by Zoe York
She knew all about being an easy mark for people to tease.
She hated it. “What part of I didn’t do it for selfish purposes can’t you seem to remember?”
He shrugged. “I must have missed that lesson in my high school civics class.”
No way was she letting him box her in like that. This wasn’t a debate over semantics. “Fine. Call the cops. Have me arrested. All I was trying to do was keep Simone away from your brother.”
“What?” The hard look was back, and this time a vein in his temple started twitching for good measure.
“Nothing.” She didn’t want to be the cause of this guy having an aneurysm.
He made a low noise under his breath that sounded a lot like a growl. “Not nothing. Something. Something important. Simone what?”
“It's fine, I handled it.”
“Spill, woman. All, the details. Now.”
Chapter Three
Dylan listened to every word of Astrid’s story, biting his tongue, until she trailed off with a shrug.
“And that’s why I’m here. To get her suitcase and anything else she left behind, because no way am I going to let her come back herself. Not if she’s having second thoughts.”
“No,” he agreed. “She can’t come back.”
“So I’ll get her on a plane tomorrow and it’ll be fine.”
“We will get her on a plane.”
“You’re not exactly her favourite person.”
He didn’t give a flying damn whether Simone hated him or not, although he didn’t think she did. “She’ll get over it. I’ll take care of upgrading her to first class.”
Astrid snorted. “Is that how you think you should handle women? Throw gifts at them?”
“Not women. But in my experience, throwing money at a problem goes a long way toward fixing it. And right now, Simone is a problem.”
“And a person.”
“Sure. A problematic person.”
“Be nice to her.”
Ha. “I’m nice to everyone.”
“You haven’t been nice to me since you walked through…” She knocked on the door he currently had her pinned against. “This door.”
Right. She maybe had a point there. He should back up and give her some space.
But there was something about the softness in her eyes, even when she was fighting him…and the matching softness in her lips, her cheeks, even the blond curls falling over her shoulders. She looked like a whipped confection, like spun sugar and sweet cream, and he found himself wanting a taste.
Really inconvenient timing, libido. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman. Coming back from leave to find out your fool-for-a-brother was getting married to someone he barely knew was a sure-fire way to kill the fun of heading out to a club and picking up an anonymous one-night stand. What if she turned out to be a Mrs. Navy SEAL wannabe?
What if something hit him upside the head and he found himself wanting her to be?
No, coming back from this tour overseas hadn’t been celebrated in the usual way. And that was the only reason he was now thinking about whether or not Astrid’s skin tasted like sugar.
So he took a big step back and shoved his hands in his pockets.
“I should go,” she said shakily.
“No.” It came out like a bark, and he forced himself to soften his tone. “Wait. I’m sorry I accused you of stealing my tequila.”
She shrugged. “And I’m sorry I stole your tequila. Let's just put this entire day behind us.”
“But what about Simone?”
"What about her?"
“As soon as she’s on a plane, we don’t have a problem.”
“Uh…” She nodded. “Sure. Okay.”
But she didn’t seem sure of anything. “Let me help you make that happen.”
“I don’t know…”
“Give me a chance to convince you.”
“Of what?”
“That we’re better doing this together than apart.”
“Well, you don’t need to do anything at all.”
“I need to make sure my brother’s one and only day of feeling sorry for himself is today. So yeah, I need to do something to make sure she leaves the East Coast without contacting him again. Understand?”
She nodded reluctantly. “Yes.”
“Okay. We need a plan.” He headed back to the minibar. His tequila was long gone, now in the hands of the runaway bride. He didn’t like whiskey, and the cans of beer were basically water.
Well, his brother wouldn’t be drinking the champagne. He swung the bottle in the air as he turned back to his co-conspirator. “Let’s toast.”
“To what?”
“To keeping the previously betrothed couple apart until they are both firmly committed to the idea of never getting back together.”
“What happened to just being chill and not contributing to gossip?”
He laughed at how she took his words and tossed them back at her. That he found that funny instead of annoying had to be due to the fact that right now he was supposed to be doing the funky chicken dance or some shit like that. “It’ll be a secret plan. We’ll be chill on the surface.”
She gave him a sceptical look. “Uh huh.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“I do.” But the doubt in her voice said she was fibbing to be polite.
“Counter espionage is part of my job.”
“And you’re good at it?”
He went to take a swig of champagne and realized it was still corked. “I’m great at it.”
She watched, one delicate eyebrow curved high in the sky, as he uncorked the bubbly like a pro. “I find this hard to believe.”
“That’s because you haven’t had any champagne. Here.” He held out the bottle for her and she laughed.
“No glasses?”
“Fine, be fancy.” He grinned until she found the bride and groom flutes above the bar. “Whoa, not that fancy.”
“They’re the only ones here, so you’ll have to deal.”
He shook his head. Drinking out of a groom’s glass. This was not how today was supposed to end. She held out both glasses and he filled them up, going back for a second pass to top them up after the bubbles subsided.
She lifted one to her mouth and took sip, making an appreciative hum of delight before handing him the other.
Cheers to the Bride, it said.
So he avoided the groom glass after all. For the best.
“So what’s the plan?” She took another sip of her wine, watching him over the rim of her glass.
He took a matching sip. Two of them, in fact. It was good champagne. “Well, it’s best if I work behind the scenes. Given that she doesn’t like me and all.”
“Agreed.”
“You should spend the day with her tomorrow. We’ll stay in touch by text messaging. I’ll arrange a ticket—first class, as promised—and you get her to the airport.”
“That’s basically my plan.” She took another sip. "I see you're taking credit for it."
“I goosed it a bit with the first class thing.”
“And now you’re going to spin that as a team effort, right?”
“Exactly. You’d make an excellent spy.”
“Really?”
Probably not, but the champagne was going to his head and he wanted to see her grin again. “Sure.”
“Is that like when I say sure? You should know I don’t mean it.”
He nodded. “I know.”
She sighed and sank onto the couch, suddenly looking sad. “How did this happen?”
“Hey there, no sadness. It’s been a long day. Drink your champagne.”
She tipped her glass back, then held it out for more.
He joined her on the couch, refilling her glass before leaning back and spreading his arms out wide across the back cushions.
“I’m serious, Dylan. What possessed them to come up with this crazy idea to get married?”
He shrug
ged. Beat him. “Hormones?”
“Must be. Because love is a big deal.” She took another sip of her wine and frowned at him.
“What’s that look for?”
“Don’t you dare argue with me. I have a lot of thoughts on this point and I've had to bite my tongue far too frequently with Simone.”
“I wouldn’t dare. Love is a big deal. I’m only ever going to get married once. I’ll wait until I’ve found my one true love, or whatever you want to call her. Soul mate, maybe. But I truly believe that for each of us on earth, there’s another person who will just get them. Maybe they’re the same, maybe they’re opposites. But without fail, they’re the one person who can just sit beside them and know on a cellular level when something is right or wrong with their spouse.”
She blinked at him. “Wow.”
“Oh…” He blew a raspberry.
“That’s…actually incredibly romantic.”
“I’ll ruin it before too long, I’m sure.”
“I don’t think that’s possible. And I totally agree. I don’t even think you need to get married. You know what question has always made me squirrelly? Asking a married couple if they feel different now that they’re married. If your relationship is meant to be, you already have that connection before you stand in front of a minister and make vows.”
“Sure, but the vows mean something.”
“Only as a public recognition of what you already have.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s a solemn way to reiterate your commitment.”
She shrugged. “We’ll agree to disagree.”
“Fair enough. More champagne?”
“Yes, please.” She giggled, and he returned the smile. The hyper-politeness was a refreshing change of pace from the negativity of the day. Plus he liked her smile.
He topped her up, then watched the curve of her throat shift as she tipped her glass back and nearly emptied it. She saved a sip at the bottom of the glass, though, and instead of drinking it, she just looked at the pale gold liquid. “Why is this stuff so delicious?”
“No clue, but it is.” He drank his own glass, then filled it again, only half way. At some point he’d have to walk her back to her room.
At some point he had to go to bed.
Tomorrow they had a mission to carry out. Shouldn’t be too hard. They just had to ship a bride across the country.
She turned sideways on the couch, giving him a funny look. “What are you thinking about?”
“Getting you to bed.”
Her lips parted and her cheeks tinged pink. “Pardon?”
“Your room. I…” He cleared his throat. “I thought I’d walk you back there.”
“Oh.”
“What did you think I said?” He knew. He knew it in his gut, hot and hungry all of a sudden, and he wanted to make her cheeks turn even pinker.
She shook her head slowly, not letting him win that easily. “No clue.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
She lifted one creamy shoulder. How could a California girl have such gorgeous, pale skin? “Maybe that’s too bad.”
And now he was the one with the warm cheeks. “Well played.”
She wiggled her eyebrows and then with a regretful sigh, looked at her flute and tipped the last few drops into her mouth.
All but one which lingered on her bottom lip, making it wet and shiny and irresistible.
Ah, hell. He leaned in. The day couldn’t get any more complicated, right? They’d maxed out on drama, so whatever happened…
She leaned in before catching herself and swaying back. Her eyes were wide and bright as she looked at his mouth, her gaze like a spark, a burning ember. “What are you doing?”
“Something truly stupid.” He leaned in and licked the drop of champagne off her lower lip.
Chapter Four
Astrid barely had time to gasp before Dylan’s mouth covered hers, his lips firm and his tongue soft.
No, her brain screamed as her free hand slid up and around his neck. This is a terrible idea, you ninny.
But Dylan was hot—way out of her league—and it had been a long day. Too long for logic, frankly, and he tasted like champagne.
When was the last time someone had made her dizzy with just a kiss?
A devastating, thorough exploration of her lips and her mouth, really. Not just a kiss. A sensitive, teasing caress that seemed totally at odds with his big, tough Guy-with-a-capital-G routine.
And then he nipped her lower lip, the same spot he’d licked, and that was more what she expected, really. It was good, too. It was all good. She wanted more. Maybe if she lifted herself—
She froze, one knee up on the couch, the other halfway over his thigh. What was she doing?
“Don’t stop now, pretty girl. We’re just getting started.”
That was why she didn’t kiss guys like Dylan. Because he had a line for everything, including convincing women who should know better too keep doing stupid things when they should know better.
“I have to go,” she muttered, pushing herself off the couch and looking everywhere but at his mouth.
Shivers were still racing through her body at the very recent memory of just how good that mouth tasted as she fumbled at the door.
“Hey,” he said, a soft murmur right behind her.
She didn’t turn around.
“You need my number. For tomorrow.”
Right. Tomorrow. The plan. She squared her shoulder and rattled off her own number. “Text me and I’ll let you know I got it.”
From where she’d put her purse down on top of Simone’s suitcase, she heard a quiet text message alert.
“Done.” He reached past her, his fingertips brushing her forearm, but he just turned the handle for her. “I’ll walk you back.”
Oh, God no. “I’m good, really.”
“Please—”
“I don’t want you to.” She winced at the unkind retort, but seriously, if he didn’t leave her be, she’d probably be throwing herself at him, and that couldn’t happen.
“Text me when you’re back to your room. Just to humour my overprotective nature.”
She nodded before stepping into the hallway.
What in the world just happened?
* * *
Dylan thumped his head against the door. He should follow her.
No, you should leave her alone. There was that, too. That was a solid plan.
He paced away from the door, unbuttoning his shirt. If he were naked, he’d be less likely to prowl after her, given there were other guests around.
If there weren’t…then being naked might be a good first step toward something fun.
He swore at himself under his breath. It really had been too long.
That’s hardly fair to Astrid.
He stopped and scowled at his reflection in the mirror. His inner better-self hadn’t been this chatty…ever. “Oh, shut the eff up,” he growled.
His reflection scowled right back.
Astrid texted him just as he was climbing into the king-sized bed—alone, which was probably the first time the honeymoon suite’s bed hadn’t seen any action in a while.
* * *
Astrid: In my room. Will update tomorrow.
Dylan: Thanks for the heads up.
* * *
He stared at his phone. There was a lot more he wanted to say. Sorry for sticking my tongue down your throat. Sorry for thinking about the hem of your skirt crawling up those gorgeous thighs. Sorry for opening the champagne.
Sorry we didn’t have another bottle.
Instead of sending any of those, he closed his eyes and thought about how soft she felt beneath his hands. How sweet she’d tasted. Not like sugar, but like goodness and light, two things in short supply in his life.
And he thought about the next day, and how he probably shouldn’t kiss her again.
But he probably would.
And even in advance, he couldn’t feel bad about that plan of attack.
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Astrid Hughes didn’t know what was about to hit her.
* * *
She hadn’t drunk enough champagne the night before to be hung over, but the sun was still too bright as she slid behind the wheel of her rental car and navigated to the causeway, driving back to the mainland and Simone’s motel.
Like the sunlight might expose her selfish make out session to her friend. I know you just broke up with his brother, but he was just so cute and I couldn’t help myself.
Ugh. She was the worst.
To assuage her guilty conscience, she drove past the motel and found the nearest Starbucks. She went through the drive-thru and ordered Simone a venti of her favourite latte. Because she wasn’t a saint, she got one for herself, too.
It wouldn’t do for Simone to know that Astrid was beating herself up. Plus coffee made the world go round. And the faster the world spun by, the faster another day twirled, she’d be that much further from that kiss—the one that had kept her up all night, the one she could still feel tingling her lips if she closed her eyes.
Thankfully she was driving. Closing her eyes would be a terrible idea.
She parked in the empty space right in front of Simone’s room. A double knock on the door brought her friend running. “Oh, coffee! You’re a saint,” Simone gushed.
Astrid winced. “You look…happier.”
“I am.” Simone nodded definitively. “A good night’s sleep helped put everything in perspective.”
“Oh, good.” Astrid waited for the other shoe to drop, but Simone just sipped her latte. “So…can I arrange an earlier flight for you?”
Simone wrinkled her nose. “No. I don’t want to waste the money. I was thinking of hitting the beach—not at the resort, of course. Just the regular public beach. The cost of five more nights of hotels is less than a last-minute flight home.”
“Hmm,” Astrid said. She pulled out her phone.
* * *
Astrid: Simone’s talking about sticking around. Not for Garrett. I think she doesn’t want to pay for a last minute ticket.