A Thin Line-

by DL White

  Well, she's not the only one with a reason to be smug.

  23

  Ten minutes after I get into my room and kick off my shoes, a knock sounds at my door. A glance through the peephole shows Preston in the hallway, looking one way and then another.

  When I open the door, my breath catches in my throat.

  His suit fits as if it was designed for him. His lips bend into a smile as soon as he sees me, and his eyes give me a quick once over, down my body to the red painted toes and back up the clingy, slinky, curve-hugging dress, lingering at the plunging neckline both times. His tongue flicks out of his mouth to give his bottom lip a swipe.

  “Can I come in before somebody catches me staring?"

  I step back so he can walk in. As soon as the door closes behind him, he steps closer, pushing me up against it. His meaty arms envelop me; the pricks of his beard assault me as he buries his face between my shoulder and neck. The burn is made better by his lips on my skin, dropping wet kisses up my neck and across my cheek. I laugh at the deep groans that roll from him and the unmistakable bulge pressing into my belly.

  “Miss me?"

  He growls in answer, then says, "You don't even know."

  “I have an idea…”

  He lifts his head briefly but only to drop a kiss on my lips. “You miss me?"

  "More than I thought I would. I was mostly excited to get back here. For this.”

  He’s busy, roving those big hands over my body, up and down my back, then cupping each cheek of my ass and squeezing, pulling me into to him. “I was looking forward to this, too."

  “You can spill now. Where did you take Nate?”

  Preston rests his forehead on mine while his hands smooth down my bare arms until our fingers tangle together. "Did you know that the Bachelor party hails back to Spartan times?"

  "Is that so?"

  "Mmmm. It used to be called the Gentleman's Dinner. Over time, the dinner part got replaced with the party, and the tradition of honoring a man’s rite of passage into marriage turned into ogling naked women and getting drunk."

  “This has to do with Nate's party… how?"

  "Well, I wanted to bring back the original meaning of the occasion."

  "Minus the Taser?"

  Preston laughs. He's never going to live that party down. "Don't put ten drunk guys in a room where the bartender says he has a Taser."

  "Nate's Gentleman's Dinner, then. Where did you go?"

  "Uhmmm... Scores?"

  I pause, rolling my eyes up to his. “Three vans full of men drove nerdy Dr. Nate to a strip club?”

  Preston starts moving us over to the couch. I let him lead me across the room, and then sit next to Preston when he takes a seat. He drops an arm around me and pulls me closer.

  “Gentleman’s Club, baby. It was nice. VIP room for dinner, bottle service, dedicated wait staff. We had surf and turf, some cheesecake flown in from New York. And then..."

  My brows rise at his pause. The glint in his eye usually means trouble. "Champagne room for drinks, cigars, some fine ass, rhythmically gifted ladies dancing to a beat.”

  "The girls are fully nude there, right?" He bites his bottom lip, which is all the answer that I need. "That's why you went to Scores. Did you get a lap dance?"

  "Do you want to know?"

  I ponder this question for a few seconds. Then, honestly answer, "Yeah. I do."

  "I bought two dances," he says plainly, watching me for a reaction. "One for Nate. He didn't know what to do with himself." Preston does a striking imitation of Nate sitting straight up in a chair, hands out to his side, look of shock on his face. I'm amused, thinking of awkward Dr. Nate. He probably ran right back to the hotel to confess to Morgan.

  "The kid had a good time. He had a grin on his face a mile wide. He is sufficiently ready to get married."

  “And you are the judge of that? Good job, Best Man." I lean over to kiss him and let my lips linger on his for a few seconds. He still tastes, a little, of the cigar he smoked. "The bride had a great time too. We did a Mystery Dinner theater and then terrible karaoke, where Morgan sang enough for everyone."

  "Did she do her Madonna thing?"

  I nod and laugh. "You’ve seen it."

  "Couple times," he answers. After a few quiet moments, his hand is in my hair, stroking through the style I meticulously created.

  “You’re messing up my hair, Preston.” I tip my head up until our lips meet and enjoy a long, slow, romantic kiss.

  “You have a blow dryer and a flat iron,” he mumbles, when our lips part. "I thought about you tonight.”

  "Sure, you did."

  "I did," he mumbles against my lips before claiming them again. A few minutes later, he continues. "When I planned this thing, I didn't know that I'd be back with you. And now people can't know about us. I maintained the status quo. For you."

  "Oh, for me?"

  "Well, more for me. But I was thinking about you. And how much better my reward would be than a naked woman rubbing her ass all over my new pants. So, I gave my dance to Troy. He had a good time with it."

  "You didn't have to do that, Preston.” My gaze softened as I stroked his cheek. “You should have enjoyed your dance. Won’t the guys think it’s weird that you gave it away?”

  He doesn’t seem to have a care in the world about it. “I figured the reward would be better than that."

  "You're hyping up this reward a lot. I better make it worth the anticipation, hmm?"

  "Being with you again is a reward in itself."

  "Suck up."

  He laughs. "Guilty. I could get a little reward right now for being a good boy."

  I eye him, head to toe, lounging next to me. He looks so handsome in that suit, so relaxed; his legs stretched out in front of him, one arm spread over the couch cushions, the other around me.

  I sigh. "You know I want nothing more than to undress that body, piece by piece, and give you the best reward I could muster for the rest of the night..."

  "But..."

  "We have to show our faces downstairs." I glance at my watch, and my eyes bug out at the time. "It's already one o’clock.”

  He curses under his breath but begins making moves to stand up. I grab my clutch, check my makeup in the mirror, and rake my fingers through my hair. It’s a little more tousled since Preston has had his hands in it, but at this point, this is the best it's going to get.

  "How long do we have to hang out before we can disappear?"

  “Couple hours, at least.” He grunts, making his way toward the door. I follow closely behind him. “What’s this about Troy bringing a guest to the wedding? I needed him to be my cover. Now he’ll be up under some bitch.”

  "Oh, yeah. He's working on something. He wanted to keep it quiet.”

  Preston reaches for the door. We step into the hallway.

  “Do you know her? Why would he keep it from me? We talk about every—”

  The door to the room across the hall opens, and Troy steps out. And in the next moment, I find out why he's been keeping his love interest a secret.

  She looks different since the last time I saw her, more understated. Her hair is still in the twists that frame her face well. Her dress, a modest black sheath, is strapless with a sheer wrap that covers her arms and shoulders and touches her knees. Her eyes open wide in surprise as she steps out of the room behind Troy, saying something about the room key.

  "Jade?" I ask, which isn't so much a question as a ‘what the fuck are you doing here?'

  "Heeeyyy.” She draws out the word ever so slowly. "Angie, right?"

  I nod. "Uhm. So… you're..."

  I point at Troy, who clears his throat and rolls his lips inward, then confirms with a deep nod of his head. “Yeah. We met at Prime, right before she quit. I saw her at the courthouse one day, and we started talking and..."

  "Courthouse? You're an attorney?"

  She shakes her head, reaching out for Troy. “I work for Social Services. One of my clients was in
volved in one of Troy's case. I represented his interests as a minor. I recognized Troy from the bar, and we started chatting, and…”

  Troy smiles down at her. She grins up at him. I scowl at the two of them.I feel bad that I can't seem to control my attitude.

  But not bad enough to try to control it.

  For once, Preston is the diplomatic one. He steps between us and grabs my elbow, edging me down the hall toward the elevator. "We should go check on the party downstairs."

  Preston presses the button for the elevator and when the door slides open, ushers me inside. When the door closes again, he shoves his hands in his pockets.

  “Don't start, Evangeline.”

  “Don’t start, Preston? You don’t think it's suspect that a woman who expressed interest in you is now dating your brother?"

  A brow rises. “How do you think they met?”

  My jaw drops. “Did you tell him to invite her to a island wedding? Did you know he was bringing her?”

  “Not until he told me today.”

  “Well, she lucked out, huh? If she can’t scam one Reid, scam the other.”

  Preston leans against the mirrored walls and crosses one leg over another. "Maybe he didn't want to be your cover.”

  "You'd think he would have said something. We're close— he tells me all kinds of shit I don’t want to know about him. This, he leaves out?”

  "So you can talk him out of it? I know you’re protective over the kid, but don’t you already have someone to obsess about?”

  "I do not want her fucking over Troy to get close to you. She better—”

  Preston reaches out to tap my arm, get my attention. When I lift my eyes to his, he shakes his head. “She has no chance to get close to me. Alright? I’m not available. As far as I can tell, they like each other. I told Troy everything that happened between me and Jade, which was nothing. He’s an adult. This is a choice he’s allowed to make. Let’s move on and have a good time.”

  The elevator doors slide open to reveal the hotel lobby full of people in everything from jeans and sandals to formal wear, all heading toward the ballroom on the left side of the building. We follow the crowd and enter the room, lights already dimmed, tea lights lit. Heavy R&B drums thump through the speakers on either side of the stage, and the dance floor is nearly full.

  Preston’s eyes rove from one end of the room to the other, nodding his satisfaction. I agree.

  “I’ll get drinks. Find Morgan and Nate. I'll find you."

  He ambles off in the direction of the bar at the rear of the room. I spot Nate and Morgan in the middle of the dance floor, arms around each other, laughing and talking, slow dancing while everyone around them are paired up and grinding to 112, Peaches & Cream.

  I recognize Morgan's evening bag at a table on the edge of the room, so I take a seat nearby. A few minutes later, Preston drops a glass of amber liquid in front of me. We sip and watch the room. I enjoy the view of everyone having a great time. Preston enjoys my thigh in his grip under the table. I mentally will him to move higher, but he doesn't.

  "Careful. Nate and Morgan are coming."

  "Got it under control," he mutters, squeezing. I suck in a breath and try not to react to the bolt of lightning shooting through me.

  I start counting the minutes until we can sneak out, go upstairs and fuck until we can’t stand up.

  But first, we are cajoled into shots, then food, and dancing. At 4 AM, I call it and stumble to the elevator. As I press the ‘up' button, Preston’s arm snakes around my waist.

  "I thought you said we'd be out of there by three?"

  I blink slowly, wearily, not awake nor energetic enough to care if anyone sees Preston with an arm around me, seductively muttering in my ear. “I said a couple of hours, at least. I can't help it that our friends are party animals."

  "It's because they never get out anymore, what with the trappings of suburban life. When they do, they don't want to go back in."

  The elevator door slides open. We step in and press the button for our floor. "Between yesterday and today, I am worn out."

  "Not too worn out, I hope."

  We arrive at our floor and exit the elevator, the carpet capturing the sound of our footsteps. I lead the way down the hall. "Your room or mine?"

  "Don't care."

  I stop at my room to pull out my keycard, slide it through the reader, and unlock the door. Then I hand it to him. "Give me ten minutes," I whisper.

  "I'll give you eight.” He then slides my key into the breast pocket of his shirt and digs out his keycard. As my door closes, I hear his door beep open.

  I head straight to the bathroom and turn on the shower, stripping my clothes off as I go, slipping into the fluffy hotel robe. I grab a makeup wipe from my travel kit and begin to swipe the light layer of tinted moisturizer and lipstick from my face.

  I head into the bathroom and peel off the robe, steam from the running shower billowing around me.

  Faintly, I hear the door locks beep and disengage.

  "Preston?"

  He saunters around the corner in the hotel robe, walks past me into the bathroom and pulls the knot. The robe falls open, revealing him in all of his glory.

  Manly, molded chest, covered in a layer of soft, baby fine hair that narrows into a path leading over the ridges of rock-hard abs, moving further south past the ‘V' cut that marks a breathtaking physique. The centerpiece, on display and fully erect, standing at attention and waiting to serve.

  "Evangeline."

  Fuck. Me. Which… is the point.

  I drop the robe in my hands and try to close my mouth, but my jaw hangs open. I manage to tear my eyes away and let them roll slowly, indulgently until I reach his eyes.

  Through the glint and shine of the late night, I see more than lust and animal attraction. There’s a look that is so familiar it takes my breath away.

  I'm suddenly not very tired at all.

  24

  I check my seat belt, then sit back and wait for takeoff, hardly able to believe we’re on the way to St. Lucia. This trip, four months in the making, has changed my life.

  I glance over and stare at Preston again. We haven't been apart since the day he came to my apartment and then wouldn't leave without me. I've loved every second of being with him, which does not surprise me. We've talked about everything and nothing, cooked together, drank together, sat together around the fire pit and watched the sun sink behind the banks of Lake Conway, a view I finally don't have to pretend isn’t there.

  This morning, I woke up in his bed, sun streaming through the patio doors. I felt the scratch of his beard against my neck and shoulder as he nudged me awake. I smiled and burrowed deeper, pushing back against him. I savored the moment, the quiet of the room, the peace and serenity between us.

  Once our group has migrated through customs, we step outside into the sunshine to wait for the hotel shuttle. The weather Gods have blessed us: blue skies dotted with wispy, lazy clouds as far as the eye can see. It's a beautiful day to be on an island.

  “Point me in the direction of the beach," sings Jackie. Pacing, she rubs her belly.

  "How you doing, Jacks? We didn’t know you were pregnant when we booked.”

  She nods, her face split in a wide grin. “I’m fine. I’m looking forward to this week. Orlando Magazine hired a new editor. This will be a great test for her when I’m on maternity leave. Matt had to trade his life to get away from the restaurant. This is perfect.”

  A bus rumbles toward us, the only vehicle on the open road. The crowd titters as we gather our bags and line up at the edge of the sidewalk. The shuttle pulls up next to us, and a very tall, very handsome man descends the stairs.

  "Welcome to St. Lucia," he says, in a voice I recognize. It's Andrew, the gentleman we booked with and have been working with to plan the wedding and excursions.

  His face matches his voice. His hair and eyes are dark, his skin the hue of toasted cinnamon. He stands, hands clasped as a butler ready to serve i
n a crisp, spotless, white linen suit.

  "Do we have everyone?" At our nods, he moves to open a compartment under the shuttle. "Leave your suitcases here, if you will. Find a seat quickly so that we can make the trip to the resort."

  Preston pulls me aside. "This guy's not dressed for loading suitcases. I'll stay out here and help. Save me a seat.”

  I scowl. "There are thirty seats on the bus, and we're the only people on it. You shouldn't have trouble finding a seat."

  Preston stares at me like I grew a second head until I wink. Relief washes over his face. He winks back, then sighs and turns to help Andrew load the bus.

  Game on.

  The bus bumps along, irrespective of divots and potholes on the paved but not well-maintained road, barreling toward the horizon. The bus slows as it turns onto a newly paved road that takes us between white stone walls. On either side of the wall is a large sign that reads RENDEZVOUS in blue block letters.

  The roads inside the gate are cobblestone. White stone structures with bright red roofs line up, backing up to miles of white sand and the most beautiful blue water I've ever seen. We roll to a stop in front of a red brick building and pile out, wandering around, taking in the view. Preston helps Andrew unload the suitcases, and we are led inside the building and into a meeting room.

  Andrew disappears while we all take seats around a table of thick wood covered in shiny black lacquer. He returns, his arms full of folders.

  "Each community at Rendezvous is marked along the footpaths across the resort, as well as on the maps included in each folder. The bride and groom are in a beachfront suite in our Veranda Community. It's private and tucked away, featuring a private pool and butler service."

  The group ooh's and aah's as he hands the folder to Morgan, who stares at the resort brochure and description of their room. I peek over her shoulder, though I've seen the photos on the website, and Preston and I booked the room.

  Andrew hands out folders to the rest of the group. Everyone is spread out, but no further than a few minutes' walk or golf cart ride from each other. All of the couples have private beachfront suites, smaller than Nate and Morgan's but bigger than the luxury single that Troy and Jade and Preston and I have booked.