Reynolds' Family Romance

BAILEE

Darkness and silence met me when I finally reopened my eyes. Which meant that Dad had actually succeeded in getting everyone to the beach without me. Way to go, Dad. Woohoo, five hundred points to Gryffindor.

I stepped out of my hammock and slipped into some version of a short dress that was entirely too loose and too short should anyone come wandering back into the house.

But I was on vacation too, something I had a hard time believing. One wrong move and the entire beach would see my ass. It was a good thing no one was here and I had the entire house to myself.

Unfortunately, that’s when my stomach decided to remind me that while I had avoided my entire family’s festivities, I had also missed out on the only opportunity for food tonight.

Sure, Dad promised me a plate later on. But later on could be tomorrow morning for all I knew.

I ventured into the kitchen, my eyes roaming for any sources of food or snacks. Bare. Nothing. I hadn’t even managed to steal an extra packet of peanuts from the plane, which meant I was shit out of luck.

I let out a breathy sigh, taking in the massive amount of space as the moonlight lit up the wood adornments along the wall.

During the day, the massive windows reflecting the light were gorgeous, illuminating the most intricate pieces of this massive house.

At night, it was just creepy.

Great place to stage a horror movie.

I chuckled at my dry humor as I rummaged around the kitchen. My parents hadn’t stocked it yet, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something from the last tenant.

And yes, I was that desperate to avoid everyone down at the beach. But there was nothing that would fill my empty stomach…except the really, ~really~ expensive whiskey that I found in one of the cabinets.

I popped the top and took a whiff, cringing at the potent scent. Bad things happened when I drank. Like breakdowns, freak-outs, and bad decisions.

But I was starving and the whiskey would at least warm my insides. I took a swig, relishing the way it burned the back of my throat. Fuck, that’s good. Another swig and I knew for a fact that I was going to regret this.

I whipped out my journal, smiling as I flipped to the next blank page, and then shifted to one of my favorite Pandora stations.

Confetti’s song, “Rob a Bank,” blasted through my phone speaker and my pen began gliding over the page as I detailed the events of the day, my smile widening as doe eyes flashed through my head.

To Whom It Doesn’t Concern,

These were the moments that I loved. The ones where I was free to be alone. The ones where I was free to be me.

A noise had my entire body stiffening, my eyes rising to the form that had entered my kitchen. The bottle was halfway to my lips, and I couldn’t remember when I had started dancing like a fucking animal in the darkness.

It’s him.

The hottie. The sex guide. The guy who Mya had called dibs on and I really wanted to break girl code for.

And he was here. In my kitchen. And we were the only two people in the house.

“Fuck.”

MASON

The Reynoldses were a strange family. I dealt with a lot of rich, uppity clients, but the Reynoldses were among the worst.

Everything had to be to certain specifications, and it was only by some miracle that we had a villa that fit their needs.

Even as I met them this afternoon, I instantly hated the chaos they were going to bring to this side of the beach.

Mr. Reynolds seemed to cater to his wife, but like in a rollover, do-anything-for-her kind of way. The oldest daughter seemed like she wanted to be anywhere else.

The one with the kids from hell wouldn’t stop eye-fucking me, but I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole. Even if not for the kids, there was just something about her that seemed…off.

And the youngest—his fiancée had wandering eyes too. Strangely enough, they weren’t for me, but for Mr. Reynolds. I wondered if he knew.

The entire family was a bit of a fucking mess.

Except for the bronze-skinned girl who seemed a little worse for wear and looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. I couldn’t blame her, what with the family she had been stuck with.

But the way she zoned out when I talked—not because she was ogling me—but because she was in her own world, her sea-glass eyes shimmering as they focused on other realities, got under my skin in a way I couldn’t really explain.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her as I left the house that morning and hoped I’d meet the skittish young woman at least once more during her stay.

I knew I just needed to fuck something, that this wouldn’t develop any further than that. I had been burned too many times to count and lost too many things in life to believe that I had any hope of finding my forever.

She’d fill the needy, desperate hole in my heart for the time being before she fucked off to whatever rich corner she had come from.

Seven days. That’s all I had.

But when Mr. Reynolds called and mentioned that one of the bathroom vanities was loose, I thought I might have a chance sooner than that.

He explicitly mentioned that there wouldn’t be anyone in the house, so I wasn’t expecting to see her here, whiskey on her tongue, her eyes wide as I came back from the quick fix.

The shirt she had thrown on barely covered her ass, even less as her arm was raised to hold the bottle.

Fuck, I wanted to do things to her…

I wanted to kiss those open lips. She mumbled a guttural “Fuck,” her entire body tense. I was ashamed to admit that that one word went straight to my groin.