Page 41 of Stealing Blinds

“And Sylvie is paying off that debt?”

“Not exactly. It’s her own debt, but …” She purses her lips, her focus flitting to the door again. “She’s very private. And it’s not my story to tell. All I’ll say is that he was good to us, but he’s bad news. He was friends with my husband for a reason.”

“What’s his name?”

“You’ll have to get that from her, but what he uses with us isn’t his real name. I never knew it. Heath didn’t want me mixed up with him or anyone else in the business once he was arrested, so he handled everything.”

I finish the final drops of my drink and stand with the glass. “I’d like to go see if she’s out yet.”

“Of course. She’ll be done soon,” she says, but when I make it to the threshold, her voice stops me. “Have you told her about your parents yet?”

I wasn’t expecting that. Sterling and Heath had known my father. I think Axel met Heath once too. I’m guessing she’s not referring to the deranged monster my father was though. It’s probably about how, nearly two decades ago, a house went up in flames, and heaven and hell each gained another resident.

I peer over my shoulder at her. “It’s common knowledge.”

“Newspaper articles are common knowledge,” she argues. “Your experience is not.”

“We haven’t had much opportunity for deep conversation.” That’s the truth, and yet, even if we’d had more discussions, I can’t imagine that being one of them. It’s not something I talk about. “Your point?”

She slants her head in appreciation, pleased that I requested more. “If you want Sylvie—really want her—then you need to be willing to lose as much as she thinks she could. You’re both gamblers. Ante up.”

I turn back to the lanai entrance, wondering what the hell I’m doing here. What do I even expect out of this? What if … “I’m not sure I’m built that way.”

“It’s not a matter of architecture. The door exists. You just have to choose to open it.”

Twenty minutes later, Sylvie wanders into the guest room while I’m digging into my bag. “So, you’re staying?”

“Was the plan for your mother to get rid of me?” I ask without turning around.

“It was a distinct possibility.”

“Sorry about your luck”—I spin with a pair of board shorts folded on my flat palm—“but you said Florida, and I realized it had been a while since I’d been to the beach.”

She’s got her wet hair knotted into a bun atop her head, no makeup on, and she’s wearing a boxy senior-citizen-worthy pajama set, littered with palm trees. Fucking gorgeous.

Her forehead wrinkles as she sniffs. “You had a cigarette with my mom. She only smokes if she’s hopeful or thinking about my father. Which was it?”

I obviously need to shower to get the smell off, but I don’t volunteer that. “Probably both.”

She soaks that in, thinking who knows what, so I drop the swim trunks back in my bag and poke.

“Cute PJs, Sly.”

A smug smile pulls at her lips. “They’re friend approved.”

“Friend approved, in the sense of appropriateness. Unlikely to draw the attention of the male gaze?”

She rolls those pretty amber eyes. “Sure.”

“Hmm,” I hum, unbuttoning my shirt. “You’d have to wear an invisibility cloak to hide how beautiful you are. Those are just more items for me to imagine piled on the floor. Next to the red dress.” I toss my button-up over my bag for a visual aid, my eyes never veering from hers. “I’ll build a monument out of the outfits I rip off your body and turn it into a La Lune Noire exhibit, so choose wisely.”

She swallows, her focus drifting between my chest, abs, and face, like she’s at war over whether to give in and gawk. “Maybe it’s an enter-at-your-own-risk situation. These are my period pajamas. So, imagine away.”

I’ve admittedly never been in a committed relationship, so maybe I have no right to judge, but has this woman only ever dated colossal assholes?

“You think talking about your period is going to scare me off? I’ve got a little sister and three sisters-in-law. I’m well versed in the ins and outs of that time of the month.”

A vibrant laugh escapes her, and, fuck, the way she makes me work for that sweet sound turns every single one into a treasure. I’m already a greedy bastard who won’t be happy without an entire trove.