Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths #3)(75)

Surveying her apron—one that reads Warning: Woman ­Grilling—I pat my stomach and ask, “What’s for dinner?” Feeding people is Storm’s passion and she’s an excellent cook. They’ve joked about installing a revolving door for all the people who pass in and out of their Miami beach house on a regular basis.

“Homemade burgers and lots of other stuff. Enough for a crowd, and there seems to be one quickly growing around here.” There’s a pause and then, “So tell me . . . Are you or aren’t you with this alluring new dancer?”

“Thirty seconds in the door, Storm. And I don’t remember you being a gossip,” I toss back. Inside, my guts are twisting. I don’t know what the hell happened this morning. After what I can only describe as the kind of mind-blowing sex that sated every fiber of my body and soul in a way that no other woman ever has, Charlie shut me out.

I expected her to gladly accompany me to my place, to my shower, to my bed.

To eagerly continue where we left off.

But the only thing she seemed eager to do was get away from me. She started stumbling over her words, offering weak excuses. Practically begging me to drive her home.

Confusing the hell out of me.

In fairness, she was so exhausted that she practically passed out in my arms and was out cold within a minute of me laying her onto her bed. I know because I sat beside her and watched her drift off, pushing her gorgeous blond hair off her face, worrying that I should wake her up to take those damn contacts out, searching for pricey bedsheets that I couldn’t find.

Still, exhausted or not, something didn’t feel right about the way we left things. Maybe everything I told her started sinking in and she freaked out. Maybe I should have taken her back to my condo instead of letting that happen on the pier. I couldn’t help myself, though.

I lay in bed for hours, analyzing every second, every word that escaped her mouth. Every moan . . .

And I still can’t make sense of it.

God, I hope I see her today.

Ginger promised that she’d do what she could to get Charlie here. Now I guess I’ll just have to wait. And dodge Storm’s interrogation.

“I’m not. I’m a hopeless romantic. There’s a big difference.” She smiles, showing me her perfect white teeth. “And when it comes to the mysterious Cain’s love life, yes, your friends are all extremely interested. I swear, Ben is infatuated. I don’t remember him talking about one girl so much in my life!”

I hand her a gift bag with several bottles of wine, attempting to distract her, as bare feet pad out from the kitchen. “Cain!” Storm’s mini-me barrels into me, her little arms coiling around my waist.

“Mia!” I chuckle to myself as I take a chunk of her golden-blond hair in my hand and give it a playful tug. She stares up at me with those innocent blue eyes, the same ones that pierced my heart the day she looked up and smiled as she toddled around the furniture in my office, enjoying her newfound mobility.

“All right, all right. We’ll talk later . . .” Storm takes the wine with a secretive grin. “The guys are in the cave.” Slipping her arm around Mia’s shoulder, she gently swivels her daughter around and leads her back toward the kitchen. “Come, minion. Those vegetables won’t wash themselves.”

I head down the hall of their palatial Miami beachfront house. Storm moved in here three years ago with Dan, Mia, and their friends—sisters, Kacey and Livie. That was around the same time that Storm quit Penny’s and opened up her own private acrobatics school. The day she came into my office to tell me—her fingers twisting the material of her skirt nervously, as if she wasn’t sure how I’d take the resignation of the most popular dancer at Penny’s—was the happiest day of my life.

Storm is my shining success story. She is why I do what I do.

Ben’s obnoxious voice carries halfway down the hall. “ . . . she was gone when I woke up, though, which sucked because damn, she had the most spectacular—”

“Cock?” I interrupt loudly as I step into the room, slapping Ben’s shoulder as I pass by him. I’m not surprised to find the lot of them with beers in hand, playing video games. It’s how I usually find them, while the women are hanging out on one of the many decks or in another room. Though Storm calls this room Dan’s cave, there’s nothing remotely cave-like about it. Light pours in through the wall-to-ceiling windows and, aside from the tan leather sectional and chestnut-brown cabinetry, everything’s decorated in whites and grays.

“Boss man’s here!” Ben yells as the guys burst out in a round of laughter over my well-timed interruption. “Just giving them the Mexico highlights.”

“Embellished, I’m sure,” I murmur, though I don’t really doubt that every bit of what Ben says is true and happened exactly as described. Sometimes I wonder how his dick hasn’t fallen off yet.

Dan rounds the couch with his large hand outstretched, a genuine smile stretched across his face. “Good to see you here, Cain.”

“Congratulations, again. How’s the head after last night?”

He cringes but then laughs. “Those guys are animals. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to you. It’s been a while.”

“I know. Crazy summer . . . Storm’s doing well with the pregnancy so far?”

That light sparks in Dan’s eyes, the one that always does at the mention of Storm. Now that she’s marrying him and carrying his child, it’s like a homing beacon. “Yeah, doing well. Should find out what it is soon.”