Page 19 of Strict Confidence (Rochester Trilogy 2)
Beau blinks like he’s clearing a similar vision from his mind. “I’m all right. Thanks, sweetheart.”
Paige screws up her lips in a pout, but it disappears just as quickly. Beau’s footsteps travel up the stairs to the second floor. A door closes with a soft click just as the back door opens.
Mateo steps in from the outside, bathed in golden morning light, looking exactly like an ultra-hot movie star.
Because he is an ultra-hot movie star.
Right now, he looks the part. A towel is slung low on his hips, held in place with one of his fists, and his dark hair glistens. He runs a hand through it, tousling it just so, and he flashes me a smile that looks as expensive as his carved abs.
His abs.
Which are on display. Fully. If the towel moved another inch…
“Morning, Jane. Hi, Paige.”
I remember I’m looking at a human being and not a movie poster and almost drop the spatula into the frying pan. My face heats. It’s not that I’m attracted to Mateo. He’s just attractive. It’s a natural reaction in the presence of a gorgeous man like he is. “Morning, Mateo. How was your swim?”
“Bracing,” he answers. He hasn’t dried himself off all the way, despite the towel. Water droplets still cling to his shoulders and the ridges of his abs. I need to stop looking at them immediately. “It clears my head to wake up that way. Straight from bed to the ocean.”
“Does it? I’d freeze, I think.”
“You don’t freeze if your body stays moving. Besides, the ocean is warmer than it looks this time of year. Once you’re in it’s not so bad.”
“Yeah, but those first few steps are enough to make a girl change her mind.”
“It’s always hardest below the waist,” Mateo says.
“What is?” Beau asks from the doorway. “Think about your answer before you say it, Mateo.”
* * *
Beau Rochester
I came back down here for some goddamn pancakes, and what do I find but Mateo half-naked in the kitchen, flirting his ass off.
With Jane. My Jane.
And I know she’s not mine. I know she might never be. But fuck if I’ll let this happen under the roof of this inn. Fuck if I’ll let this happen while I’m in the same house.
Jane blushes scarlet. “Did you decide on pancakes after all?”
“Yes.” I stride into the kitchen, toss the folder on the other side of the island, and take the seat next to Paige. “If you’re still making them. Or maybe you want some.”
She bites her lip. “I do, but I’ll make them at the same time as yours.”
“Beau,” says Mateo. His words mean, Calm the fuck down.
“What about you?” I look him in the eye and try to get this bristling, snapping feeling under control. I don’t like the way he looked at Jane. I don’t like the way he spoke to her. And I have no right to say a damn thing. “Are you here to eat pancakes?”
“Yeah,” says Paige. “Are you?”
He’s standing there in a towel, and I’m obviously pissed and trying to hide it. The whole thing is so ridiculous I could laugh. Except what I want to do is pin Jane to the counter and kiss her in front of him so it’s clear who she should belong to.
“Of course,” says Mateo. “As long as it’s fine with everybody.”
“By all means.” I say it too loud, and Jane looks between Mateo and me. It’s like she can’t decide whether to smile or frown. I can’t decide whether this is the most awkward moment of my life or just par for the course.
Mateo glances over the scene in front of him. Paige, with her fork in her fist. Me, with both hands on the table, trying not to punch him. “Let me go change, and I’ll be back for pancakes.”
“Great.”
He leaves, and the tension decreases in the room. Jane turns back to the stove and flips three more pancakes onto a plate. She slides it in front of me. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Everything’s great. The house burned down and Mateo’s walking around here naked.”
“He had a towel on.”
“He was flirting with you wearing it.” Paige is absorbed in her pancakes, cutting them up into tiny pieces and dunking them farther into the syrup, humming a song under her breath.
“And?” Jane arches an eyebrow, her cheeks turning pink. “It doesn’t mean anything. That’s how how he is. And besides, he’s single.”
“He’s always single. He’s always just single enough to go after the nearest available woman.”
Her dark gaze dares me to say it. I’m frozen with my fork halfway to the pancakes. I want my mouth on hers. I want her body against mine. I don’t want anything else.
“That would be me,” she says. Her shyness is chipping away bit by bit. I can’t help but be proud of her, even though it breaks my sense of control. “The nearest available woman.”
