Wednesday afternoon, two days after Lucy’s arrival, she’s back in the office, interviewing my brothers. Right now, she’s sitting with Kane and Hanna at the big table, and they’re talking her through the backcountry ski trips.
Earlier, she sat down with me and I walked her through our whole marketing strategy. I sincerely hope I made sense, because I was having trouble concentrating with her that close to me. I could smell her shampoo, like the Hawaiian vacation my family took when we were kids. On that trip, my mother couldn’t stop sniffing the air (and secretly, neither could my brothers and I).
I hope I didn’t actually sniff Lucy this morning.
I wish Kane would sit further away from her. I don’t want him to know that Lucy smells like an island in full bloom.
She’s wearing a low-cut black silky blouse. It’s the first time she’s worn something low-cut, and I want to make her go home and change. It’s totally professional, of course, but when we were sitting together earlier, I had to work hard not to see the edge of black lace peeking out from under the scoop of her black silky blouse. That edge cupped the creamiest, softest curve I’ve ever laid eyes on.
I know that because I snuck a peek at lunch time while she was loading up her plate. I let myself imagine replacing black lace with my own palm, cupping her. Shaping her, plumping her—and then dipping my head to lick.
I was hard in seconds flat. I walked away from the lunch table and into the bathroom, where I had a long discussion with myself about all the good reasons not to jerk off in the family workplace.
To be honest, I’ve been a hot fucking mess since Monday night, when I walked Lucy back to the hotel.
I wanted to follow her into the elevator. Slap my hands against the stupid gold-plated interior walls on either side of her and kiss her until she whimpered.
But I was trying to be a decent human being, and I was pretty sure sober Lucy wasn’t going to look at me the way drunk Lucy was looking at me, like I was the perfect fit for her Instagram nine squares.
Kane says something and Lucy laughs. I want to make an excuse to remove Kane from the meeting. But it won’t help. Another brother will take his place. And they all seem smitten with her, except Brody. He can be counted on to stay hostile.
Kane and Hanna finish up, and Kane goes to get Clark, who’s up next.
Lucy glances over and catches me staring.
I should look away, but I don’t. I can’t.
She doesn’t either. She stares right back at me. I’m aware of every breath she takes, even though my eyes stay on her face. Her lower lip softens, and I have to discipline myself not to move, not to cross the fifteen feet between us, take her face in my hands, and suck on that soft flesh. Her hand comes up to tuck a non-existent strand of her hair behind her ear. Her fingers briefly touch her cheek before she drops her hand again, and I feel the softness of that cheek like it’s my hand.
I’m hard again, mouth dry, heart pounding.
And then Clark steps between us and breaks the spell. I drop my gaze, and when I look back, she’s chatting and laughing with him, tossing her hair without any self-consciousness.
I hate Clark. And Easton. And every guy who has ever kissed or touched Lucy Spiro or, worse, made her laugh.
Pure fucking insanity.
“Gabe.”
My mother, of course, because there is no justice.
“I’m working on a new ad campaign for Outdoors magazine. Lucy gave me some ideas, but I wanted to run them by you.”
“Shoot.”
“She wants us to drop the emphasis on speed and risk and survival and pushing limits—”
“Of course she does.”
“She’s not wrong, Gabe,” my mom says softly. “Look.” She shows me the ad mockups she’s done.
Get out of your comfort zone.
Learn how strong you are.
Meet your people.
The images are different, too. People hiking side by side. Standing at the top of a ski slope together. Beaming at each other around a campfire.
“I don’t hate them,” I say. “Except this one.” It’s two women, bundled in faux-fur-lined-hooded parkas, drinking cocoa during a break from snowshoeing. “We don’t do snowshoe trips.”
“Yet.” My mom beams at me.
“No.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Has anyone told Kane and Hanna about the snowshoe trips?” I demand.
“The snowshoe trips were Kane’s idea, as a matter of fact.”
I groan.
That makes my mom smile. “Oh, Gabe,” she says. “I would apologize, but it’s really a sorry-not-sorry thing. Lucy’s pretty awesome, isn’t she?”
I hazard a quick glance across the room. Clark is showing Lucy something on his laptop, their heads bent together.
I close my eyes.
“You know what?” my mom says. “Don’t answer that. Yet.”