Her breathing hitched, and he knew she was remembering their night together, too, when he’d last said our moment. His throat was so thick with emotion he couldn’t force his words out.
“He got down on one knee,” Willow said just above a whisper, holding his gaze, saving his ass and owning up to the lie. The fantasy? “I’ll never forget that moment. He looked at me like I was the only thing that existed. He didn’t have to say a word. Even if he hadn’t been down on one knee, I would have known what was coming.” She reached a shaky hand up and touched his scruff, a small smile lifting her lips. “He said, ‘There’s only me and you, Wills. This is our moment.’”
You remember. He swallowed hard, trying to gain control of the resurgence of emotions he’d struggled to ignore for all these years, because Willow had made the rules, and the last thing he’d wanted to do was hurt her by breaking more of them than he already had.
CHAPTER FOUR
WILLOW WAVED GOODBYE to Cheryl and the others as she and Zane headed down the dock in a bubble of awkwardness. Cheryl had made dinner on the boat, but Willow had been too nervous to eat more than a bite. Zane had been looking at her weirdly ever since she’d forgotten how to shut the hell up and had taken over his story.
Oh my God, his story. She’d been so caught up in his fake proposal that when he’d said, “Our moment,” he’d opened some sort of floodgate to the past. It hadn’t helped that when Zane had offered Jay the rest of the money he’d promised for letting them hijack their boat, Jay had pushed his hand away and said, “Keep it. It was nice getting to know you both. My wife always says those gossip magazines are full of lies. Now we know she’s right. We hope you have a long, happy marriage.” The color had drained from Zane’s face, like he’d been caught having real feelings for Willow, and she’d felt the impact like a freight train slamming into the barriers she’d erected out of self-preservation.
She focused on the lights of the resort twinkling against the night sky instead of the frantic beating of her heart and the whathefuckamIdoing playing in her head. Every time she stole a glance at Zane, he shifted his eyes away, and a second later she felt the heat of his gaze burning into her.
This was crazy. They’d been friends forever. Even when they’d slept together, things hadn’t been this awkward. One of them needed to break the ice. She looked up at the same time he looked over, and their eyes locked. Lord, he was looking at her that way again, with his chin tipped low and hunger in his eyes, but there was something else behind the heat. Something she’d seen only once in her life, as he’d lain above her down by the creek. Something she was probably mistaken about, given the totally effed-up state of her mind.
She said, “Hey, why don’t we—” at the same time he said, “Let’s go—”
He raked a hand through his hair, his laughter breaking the tension. She loved the sound of his laugh when he wasn’t trying to be the Zane Walker. He had a wonderfully deep, carefree laugh that reminded her of fun-filled summer afternoons at the lake and family barbecues after he and Ben had played a winning football or baseball game.
“Whiskey?” he suggested.
“Make it a double.”
They headed across the lawn toward a long deck that led to an outdoor bar overlooking the water, weaving through a sea of people who were dancing and laughing, shouting out one toast after another. At the center of a mass of twentysomethings was a dark-haired couple wearing sparkling crowns. A band played at the far end of the deck. They’d obviously stumbled upon some sort of bachelor/bachelorette party. The perfect distraction.
Zane plowed through the crowd, making a beeline toward the bar.
Willow followed him between two guys. “Sorry,” she said. The crowd seemed to swell, and they pressed in on her. Are you shitting me? She felt a hand circle her waist and turned, catching the threatening glare Zane gave the guys before he tugged her out from between them.
“What are you doing?” His eyes darted around them.
“Me? You plowed ahead and left me to trail behind.” She wrenched free. “Not exactly the way a fiancé should act, I might point out.”
An apology rose in his eyes. “Sorry, baby.”
With his arm securely around her, he pushed through the crowd and flagged down the bartender.
A beautiful blonde with breasts that looked like they were ready to tumble out of her low-cut blouse leaned across the bar. “What’ll it be?” she shouted over the noise.
“Two whiskeys, neat.”
“Make them doubles,” Willow added.
Zane chuckled.
“What? I don’t want to fight the crowd again in five minutes.”
A few minutes later the bartender slid their glasses across the bar, and Zane paid. He draped an arm possessively around Willow, holding her tight as they moved through the crowd to a spot near the railing. Women began whispering behind their hands, with hope and flirtation lighting up their eyes as they ogled Zane. They stood up taller, arched their backs to show off their assets, and fluttered their lashes in his direction.
Willow rolled her eyes and turned to face the water. She had wondered how long it would take for people to recognize him. Zane was hard to miss with all that hotness wafting off him. Even when he wasn’t trying to be hot, he sizzled. And despite his smartassery, he was charming in his own way. Or maybe that was years of repression refusing to be held back any longer. She’d always loved his smartassery. Almost as much as his badassery. And his ass in general.
With a viselike grip on her, he put his mouth beside her ear and said, “Is this better?”
His hot breath sent shudders of lust rippling through her. She gulped a mouthful of whiskey, reveling in the burn as it slid down her throat like lava. She’d rather have frosting, but since she wasn’t in the kitchen, liquid courage would have to do. When Zane tightened his grip, mashing her body to his, she downed another gulp.
“Slow down there, sweet cheeks. You’re liable to get drunk.”
“Sweet cheeks?” She rolled her eyes.
“I thought we were done with those eye rolls. Meet me halfway, Wills.”
She was painfully aware of the women watching him, even if he was acting like he hadn’t a clue. She wasn’t used to the jealousy whipping through her, or the twisting in her gut from being on the receiving end of stink-eyes from a pack of women just a few feet away. Willow didn’t play games, and she didn’t do drama. It was one of the reasons she loved her hometown so much. She had a nice life where she could wear her jeans or shorts and not worry about measuring up to anyone. She glanced down at her belted lavender dress, feeling even more out of place among an ocean of little black dresses. Sure, she had double Ds she could flaunt with the best of them, but she hated them. She’d hated them ever since she was thirteen, when they hadn’t sprouted like cute little nubs and then blossomed into perfectly perky boobs that fit her body. They’d bloomed overnight, making her feel like a young, awkward Dolly Parton. To make matters worse, she also had rounded hips and a smallish waist that made her boobs look even bigger. She’d grown up dealing with boys talking to the girls instead of her, and while she’d thought that might change as the guys matured, she spent her life dodging men who did the same.
Zane moved in front of her, bringing her eyes up to his. He had never made her feel like other guys did. Even when she had been his for the taking, he’d focused on her—her eyes, her emotions, her hands. God, she remembered the way he’d kissed each of her fingers before intertwining them with his as she lay beneath him. It was like he hadn’t seen her boobs at all. He’d seen only her. Now he was looking at her again. Heat sizzled and popped between them.
She shifted her gaze out over the inky water. She was romanticizing their friendship again, just like she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do all those years ago. She’d failed miserably then, too.
“Hey, Wills. Look at me.”
She reluctantly met his gaze. He was smiling in a playful way that reminded her of his younger self. She liked tha
t younger, playful guy a whole lot. He tapped his glass to hers and pressed a kiss to her cheek, leaving her skin warm and her body tingling with anticipation. Or maybe that was from the whiskey. It was hard to differentiate when Zane’s incredible body was pressed against her.
“To us.” He lifted his glass to his lips.
His Adam’s apple moved like he did, smooth as sin and alluringly tempting. She had the urge to seal her mouth over that sexy moving target. Lord have mercy. What was wrong with her? She downed the rest of her drink, wincing at the burn, feeling it pool in her belly like liquid fire and giving herself over to the blissful deadening of her nerves.
He raised his brows and finished his drink, watching her intently as he took her empty glass and set it with his on the railing.
His hands snaked around her waist, holding her impossibly closer. “Talk to me, Wills.”
“Isn’t this weird for you? Holding me like this and pretending to be engaged, when you’re surrounded by gawking, available women? I mean, your photographer doesn’t seem to be stalking us, so . . .”
His eyes narrowed and drifted around them, lingering on the women who had been giving her the stink-eye. He touched his cheek to hers again, instantly making her insides go soft. “I promised I’d make a concerted effort to ensure this works, and I never break my prom—”
When he drew back and gazed into her eyes with a serious and thoughtful expression, her pulse went a little crazy. She reminded herself this was his most important role yet.
“I try never to break my promises anymore,” he corrected himself. “And no, Wills. This isn’t weird for me. It would be weird to try to act like this with anyone other than you.”
“Zane, I’m being serious. Don’t feed me lines, okay?” She glanced down at the gaudy—and stunning—ring he’d rented. When she was a kid, she’d gone through a phase where she loved princess everything, from dresses to gems. Didn’t all young girls? But as an adult, as a baker—as Willow Dalton—she wanted nothing like this when and if she ever got engaged. The diamond would only get in the way, and it was too flashy. It wasn’t her at all. Patch picked it out. Another good reminder of why she shouldn’t romanticize their relationship.
“It wasn’t a line.” He began swaying to the music with her in his arms. “Dance with me. I need the distraction.”
“From those girls?” She ached at the idea that he wished he could be with someone else. This would be easier if being with him didn’t make her remember what it was like to be touched like she was more than a piece of ass. To be touched like she was precious and sexy and looked at like she was the only woman he ever wanted.
The muscles around his mouth twitched. “No, Willow. Jesus. I know I’ve been with a lot of women, but whose insanely sexy body is crushed against mine right now?”
The anger in his tone was underscored by hurt, and it took her by surprise. She might not approve of his current lifestyle, or the reasons behind this grand scheme they were taking part in, but she’d agreed to do this for him, and he was making an effort. She needed to get past the ghosts of their past that were sucking up half the oxygen, to kick that elephant from the room so she could make the effort he deserved—the effort that, without the ghosts, and without that damn elephant, wasn’t an effort at all.
“Do you really think anonymous women mean a damn thing to me? They’re a way to pass the time. You’re my friend. You know me better than anyone else in the world ever could. Everything’s different with you, Wills. It always has been, and I’m really trying not to screw this up.”
The way he said friend, like it was the most important thing he’d said all night, pushed all that other stuff out of the way. The person he’d been was still in there, drawing her closer. She wound her arms around his neck, wanting to dig deeper, to bring out more of the guy she’d loved so deeply.
“That’s better. It’s just us, babe. No one else matters.”
His hands slid to the base of her spine, and she felt herself melting against him, believing him, feeling safe with him. Wanting him. She rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes. It had been a long time since she could be herself with a man, and if Zane was nothing else, he had always been that guy. He accepted her for all her quirks. It felt incredible to be in his arms again. Her mind tiptoed down a dangerous path.
Maybe just one night . . . ?
ZANE CAME OUT of the men’s room and heard Willow’s feathery laughter tickling his ears. He scanned the crowd in the bar, which had thinned out over the last few hours as they’d drank and danced. He wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the wanting looks Willow had been casting his way all night or if he’d conjured them up with wishful thinking, but the longer he had her in his arms, the harder it was to remember they weren’t a real couple.
They’d met Liz and Mark, the happy couple celebrating their upcoming wedding, which was taking place tomorrow morning by the lake. After a few awkward moments of them and their friends gushing over Zane’s celebrity status, Willow had held up her hand and announced that they were engaged, shocking the hell out of him. She’d finally embraced their ruse, and good-time Willow had come out to play. He was sure the alcohol helped, but damn, he loved the way she draped herself all over him, playing up their relationship for their audience.
She laughed again, and he followed the sound to a tall table at the other end of the bar, where she stood with a handful of people. She wore Liz’s crown, and everyone else was watching her.
What are you up to now, baby doll?
Endearments came so easily when he was with her and when he thought of her. He never called women anything other than their names, but he’d called Willow just about every affectionate name under the sun for as long as he’d known her. He grinned, recalling her annoyance at his use of sweet cheeks. She’d always hated that one, which made it even more fun to say.
As he approached the table, two good-looking guys stepped up beside her, one unabashedly leering at her cleavage. Zane curled his hands into fists.
Willow tossed something up in the air, and it landed on the table. A coin, he realized as everyone leaned in to see it and cheered. Her eyes widened, and a gorgeous smile spread across her face as she reached down and untied her belt.
What the . . . ? Zane quickened his pace and narrowed his eyes as she whipped the belt around over her head like a lasso and tossed it in the air with a loud whoop!
The leerer snatched it out of the air and leaned down, whispering something to Willow. Zane grabbed his shoulder, dragging him backward.
“Dude!” the guy hollered.
“Hands off my fiancée, buddy.” He grabbed Willow’s belt from his hand and pushed past him.
Willow, oblivious to him, tossed the coin in the air again.
He put his arm around her and said, “Time to go, Wills,” as the coin landed on the table and cheers rang out again.
Eyes wide and glassy, Willow grabbed his shirt and tugged him closer. “Z! You’ve got to play this!”
The others began chanting, “Drink, drink, drink!”
Willow downed a shot, grabbed Zane’s face with two hands, and smashed her mouth to his. It happened so fast he didn’t have time to think past the heat blazing a path straight to his groin. She pulled back, blinking those unbearably long lashes up at him with a shocked look on her face.
He hauled her to her feet—her bare feet? “Time to go, Wills. Where are your shoes?”
“Aw, come on. We were just getting started,” a guy called out.
Zane ignored him, focusing on Willow. “Shoes, baby. Where are they?”
She looked down and giggled, turning those mischievous green eyes on him again. Then she shrugged and wrapped herself around him like a second skin. “Lost them in Flip, Sip, or Strip.”
Flip, Sip, or Strip? Holy shit. He made a mental note not to let Willow drink without him. Ever. “Come on, sweet stuff.” He slid his arm around her waist and guided her toward the resort.
“But we were playing.”
She pointed over her shoulder.
“And now you’re done.”
“You didn’t kiss me back.” Her lips were pouty, and her brows furrowed.
Aw, hell. She was killing him. He wanted to kiss her, and not just to see her smile again. Grinding his teeth against the urge to do just that, he focused on getting her to the resort.
“Why didn’t you kiss me?” She stumbled off the edge of the patio and into the grass.
“You’re drunk.” He swept her into his arms, nearly groaning at the feel of her warm, lush curves pressed against him. Heaven and hell collided, and he was the lucky recipient of their torturous impact.
“So?” She wound her arms around his neck. “I bet you make out with drunk girls all the time.”
“Wills.” His warning was clear. He focused on the music fading in the distance, the water lapping at the shore. The sound of the frigging adrenaline rushing through his ears. Anything except the woman in his arms who was too drunk to realize what she was saying. She pressed her hands to his cheeks and turned his face toward hers. Jesus, she was too sexy, all pouty and angry, a flush from too much alcohol pinking her cheeks. He tried to ignore the thrum of heat building inside him, but when she licked her lips, he felt it below his belt.
“Why. Won’t. You. Kiss. Me?” she demanded.
He shifted his eyes away. “Put your head on my shoulder and chill, Wills.” Before I take you up on your offer.
“Am I not hot enough for you?” She pulled his face toward hers again. “Not skinny enough? Not pretty enough?”
“Willow, stop.” He carried her into the resort and directly to the elevator.
“Put me down.” She pushed against his chest.
“Sweetheart, you’re drunk. Just let me put you to bed.” Fuck. Now he was thinking about her in bed. The elevator arrived, and they stepped inside. He pushed the button for their floor.
The Real Thing (Sugar Lake Book 1) Page 6