ed, heading inland toward her. A whole swarm of butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she retrieved the rafts and flopped them onto the surface of the water, knowing all the while he watched her. She waded into the cold water, shivering.
“You brought a lot of stuff with you,” she commented as she maneuvered the two rafts toward him and he approached. The inland lake was deep and cold. As always, she part dreaded, part relished the idea of plunging her whole body into the chilly water. “How far away is your house from here?” She shoved one of the rafts in his direction. He grabbed it.
“Just a half a mile that way,” he said, waving to the south.
“Not that huge white house? The one with the pool and everything?”
He nodded.
“But that’s . . . that’s like a mansion, isn’t it?” she asked disbelievingly. She’d jogged with Tahi down that section of the beach a few times. The sprawling white house, as they’d dubbed it, rarely seemed occupied. They used to speculate about the people who lived there, amazed at the idea that someone would own such a magnificent beach house and use it so rarely. After Tahi and Zara had returned home last night from Chauncy’s, Laila had questioned them incessantly about any new details they’d learned about the guys, but most especially Asher. Zara had told her that she’d gotten the impression that Eric and Asher came from a really old, wealthy family.
“They’re like American royalty or something,” Zara had stated wisely, excitement shining in her eyes. She had obviously been nearly as taken with Eric as Laila was with Asher. Tahi had whispered amusedly to Laila that Zara and Eric had gotten very close last night. “They were practically sucking each other’s faces off in an empty corner of Chauncy’s.”
“It’s big, I’ll give you that,” Asher said presently, stating the obvious with a careless shrug.
“What is the Gaites-Granville family business, exactly?”
“Gaites-Granville Media,” he said in a flat tone. “It’s a conglomerate of newspapers, television stations, magazines.” He heaved his long body onto the raft, belly down, spraying Laila with water in the process and scattering her thoughts.
“Hey,” she protested, laughing. Realizing she was getting soaked anyway, and that she might as well get it over with, she hefted herself onto her raft in a sitting position. She made a squeaking sound of discomfort when the raft temporarily sank below the surface and she was submerged in cold water. She noticed Asher’s wide grin of amusement and splashed him in the face. He looked surprised.
“What’d I do to deserve that?”
“You laughed at me,” she told him succinctly, settling herself on the raft and lying on her back. She closed her eyes as the bobbing raft stilled. The hot sun felt nice against her chilled skin. “Never laugh at Laila,” she teased.
“You’re right,” she heard him say after a pause. Something in his tone made her lift her head off the raft cushion. Her grin vanished. He was staring at her body with open appreciation. He noticed her looking and met her stare. The honest male heat in his gaze made her breath catch in her lungs.
“Laughing is the last reaction that comes to mind when I look at you.”
• • •
Maybe he shouldn’t have said something so obvious—so sexual—but it had just popped out. He shook his head ruefully and gave her an apologetic glance. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come on so strong. It’s just . . . you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
Her full, damp lips parted in what appeared to be amazement. He couldn’t help but smile. She was so fresh. So unexpected.
“Don’t tell me no one has ever told you that before.”
“They haven’t,” she said with a strange, dubious certainty. She propped her upper body up on her elbows. A small smile flickered across her lips. “I’m guessing my dad doesn’t count?”
“He most definitely doesn’t.”
“Yeah. He’s obligated to say I’m prettier than Zara and Tahi. He’s my dad,” she said, her smile widening. He’d made her uncomfortable with his compliment, so she was making light of it.
“They’re like sisters to you, aren’t they? Zara and Tahi?”
“Yeah. Our three families are really close. Sometimes a little too close,” she added, rolling her eyes. “Plus, my mom and dad are friends with like . . . everyone in a six-block radius of our house in Detroit. In the summertime especially, I feel like I live my life in a fishbowl.” He gave her a questioning glance. “Because everyone in our neighborhood sits on their porch when it’s nice out. Sometimes it feels like I can’t make the smallest move without someone documenting it and reporting it back to my mother or one of my aunts or something. Plus, my dad owns a collision and glass repair shop, and he’s really good. I waitress at a restaurant near where I go to school, and sometimes it seems like every fourth or fifth person I wait on has had their car repaired by him after a wreck.”
“That’s why you said coming here to the lake is like an escape?”
She hesitated. “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I love my family. It’s just—”
“It’s no fun, living under a magnifying lens,” he said. He grabbed her raft with one hand and brought it alongside his, keeping his expression casual to prevent a return of her nerves. He lined them up so they lay side by side, he on his stomach and she on her back, their faces only a foot or so apart.
“You sound like you know what that’s like. Living under a magnifying glass,” she said after a pause.
“I do.”
“But you’ve been living in California for the past four years, haven’t you? And you said you only consider your mom and dad family. Whose eyes have been on you?”