Make Me (Broke and Beautiful #3)(32)

Abby pushed the handle of her suitcase down and tossed the house key onto the counter. “So. Are we walking to the beach or hanging at the pool out back today?”

“Can we drink at the beach?” Roxy asked over her shoulder.

“Nope.”

“Poolside gets this girl’s vote.”

Honey hopped onto one of the stools surrounding the breakfast bar. “Seconded. I just have to change into my bathing suit.”

“And I just have to assist her,” Ben deadpanned.

“You’re such a giver, man.” Louis flipped a stack of red, Solo cups in his hand. “Who’s having a margarita?”

Five hands went up just as Russell walked into the kitchen. “What are we voting on?”

Abby tried not to let her relief over his appearance show. “Alcohol. What else?”

“Count me in, but make it light. Wouldn’t want to get lost in this place.”

There was just enough of an edge to Russell’s voice to give everyone pause. Abby watched a silent communication pass between Ben and Louis, but it happened so fast, Abby wondered if it had been inside her head. It made her mad; the feeling that she wasn’t involved in some secret. She didn’t appreciate being left out. Not inside this house, of all places.

And there was more to her anger. A lot more. She’d been alienated by her coworkers for being the boss’s daughter. Been the rich girl whose silence was mistaken for superiority. It had sucked all those times, but to have Russell edging toward that same ridicule when she’d never been anyone but herself around him? The pain knocked the wind right out of her. Or tried to, anyway.

Abby sauntered toward Louis, plucked a cup out of his hand, and poured herself three fingers’ worth of tequila. “If you’re so worried about getting lost, leave a trail of breadcrumbs, Hansel.” She tossed back a mouthful of liquor, her nose burning as it went down. “There are two rooms upstairs, three downstairs, and one in the pool house. Take your pick.” Down went the remaining tequila. “See you at the pool.”

ABBY STARED DOWN at the selection of bathing suits on her bed, hands on hips. Gold, sparkly bikini, or black, modest one-piece? The corner of her mouth edged up as she let her floral skirt drop and stripped the T-shirt over her head. Gold sparkly. No question. It might be a little outrageous for her—okay, way outrageous—but she’d seen what Roxy and Honey had packed, so at least she wouldn’t be alone in her daring. She murmured a thank-you to whichever past visitor had left the garment behind in the guest-room bureau and put on the bikini.

A look in the full-length mirror had her wincing, though. Had this thing belonged to a ten-year-old? It barely covered . . . anything. The thin triangles plumped her breasts, separated and pushed them high. The gold between her legs peeked out, covering only where necessary. Oh boy, no way could she wear this thing in public.

Her gaze swung back to the basic, black bathing suit mocking her from the bed. Putting it on would feel like giving in. But her mother’s room was across the hall. Maybe she had a sarong or wrap she could wear over the gold bikini . . . kind of a modesty caveat? Abby gave her reflection an encouraging nod and headed for the door, hoping to sneak into the other room unseen and perform a quick search. But when she opened the door and poked her head out, Russell stood at the opposite door, one foot already inside.

“You okay?” he asked, one eyebrow dipping low.

“Fine.” She started to duck back into her room, intending to wait until Russell left for the pool before rooting through the closet.

“Look . . . downstairs. I didn’t mean to—” He cut himself off. “Why are you hiding behind the door?”

“I’m not dressed.”

“Mmm.”

Hot, neediness stoked the fire beneath Abby’s belly button. The one that never seemed to stop blazing anymore. And yeah, something about wearing the explicit bikini was only amplifying the sexual warmth. The material cupping her between the legs felt like a caress, but didn’t have the satisfying friction of Russell’s work-roughened hands. Abby was so busy processing her insane desire to be touched—now, please—she didn’t notice Russell staring at something beyond her shoulder. She followed his line of sight and gasped, catching her reflection in the mirror. Oh Lord, she hadn’t even seen how little the bikini covered her bottom. The answer was, almost none of it.

Abby turned back to find Russell’s eyes glassy, his voice a mere rasp when he spoke. “You aren’t wearing that. You’ll have to kill me first.”

There were times when Russell’s proprietary attitude toward her was a turn-on. This was not one of those times. “Oh yes, I am.”

He tossed his duffel bag to the floor. “The f*ck you are.”

Blistering need blazed a path right down to her toes, her irritation doing nothing to cool it. In a confusing twist, however, she tried to shut the door when Russell stalked toward the entrance. None of her actions made sense to her, but she didn’t care. Rebelling felt good. Tempting consequences felt even better.

His forearm blocked the door, preventing its closure with ease. Abby had no choice but to step back and expose herself or get swept aside by the heavy wood. Russell made a dark noise and ran a hand over his open mouth. “Jesus Christ.” His hands flexed at his sides. “I don’t think you understand. Wearing that thing around anyone but me . . . I’d lose my shit, Abby. It would be a scary thing.”