But he’d made it happen.
His cell vibrated, signaling another text. Probably from Finn. But Lucy’s brother and his emergency could wait another five minutes. With rain pummeling his back, Jared climbed out of the car and headed for the wooden stairs leading down to the sand. The waves rushed in, each one moving closer and closer to the seawall.
High tide.
He ran to the abandoned blanket. The water rushed up to it, but it hadn’t pulled the remnants of their picnic out to sea. If he’d waited until morning, Lucy’s panties would have disappeared.
There’s nothing heroic about rescuing her underwear.
Still, he gathered the sopping bedspread and heaved it over his shoulder. Then he turned and headed to the stairs with the rain at his back. When he reached his car, he placed the wet mess in the trunk.
Five minutes later, he pulled into his red brick-lined driveway and found his garage open. The man who would make his life a living hell if Jared hurt Lucy stood beside his Ducati Scrambler. Finn had traded his suit for jeans and t-shirt. Both were soaked. Slowing to a stop, Jared put the car in park and climbed out.
Jared headed away from the detached garage. The side door to his 1920s oceanfront mansion stood twenty paces away. “You could have let yourself in,” he called over his shoulder as Finn raced to catch up with him.
“Thought about it,” Finn admitted. “I wanted to check the garage first. See if you were home.”
They stepped under the overhang. Jared keyed in the security combination and then unlocked the pair of ornate wooden doors. He pushed through the old, heavy door and stepped into the tiled foyer. The hand-painted tile floor was one of the details he’d kept when renovating the old-world home. All of the original tiles, fireplaces, and hardwood floors remained. But he’d added a state-of-the-art, white marble kitchen and modern bathrooms.
“Is there a reason you interrupted my date with a nine one one text and then drove your new bike through a storm?” Jared asked. He kicked off his wet, sandy dress shoes. Then he stripped off the white-button down shirt that felt like a second skin and tossed it to the tile floor.
“Dry off. I’ll meet you in the kitchen. I need a drink first. Then I’ll give you the full story.” Finn turned and headed for the one room guaranteed to provide beer.
Jared verged right toward the master suite. The home felt like a Mediterranean villa. From the stone pillars by the pool to the European tiles decorating the floors and walls, Jared’s Florida mansion bore a stronger resemblance to a museum than a home.
After he’d pulled on dry running shorts and a Marlins t-shirt, Jared found Finn perched on a wooden bar stool. His friend sat with his back to the glass doors, which opened onto the front lawn and offered a view of the rough ocean. Both of Finn’s hands were wrapped around a bottle of local Florida brew. Tension rippled up his forearms.
“Where’s Lucy?” Finn asked.
Jared headed to the stainless steel fridge. “I returned her to the princess lair.”
He opened the fridge and reached for a beer. As a rule, his housekeeper stocked this house with beer, a few bottle of high-priced vino for guests, milk, fresh fruit, and eggs. Today, she’d added a few to-go containers from the
Italian hotspot on Worth Ave with instructions for reheating the meals, listed on orange post-its. Beer in one hand, he withdrew a box marked “ravioli” and headed for the microwave.
He glanced across the kitchen island at Finn. “Did you come over here to find her? Is that the big emergency?”
“No.” Finn took a long drink from his beer. “How’d it go? Your talk with Luc?”
Stop fucking stalling, Finn.
But Jared played along as he scanned the post-it and hit the necessary buttons. “She understood about the Philip Ryder profile, and we moved on. We left the beach before the lightning. I’ll call her tomorrow. You have my word. Take her to dinner. A real date.”
Finn raised an eyebrow. “What was tonight?”
Sex on the beach.
“A step in the right direction.” Jared bent over and withdrew the ravioli from the microwave nestled in the island. “I would be taking another right about now if you hadn’t sent out a series of distress texts. Ready to talk about it, or do we need to keep making small talk?”
Finn looked him straight in the eye. “I blew any chance of closing the sugar deal.”
“Tell me what happened.” Jared stabbed the ravioli with his fork. “Walk me through what went wrong, and we’ll fix it.”
“Not this time.”
Jared raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to tell me I’m not Superman again?”
“No. But this is a major screw up. My screw up.” Finn didn’t look away. “I slept with Devilla’s daughter.”