Page 56 of Making His Bones

Elektra

“It’s kind of lucky that Seeker garbage day isn’t until Tuesday,” yelled Gray.

I yelled back. “In what way?”

“Because it wouldn’t have occurred to us to come here.”

That was true. I finished flourishing one eye’s liner in the mirror before shouting back. “Yes, I had no idea this place was here.” Fanning my hand before my face, I waited until I believed it was dry before leaving the bathroom.

Gray put down his bodybuilding magazine and sat upright on the bed. “Wow.”

I spun around before him. That was part of the plan to tantalize him, to drive him up the wall. I was finally regaining some sense of self, a sense of myself as a sexy woman, not just a workhorse. I had not felt desired since the early years of Brandon. I hadn’t really even understood when Booker Maverick had made lustful moves toward me. Finally, I was beginning to see it from Gray Whaley’s point of view. I was a gorgeous part-Latina gal—and one-eighth Navajo—with thick, naturally wavy hair as glossy as a crow’s. I was as shapely as you could get before things started going the way of gravity—I mean, I was forty-two.

I was beginning to make strides, finally, in tracking down my daughter’s killer. This was giving me a new confidence, an awareness of myself as being competent and effective. I think Gray liked me for that as much as for my body, and that was new. I’d always been certain Brandon only thought he “loved” me because I gave hella blowjobs and knew how to put on a good, sexy act. It sounds corny, but I was starting to believe Gray liked me for my mind. In addition to my hella blowjobs.

But I had a new plan for today.

He said in awe, “I can’t wait to get you out of that bikini.”

Even though I’d thrown a gauzy cover-up over the bathing suit, Gray saw only the two pieces of fabric—a very flattering pushup bra and a bottom that may as well have been a thong. I’d always been sensitive about my full bottom, but hell, it was trendy to have junk in the trunk. “This isn’t a nudist colony, Gray. Just because it’s a bud and breakfast and people smoke weed doesn’t mean it’s some sex camp.”

Gray forked his fingers through his spiky hair. He was naked aside from some swimming trunks and flip-flops, and I swear he looked like a surfing model. “I know. I had to google it when Fox suggested we come out here. His old lady Pippa invented the weed strain Dabba Doo, why this room is called this.”

Yup, we were staying in the Dabba Doo Room, believe it or not. Pippa ran this retreat, Smoky Mountain High. I didn’t mind if Gray smoked pot—Brandon never did, so it didn’t have the negative connotations that I felt for other substances—and each room had their own little, fenced-off section of beach and lakefront property on Mormon Lake. And, since this was the off-season, I didn’t think anyone was in either of the rooms next to us. Due to the wild, outlaw sensation of staying in a bud and breakfast, I’d even ridden up to the lake on Gray’s pussy pad for the first time. It was a revelation, wrapping my arms around his ripped torso, my face buried in the sweaty nape of his neck. This was the only way to ride, I now knew.

I sat on his lap and rubbed the tip of my nose against his. Ah. Such a fresh, unknown emotion, I couldn’t put a name to it. My heart surged in a sort of passionate wrenching, and before I knew it, my stupid lips were uttering, “I love you.”

I froze. Dios mío! What the fuck did I just say?

The moment of terror was short-lived, though, because Gray gurgled back, “I love you too, Elektra Spinoza.”

Phew. That was close. To cover up the horror, I kissed him. I gave him the most intense, amorous, lustful kiss of all time. I lifted a foot so I straddled him, humping my mound against his erection. We still hadn’t fucked—I wanted to draw it out, to cement his memory of desire and need for years, all eternity maybe. But my plan today was seduction, so I dry-humped the man who had just declared his love for me.

And I felt it flow. I really did. Love does emanate from your heart. I wrapped my arms around his neck so tightly I was holding my own elbows, and I kissed him with a love I hadn’t felt in a decade, if ever. My nearly bare boobs squashed against his naked pecs, and I can attest that I felt his heartbeat.

As our tongues entwined, I snacked on his beautiful, lush mouth, enveloped by adoration for this man.

He’d come to my defense. Out of nowhere, defying the pressure of his brothers, Gray had stood up for me. He’d put his rep, his life even, on the line for a woman he barely knew, and a kid that wasn’t his.

Although he was a product of LA, he wasn’t vain or narcissistic in the least. How had he come through that self-aggrandizing mill to remain so pure, so certain of himself, so brave?

To take the strange focus off the love we’d just declared, I detached with a big smack and smiled. “Let’s go swim.”

We grabbed a couple of hotel towels and stepped onto the wooden deck. Mormon Lake was cooling down at this happy hour, and birds wheeled and dipped overhead.

Gray squinted behind his shades. “Fox would know what kind of hawks those are.”

“Whoa, elk!” I pointed.

Slowly, Gray tore off his sunglasses. I knew he’d seen what I saw when a grin spread over his face. “Whoa,” he agreed.

Maybe four hundred yards away, three dozen elk milled casually on the lakebed. From here, it looked like their antlers clashed, they were packed so closely. Some spread out to stand in the water, dipping their heads. A rush surged through me to see actual wild animals like that so close at hand. We put down our towels and waded in, too, scattering a bunch of fluffy white, scrunched-up shorebirds. The elk didn’t seem to even notice us.

When was the last time I’d swam in a body of water that wasn’t a chlorinated pool? The water was so warm. Within seconds I was floating on my back, listening to the hawks caw caw like pterodactyls. I’d been away from the bustle of my job for over a month, yet the only time I’d even remotely walked in nature had been that unfortunate hike with Gray to view the reclaimed water pond where Delilah’s body had been found.

I fluttered my arms like a bird flying in place and sat upright in the water. Actually, the lake level was so low, I could crouch with my toes touching the sand, my boobs buoyant. “One weird thing about Narcissa Whitman, Gray.”

Gray, too, floated on his back, a limp hand on his abdomen. He just opened the eye closest to me. “Yeah?”