Chapter 2

The taxi ride had been silent except for Brad’s grumbling about “tourist traps” and “goddamn GPS.” But nothing could’ve prepared them for the sight of ‘An Uncommon Cove.’

The lobby was all polished teak and seashell chandeliers—and also, unmistakably, a middle-aged couple strolling toward the pool, champagne glasses in hand, their bare asses glowing under the tropical sun. Jerry’s eyebrows shot up so fast Molly thought they might vanish into his hairline.

“Sir,” one of the naked twins—Lena or Lara, their nametags were strategically absent—smiled politely as Brad slammed his palms on the desk, jowls quivering with outrage. “As stated in your confirmation email, we are a clothing-optional—”

“Bullshit,” Brad spat, flecking the counter with spittle. “I booked a normal resort!”

Molly bit her lip to keep from laughing. This was better than she’d hoped.

Jerry rubbed his temple. “Dad. Just ... breathe.”

One twin—Lena?—leaned forward slightly, her nipples brushing the reservation ledger. “We do offer complimentary sunscreen at the—”

“I don’t care if you offer free gold-plated tampons!” Brad bellowed, drawing stares from a nude couple checking in behind them.

Ginny’s face was the color of a fire alarm. “Brad,” she hissed, grabbing his elbow. “Stop humiliating us.”

Molly, meanwhile, was memorizing the way Jerry’s throat worked as he tried not to stare at the twins’ perky breasts—and failing spectacularly.

“Fine!” Brad threw his hands up. “But I’m keeping my clothes on!”

The twins exchanged a glance. “Naturists do prefer the term ‘textile-free,’ sir,” Lara (probably) said sweetly.

Jerry coughed into his fist. Ginny looked like she wanted to melt into the floor.

And Molly? Molly was already unbuttoning her sundress.

“What the hell are you doing?” Brad wheezed.

Molly grinned, letting the fabric slip off one shoulder. “When in Rome, Mr. Brent.”

Brad sputtered, his jowls trembling. “Jerry—control your damn girlfriend!”

Jerry sighed, stepping forward while keeping his gaze carefully above shoulder-level on the receptionists. His fingers closed around the key cards with a smooth efficiency. “Dad,” he murmured, voice low and steady—the same tone he used before tense fourth-quarter plays. “Our luggage is already en route to the rooms. Let’s go before you give yourself an aneurysm.” His palm pressed firmly between Brad’s shoulder blades, steering him toward the elevator with the quiet authority of someone used to moving much larger men.

Brad grumbled, but allowed himself to be guided—though not before shooting a venomous glare over his shoulder. “This place is a disgrace!”

Molly wiggled her fingers in a playful wave, letting her sundress pool at her feet. Ginny’s sharp inhale was audible. The younger woman’s freckles did trail deliciously—down her collarbones, over pert breasts with nipples that stood at attention in the air-conditioned lobby, all the way to where that adorable heart-shaped patch of fiery curls peeked above her thighs. Ginny’s mouth went suddenly dry.

“Virginia?” Molly tilted her head, scooping up her discarded clothes. “You coming?”

Ginny’s cheeks flamed. “Oh! No, I—” She laughed too loudly, waving a dismissive hand. “Trust me, darling, no one wants to see this old lady au naturel.”

“Liar.” Molly stepped closer—close enough for Ginny to catch the faint coconut scent of her sunscreen. “You’re gorgeous.” Her fingers brushed Ginny’s wrist—just for a second—before pulling away. “But suit yourself.” She nodded toward the elevators, where Jerry was trying to press his father into the car, while the older man was still trying to argue.

Ginny exhaled shakily, watching Molly saunter off—the way the late afternoon sun gilded the curve of her ass, the confident sway that said she’d always known exactly how stunning she was.

Jesus Christ. Ginny pressed her palms to her heated cheeks. When did I become such a goddamn cliché?

Meanwhile, Brad’s bellowing echoed off the palm trees: “Keep your damn hands to yourself, son!”

Jerry’s answering chuckle was pure, unrepentant mischief.

Jerry slid the cabin door shut with his foot, tossing their keycards onto the dresser. The tropical air clung to his skin, still thick with the scent of salt and plumeria even indoors. “Well,” he exhaled, running a hand through his auburn hair, “Dad really outdid himself this time.”