So she can feel guiltier? So she can put more distance between us?
On the other hand, when Echo is upset she often wants to think alone. What kind of friend would I be if I refused to give her space when she needs it?
Besides, wouldn’t it be better for your sanity if she wasn’t so close?
“Why don’t you go to the room? Text me when you’re ready, and I’ll come up. We’ll talk then, if you want.”
She shakes her head. “You go. I’m going to stay here a bit longer.”
I’d rather she didn’t, but I can’t dictate to her. “You have your key?”
“In my pocket.”
“All right.” With a sigh, I stand.
She sends me a bland, thoroughly fake smile. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
Then she lies back, turning away from me.
She’s shutting me out. That bothers me—a lot. I force myself to walk away, but I can’t leave her alone and upset.
On the far edge of the pool, butting up against the garden, is a seating area. I slip into the shadows and sink into the chair in the darkest corner. I wait. And I watch.
She curls into the fetal position again. Her shoulders shake. And I feel fucking helpless, watching her misery. What makes everything worse is, I’m not totally sure why she’s so upset. She knows I’m not mad.
Maybe she realizes what you knew the instant she put her mouth on yours.
That kiss changed everything.
It doesn’t have to, does it?
Seriously? When was the last time you felt a pull half that strong to any woman?
Never.
Fuck. We’re friends. Just friends. Best friends. And it’s been awesome. She’s honestly one of the most important people in my life. Why would I risk fucking that up when my father’s cheating gene makes up half my DNA?
Or is Gramma Liddy right, that I’m nothing like him?
My thoughts turn in circles. I drift off, then start awake suddenly. I’m not sure how much time has passed, but the dark is inkier now. The moon is brighter. Even the random people I heard sloshing in the hot tub on the other side of the hedges earlier are gone. Except for the distant crashing of waves, the grounds are silent.
Thankfully, Echo is still huddled in the cabana. She’s sprawled out on her stomach now, using her arm as a pillow, fast asleep.
Yeah, it’s probably not a good idea to share a bed with her tonight, but I won’t leave her here. And we both need rest.
Slowly, I approach Echo, roll her to the edge of the padded dais, then I lift her against my chest. She curls closer to me, her head nestling trustingly against my shoulder.
That does something to me.
Fuck, this night has been long and confusing.
Slowly, I carry her up the stairs and back to the lobby. One of the cleaning crew darts ahead of me to call the elevator. I thank him with a nod, then head into the car. Two minutes later, I reach our door. Xavian is coming up the other side of the hall.
“You found her. Thank God. What happened?” he whispers, glancing at Echo with concern. “Is she all right?”
“Long story.” And I don’t really want to tell him. What happened between Echo and me is our secret. If she wants him to know, fine. But I’m not spilling. “Can you reach in my pocket and swipe the key?”
“Sure.” He does, then he opens the door.
“Thanks.”
He follows me inside, rushing to the bed to yank back the blankets. On soft sheets, I lay Echo down and cover her. She stirs, then rolls to her stomach again, out cold.
She sleeps like that, trustingly exposing her back to the world like she doesn’t have a care. But the furrow that settles between her brows, even in slumber, tells me she’s still unsettled.
Because she didn’t like the kiss? Or because she liked it too much?
Shaking off the question, I cover her, then motion him into the adjoining sitting room, closing the bedroom door behind me. “Look, you said you were going to back away from Echo. Fucking do it.”
He shakes his head. “She and I talked again, and I’ve been giving it more thought. E asked me for a favor. I don’t have any reason to say no. I hear you about her possibly getting attached, but she seems clear that it’s a completely unromantic arrangement. And I’d rather take the chance that she changes her mind than have her hit up some other asshole who either doesn’t care about her or bumbles his way through sex.”
X has valid points, but… “I don’t understand why she’s suddenly so insistent about tossing away her V-card.”
My friend shrugs. “None of my business. She asked me to help out. As a friend, I said yes. I don’t see the problem. But if you want to dig for her motive, go for it. I’m going back to bed.”
“Alone?”
Xavian scoffs like I’ve got to be kidding. So he’s going to nail Ms. Hawaii again before he nails Echo?
Over my dead body.
* * * *
Sleep was a long time coming.
After Xavian took off, I stripped down to my boxers and settled next to Echo in bed. Well, first I cursed a blue streak at my pal for going back on his promise not to touch her, then I slid onto the mattress. The king-size bed should have been plenty big for us both. Not with her so close. I tried to drift off, but Echo’s scent was in every breath I took. Her body filled my stare, especially where her short skirt lay precariously, barely covering her ass and exposing a hint of her thin lace panties.
With a groan, I turned away, hard as fuck.
No way was I masturbating in the shower to thoughts of my best friend. So I tossed and turned, finally dropping off around five a.m.
Prying my eyes open now, I stare at the clock. Quarter after noon? I jerk upright. How the hell did I sleep so late?
The other side of the bed is empty. The sheets are cold. Echo has been gone for hours.
Fuck. I scramble for my phone.
Where are you? I text.
The message goes unread.
Lying here won’t help me find her—or get the answers to my burning questions. Did she sleep? Is she still upset? What is she thinking? What is she doing?
After charging out of bed, I rake a brush across my teeth and my fingers through my hair, throw on the first pair of shorts and tank I find in my suitcase, then grab my phone—texting Xavian as I leave the room.
Seen Echo this morning?
No reply.
Goddamn it. I hope like hell she hasn’t done something rash.
In the hallway, I see Xavian’s door propped open by the housekeeper. When I poke my head in, the maid is making his bed and tidying his room. No sign of X.
No matter how many times I press the button to call the elevator, it doesn’t come faster. Finally, I reach the lobby and bound down the stairs, scanning the pools on either side of me. Honeymooners? Check. Parents with little ones? Those, too. Teenagers hang out, and retirees look damn glad their days of keeping up with kids are over.
But I don’t see either X or Echo.
Retracing the garden path I trekked last night, I search the adults-only pool. But it’s so well hidden, the sucker is virtually empty. A senior citizen in a swim cap glares, silently warning me not to interfere with his laps.
Crossing back to the expansive lawn, I scan every visible inch of the property, including the balconies where brunchgoers are feasting. Nothing.
Next, I scramble to the walkway and down the steps, avoiding a screaming passel of kids and a pair of lovers holding hands while eye-fucking. Past a riot of tropical flowers, I reach the end of the cement path and zip my stare over the resort guests hanging out at the hotel’s private beach to the soundtrack of someone’s too loud radio blasting Nelly’s “Hot in Herre.”