by Ember Leigh
I call out to her just as she knocks on my door. She spins around, cupping her eyes against the bright new day.
“I can’t figure out what to wear!” she cries out.
I grin. At least there isn’t an emergency, like she and Rhys calling off the wedding or some sort of nighttime venomous sea creature bite.
“What’s the problem?” Weston twists to look back at her, and all I can see is the crinkle of his belly as he turns. Jesus, this man is pure muscle and heat. Every time we’ve touched, he’s been warm, living steel. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to run my fingers over those abs. If the sound of his voice in the morning can turn me on, I can’t imagine what his voice might do to me if we were actually getting intimate with each other. I’d turn into a quivering, whimpering mess before he even took his clothes off.
“She, uh…photo.” I swallow hard, trying to remember English, or anything that is not a vision of what sex with Weston would be like. “We’re doing a picture.”
“A picture?” He smiles up at me, a dimple flashing. Ugh, his rough bass and dark hair can shut up already. I can’t look at this man anymore.
“Shoot,” I clarify, looking out into the distance. “Photo shoot. Like a…” All I can think about is whether he’d give me that smile in the bedroom, too. “What do you call it? Bride thingy.”
“And you’re the professional photographer here,” he says, but there’s warmth in his jab. It doesn’t slice as much as it amuses. For once.
“Believe it or not, I can do the job, even if I can’t describe it.” Amelia looks impatient, so I know I need to cut my beach reverie with Weston short. I’m not sure if I should be mortified or emboldened by what happened here this morning, so I’ll just consciously avoid thinking about it for a while. “I gotta go.”
Weston uses two fingers to salute me, and I begin a slow trudge through the sand.
Even amid the confusion, each step away from Weston reinforces one basic truth: I want more of this man.
Chapter 10
WESTON
There’s something floating in the air today. Like someone at the resort made an essential oil blend of caffeine and Adderall and set the diffuser on high. I am amped for no discernible reason. I soar through breakfast, chug fresh pineapple juice, and crush my metaphorical obstacles against my forehead like a pop can.
I am ready for whatever comes my way. And even though my A game is prepared for mountain climbing or solving complex riddles, what actually happens is Rhys’s and Amelia’s families begin to arrive on the island.
Both sets of parents arrive just before lunch, along with scattered aunts and uncles and cousins, which means lots of introductions and an afternoon full of Amelia’s and Rhys’s fathers. Apparently destination wedding schedules are dictated by gender, so we are tasked with entertaining the men while Amelia and her crew entertain the women.
This means I don’t see Nova. Not even a glimpse as we cycle through the bars and the fathers get progressively drunker. Even though both families are rich as hell, nobody has ever made it to Aruba, so this is basically the fifty-something parent equivalent of spring break. The only thing missing is slipping dollar bills into the string bikinis of hired dancers.
And just like that, a gut punch of adrenaline hits me. My mind is riveted on Nova once again. That bikini she wore this morning—holy with a side of hell. I exhale long and low, looking to the heavens for reinforcement.
It wasn’t just the fact that the emerald green scraps of fabric straining across her tits and over her pussy were some of the only pieces of cloth I’ve been jealous of in this life. It was the fact that I caught her. I fucking caught her. She was letting loose in the ocean, with gorgeous, swaying hips and red, windblown hair like the most erotic performance artist—or maybe witch—I’ve ever laid eyes on.
And yes, my goal was to ignore her. To let her be, to continue with my own agenda as usual.
But fuck, my agenda is boring. I could have hooked up with any number of girls last night, but that’s not interesting to me. I thought this to be an unwavering fact about masculinity: as long as there is sex potential, there is excitement.
The endless stream of doe-eyed blondes and brunettes wandering this island proves to me my basic assumption about my own sexuality is wrong. I thought ignoring Nova would be easy. Turns out, it’s the type of challenge that deserves a trophy simply for participating.
And this millennial will have failed so badly I won’t even get a participation award.
How can I turn away from Nova now? She’s existed as a distantly unlikeable gnat for the past four years, until she exploded into a super-fucking-rare and gorgeous butterfly in the blink of an eye. How was I supposed to know this buxom babe is also an artistic genius and wittier than fuck? Trust me, I scoped out her sunrise pictures. Right before taking my own little gems of her gorgeous dance session.
Because I see Nova, despite how much she thinks I don’t notice anything other than peripheral pussy. She’s doing the things that I want to do—sitting on the sidelines, talking about weird shit, getting up at the buttcrack of dawn just for a good sunrise.
And honestly, sunrises technically qualify as ‘seen one, seen them all,’ but they’re one of the few exemptions. Every single sunrise is unique and awe-inspiring in its own way, and Nova seems like the kind of person who gets that.
I’m not even going to get started on how painfully fucking attracted I am to her. It’s a moot point anyway, because she’s got that situation back home. Which is yet another reason to stay the fuck away.
But I can’t.
So I won’t.
The day blurs by in childhood stories and good old fashioned male bonding. All that’s missing is going out into the field to hunt some pheasants or quail, which I’m sure we would have done had there been time and rifles available. I spend a lot of time with Amelia’s dad talking about fly fishing, because he discovered that I’ve actually been fly fishing before, so he goes into extensive detail about his trip last fall. Every conversation I have is punctuated with curiosity about Nova. I can’t get her out of my head. And it’s absolutely the most annoying thing ever.
By the time evening rolls around, everyone is being herded toward a specific patio in the middle of the resort for our dinner. It’s the first semiformal event of the wedding week, with both sides’ parents in attendance. The itinerary Amelia gave me had this dinner marked with a star: The Bradford and Baker Family Mixer. Enormous white sheets swoop between trellises, and spotlights illuminate the sheets in bright blues and greens. Twinkle lights adorn nearly every other inch of the patio, and from the sheer number of servers here folding cloth napkins, I can tell this is going to be a hell of a soiree.
I still haven’t seen Nova, and I’m not even trying to hide how hard I’m looking for her. Not seeing her since seven that morning feels less like twelve hours and more like an eternity. The patio is brimming with conversation and laughter. Keko appears at my side, clamping his hand on my shoulder.
“You want anything?” he asks.
“Root beer,” I tell him.
He rolls his eyes. “What else?”
“If they don’t have root beer in the bottle, I’ll take it in a glass.” I grin as he rolls his eyes harder. “And if not in a glass, then I’ll take water.”
“I’m bringing you whisky,” he tells me, and then walks toward the bar on the patio. Which is fine. I’ll drink whisky. I just want to avoid being in a drunken haze all evening. Yes, we’re here to celebrate, but I like to actually remember my travels and big events. Especially when Rhys is so prone to getting sauced—he needs someone to help him remember his own damn wedding week.
I spot Amelia nearby, conversing with her aunt and uncle. Electricity sizzles up my spine. If Amelia is here, Nova must be near. She has to be. Everything inside me is tense as I wait to spot the gorgeous, bristly redhead. Keko returns with our drinks just as I spot her.
Camera to her face. Half-crouched, shooting a convers
ation between Rhys and his mother while they’re none the wiser.
“You gonna take this or not?” Keko elbows me.
“Yeah.” I don’t take my eyes off her as I watch her stalk the perimeter of the party, occasionally pausing to frown down at her camera screen. She’s wearing a simple black romper, but with her long red ponytail and red heels, she’s got my heart racing for the billionth time today.
“Hello? Weston?”
Keko’s confusion breaks me out of my spell. “What?”
“Take your damn drink.” He shoves the tumbler into my hand. I focus on him long enough to clink glasses and take a sip. And then I’m back to looking for Nova.
“She’s over here,” Keko informs me a moment later. I follow the jerk of his chin and find Nova by the bar.
I smirk at my friend. “Thanks, buddy.” I clap his shoulder before I brush past him, heading for the only girl I’m able to see. Nova doesn’t see me approaching, so when I sidle up next to her at the bar and clear my throat, she gasps, a hand shooting to her cleavage. Her floral grapefruit scent wraps around me, sending desire streaking through me.
“Jesus, Weston.”
“Did I scare you?”
“I about shit myself.”
That’s one of the things I appreciate about Nova. She doesn’t try to play it too perfect. She’s not acting like a doll just because I’m a dude. I can’t even guess how many women get around a guy and act like they don’t swear, pee, or get morning breath.
“Good thing you didn’t. I hear these rompers are difficult to navigate.” I jerk my chin to her outfit, grateful for the sanctioned chance to blatantly check her out again. Pink stains her cheeks, but only for a moment.
“That’s your real goal here, isn’t it?” she says, a coy smile on her lips. “Scare me until I soil myself.”
I snort at the absurdity of it. “One goal among many. What are you doing?”
She tilts her head, looking out at the patio full of guests. “Oh, just taking some pictures.”
“Need any more advice about aperture?” I can’t resist needling her now. It’s too fun. Too gratifying.
This time, though, she laughs. “Yeah, actually, I was hoping for some beginner tips in general.”
“Okay. Here’s your first one. Now listen close.” I pause for dramatic effect. “You’re gonna want to press the button to take the picture.”
“That’s a good piece of advice. Anything else?”
“After you take the picture, you’re going to want to edit it.”
She rolls her lips in, nodding. “You’re on fire.”
By this point, I’m burning with curiosity about whether she saw the photos I took of her that morning. And whether she’ll give me copies of them. But before I can say anything, Amelia sweeps up.
“We got the green light from the hotel,” she says in a low voice before sweeping away.
Nova looked pleased. “That’s my cue.”
“What’s going on? Are we going to stage a heist?”
“I don’t know why you think you’re invited to the heist.” Nova haughtily tosses her ponytail over her shoulder. “If you didn’t RSVP, you can’t come.”
“So there is a heist.”
Her gaze glitters for a moment, looking at me so warmly that I’m completely shellshocked for a moment. I have no voice. I have no brain. I only see Nova and live in this moment. Jesus, when was the last time someone took my breath away?
“We’re doing pictures,” she finally says. “And as the photographer, well…”
“You have to do the bride thingy,” I finish for her.
She snorts, that pretty blush returning to her cheeks. It’s easier than I thought to get on her good side. After four years and an entire seventy-two hours of struggle, that is.
Nova whisks away, leaving me in a cloud of that peony-infused magic scent. Heat sizzles through me as I watch her leave. Yeah. Need that girl. Immediately.
Nova begins herding the party toward an area nearby that is the resort’s equivalent of an Instagram-ready backdrop featuring rustic knotted wood and cream silk draped anywhere that looks fitting. Laney appears at my side, a cocktail glass in hand. She lifts it in a silent toast, and we clink glasses.
“I’m so drunk I feel like this is my freshman year of college again,” she says.
“So you down for a beer bong after this?” I ask her.
She snorts, pushing at my chest. “God, you’re so funny.” Her gaze slides down to her palm on my chest. “And hot. I never understood why Nova doesn’t like you.”
Disappointment slices through me. And here I thought I’d made some progress. Two days ago, I wouldn’t have cared that she didn’t like me. But now? Fuck, there’s only one thing I want in this life and it’s to make her see that I’m an okay guy.
“Does she like anyone?” I ask.
Laney snorts. “Women, yes. But men? She doesn’t even like her own boyfriend.”
My disappointment bleeds out and hardens into a weird breed of loss. It doesn’t make sense. In five days, I’ll never see Nova again. I’ll never see this island again. Whatever I was going after was only destined to exist in this tiny, tenuous sliver of time. A mere gasp in the yawning stretch of history.
Why does it seem like I missed my chance?
“So she’s seeing someone,” I confirm, bringing my tumbler up to my lips slowly as I watch Nova direct family members to various positions in front of the knotted wood.
Laney sighs. “I don’t know. I never know with her. Sometimes I think she’ll be single until the day she dies.”
Now I’m lost. “So she’s single?”
“She’s just Nova.”
This is the opposite of helpful. Laney might be too drunk to adequately steer my Lust Brigade, so I’ll need to move to plan B, which is to continue quietly hunting Nova until I figure out if she’s single or weeks away from marriage. It could be either at this point, but everything inside me—and Nova’s heated looks—tells me it’s the former.
“You know,” Laney says as she tips her head toward me, “you two would look really cute together.”
I swirl the whisky in my glass. That’s obvious. Nova would make any jerk look good. “Not if she’s got a boyfriend.”
Laney doesn’t add anything, so I chalk it up to one more strike in the Wait, She’s Actually Taken category.
“Ohhh, come on.” A gruff rebuke from some man nearby cuts through air. One of the party guests—Amelia’s uncle, I think—is scoffing, looking more than annoyed. Nova is watching him, her cheeks pink, while Amelia trails after the family member to calm him.
“We are doing the pictures,” Amelia says.
“I’m starving,” her uncle says. “You think I got time to wait for her to set up some useless light?”
“Uncle Larry,” Amelia begins, but whatever she says to him next gets lost in the commotion around us. I move toward Nova without even deciding to. She’s fumbling with the light stand she’d been working on, swearing under her breath when I arrive.
“You trying to set this up?”
She glances at me, wilting slightly. “The lock is broken on the tripod. It keeps sliding down.”
“Can I check it out?”
She huffs, handing it over. Stress is creasing her face, and she keeps glancing around and then down at her phone. After a few cycles of her nervous tics, I jerk my chin toward the family members milling around.
“Why don’t you go get them in their spots? This will be fixed by the time they’re in their places.”
She looks equal parts horrified and confused. “But the leg won’t stay in place. If this light falls over and breaks—”
“No, no. I get it.” I sit back on my heels and look around while I hold the broken leg of the light stand. “You see that plant over there?”
She squints in the direction that I jerk my chin. “The succulent?”
“No, the one next to it. Go grab me a few of those long fronds.”
She watc
hes me suspiciously but does as I say. When she comes back, I bite the frond and then tug at the end of it. Strong enough. And it’ll have to do. Besides, this will be way faster than hunting down a server, who would then have to go find a maintenance guy, only for a half hour to pass and then learn they don’t have twine or string after all.
I start winding the frond around the broken leg, and Nova nods. “Ohhh, you are good.” Without another word, she spins on her heel and begins herding the family back together for the picture. I tighten the frond, tie it off a few times, and then step back to admire my handywork. It’s solid. That’s what vagabonding has taught me—I can jury rig damn near anything in a pinch. It’s just a test of creativity.
Nova looks over her shoulder, a grin blossoming when she sees the fixed stand and my thumbs-up. Everyone shuffles into place, Amelia’s uncle grumbling loudly but being compliant. Amelia looks mortified, but there’s always that one family member who has to keep things spicy, I guess. When Nova gets closer, I call out to her,
“Where do you need the light?”
She nibbles on her lips while she assesses the layout. “Can you move it a little to the left?”
I move it, and when I get an even bigger grin in return, I know my work here is done. She waves me over for the picture too, directing me to stand to the left of Keko.
I sling my arm around my buddy’s shoulder, basking in the body buzz of an averted disaster, a job unexpectedly well done. And damn, I hope Nova notices. I hope she sees how hard I’m paying attention to her. How many notes I’m taking about her blushes and comebacks and quirks.
Because I plan on getting an answer to my question tonight.
Is Nova taken, or is she about to be mine?
Chapter 11
NOVA
It’s almost nine p.m. when I’m making the lazy walk back to my hut. It’s only me—everyone else is still partying on the patio. Dinner came in a delicious, pan-seared-fish blur. Every inch of my body is feeling satisfied and oddly sensual. I went out on a limb tonight with the heels and the romper, way beyond my comfort zone. I am a vision for Forever 21’s plus size collection, if they truly fucking had one. But now, I am ready to strip down to loose shorts and take a load off.