Blake breezed his finger over the swell of my breast. “I noticed that one of them has almost faded. I’ll have to do something about that later.” He fed me a red grape. “My dad was a lifeguard when he was younger. That was how he met Laurel—he saved her from drowning. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that the incident was an act on her part to get his attention.”

I blinked, taken aback by him volunteering personal information. He never talked about his father or Laurel. Eager to know more, I asked, “Were you close to your dad?”

“No. It’s not that we didn’t get along. We just didn’t have anything in common. Didn’t really connect. And he found it hard that I didn’t like Laurel.” He idly plucked at my bikini strap. “Even when I was a kid, I didn’t like her.”

“Any particular reason why?”

“She was just so fake and sickly sweet, always asking me questions about my mom. She never liked that my parents got along well after their divorce. She felt threatened by their friendship.” He fed me another grape. “I walked in on her fucking her PT when I was eleven.”

“Shit.”

“Walked in on her with the pool guy when I was thirteen.”

“Double shit.”

“But the worst was when I heard her tell Emma that it was probably for the best that my mom died; that Rose was too messed up to raise me if she couldn’t even handle the dark. She’d only been dead three weeks.” He paused as a jet ski thundered past with a roar of its engine. “I lost the plot with Laurel that day. Came exceptionally close to slapping her.”

“I don’t blame you.” I probably would have slapped her.

He breezed the pad of his thumb over my cheekbone. “I guess you know what it’s like to hear people slate your mom.”

“Oh, yeah, I know what it’s like.” I ate the slice of mango he held out to me. “What happened the night Laurel first came onto you?”

“It was two years to the day that Levi died. She came into my room, drunk out of her mind, to check I was ‘okay.’ Said she was worried about me and begged me to confide in her. I told her to go. And she just flicked open the hook on her halter dress and let it fall to the floor. No underwear.”

My cheeks flushed with anger. “Jesus Christ.”

“I told her she had the count to five to get the fuck out of my room. She was gone by the count of four.”

“But she tried again, didn’t she?”

He nodded. “At random times. Like the day of my dad’s funeral, if you can believe that.”

I gaped. “You are fucking joking.”

“No, I’m not. It’s not that she desperately wants me or anything, Kensey. She tries it on with pretty much every young guy who crosses her path. She’s getting old and she hates it. Hates it. Fucking guys twenty-years her junior makes her feel young. I was just conveniently there at those particular times when she needed someone.”

“If she tries it again, I’ll slap the shit out of her. Just so you know.”

Mouth twitching, he kissed me. “She’s not worth your anger, baby.”

“Does she hate that you’re with me?”

“No. From what Emma said, she’s glad I have someone. Like I said, Kensey, she doesn’t desperately want me. The times she came onto me … it was never about me. It was about her own insecurities and anxieties about aging.”

“I still think she’s twisted, which probably sounds judgmental coming from someone who accepts that her mother married a death row inmate.” I looked toward the sea as I heard a girly shriek followed by a resounding splash. Resurfacing, the girl glowered at her laughing boyfriend. She had my sympathy, because Blake had done the same damn thing to me earlier.

“Speaking of my family … Emma called. The email address won’t help us find Smith.”

I frowned. “Why not?”

“She tracked the IP address to Canada. Obviously, Smith isn’t there. Emma suspects he used a Proxy to mask his actual IP info and give a false one.”

“Fuck it all. He’s so much smarter than I initially gave him credit for.”

“Yes,” agreed Blake. “I think we—” He cut off at the sound of his cell phone ringing. “Give me a sec.” He left the bed, retrieved his phone from the digital safe, and stood on the deck as he answered, “This better be important.” His entire body tensed. “What?” He swore. “How the hell did you miss that?” A long pause. “When I get back on Sunday, I expect this to be sorted … No, why the fuck would I come home early? You don’t need me for this.” He sighed. “Just fucking deal with it.” With that, he ended the call.

I rose from the bed and crossed to him. “What happened?”

His frown smoothed away, but his expression was stony. “It’s not related to Smith.”

“It’s related to your project.”

“Yes.” The word was curt. Emotionless. A door slamming shut, ending the conversation and shoving me out so abruptly I was surprised I didn’t shuffle back a step. I felt cold. Shunned. Alone.

I almost laughed bitterly. One minute we were talking—really, really talking—and he was looking at me with a warmth that could melt my bones. The next minute, there was a distance in his eyes and a coolness about him, and damn if I didn’t shiver at the sudden chill.

“I need to go make a call.” And then he walked away.

It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d stayed; I was too dispirited to eavesdrop. Right then, I didn’t fucking care about his damn project or have any interest in finding out what it was. I wished I could say I also didn’t care about Blake, but that would have been a lie.

I curled up on the rattan chair with my kindle, needing a brief escape. But I found myself reading the same sentence over and over; the words just meant nothing, I couldn’t absorb them.

I scrubbed my hand down my face, despising Tara in that moment. My gut told me that she’d been the caller, and it honestly wouldn’t have shocked me to hear that she’d purposely fucked something up in the bitchy hope that we’d cut our vacation short or that, at the very least, she’d manage to ruin it.

It was a few minutes before Blake reappeared. Wiping all emotion from my face, I looked up from the Kindle I wasn’t reading. His expression was still cool, his eyes still held a distance.

“I didn’t want this to follow us here,” he said. “I’m sorry that it did.”

He probably was sorry, but he didn’t seem it. The words sounded more like a formality. I shrugged and said, “Not your fault.” I lowered my eyes to the Kindle. “I’m gonna read for a while.”

“Hey, look at me.”

With an inward sigh of annoyance, I did. There was a flare of something in his eyes now, but it was far from warm.

“Don’t pull away from me, Kensey.”

The bastard had some front to say that to me. I kept my voice flat, refusing to let him see just how much this hurt. “It wasn’t me who pulled away. You’re the one that wants distance, Blake. Not me.” And then I turned back to my Kindle.

He bit out a curse and stormed out of the cabana. Oh my God, could he be more of a fucking child?

I hissed, furious. If anyone had the right to storm off in a huff, it was me. I was tempted to just grab my things and go back to the hotel suite. But why should I cut my day short? Why should I go confine myself to the suite just because he’d acted like a dick? I wasn’t going to let him—and, by extension, Tara—fuck up my day.