I want nothing more than to lean back into his touch, to melt beneath the sensation of his body pressing deliciously against mine.
But I need one more truth from him first.
One last truth.
The only truth that really matters.
“You lied about the rest of that letter, too,” I breathe, eyes pressed tight closed to shut out the world around us. Dulling my senses to everything outside the circle of his arms. “When you said you didn’t feel the same. When you said sleeping together didn’t mean anything. When you said we should just go back to being friends.” I pause. Inhale. Exhale. “True or false?”
His mouth moves against the shell of my ear.
But it’s not his voice I hear.
Not his answer I receive.
“Josephine? Darlin,’ is that you?”
* * *
My eyes fly open.
To my utter disbelief, Oliver is walking down the stone steps beside the boathouse. His eyes are wary, full of questions, as he steps onto the dock. His blond hair catches the day’s last rays of sun as he approaches. The lenses of his wire-framed glasses refract like dusky pink headlights.
I jerk like I’ve been sucker-punched. Archer’s arms fall away from me so fast, you’d think my skin had scalded him. We spring apart, two magnets with opposing charges.
“Ollie! What on earth are you doing here?” I practically run to him, desperate to create a bit of space between me and the man standing behind me.
Ollie leans down to press a quick kiss against my lips. I try not to flinch away, hyper-aware of Archer’s intent gaze.
“I came to check on you, of course,” Oliver says, like it should’ve been obvious. “I was worried. You sounded out of sorts on the phone after your boat went down.”
“I told you I was fine!”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Archer’s stare burns into my back like a hot brand. I do my best to ignore it, but it’s not easy. There is a storm brewing inside me. One I cannot tame or temper. My stomach rolls with nausea. My veins churn with an uncomfortable emotion that, after a few seconds, I identify as guilt. I try to quell it with flimsy assurances that I haven’t done anything wrong. That I haven’t cheated on my boyfriend. That I haven’t somehow — and quite illogically, might I add — betrayed Archer byhavinga boyfriend in the first place.
As hastily as I can manage, I extract myself from Oliver’s arms. Nerves jangle as I glance back and forth between the two men. Two radically different men. One bare-chested and bearded, his skin tan from long days working in the sun, his hands callused with evidence of long labor; the other every inch the business man, a gleaming Rolex at his wrist and platinum cufflinks on the sleeves of his custom-tailored suit.
Oliver, a sunny southern breeze; Archer, a storm cloud with sentience.
They are night and day.
Worlds apart.
And me, standing between them.
They stare at one another with equal parts curiosity and wariness. Both smiling strangely stiff smiles that do not reach either of their eyes.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to…” Oliver trails off. Beneath his friendly facade, there’s a ramrod tension in his posture he can’t quite hide.
“Right. Of course. This is—” I look at Archer and clear my throat uncomfortably. “This is Archer Reyes. He’s… an old friend.”
A ghost of a smile touches myold friend’s mouth.
“I’m Oliver Beaufort. And any friend of Josephine’s is a friend of mine,” Ollie says amiably. He sticks out his hand to shake. “We’re a package deal, you see.”
“I do see.” Archer’s eyes flicker to me for a heartbeat before he steps forward and grips Oliver’s hand. The air seems to crackle with tension as they shake… and shake… andhold. The moment drags on forever, neither of them willing to release first. My eyes widen a bit when I see their knuckles are turning white. I’d bet my bottom dollar, if you put an acorn between their palms right now, it would crack wide open.