I can’t imagine this man being forced into anything. He’s so—so his own person. “I don’t imagine you being the type who gets forced into much of anything,” I admit honestly.
“It’s rare.”
I nod and decide that if he cared to elaborate he’d do it voluntarily. The limbo that we find ourselves in is due to mutual vagueness. I haven’t elaborated much about anything and neither has he.
I stroll aimlessly through his living room, taking in his personal space.
“What’s this?” I ask, picking up a picture frame from the mantle with a younger Zander standing beside an older man. They must be related. The resemblance is striking. They’re on a golf course and both of them are smiling wide for the picture. He’s even more beautiful when he smiles. I’d like to see him smile.
Zander holds up a finger and leaves the living room, returning a moment later with a big photo album in his hand. He sits on the couch, motioning for me to join him. He flips open the album and points to the first photo of him standing in front of some award stage with a caddy at his side. “That’s my grandfather and this is what I retired from.”
“Golf?! You were a golfer?” I can’t disguise the incredulity in my voice. I can’t picture Zander playing golf professionally.
“What? It was a whole lot better than going into the family business. I was forced to play golf from the time that I was out of training pants.” He shrugs, wearing another grin that has me melting on the inside. “I was good.”
“What’s the family business?” My eyes scan the other photos in the album, expecting him to tell me that his family is in plumbing or used auto sales.
“Professional conning.” The way he says it so seriously causes my brows to scrunch up and my gaze to snap up to him.
“What? Are you serious right now?” I ask, completely deadpan.
“Yep.”
“Vague much?”
“I guess I am.”
Zander commandeers the album from my lap, closing it as he goes. His fingertips brush against my thigh, making me feel shaky and needy and frustrated all at the same time. I hate that he makes me feel these things so easily. Ignoring the urges I feel for him is way more difficult of a task when he does little things to burst through my self control.
A grin.
A joke.
A hug.
Simply breathing near me makes my fight against this pull between us all but futile.
Before he stands up, he stops and watches me closely, his blue eyes searching and communicating something with me.
A sign. An invitation. A warning. Something.
He stands from the couch and leaves the room. I run the palms of my hands down my thighs again, but it does nothing to pacify the growing need that I’m beginning to simultaneously love and hate.
Zander rejoins me in the living room holding up three DVD cases in his big hands like playing cards. “Pick a movie, any movie,” he crows in a voice that reminds me of the circus.
I smile but quickly look away from the kind, charming, mystery of a man in front of me. “I should probably get going. I’m actually kind of tired,” I lie.
Zander’s face falls and he turns serious. “When are you supposed to go back to Atlanta?”
My eyes meet his and I find that I’d rather have a fucking root canal than disappoint him. I shouldn’t feel this way, but I do. I don’t want to ditch him or the movie. I don’t want to spend the rest of the night alone in my room at The Beachcomber Inn. And I don’t want to think about leaving him here, on this island, when I have to go back home.
“Well, I had planned on leaving tomorrow. Why do you say supposed to?” My curiosity has piqued and the secret part of me that wants nothing more than to spend more time with Zander has inwardly stood, coming to attention with wide eyes.
“Because I was hoping you’d decide to stay. Talk a little more.”
If a person could turn liquid and pool on the floor, I’m nearly certain that’s what just happened to me. The tone of his voice. The look on his impossibly handsome face. Even the way he’s stuffed one hand in his pocket makes me want to reassure him that I’d really love to stay but I can’t spend another minute with him because I don’t trust my stupid body.
“I—well. I had thought about maybe an extra day or two down here is better than facing my family just yet.” I shrug with a forced smile, hoping that I haven’t let him down.
Zander moves three steps closer to me. He leans forward, depositing the movies on the coffee table in front of me. With his body still bent at the waist he looks at me wielding the full power that those deep blue eyes hold. “So stay.” The heady mix of plea and demand in his tone isn’t hard to miss. In fact, it’s all-consuming.
“Maybe I will,” I whisper. My eyes are locked with his. My tongue slips out, moistening my lips and begging to be touched.
“I’d like that,” he says, then swallows hard so that his Adam’s apple dips then rises again.
“Me too,” I say softly, knowing that saying anything else would simply be a lie.
Chapter Nine
The Lighter Side
Sadie