that crosses my face as Lilith shrinks back, her cheeks flushed crimson. She thinks I'm judging her—first no insurance for the burst pipes, now this. What she doesn't understand is that I'm practically starving to take care of her. The fierce need to protect her hits me like a freight train, and I haven't felt this alive in years.

I arch an eyebrow. "So what I'm hearing is you want me to chauffeur you two in the Rolls."

Jack and Lilith exchange a glance, their heads bobbing in the slightest confirmation. Jack clears his throat. "Look, my Corolla and I have an understanding—we don't attempt hydroplaning stunts. And this one," he jerks a thumb toward Lilith, "once pulled over during a light drizzle and called me crying." He spreads his hands. "We're Venice Beach people. Rain happens to other zip codes. When water falls from the sky, we light sage and stay home with our kombucha and true crime documentaries."

I can't help but laugh. "All right, you two," I say, glancing between them. "Lilith, grab Gracie's carrier on your way out. Your cat's probably hiding under furniture with the power out. And both of you pack for at least two nights."

Relief washes over Lilith's face when I mention her cat. Her eyes soften instantly. She probably thought I'd make her choose between safety and leaving her pet alone in a dark house. Not happening. She loves that cat too much. I’ve seen how she whispers to Gracie when she thinks no one's watching. With the way Lilith treats her cat, I wouldn't be surprised to catch them doing a tarot reading together.

Then, before Lilith can protest, I scoop her into my arms—keeping her shoes clear of the flood that's turned the boardwalk into a series of small lakes. She loops her arms around my neck and rests her head against my shoulder with a sigh. Her slight frame weighs almost nothing as I navigate through the waterlogged boardwalk toward the parking lot. The three of us reach my car and I help Lilith, opening the door and depositing her onto the front seat and then gently strap her in. Behind us, Jack gets into the back seat.

Jack sinks into the cream-colored leather of the Cullinan's back seat, running his fingers along the polished wood trim. "Lil," he says quietly, the engine purring beneath them. He fans himself with one hand. "Honey, this isn't a car—it's seduction on wheels. These massage seats are treating me better than my last three dates combined." He looks up at the starlight ceiling and gasps. "Roman, darling, if this is how rich people live, I've clearly been hanging with the wrong crowd. I might actually faint right now."

Lilith catches Jack's eye and smiles. "Jack," she says, widening her eyes dramatically. "Doesn't this remind you of my car?" She snorts, running her fingers along the pristine leather. "Just like my Prius with the Coke stains and sand that's practically part of the upholstery now." She pats the immaculate interior. "Practically twins."

I smile, watching Lilith next to me and Jack in the rearview mirror as they explore my Rolls. Jack keeps whispering "holy shit" while Lilith presses every button she finds. I've forgotten what it's like to be impressed by these things. The car cost more than most houses, but to me it's just transportation. Seeing their genuine amazement reminds me that none of this is normal. For a moment, I can almost remember when luxury still felt special.

I drive them home. The rain has turned Lilith's driveway into a miniature lake, so I scoop her into my arms again. Her body feels light against my chest as I navigate the flooded concrete and climb the short steps to her porch. When I set her down, our eyes meet for a moment. "Grab some clothes and your cat," I tell her, glancing at the darkening sky. "We need to leave soon. This storm’s just getting started.”

Back at Verde, I escort Lilith and Jack to their accommodations—the Azure Vista and Éclat de l'Onde suites, positioned side by side. I'd reserved them personally, no small feat considering we're running at nearly 95% capacity these days, up from 80% just a month ago. I find myself wondering if Lilith's presence has brought some mystical good fortune to the property. Her arrival coincided with an upswing, though Lars, my marketing manager, would argue it's his new marketing campaign we hammered out last quarter. Either way, the numbers don't lie.

I open the door to Lilith's suite. The Pacific stretches beyond floor-to-ceiling windows. Her eyes widen at the private terrace with its plunge pool, the silk rug underfoot, the marble catching sunlight. Champagne chills beside a platter of figs and cheese—standard for guests who don't blink at what this place costs per night.

I leave her alone in the suite, while I check on my team and she has a chance to shower. And damn, what I wouldn’t give to join her in that shower…but, duty calls.

I check back in about an hour, after consulting with my storm team. They have everything in hand, as I knew they would. Greg is a great drill-sergeant - he actually was a drill sergeant in the military, so his role now as the head of my storm protocol team is natural for him.

I open the door and Lilith is now sitting in the living room, in front of the fireplace, where she’s built a fire to warm her up. She’s dressed in pajamas again, ready for bed, her hair wet again but wet from the shower, not the rain. She’s fresh-faced, no makeup, and still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

“How is this suite for you?” I ask her.

Her eyes widen. "Oh. Can I move in here?" She laughs, but it fractures mid-sound, collapsing into a sob that wrenches through her entire body. I pull her against me, and she trembles violently, her tears soaking through my shirt. "God, I'm sorry," she chokes out, her voice raw. "It's all crashing down on me at once. My shop—it's gone, isn't it? The water damage alone..." Her fingers dig into my arms. "Insurance will eventually pay, but the paperwork, the inspections, the waiting—it's like drowning all over again. What the hell am I supposed to do until then? Where do I even start?"

I reach for my phone. "Let me make some calls. I know people—the best in the business—who can have your shop looking better than before. Carpenters, flooring specialists..." I scroll through my contacts. "Even that Persian rug supplier who did the Crete property. And the glass guys who installed those twenty-foot windows at this resort." I look up from my screen. "They all owe me favors. We'll stretch your insurance payout further than you'd believe."

Her lower lip trembles slightly, topaz eyes glistening. "Roman... why would you do all this for me?"

Her eyes widen with confusion, and I realize she truly has no idea how I feel about her. So I decide to show her. I cradle her face between my palms, my thumbs brushing the soft curve of her cheekbones. Time slows as I lean in, watching her eyelashes flutter closed, her lips parting slightly in anticipation. The first touch from my lips to hers is gentle—testing, questioning—but when she sighs against my mouth, I'm lost. Her lips are impossibly soft, tasting of cinnamon and that herbal tea she's always drinking. I tilt my head to deepen the kiss, feeling her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt as she rises onto her tiptoes. The world narrows to just this—her warm breath mingling with mine, the silken slide of her hair between my fingers, the perfect pressure as she kisses me back with unexpected hunger.

She's breathing harder and so am I, my lungs burning like I've been underwater too long. My heart slams against my ribs like it's trying to break free and join hers.

This kiss—Christ—it's like being struck by lightning, like drowning and being saved at the same time. I've spent thirty-three years chasing a ghost, and here she is, flesh and blood, this wild-eyed tarot reader with her sun-kissed skin and untamed spirit. The parade of Victoria's Secret models, the actresses with their red-carpet smiles, the heiresses who could buy small countries—they've all turned to smoke in my memory. Erased. Meaningless.

Then my phone rings, cutting through the moment. Dammit. I want to keep kissing her, but she pulls back. Her amber eyes look down, lashes shadowing her cheeks as she takes a step away. I can feel her trembling slightly where our bodies still touch.

"You should probably answer that," she says, her breathing heavy, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that makes my heart race. "The storm..." Her voice trails off as thunder cracks outside, punctuating her words with nature's exclamation point.

I stare at my phone. Max. I let it ring twice before answering. "Hey."

"Rome," he says. "Been trying to reach you. You okay? Palos Verdes got hit hard—trees down everywhere. Malibu's fine, but Venice and Santa Monica are a mess. These storm paths are as unpredictable as you are."

I can't help but chuckle. Classic Max—youngest of us all with the biggest heart. Well, aside from Cameron, of course, the sainted brother. But Max is the kind of guy who'd give his custom-tailored Armani shirt off his back to a stranger in need. Something warm unfurls in my chest knowing I'm still on his priority list, especially after all the venomous words I've hurled his way lately.

"Thanks, Max, but I've got this under control," I say, glancing at the rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling windows. "Need to get back to my storm crew before they think I've abandoned ship. I'll text you if anything changes."

"You do that," Max says, his voice softening. "Don't hesitate. Not even for a second."