“Yeah... it is.” She’ll never know I was looking at her, not the ocean.
BELLAMY
I prefer hangovers from books, not booze.
—Bellamy’s Secret Thoughts
“Aunt B,” my five-year-old niece Molly yells like a war cry as she runs into my room and dive-bombs the bed, trampoline style. “Wake up! We’re going to the beach before we go home tonight.”
My head threatens to crack wide open with her high-pitched squeal, but I force my eyes to focus and manage a slightly painful smile before I grab her waist and tug her down with me. Quickly, I toss the covers over our heads, dramatically cloaking us in darkness and pulling her against me. “Let’s go back to sleep, Molls.”
She rolls over and presses her perfectly doll-like nose to mine. “Your breath smells funny, Aunt B.”
Out of the mouths of babes.
“That’s because you woke me up, sweets. I haven’t had a chance to brush my teeth yet.” I don’t bother mentioning that I had no intention of waking up this early either. Jake is the easy-going twin. He’s mellow, like his mom. Molly is a tiny terrorist destined to be an FBI-level negotiator one day. Arguing is useless. She’s definitely my brother’s daughter. “Did you have breakfast?”
She nods her small head and pushes big blonde curls out of her eyes. “Lennon’s big brother made pancakes. He flipped them in the air like Daddy.”
Lennon’s big brother... Memories of a chiseled chest and ridiculously strong hands dance in my mind.
“He did, did he?” I think back to how close I was to letting Rhys Windsor devour me last night, and a pang of regret sits heavy in my stomach before it growls. I need coffee and grease and an entire bottle of Tylenol. Not necessarily in that order. “Any chance there’s leftovers?”
Molly nods again and grabs my hand before she yanks the blankets back. “Come on, Aunt B. I’ll show you.”
I let the little whirlwind tug me out of bed, then squat down in front of her. “How about you let me get dressed, and then I’ll meet you in the kitchen?”
“In your bathing suit?” she barters, and I nod. Molly tilts her little head to the side, trying to decide whether she’s being played or not. A tiny finger with a sparkly purple painted nail taps her little lips. “Okay. How about I count to five?”
Like I said—FBI-level negotiator.
“How about you count to a hundred and five?” I laugh and ruffle her hair as I head for the en suite bathroom.
“I can’t count that high,” she squeaks.
“Just start counting. I’ll be fast.”
“Molly gave up somewhere right around one hundred. Not too shabby,” I finish telling Gracie as I lay out my towel on the lounge chair next to her and the sleeping triplets. My brother did not mess around when it came to knocking up his wife. Five babies in four years. This woman is a saint. “I never did find the pancakes though.”
“You don’t even like pancakes, do you?” Grace asks, rooting around in her bag for the sunscreen.
“Who doesn’t like pancakes?” Grace’s nanny, Janie, gasps, horrified.
“Ummm...” I murmur, unsure how to answer that without offending her.
“Found it.” Gracie passes me the sunscreen as a shadow moves in behind me, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Yeah... who doesn’t like pancakes?” the deep, sexy voice that haunted my dreams all night asks as the equally sexy man it belongs to bends down and takes the sunscreen out of my hands.
The women beside me suddenly turn into two giggling girls sharing some kind of secret between them, which they apparently don’t want to let me in on before Grace stands and picks up two of the triplets. “We’re just going to put the babies down for their nap... inside. Your brother can handle the twins.”
Traitors.
She leans in to whisper something to Janie, who has my youngest niece in her arms. I have no doubt they’re talking about me. Or more accurately, Rhys and me. I saw the look Gracie shot my way when they got home last night. She looked between us, and her matchmaking wheels were turning.
“Was it something I said?” Rhys asks as he takes a seat on the foot of my chaise.
“Excuse me,Your Highness...” I tease. “This is my chair.” But seriously, being this close to him, completely sober in the light of day, without any sexy rain or even sexier tequila to blame for this ridiculous attraction, is basically cruel.
