The zipper starts in the middle of her back.
She takes her time, and slowly the dress peels apart, revealing an ever-growing slice of bare skin.
Maybe the zipper never ends.
Maybe I might swallow my tongue.
So many possibilities.
I don’t dare lean forward. I don’t even breathe.
She stops when her hand reaches the curve of her bottom, and as the fabric gapes above her fist, I see unexpected black ink on her skin.
Cara has a tattoo.
“I didn’t know if it was too much. If I could pull it off. It’s so…”
She’s a gorgeous contradiction. Unaware of the strength of her own sex appeal, but so desperate to embrace it anyway. A quiet girl with a sexy tattoo. A rebel who refuses to date under the pretense that nobody is good enough for her, when really I think she worries she’s not good enough herself.
She’s perfect.
And not because of a tattoo, or a dress, although those are both causing my blood supply to do some serious re-routing right now.
She straightens her spine, then holds her bodice to her chest with one hand and picks up her skirt with the other. “Good night, Toby,” she calls as she heads into her room.
“Night,” I say under my breath. I disconnect the call, then sit quietly in my office for a few minutes.
Thinking.
Worrying, too.
My assistant pings me ten minutes before the Q&A, and I drag my mind back to work. It takes more effort than I’d like to admit.
Most of my brainpower is still stuck on how many kisses it would take to trail from the nape of her neck, down her spine, to edges of that tattoo.
And what Cara will say when—when, and not if—I tell her I want to.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CARA
WHEN I GO BACK to my phone—fully clothed in my usual yoga pants and t-shirt—Toby is long gone.
My pulse is still racing from that exchange.
Friends can flirt, right?
And that’s all that was. But whoa, it was fun.
Maybe it was the dress.
I’m definitely wearing it for the elopement if it gives me magical acting skills.
But kissing Toby in the park was the same. No awkwardness, just easy, sexy teasing, and that’s a dangerous train of thought.
I check my email, and sure enough, there’s a message from Toby introducing me to Alex. He’s got a disposable email address, presumably to keep me out of escort-hiring-jail. Not like that’s a real thing, except in Toby’s mind, but I appreciate the concern.
From: Cara Russo
To: Alex
Subject: Friday, June 23 details
Thank you for helping me with this…project. The first date is Friday, June 23. We’ll need to discuss a trip to New York after that, but that timing is flexible based on your availability. Alex is a workaholic—ha!
On Friday, I’ve hired a photographer and an officiant.
We’ll meet the photographer on the platform of St. George Station at eleven, take a few photos there, then head onto campus. I have a permit organized, so this is all allowed, and that’s where the officiant will be meeting us. As a reminder, they don’t know you’re an…actor. The photographer thinks this is an actual wedding, and the officiant knows we don’t have a license and we just want a commitment ceremony.
Do you have any questions? If it’s easier, we can text using the email app.
Nice to “meet” you,
Cara
He doesn’t reply before I go to sleep.
But when I wake up in the morning, there’s a new contact in my messaging app. Again, just Alex.
Alex: Nice to meet you, too. I do have a couple of questions.
Cara: Hi! Shoot.
Alex: How will I know who you are?
Cara: I’ve lived here for a year; I’ve never seen a bride on the subway in that time.
Alex: LOL Good point. How will you know who I am?
I think about that for a second. Oh, I can give him the flowers assignment. I haven’t gotten around to that yet.
Cara: How about you get the flowers? You’ll be wearing an orchid on your suit jacket, and you’ll have a small bouquet for me, too. That’s how I’ll know you’re my fiancé. I’ll look for the flowers.
Alex: Sure, I can do that.
Cara: You can add that to the acting bill.
Alex: Don’t worry about that. Next question: Is there any backstory I need to know for why we don’t have a license?
Cara: I stuck to the truth as close as I could. We don’t philosophically believe in marriage, but our families want us to get hitched. The photos are mostly for them.
Alex: And a little bit for you?
Oh, perceptive. I find myself laughing and smiling as we text.
Cara: Well I do like my dress.
Alex: This sounds like a fun adventure.
Cara: It’s turning into that, yes. Thank you again for your assistance.
Alex: That’s my job.
Of course it is. Right. I keep my last reply short and to the point.
Cara: Okay, I’ll see you next Friday! Eleven in the morning on the platform of St. George Station. I’ll be the bride in blue.
“I’ve been thinking about something you said last week,” Toby says, his voice low and quiet in my ear.
I’m curled up on my bed. I called him almost an hour ago, and we’ve been talking about nothing and everything, except for what’s going to happen tomorrow.
“What did I say?”
“You don’t think you’ll ever get married.”
“Yeah.” I pick at the blanket. That’s getting dangerously close to the topic we’ve been avoiding.
“This plan of yours…it all hinges on Alex breaking up with you.”
“Or me breaking up with him. It doesn’t really matter.”
“But the relationship will end when you leave Toronto.”
“Yes.”
“What if Alex didn’t refuse to leave Toronto? What if he’d follow you?”
“Alex isn’t real.”
“I know.”
“So I don’t understand the question.”
“You’re hell bent on assuming that no guy will ever want to follow you around the globe, or maybe even share your wanderlust.”
Nobody I want, anyway. “Are you saying my standards are too high?”
“No, they’re perfect. Don’t settle for anything less than a mate who will follow you to the ends of the earth.” He says it the same way the rest of the conversation has gone, slow and smooth, but the little hairs on my back of neck lift.
I’ve never allowed myself to want that before, to think that was possible for me. But if Toby can see it, maybe one day…
I stretch out, pressing myself deeper into the pillows. “That’s some excellent advice…do you ever believe it for yourself?”
He laughs quietly. “Sure. I want all sorts of things. A family. Dorky domestic stuff like going to a farmer’s market and cooking dinner together. Arguments over throw cushions. That kind of thing sounds awesome. But I’ll never get there if I can’t find someone who understands the unique push and pull of my career.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TOBY
CARA HESITATES BEFORE SHE REPLIES. “I want you to find happiness, too.”
I already have. I don’t know why I said that shit about family and furniture. It’s true, but it’s not what I need to be filling her head with right now.
One thing at a time.
She lets out a little yawn. “I should get to sleep. I’m getting married tomorrow, after all.”
“Not for real.”
“No, but it still feels…”
Wrong. Hasty. Misguided. I want to finish that sentence for her in a dozen discouraging ways, but that’s not what she needs. “How does it feel?”
“Disquieting.”
That’s a better word than I could have come up with, anyway. “Ah, my troublemaker.�
��
“What’s the weather like there?” she asks abruptly.
I check the app on my home screen. “Low seventies. Nice.”
“It just started raining here. Storm is coming in.”
I stop unpacking my suitcase and listen carefully. I’m grateful for having a suite big enough that I’m not anywhere near a window, so she can’t hear that it’s on my end, too. “Do you like the rain?”
“Love it. I’ve got my windows open.”
“Then you should go to sleep, listening to the rain.”
“I will.” She doesn’t hang up, though. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Of course.”
“Promise not to read too much into it?”
“I promise.”
“I can’t stop thinking about our kiss,” she whispers. “How if things were different, it might have been the start of something.”
I fold myself into the armchair in the corner and lean back, closing my eyes as she talks. I picture the words sliding over her lips.
Don’t think about her mouth.
Too late.
“Why did even we stop kissing? That was a mistake. You could have taken me back to your hotel that night, you know. We could have done so much more…”
I swallow hard. If I say something, if I push the conversation where I want it to go, she might stop me. If I say something, I might stop me. The spell might snap and I’d realize how stupid an idea this is.
You know how stupid—
I turn off my brain because thinking is definitely going to ruin this moment. “That’s exactly what would have happened, too. I’d have done everything to you that night. Kissed every last inch of your body and made you scream my name.”
If I thought that would shock her, I underestimated her. She makes a soft, sweet sound of acquiescence instead. “Yes…”
One word. All I needed to hear, and my blood is pounding. This isn’t how I was going to do this. Tomorrow, I’m going to show her everything in my heart that I’ve foolishly held back.
Tonight, though, I can share other secrets I’ve kept from her. Every dirty desire she’s enflamed, every secret fantasy I hope to play out together.
“You’ll let me do that, won’t you? Sometime soon?” I work at my buttons, opening my shirt. I’ll get to my dress pants in a minute. They’re fucking tight already, but I can’t take myself in hand until I know she’s there with me. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it together. “We’ll steal away somewhere. An anonymous hotel suite with a king-sized bed for me to lay you out on.”
“Anywhere.”
“Australia.”
She laughs gently. “Maybe we can hook up somewhere closer than that. At first.”
My heart leaps, and my dick throbs. Sex more than once. It’s as romantic as we get maybe, but I’ll take it. “Work our way through the continents. It’s going to take me some time to learn all the things you like.”
“I’ll like everything with you.” Her voice catches, and I push myself out of the chair.
So damn close to telling her I’m down the road. To inviting myself over and blowing the entire thing.
I don’t want her to be lonely, or sad, or have any doubt. Whatever caused that hitch in her voice, I want it gone.
I want to shield her from everything in the world, and I know that’s not possible.
No, tonight I have one task. Distract her from tomorrow. I prowl toward the bedroom and fling my tie against the white bedding. “I’ll want a chance to unzip you out of a dress.”
“Can I undress you, too?”
“I’ve already started.”
“Slow down…” She drags in a breath. “Let me help you with your shirt. Are you wearing a suit?”
“I am. Tie’s off.”
“I’ve thought about your chest and back so many times, it’s embarrassing.”
“Never. Tell me more.”
“When I woke you up in Tokyo. I wondered what you were wearing.”
“Boxer briefs.” Her happy sigh makes me groan. “What are you wearing now?”
“A t-shirt and…”
“And?”
“Panties.” She whispers the word, which makes it that much dirtier.
I swallow hard. “Take those off.”
“But you’re still dressed.”
I shrug out of my shirt. It flutters to the floor. “I’m getting there. You just pushed my shirt to the ground.”
“And you just peeled my underwear down my legs.” Her words rush out on a single breath.
I groan. “I have a lot of fantasies about your legs, you know that?”
“No. Really?”
“Fuck. Cara, I want your legs wrapped around my head. I want to press them wide open as I push into you, and feel them tight around my hips as I make you mine.”
She whispers my name, and it’s all the encouragement I need.
“Touch yourself. I want you to fall asleep with my name on your lips, after I’ve worked you up and wrung you out. I want you on your knees, in my arms, under my tongue. I want to taste every last inch of you. Feel every last inch of you.”
I stretch out on the bed and unzip my pants.
“You with me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m stroking myself. I’m so hard for you.”
“Seriously?”
I laugh, even though it’s strained. “Serious as a heart attack.”
“Toby is this…okay?”
Fuck. “So okay, gorgeous. Really. If you want to…”
“I want to. I need this tonight.”
That’s a stab in the heart. If she doesn’t need this tomorrow, too, I’ll have ruined everything. The only thing I can do is show her that I’m right there with her. “Me, too. I’ve wanted you for weeks.”
“I don’t have a lot of experience.”
I tip my head back. “We’ll figure out what we like together.”
“Tell me again that you’re hard.”
“Like a rock. It hurts so good when I stroke myself.”
“I want to do that. Touch you.”
“Yes. Your fingers. Fuck.” I squeeze my cock at the base and imagine her exploring me. Tentative, then more sure. “You can touch me anywhere you want.”
“If I’m stroking you, what are you doing?”
“Squeezing you close. I want to get my hands on your hips, your ass. My mouth on your lips, your neck, your breasts. I want to make you squirm, then stroke between your legs and make sure you’re wet for me.”
“I am…”
“I need to taste you there, too.”
“Oh. Please. Yes.” Her sighs are coming faster now, shakier. Good. I’m going to make her come like this, with the ghost of a fantasy about me going down on her.
I’ll save being inside her for the real deal.
“Tell me how you’re touching yourself, Cara. Do you rub your clit or dip your pretty fingers inside?”
“I rub.” Her words catch, and that little break makes my balls draw tight.
“Your fingers are mine. Circling, faster and faster. Your clit’s getting hard, isn’t it? Hard and needy. I want that on my tongue. I want to feel you throb for me.”
“It is. Oh, I’m…” She gasps, a sexy little sound that goes on and on. I roll my thumb over my crown, wet with pre-come, and listen to the glorious noises she makes as she shatters, then slowly comes back to me. Each utterance jacks up my need to join her.
“Oh, Toby,” she breathes, and I come undone. With a strangled shout, I jerk my cock, pointing it toward my belly as my come spurts hot against my skin.
Well, hell.
I bite my lip to keep from saying the uncensored emotions barreling through me.
“That was…” She giggles. “Hot. Right?”
“Crazy hot.” I swallow all the other words. “Now go to sleep.”
“I’m going,” she says drowsily.
“Sweet dreams, troublemaker.”
But that title really belongs to me now. And sh
e has no idea.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CARA
I’M SINKING into yet another dream about Toby’s fingers when I realize the sun is pretty warm on my face for the early morning.
With a gasp, I jolt upright in bed. Where the hell is my phone? It’s definitely not breakfast time. The sunlight streaming through the window is mid-morning light.
Mid-morning.
Fuckity fuckers, I’m late.
I throw the blankets off my bed.
Still no sign of my phone. Last night, I was talking to Toby…oh God, the phone sex.
Okay, I’ll freak out about that later. And then…
From under my bed, I hear a muted chime. I leap out of bed and slip on a sock, jamming my toe against the nightstand as I twist and drop to the floor.
First time in my life I’ve ever tried a ninja move like that. Last time, too. Dorks aren’t meant to leap out of bed, ready for action.
I’m not ready for anything.
Action, a fake wedding, responding to…
Toby’s six text messages.
Oh. Sweet. Mercy.
I wince as I sit down on the floor and lean back against the bed frame. I swipe in to my phone. But his texts aren’t about last night.
Toby: Morning. Remember, you look stunning in that dress.
Toby: You up? Break a leg today.
Toby: Cara?
Toby: Either you’ve slept in, or you’ve got cold feet.
Toby: That’s okay if you do.
Toby: Should I be worried?
Oh God. I quickly reply to the last one, then add a belated greeting.
Cara: NO!
Cara: Morning.
I blink the sleep out of my eye and focus on the clock in the corner of my phone screen. Quarter after nine. I have an hour and forty-five minutes before I need to be two subway stops away.
I’ve got this. It’ll be fine.
Cara: Slept in. Yes. Fine. Shower now.
Toby: LOL okay
Toby in a nutshell. I’m freaking out, he’s cool as a cucumber.
I need coffee first. Good coffee, and fast. I throw on shoes and grab my wallet. In the hallway, I find a neighbor who I don’t know waiting for the elevator.
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