PULSE: A Stepbrother Romance (5 page)

SAFFRON

Chapter 5

PENSACOLA

FOUR
WEEKS AGO

T
he private flight down wasn’t all
that bad, but that’s primarily because I had my iPod’s earbuds jammed into my
ears – and a good book in my lap. Every once in a while, I’d glance over
at Sawyer. I’d expected him to put on some bullshit display of arrogance, but
he sat further ahead, facing the window. He barely seemed to move, although it
was clear that he wasn’t asleep.

Weird.

Dad’s friend
Hensley picked us up from the runway when we arrived, loading up the back of a
large black sedan with our luggage. Sawyer gave him a hand, then grabbed his
motorcycle helmet and mounted his cycle – of
course
he’d insisted on bringing that thing along but there was no
way it was going to fit into the plane. Dad had paid someone an almost criminal
amount of money to ship it down here over the last couple of days.

While Hensley
pointed out a few things here or there – updating me on how Pensacola had
adjusted in the years since we’d been here last – I couldn’t help but
wonder what had gotten into Sawyer. He’d actually been almost
pleasant
to live with for the last
couple of days, although part of that was that he wasn’t around much.

Since he had
arrived with a duffle bag and the clothes on his back, Dad had taken him
shopping around, although he never appeared to come back with much. It was when
he went off alone that he returned with a few bags of clothing – the
essentials, from what I could see. It was clear that he packed lightly and
minimally, even down to the clothing that would last him the summer.

Although,
maybe he was just planning on buying clothes while we were here. I felt silly
thinking it, realizing that I could have spared the trouble and just snapped some
clothing up after we arrived and got settled in – but I liked my things,
and didn’t see the point in buying more.

It wasn’t
long before we arrived at the family villa. Seeing the Beach House brought me
straight back to before – before our family had come together, only to be
pulled apart. None of us had been here since that fateful night, and my time
here had become some sort of a bitter memory.

No, bitter’s
not quite the right word.

After we
pulled in, Sawyer parked and dismounted his motorcycle, and I climbed out of
the sedan. He wandered over the to side; Hensley began removing our luggage
from the trunk, and I took a moment to soak in the sight.

Standing tall
and proud, the Beach House sprawled upwards and outwards in its entire
exquisite, Spanish-Mediterranean splendor. Coated across its textured walls
with a creamy, pale orange, our vacation home was a proud monument of cultural
adherence and beauty. The eye-catching roofing, staggered across the connected
buildings, was clad with the traditional standard – imported, rounded
European clay tiles. The entire structure was lined with countless black iron
windows, consistently applying the same aesthetic to the two second-floor
doorways; symmetrically built on either side, these doorways stood framed by
exquisite wooden balcony enclosures.

My fingertips
graced the thick, creamy orange stairway hand-rest, curving upwards along the
steps to the front door. I ran my hand along the edge, feeling the rough
texture that matched the Beach House walls.

I felt like I
was home again.

“Welcome
home, Saffie,” Sawyer whispered in my ear.

Well,
apparently I wasn’t the only one.

I turned to
glare at my glorified babysitter. While I expected him to have another one of
his patented cocky smirks across his face, I was surprised to see him gazing up
at the walls with wide, thoughtful eyes. It was clear that he was having the
same sort of reaction I was…and I quelled the sarcastic retort that had sprung
to mind.

“You really
missed this place, didn’t you?” He asked.

“…You might
say that,” I admitted cautiously.

“Yeah. I
think I did too.”

The moment
was surreal. After all this time, I was finally back here, and so was he…but
his entire jackass deal was nowhere in sight. He even looked
sad
as he took it all in. His shoulders
were slumped, and there was something in his eyes…something I couldn’t put my
finger on…

“Well, we’d
better get you lot inside!” Hensley chuckled loudly from behind. We snapped out
of it, turning to face the charmingly boisterous driver. His arms were full of
luggage, and we quickly scrambled to give him a hand with everything.

“Oh,
don’t worry about me, I can easily get this all inside…”

“Nonsense,
Hensley,” Sawyer told him. “You’re not our personal servant. Let us give you a hand
with this.”

“Well…if you insist…”
he remarked with a soft smile.

We followed
our associate up the stairs, where he paused to set down his armfuls of
suitcases. Whipping a thick keyring from his pocket, he sifted through a dozen
keys in the blink of an eye.

“Here we go!
Mister and Missus Samuels, may I humbly welcome you back to the Beach House…”

With a hard
turn of his wrist, the door loudly unlocked, and he stepped aside while pushing
it open.

Sawyer and I
passed beside him and into the large foyer. With a flick of his finger to the
light switch, the room was quickly bathed in light.

Oh fuck
, I thought to myself.
It’s just as beautiful as I remember it.

Beautiful,
stained hardwood floors stretched across the villa – accented perfectly
by the off-white paint across the crisp, modern walls. Various pieces of
exquisite décor tastefully surrounded us – predominately represented by a
modest array of paintings on the wall and display pieces from world travels available
on accent tables or nearby shelves. Above us hung a beautiful crystal
chandelier, twinkling in the splendor of its own lights. My eyes trailed past
it and up to the second floor, wrapped in exquisite black iron railings as it
stretched across the foyer.

“I’d
forgotten how much I missed this fucking place,” I heard Sawyer murmur beside
me. “Never thought I’d be back here again…”

My brow
furrowed.
 
Had he seriously meant to leave us forever?

I opened my
mouth to press the issue.

“Well, you’re
free to dawdle as much as you’d like, but preferably
after
you’re both situated on the luggage front!” Hensley laughed
from behind. “Although, I don’t blame you…it’s nice to see the house getting
some use. It’s been
dreadful
checking
on things here while it collected dust.”

“Yeah, I’m
surprised it’s in as good shape as it is,” I admitted quickly. “I’d honestly
expected to walk in on cobwebs…and sheets over the furniture.”

“Oh, you
don’t
seriously
think your parents
were going to have you stay here if that were really the case?” Hensley popped
up beside me, peering slyly into my eyes.

I tried to
turn away, but he’d already seen them.

“My word! You
did!
For
shame
, Ms. Saffron! Of course they bid a crew of housekeepers to
whip the house back into shape! Must have been about two weeks ago, if memory
serves…why, they even came back yesterday, just to freshen it up!”

“That makes
sense,” Sawyer commented. “I’m happy they had the foresight to do so.”

“
You too?”
Hensley shook his head in mock
disappointment. “Well, this will just have to be our little secret,” he smiled.
“Can’t have your parents knowing you think so very
little
of them…”

Sawyer and I
shared a smile.

As we started
moving our things towards our rooms, I couldn’t help but reflect on how
different
my stepbrother was being. His
usual jackass demeanor had evaporated upon us arriving here. Even on the drive,
he’d been distant. It was almost as if he hadn’t wanted to be anywhere near me.

But that had
changed when the Beach House came into view.

He acted like
he had before, in those brief flashes. Instead of antagonizing me, he was calm,
agreeable, and almost carefree.

It had been a
long time since I’d seen him relaxed.

Then again,
it had been a long time since I’d
seen
him.

It occurred
to me that he might have changed. The first impression had left a little
something to be desired. He had visibly been the same unrepentant asshole he
was when he abandoned us, but now…

I was
starting to have my doubts.

Hensley left
to check on some things around the Beach House while we continued moving our
luggage to our rooms. We’d packed enough apiece to last us the summer, and it
showed
in the volume of suitcases.

Surprisingly
– or maybe not – Sawyer had fit his possessions in less than a
quarter
of what I brought. It’s not like
I had packed heavily, either. I’d limited myself to maybe ten pairs of shoes,
and roughly three outfits tailored to each of them. A girl never knows what
she’ll need to be prepared for, right?

“Do you need
a hand with this?”

I glanced
over at him as I paused. In the moment, I was struggling with one of my largest
suitcases, trying to extract it from the vehicle.

“I…wait, are
you already done?”

“Yeah, I
finished up a few minutes ago. Looks like you could use some help.”

“Sure, if
you…don’t mind…” I responded, standing back.

Sawyer
slipped into place in front of the deep trunk. With the heat, he had pulled off
his unbuttoned over-shirt and the top beneath, revealing a trimming, black tank
top. For the first time, I was seeing the definition of his strong, toned
arms…and a slight gasp caught in my throat.

The muscles
rippled as he effortlessly extracted the suitcase from the vehicle. I couldn’t
peel my eyes off of his skin as I realized how
built
my stepbrother was. I knew he had bulked up in the
intervening time – I would have to be blind to have not noticed –
but this was
way
more than I had
thought. Without his leather jacket or sweaters, Sawyer couldn’t hide his
muscular build anymore.

But it wasn’t
all just mindless bulk. His musculature was streamlined, allowing him to move
easily and carefully. He had stopped short of becoming an amateur bodybuilder,
but it was still a distinct difference from the underdeveloped teenager of my
past.

“Something
the matter?” Sawyer smiled coyly.

I realized
that I had been staring at his build…and long enough for him to have noticed.

“No, no,
nothing, I was just…”

“Admiring,
maybe?”

“Oh, quit
it.” I admonished him. “Let me just grab this…”

I reached for
the suitcase, but he lifted it out of the way. It didn’t escape my notice that
I’d struggled with the damn thing, but he was effortlessly maneuvering it
around with just his wrist.

“No, I said
I’d help you with this, remember? If you’re having this much trouble with
getting it out of the car, how do you expect to get it up to the second floor
and across the house?”

He had me
there.

Pausing to
grab another of my suitcases with his free hand, he followed me as I carried my
small one and led him back into the Beach House. We climbed the staircase on
the immediate left, and then continued onward into the left wing. We passed
down the corridor towards our bedrooms, between frames featuring
extraordinarily talented painters local to Pensacola.

Mom had
always been a fan of underappreciated artists. Even when it was just the two of
us, and although she could barely afford to do so, she proudly displayed a few
works from her friends in the dining room. After the marriage, Mom loved to
support their work as well as that of local artists, often paying above what
they would ask for even their larger prints. Chet had always seemed not only
encouraging of this, but also delighted by it – it seemed to be one of
the ways in which she enriched his life, the way that he treated it. I never
remembered much art in his house before Mom and I moved in. It just seemed to
be the kind of thing he never paid much attention to, at least not until they
met one another.