Chapter 22

Holden

This can’t end well.

I walk across the sand, down the short path that leads from my villa toward the meeting place Danielle organized. She called me this afternoon, sounding serious, and asked that I meet her out here.

I check my watch—ten, right on time—and steel myself for what’s about to come. The moon’s out tonight, but clouds scud across the sky, marring it now and again. Stars dot the inky blue-black above, and there’s not much wind. I pass palm trees and another villa on my path down to the shore.

Moans emanate from the open windows, and there’s movement inside. I don’t bother looking. Nothing can distract me from this evening. From whatever Danielle has laid out for me.

I trudge onward and torchlight draws my gaze. There’s a blanket laid out on the beach, and two figures sit on it.

One of them is Danielle. The other is my brother. Neither of them wear masks, and I rip mine off and drop it.

Heat flushes through me—I haven’t seen him since we were pulled apart this morning—and it takes everything inside me not to lash out. Not to tackle him again.

He’s sitting so close to her. Too close.

Fuck it. Rein it in. Be a fucking man and find out what she wants.

Did they plan this together? Is this their plan? They’re going to sit me down and tell me that they’ve chosen to be together.

I picture myself returning to New York, to my empty home, and waiting for Jessie’s return. Alone. She’ll have questions for me, she’ll ask about her nansy, and I’ll explain it away, but it will fucking claw at my insides.

Fuck, I should never have come here.

I haven’t moved since I spotted them a few feet away.

Danielle stands, holding a glass of wine. “Please. Holden, please. Please come over here. Let’s talk about this.”

Her voice draws me closer. I push off and force myself to meet her.

She hugs me, pulls her body to mine, and I respond immediately, inhale the scent of her hair, rest my palm on the small of her back.

Danielle wears a gorgeous, glitzy silver dress that clings to her body. The material looks wet, and it’s cool to the touch. Two cups accentuate and elevate her breasts. She’s flawless, as usual, her caramel hair twisted into a loose knot atop her head.

I help her sit again, then position myself opposite the pair of them, my bare feet resting on the towel, my wrists resting on my knees. “What’s this?” I ask.

Danielle hands me a glass of wine from a small table behind her.

I take it but don’t drink. “Danielle?”

“It’s what I have to do,” she replies, and inhales. Her breasts expand beneath that silvery-wet dress and her nipples brush the fabric.

Joey’s watching her, too, closely.

I drink the wine to distract myself.

“We’re here to talk about the future.” Dani shoots Joey a look. It shares too much, that glance, as if they’re in on some secret and I’m not.

I grip the glass a little too hard, and wine slops onto my shirt. I curse and wedge the wine glass in the sand beside me, then unbutton and strip. I toss the ruined garment aside then pick my wine up again.

I’m bare-chested now, and Danielle’s gaze traces my tattoos, my pecs, my abs. Joey doesn’t say a fucking word. He’s got to hate her looking at me at least as much as I hate her sitting so close to him.

I offer him a tight smile. He doesn’t return it.

“I’ve got some things to say.” Danielle sets her wine glass down, too. “And that’s why we’re here tonight. I—Please, neither of you interrupt me until I’m done. And no fighting. I’m sure you’ll want to come back here someday, with or without me.”

My heart leaps. With her?

“Can you agree not to fight?”

“Yes,” Joey says.

“Yes.” I wipe my hands down my jeans, then shift so I’m kneeling. Better to shove myself up from this position, in case Joey goes back on the no-fighting agreement.

“Good,” she says. “OK, I’m really nervous.” She titters a laugh. “So, here’s the thing. I love you, Holden.”

Fuck yes. Mine. She’s always been mine.

“And I do understand everything we’ve spoken about. Your family is important to you, and I don’t want to ruin that. I don’t want to ever do anything to hurt your daughter or complicate things for her or you.”

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. “Is there a ‘but’ in this equation?”

“Yes. That’s why we’re here.” Danielle drags her teeth across her bottom lip, then pops it out. So full, so tempting. “I understand that it’s an ultimatum for you. I stay with you and wait, or I leave you alone.”

Fuck, the thought of her leaving makes me sweat.

“And if I leave, you don’t want me near Joey either.” Danielle inhales three tiny breaths, then releases them in one long flow. Around us, it’s quiet. The cabana nearby is unmanned, for once—it’s nearing the end of the weekend and everyone’s up at the main hall partying or fucking in private.

“That’s correct,” I say.

Joey shifts, and his upper lip twitches.

“But that’s a problem for me,” Danielle says, and she chokes up a little. “Because I’m falling for Joey, too.”

I open my mouth, but she holds up a hand.

“Let me finish,” she says.

It takes all my willpower not to get up and fucking walk away. If I do, I’ll regret it. I understand that. I stay because of it, but I’m still on the cusp. One push and I’ll fuck off, heartbreak or not.

“You’re different in so many ways,” she says. “You’re unique. Joey is hot, he’s got a temper, he’s passionate, but he cares. You’re controlled, you’re cool-headed and in control, and you love your family life. Both of you have pieces of my heart because of it.” Tears stream down her cheeks, and Joey shifts again, this time closer to her, his brow wrinkled. Mine does the same.

Danielle crying sobers me. I push away my anger and my ego and focus on her, totally.

“You’re two sides of the same coin, and I know it’s too much to ask to have you both, but that’s what I want, OK? I want to be able to love you both. I want to—” She cuts off and breaks down, burying her face in her hands.

Joey takes her left hand, lifts it, kisses it. “It’s OK,” he rumbles.

“It’s not OK,” she says. “It’s so selfish of me to love you both. To want you both. But I do. I love you so completely. God.” She coughs and slurps, then reaches for a serviette on the wicker table behind her. Joey gets to it before her and hands it over. She wipes her nose. “Gross.” She manages a weak laugh. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” I say.

They both look over at me, her with a measure of small hope and Joey with something else. Whatever it is, it isn’t anger. Maybe, he’s past it. Is my little—one minute, ha—brother actually more mature about this than I am?

He clearly cares for her. He’s worried about her crying, fetching her tissues and shit. Where I’m the hard bastard sitting on the other side of the blanket.

I can’t control everything.

That’s what’s clear here.

I can’t control how Danielle feels. I can’t only decide what I want to do about this situation.

“I won’t leave you, Danielle,” I say, moving across to her left side. I cup her cheek in one hand. “Don’t cry. I love you.” I draw her lips to mine and kiss her, long and hard.

Danielle’s tears wet her lips, but I lick them up, taste the saltiness and kiss her harder. She gasps against my mouth. “I love you, too,” she whispers, then turns her head away. “And I love you, Joey.”

It should fuck me up inside hearing those words, but it doesn’t.

All I care about is how happy she is. Is she OK? Will she stop crying?

Danielle’s pain is more important than anything I’m feeling. She doesn’t want to be selfish, even though I’ve been exactly that this entire weekend. I’ve pushed her away, then pulled her closer, demanded her faithfulness, but told her to wait.

I’m the dick here, not my brother.

At least he was honest with himself.

I slide my hand down Danielle’s cheek, her throat, her collarbone, then cup her breast through that wet-silver fabric, trace the outline of her nipple with my thumb.

She gasps and I swallow it with a kiss. “Holden,” she whispers. “What are you doing?”

“Making you feel good,” I say.

Joey’s presence is a memory. He’s there, I know. He’s probably already touching her, but it doesn’t matter to me. If it takes him here to get her off, I don’t care. Only that she’s happy, that I’m part of what makes her world turn around.

“Kiss me,” I say.

And she does.