had passed, but the clouds still looked threatening. “What if it rains?”
Raven laughed as she zipped her jacket. “You’ll get wet. What are you afraid of? Made of sugar?”
“I’ve never been accused of being too sweet.”
“Good. Then you won’t melt.” She slid him a grin, and her brown eyes sparkled.
He liked her snark. Few people dared to snap back at him these days, even when he deserved it—which was probably more often than he cared to admit. He was surrounded by yes-men who tiptoed around, kissing his ass and doing whatever it took to keep their jobs.
Some of those poor bastards had no idea that even Krazy Gluing their lips to his ass cheeks wouldn’t keep them in Jack’s employ.
Such was the nature of the kill-or-be-killed world of high finance.
Jesus, fuckwit, quit thinking about work. You’re supposed to be taking a break from that shit.
Shoving back the thoughts that had sent him searching for solitude in the first place, Jack followed Raven to the end of the driveway. “This place better be worth getting soaked for.”
Raven wrinkled her pretty nose. “Maybe not soaked, but definitely drizzled on. And even worth having frizzy hair.”
Jack took her in. Raven might have been Lark’s sister, but they couldn’t have been more different. Lark was an artist with an earth goddess, bohemian vibe. A perpetual seeker of balance and harmony. He’d only known Raven for about twelve hours but already sensed she was bolder, brasher, and more upfront. And she was absolutely stunning.
Raven had dominated his thoughts last night as he’d tossed and turned, attempting to fall asleep. How could he not think of her when their hot-as-lightning kiss kept looping through his mind? Her mouth on his, the sweet taste of her tongue, and the scent of her skin, had driven him wild. Not to mention the sight of her smoking hot body, and the fiery passion in her eyes. But she’d been drunk and dreaming of some asshole named Mr. Perfect. Like the greedy prick that he was, Jack had taken what he could from her anyway because he’d needed something to dull the bitter sting of his shitty day. Acquiring a company potentially worth billions should have made him ecstatic. Instead, he’d felt like shit.
And then this morning, the woman who’d nearly kept him up all night surprised him once again when she’d stumbled into the kitchen looking like she’d been run over by a tequila truck. Her hair was tousled, make-up smudged, and her faded pajama bottoms had holes in them. He’d actually slept with women who’d jumped out of bed to brush their teeth before kissing him in the morning. Clearly, Raven was different. She didn’t give a shit what she looked like when she rolled out of bed.
She was real. Authentic. And damn if that didn’t add to her mystique.
She’d stunned him one last time when she’d retreated upstairs to get ready. He’d expected she’d be an hour or more, but not fifteen minutes later, she was in the foyer, polished to perfection. He hadn’t intended to check her out, but she’d looked so good that he couldn’t help noticing the way her cream-colored sweater clung to the sides of her breasts or how her dark blue jeans fit her curves so well. But the thing that really killed him was the way her heeled riding boots hugged her calves. The soft brown leather against the denim made him want to run his hands up her legs.
Except he hadn’t come to Heron Harbor to get laid. He’d come for some peace and quiet and to get his head right about the damage that he’d wrought, yet again.
But he couldn’t help wanting to know more about her.
“So besides staying at already rented beach houses, what else do you do?” He asked as they set out on Beach Drive.
“I’d rather hear about how you met my sister.”
Interesting. She’d deflected his interest in her. Okay, he’d play along. “I’m sure Lark told you.”
“She did, but I’d like to hear your side of things.”
“We met through a friend in common in the art community.”
“Andre.”
“Yes. He introduced us.”
“And?” Raven probed.
She obviously knew more. But how much, he wasn’t sure. “Your sister has become a good friend.”
“Just a friend.” Raven didn’t sound convinced. For some reason, he wanted her to be.
“Our singular date made it clear we’d never be more than that. Your sister is charming and very talented, but we’re far too different to be soulmates.”
Truthfully, he should stop calling it a date.