And wasn’t that ironic, when our whole relationship had been founded on secrets—huge secrets—all by my own doing? I didn’t believe in karma, but if I did, this would be one of those moments where I’d be cursing it, because it was now biting me on the ass.

She was staring at my shoulder now. Her eyes fixed on my tattoo. And she’d transferred whatever morbid thoughts she’d been entertaining from the twenty-year-old snapshot to the name inked across my left collarbone.

I backed off and turned to lead her out of the room. It had been a shitty idea to bring her up there anyway.

On the side of my house opposite the beach, there was a covered pool that was entirely private, complete with retractable roof and walls. I chose to keep it enclosed and swam laps for about thirty minutes while she sat on the edge of the pool with her feet in the water, kicking up splashes every so often—usually as I swam by.

After she made at least a dozen attempts to splash me, I finally decided to get playful and grab her leg. She promptly gasped and tried to kick her leg free, but by then I had my arms wrapped around both of her legs. When I gave her a tug, like I meant to pull her in, she finally stopped laughing and firmly told me to stop, so I let go.

I trod water in front of her. She bent down and pushed my hair back from my face, scrutinizing me. “I made marks on your neck,” she said. “I’m gonna guess that Jordan gave you a lot of crap about that.”

A lazy smile spread across my face. If I had my way, we’d be making marks on each other’s necks again very soon. “I made more marks on your neck.” I hooked an arm over the side of the pool right beside her leg. I reached out with one hand and cupped her supple, muscular calf. Her legs drove me insane. They were long, curvy, firm. And the silky feel of the skin inside her thighs was enough to make me go hard at the thought of it. In fact I was sporting a semi at this very moment and it would be graduating to full hard-on pretty soon.

We’d fucked in this pool once. It had been quite fun. But today I could have just as easily spread her across my bed. Or bent her over a chair. God, my mind was wandering in all sorts of directions I couldn’t afford for it to go.

But more than anything, I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to know what her worries were. I wanted to define what this was between us, secure it for the future. I wanted her back with me as soon as possible and I’d do whatever it took to get it.

So tonight… No sex. We’d talk.

I pulled myself out of the pool at the lip and landed next to her, reaching behind us to pull a clean towel off the rack where they lay. I toweled my hair and wiped my face.

Emilia grabbed another towel and started drying off my chest. I jerked toward her, making a feint as if I was going to pull her into a soaking wet bear hug. She smacked me and pulled away. I hooked my hand around the back of her neck and pulled her head to mine, landing a long, firm kiss on her mouth.

We kissed for a long moment, my mouth on hers. I didn’t press her for more. I wanted more, but it would have been too easy for us to get distracted. With the energy crackling between us, I knew it wouldn’t be long before we were in bed again.

And now was as good a time as any to broach the subject. “So,” I said, after we’d pulled apart and she took a long breath, cold air hissing past my lips. I caught her golden-brown eyes with mine.

“So,” she said, bringing her feet out of the pool and pulling her knees up to her chin. She watched me for a long moment.

“We should probably talk…”

She promptly stopped breathing.

I mean—it looked like it, anyway. She sat so still, frozen like a statue, as if in sheer terror. I wondered for a split second if even her heart had stopped beating. And she was definitely paler and chewing on her lip.

There was a long stretch of silence between us. I was tempted to let her off the hook. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t. There was a delicate line here, I knew. Between pushing her to tell me what was going on and pushing her too hard. I had to find that line and tread it carefully.

She took in a deep breath and lifted her head from her knees, her eyes settling on my tattoo again. “Why don’t you ever talk about her?”

I froze. “I don’t have a reason to talk about her.”

She frowned. “You don’t miss her?”

A strange feeling tightened at the back of my throat. My heart felt—lopsided. Every beat was like stab of accusation in my chest. You don’t miss her? Every day. Every goddamn day.

“Emilia—”

“Why do you keep her so secret?” Her forehead creased as if she was trying to puzzle out something impossible. Then she reached out and traced a single finger over the script of my sister’s name.