“Hey, stranger,” I say.
His sudden smile electrifies. “Hey, back.”
He may look like an Adonis, but there’s a darkness in his gaze. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one who sees it. I see it now as I stare at his gorgeous, haunting face, with a shadow of a beard and full pink lips that I continue to see in my dreams.
He continues to smile, but his eyes are somber, blue pools of darkness sucking me in.
“Saint, I want to show Gina the pics of our Bali house and all those castles we went to.”
Saint signals to Tahoe, who, with a raise of his hand, confirms that he has Saint’s phone. He doesn’t hand it over, but merely watches me as he takes a seat on a long brown leather couch and continues looking at me, as if waiting for me to come and see them with him.
I sit on the couch beside him, and as I lean over and peer into the screen, his scent reaches me. He smells like pine trees. I love the scent of pine trees. It’s exotic to me. Like a vacation.
He uses his big thumb to scroll through the images as we both take in the pictures. Images of lush greenery and the most fantastic landscapes I’ve ever seen, like the Saints’ massive modern house in Bali and a lovely gray castle with a moat sitting in paradise.
“That’s my new place.” I reach around his arm and tap the picture of the gray castle.
“Nah…” He backtracks and shows me a picture of Versailles. “That’s the one.”
I set my chin on his shoulder and stare at it longingly. “That’s delightful…When do we leave?”
I nudge his elbow with mine, and he nudges me back with a twinkle in his eyes. “Whenever you want…perks of having a private jet.”
“Jackass. Should I pack a swimsuit?”
He smirks mischievously and nods at me slowly. “If you want to, but it’s certainly not required.”
“You’re not seriously alluding to skinny-dipping? You know I only do that drunk and at weddings.”
“I’m just saying, fortune favors the bold.” He looks at me with a raised eyebrow and that lone dimple of his.
“The bold, not the nude.”
He laughs—deep, rich male laughter—and I have never felt someone’s laugh course through my skin like a shiver.
“Hey, guys?”
I start at Rachel’s voice and only then realize that Tahoe and I are sitting so close we could be one. One of my breasts is basically pressed up against the back of his arm, nearly flat against his triceps muscle, and my chin is resting on his shoulder as I peer at the pics.
Rachel and Saint stand at the door. Rachel looks at me with curiosity, and Saint’s expression is unreadable.
“We’re starved and our kitchen won’t be stocked until tomorrow. Want to get something across the street?” Saint asks, looking at Tahoe meaningfully.
I stand slowly on rubbery knees and Tahoe says, “Saint,” and tosses his phone in the air.
* * *
We end up heading across the street to have dinner at a small café. Wynn joins us after the gallery opening, and because it’s so crowded and the restaurant only offers tables that seat up to four, the guys sit at the bar while Rachel, Wynn and I sit at one of the small tables.
The guys are causing quite the stir. Several women who were originally seated at tables are now moving to wait for seats at the bar, hovering near the guys and hoping to catch their attention. Saint ignores them, Callan chats them up, and Tahoe simply charms their socks off as they pant all over him.
Curious to hear what he’s telling the girls to make them look all googly-eyed, I decide to refill my glass at the bar. I’m surprised to realize he’s telling them about lacrosse. I would have thought the conversation to be a lot more lewd and crass.
They ask him all sorts of questions, but while he absentmindedly answers, he watches me. He’s still flirting and smiling, but his eyes are on me.
The feel of him watching makes me so nervous I trip on the leg of his stool on the way back to my table. He reaches out and steadies me, his fingers tightly grasping my arm. I recuperate quickly and mumble, “I got it.”
But actually, it’s Tahoe who’s definitely got it. He’s got his hands full with two women and somehow the guy still manages to get one of those hands on me!
I take my seat, and Rachel continues drilling me about Trent.
Trying to keep my eyes off the bar, I tell her more details about how we met, but I avoid mentioning the condom issue. Nobody knows about that but T-Rex and I want it to stay that way. And speaking of him, I’m also thankful that Wynn doesn’t jump in and tell Rachel that just the other night, Tahoe spooned me.
I tell Rachel that Trent is red-haired and good-looking in a non-overwhelming way. As I say that, I glance at Tahoe—the danger symbol and the complete opposite of Trent—and I notice that he’s moving like a blond panther toward our table. And he is looking directly at me. God help me, his dimple is showing.
“Regina,” he takes my arm to help me to my feet, “can I see you for a minute?” There’s laughter in his voice, and it makes me curious to know why, as well as want to share in that laughter for some reason.
“Yeah, sure.” I immediately stand and let him guide me to the door. “What’s up?” I ask, narrowing my eyes suspiciously, feeling myself smile because he’s smiling so hard.
He squints up at the clouds crowding the night sky, that Cheshire grin still on his face. “Too cold out here, let’s go sit in my car for a bit.”
We walk to his car, which is parked in the lot beneath the Saints’ building.