by Elle Kennedy
“But your parents are still together, right? That’s cool.”
“Maybe that’s why I’m not as cynical as you. You said your dad keeps getting remarried?”
“Yeah, he’s up to number six with Belinda. She’s five years younger than me.”
“Age is nothing but a number.”
“So are IQs and hers doesn’t even crack triple digits.”
He snickers. “Your dad must see something in her if he married the girl.”
“Oh, he does. Not a number, though—letters. As in, double Ds. He’s gotten superficial in his old age.”
“Hey, as long as he’s happy, right?”
“True,” I say, “but I don’t think he actually is. He’s never gotten over my mom’s death. He spent the last twenty-six years trying to find someone he loves as much as he loved her, and it just doesn’t happen for him. He always ends up disappointed.”
“I see. Is that why you’re still single?”
I roll my eyes. “Because my dad keeps getting married and divorced? Are you a therapist? If so, you might need to study up on a new diagnosis or two. Daddy issues is too easy.”
“It’s usually the right one. And no, I’m not a therapist.”
“What is it you do, anyway?”
He surprises me by revealing, “I’m a criminal lawyer. So’s Devon. We work at our father’s firm.”
“Keeping it in the family.”
“Yup. And we represent a lot of D.C. bigwigs, so that’s why I don’t use my real name on the dating apps.”
“Do you like criminal law? It seems like it’d be stressful.”
“It is, and I do. I thrive under stress, and the courtroom is like my own personal battleground. It feeds into all my caveman instincts.” He chuckles. “My brother doesn’t like it as much, though. He’s far more wholesome than I am, in case you couldn’t tell.”
I glance over to see Devon nuzzling Marcy’s neck during their photo shoot. Yeah, he does seem like a puppy dog compared to his brother. Evan’s a wolf.
“But, see, I don’t think you’re like your friend Marcy,” he goes on. “I don’t think you want the teddy bear.”
“Oh really, and you know me so well?”
“Mmm-hmm. I got to know you at least five times last night.”
“Sex doesn’t mean you know me. Just means you know what I look like when I have an orgasm.”
His voice turns growly. “You look hot when you have an orgasm. And I’m dying to give you another one.” Then he clears his throat and gestures to Devon and Marcy. “But you’re right, this weekend isn’t about you and me. That’s why I want to take you out when we’re back in D.C., so it can be all about us.”
“Why do you want this date so bad?” I ask curiously.
“Because I find you fascinating. You make me laugh. You turn me on. All of the above.” He shrugs. “Say yes, Emilia.”
Luckily, the photographer chooses that moment to call out, “We’re ready for the rest of the bridal party!”
“We’d better go in.” Swallowing my relief, I walk away from Evan. Again.
It’s becoming a habit.
I skip out early on the reception. Normally I’d feel guilty, but I don’t think Marcy even notices when I leave the ballroom. She and Devon are wrapped up in each other’s arms on the dance floor. They’ve been dancing and cuddling and kissing all night, with eyes only for each other. Which is how it should be. So many other weddings turn into this terrible tightrope walk of pleasing family members and placating egos, when it should be about the bride and groom.
I’m happy Marcy got her happily-ever-after, but I’m too exhausted to stick around and witness it. I didn’t get any sleep the night I spent with Evan, and today I woke up at the crack of dawn so I could be available to Marcy. We ran a million last-minute errands during the day, spent hours getting ready, then came the ceremony, followed by a seven-course dinner, an hour of speeches, and now people are dancing and I have no idea how they’re even on their feet.
It’s only nine-thirty and I’ve officially turned into a pumpkin.
The moment I enter my room, I trust-fall onto the king-sized bed, and the mattress welcomes me with its heavenly softness. When I kick off my heels, it feels so good I actually moan out loud. God. There’s no better feeling than ridding your sore feet of a pair of heels.
A knock sounds on the door.
I ignore it. Nope. I’m not frickin’ moving.
A second knock. “Room service,” someone says.
“I didn’t order anything,” I inform the door.
“Room service,” the muffled voice repeats.
Arghhh. Goddammit.
I wearily climb off the bed and throw open the door, only it’s not a hotel employee on the other side. It’s stupid Evan.
“Seriously?” I balk. “The room service ploy?”
His answering grin is smug. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“Nope,” I say cheerfully, and start to close the door.
Chuckling, he sticks a hand out to stop me. “Nuh-uh, baby. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
8
I grumble in annoyance as he muscles his way into my room. “Go away, Dirk. I’m tired and sore.”
“Let me make you feel better.” He slides one hand down the silky material of my pink bridesmaid dress and lightly cups my ass.
It’s such a sleazy move, but for some reason it makes me laugh. “Go away.” I swat his hand off and flop back on the bed.
To my irritation, he flops right down beside me, toeing off his black dress shoes and loosening the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt.
I sigh. “What are you doing, Evan?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m lying next to the sexiest woman in this hotel.”
“Flattery won’t get you a dinner date. Or into my panties. Actually, wait, I’m not wearing any.”
His sex-drenched groan echoes between us. “You had to say that, eh?”
Dammit, why did I? I’m an idiot. Now I’m feeling all tingly downstairs. But I wasn’t lying before—I really am too tired for this.
“Emilia,” he says.
“Evan.”
“I’ve never met anybody like you.”
“I’m sure you say that to all the women.”
“Oh, I’ve used the line before,” he admits. He props up on his elbow and gazes down at me, a rogue grin playing on his lips. “But I would never, ever use a line on you. You’d see through it in a heartbeat.”
“Of course I would. We live in the world of online dating. I know all the lines, babe.”
“Well, I’m being truthful. You keep me on my toes. You’re brutally honest. Sexy as fuck.” He gently rests his free hand on my hip.
I shiver when his thumb moves in a light caress. “I told you, I’m exhausted. Stop fondling me.”
“Really? This?” He caresses me again. “You consider this fondling?”
“Well, it’s turning me on, so . . .”
He pounces. “Ha, it’s turning you on!”
“Oh, shut up.”
He shifts closer and lays his head on my shoulder, his stubble-covered cheek abrading my skin. At first I stiffen, resisting the close contact, but my muscles are too weary to remain coiled. I loosen up and accept the cuddling.
“I asked Marcy earlier why she never introduced us,” he says, his hand traveling aimlessly up and down my arm.
“Yeah?” I’m still staring at the ceiling. “What did she say?”
“She said you guys had lost touch these past couple years.”
“We did,” I confirm regretfully. “I got a promotion at the ad agency where I work, and . . . it’s on me. She kept inviting me to board game nights, the housewarming party when she moved in with Devon, and . . . yeah . . . I chose work, like an asshole.” I bite my lip. “I was actually surprised when she asked me to be her maid of honor.”
“I’m not. She’s only had amazing things to say about you all weekend. She adores you.”
“I don’t deserve that,” I murmur. “I could have been a better friend.”
“Hey, you’re here now and that’s all that matters.”
We fall silent for a moment, and then I feel his lips brush my jawline. “So about that dinner . . .”
I fight a smile. “Do you ever give up?”
“No.” His lips hover over mine. “What are you so scared of?”
My eyelids flutter shut. “I’m not scared of anything.”
“If you say so, Emilia.” Then he kisses me, and I’m relieved because it means we’re not talking anymore. My tongue is in his mouth and his hands are tangled in my hair. He smells so fucking good. Spicy, with a hint of lemon. I breathe him in and moan against his lips.
“I thought you were tired,” he teases.
“I am,” I mumble, and I’m not lying.
“How about you just lie back, then.”
I like the sound of that.
He slowly undoes the side zipper of my dress and proceeds to peel the silky material down my body. My strapless bra comes off, too, and now I’m completely naked and on display for him.
I sigh in anticipation. I expect him to prop my legs apart, maybe spatter kisses on my thighs before going down on me like he did before. But the bastard has other ideas.
He ditches his suit, shucks his briefs, and the next thing I know he’s kneeling beside me and fisting that big cock that made me scream yesterday. Damned if my mouth doesn’t water. Um yeah, forget going down on me. I want this more.
“I want you in my mouth,” I whisper.
“Good, because you’re about to get it.” He straddles me, tucks a pillow behind my head, and slides his dick between my parted lips with one smooth glide.
I suck him eagerly. God, he tastes good. And he feels amazing. Velvety smooth beneath my tongue.
“Oh Christ,” Evan chokes out. His fingers are in my hair, stroking gently, guiding me, urging me on. “Feels good, baby.”
I take him in deeper, bringing one hand around his body to squeeze his ass. He’s in phenomenal shape. I wonder if he hits the gym when he’s not in court, or if he plays a sport, maybe on some men’s league. Questions bite at my tongue, so it’s probably a good thing my tongue is otherwise occupied with his dick. I don’t want to ask him those questions, because I don’t want to get to know him. I think I would like him a lot if I got to know him. And . . . maybe he’s right. Maybe I am scared of dating and relationships and love. I’ve never been very good at any of it.
This, though, I’m good at. Sex. Physical connections. Bodies and orgasms are so much simpler than love.
“Fuck, I want to come in your mouth. Are you gonna let me, Emilia?”
Even with my lips wrapped around him, I manage a smile. I peer up and nod at him.
He thrusts harder, and the head of his cock nudges the back of my throat. When I swallow, he goes off like a rocket.
“Holy fuck,” he groans as he comes in my mouth. I’m breathless by the time he pulls out and collapses beside me. “You’re incredible,” he croaks.
“I know.” I demurely wipe my mouth and curl up beside him. I’m naked and turned on, but far too tired to move. Luckily, Evan knows what I need. His hand drifts between my legs, and his fingers play with my clit until I’m gasping.
“You’re so wet,” he mumbles.
“All thanks to you, Dirk.”
His laughter heats my shoulder. He slides two fingers inside of me, and I ride them shamelessly. “Can you come from me fingering you?”
I manage to find my breath. “Probably not.” I’m always honest about this stuff. I don’t see the point of faking orgasms to protect a man’s ego. He should be secure enough to know that a woman doesn’t come every time and from every position.
“What do you need?” he asks.
“Your tongue on my clit, or your dick inside me with a finger on my clit. Common denominator is the clit.”
“The elusive clit.” Evan laughs again. “Let’s see what I can do.” He disappears for a minute and I hear crinkling from the vicinity of his pants. He’s putting on a condom.
He’s hard again and I love it. It’s rare to meet a man whose libido matches mine. John, the fireman I dated last year, was a one-and-done fella. But I know from experience that Evan can go all night long.
While he’s up, he flicks off the lights, bathing the room in shadows, and then finally he’s inside me again. Fucking me nice and slow, propped up on one arm so he can reach between us and gently stroke my clit. It’s the most beautiful feeling in the whole world, and when the orgasm surfaces, it washes over me in languid waves instead of one huge crash.
“Oh, that was sweet,” I say dreamily.
His hot mouth latches onto my neck, sucking softly even as he continues to move inside me. “So sweet,” he agrees. There’s a beat. “Have dinner with me in D.C.”
My eyes pop open. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Is that a yes?”
“No. It’s a ‘you’re incorrigible.’ Now come for me again, Dirk. I love seeing your face when you lose control.”
His nostrils flare slightly, arousal stretching his features taut. “Fuck. I can’t get enough of you,” he growls, and then he’s up on his knees, my ankles are on his shoulders, and he’s pumping into me furiously until he comes.
And yes, that wild, hazy look in his eyes is exactly what I wanted to see.
I could get addicted to this. I could really, really get addicted to this man.
“Evan?” I mumble a while later, as we lay there spooning.
“Mmmm?”
“What do you think of the Elvis version of ‘Always On My Mind’?”
“Don’t like it. Too fast and upbeat. You?”
I smile in the darkness. “Hate it.”
“Willie’s acoustic version is so raw and beautiful,” he adds.
“It is,” I agree.
He wraps his arm tighter around me, holding me close. Silence falls between us again. I feel myself drifting off when I hear his sleepy voice say, “Dinner?”
I laugh into my pillow.
“Come on, say yes. Willie would want you to.”
“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” I lie, and then I snuggle closer to his warm body and fall into a deep sleep.
9
“I knew it!” The hushed accusation greets me the moment I roll my carry-on into the carpeted hallway.
I’m totally busted.
Marcy stands in front of me, fully dressed in jeans and a sweater. She looks well rested despite the fact that it’s six in the morning, and there’s no reason why she should be outside my room right now and not tangled up in Devon’s arms, basking in newlywed bliss.
“What are you doing up?” I demand.
“Thwarting your escape.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not escaping. My flight got changed. It leaves at nine now.”
“Really? Flights typically get delayed, not moved up from five o’clock in the afternoon to nine in the morning.”
I jut out my chin. “Well, this one did.” Because I purposely changed it. I even paid the hundred-and-fifty-dollar penalty to get the earlier seat.
“Liar,” she says.
“This is ridiculous.” I throw a quick glance over my shoulder before stepping forward and closing the door. “Quiet. You’ll wake . . . everyone,” I amend with a vague gesture to the other doors lining the hall.
“I’ll wake Evan, you mean?” she says knowingly. “I saw him leave the reception last night about two minutes after you did, Em. It doesn’t take a ‘me’ to figure out what you two were up to.”
I can’t stop the laugh that pops out at Marcy’s trademark joke. After she snagged her position at NASA, she went from saying ‘It doesn’t take a rocket scientist’ to ‘It doesn’t take a me’, and damned if I still don’t find it hilarious, even years later. Anyone else might come off as pompous making that joke, but Marcy is just so damn cute with her rosy cheeks and baby voice that nobody c
ould ever view her as pretentious.
My laugh dissolves into a weary sigh. “If you’re determined to interrogate me, at least come downstairs and do it over a cup of coffee so we’re not lurking in the hall.”
She gives another look at my closed door. “Emilia.”
“Marcy.”
“Fine.”
We quietly make our way down the hall and take the elevator to the lobby. The breakfast buffet is just being set up in the restaurant, and, despite the early hour, we’re not the only ones up. A few couples are already down there, waiting for breakfast. A waiter comes over to our table and I gulp down the coffee he pours for me. It nearly sears my tongue off, but I need a clear head right now. AKA a lot of caffeine.
“Last night Evan told me you keep turning him down for a date.” Marcy gets right to the point.
“So?”
“So I think you’re making a mistake. He’s a really good guy.”
“I know he is.” I take another sip of the scalding liquid. “Great in bed, too.”
She heaves a sigh. “There’s more to life than sex, Em. Although I guess keeping everything about just sex has been your MO for a while now. Since senior year of college, when your dad got engaged for . . . the fourth time, I think?” She flicks both eyebrows up. “That’s when I realized you’re a scaredy-cat.”
“I’m not a scaredy-cat.”
“Yes, you are. You dumped Bryce like three weeks after that for no good reason. He was such a great guy. He adored you, and I know you loved him, too.”
She’s not wrong. I loved my college boyfriend deeply, but we both moved on. “Bryce is married with four kids now,” I tell her. “I’m happy for him. And I’m happy being single.”
“You’re only single because you’re scared of falling in love and then losing it, like your dad did.”
“It’s too early in the morning for a therapy session, Marce.”
“Come on, you know I’m right. Your dad’s love life is a mess.”
“Doesn’t mean I have commitment issues because of it.”