Wrong then Right (A Love Happens Novel Book 2)

by Jodi Watters

  He barely heard Nolan and Grady’s heated discussion on which brand of tequila went down the smoothest. Or the odds that Ash’s date had a tramp stamp that read you’re welcome, and if so, the high likelihood it would be grammatically incorrect. Or whether the mint shaped like an AR-15 assault rifle tasted better than the Sig Sauer P226 pistol or the MK-16 SCAR sniper rifle. Nor did he pay much attention when Ash settled the argument by firmly declaring it was the SCAR hands down, based solely on its adaptability in close quarters fighting and not the fact that it was the largest mint in the fucking dish. Then he grumbled about the lack of intelligent conversation taking place and looked at his watch, ignoring his evening companion who was still downing free champagne like there was no tomorrow.

  All Beck really heard was the sound of his own disillusionment. And all he saw on the dance floor was a future completely out of reach for the likes of him.

  Love and sex and loyalty?

  Fuck that, Beckett Smith thought, with his usual unfailing cynicism, ignoring Ash’s watchful eyes as he reached for another bottle of beer. Right now, he’d take the sex part. The other two could go straight to hell.

  CHAPTER THREE

  From far away, he was magnetic. Up close, he was downright lethal.

  His dark hair, not long but not short, was classically messy, as if he’d styled it that way on purpose when she knew damn well he’d carelessly run his hands through it a half dozen times tonight without thought. A sexy layer of day old stubble covered his handsome face, adding to his mysterious appeal and making it apparent that he wasn’t a man who took great pains with his appearance. Another check mark in Hope’s plus column. It was a crying shame he’d gone from the hottest prospect she’d ever had, to a man she needed to avoid like he carried the Ebola virus.

  And all because of the newcomer sitting next to him, shooting the shit like they were age-old buddies.

  Hope should have known. This was her brother’s kind of crowd. Alpha men, all looking like they worked hard and played harder, used to calling the shots and expecting nothing less than full compliance. And of all places for her brother to show his face, it had to be here, while she was working. While Helen rode her ass like a pack mule and beads of sticky sweat rolled down her back. While she obsessed over the best way to proposition a man she’d yet to meet and who was probably out of her league anyway, without looking like a seasoned slut.

  Keeping her head down, she filled several flutes with pink bubbly and handed the heavy tray to the floor server, praying Ash wouldn’t notice her. That would be a doozy of a scene for sure, with him demanding to know why she was working a low level catering gig instead of a desk job created specifically for her. Demanding she tell him the details of her life so he could offer his unsolicited opinion and take charge of the areas he found her to be lacking, because as everyone in the family knew, she was a screw up of the highest order.

  Stopping long enough to lift the heavy fall of dark hair off her neck, Hope let the early evening tradewinds cool her clammy skin. This day was turning out to be a real son of a bitch.

  “What’s the name of this wedding, Val?” Wondering about the connection, she wished she’d bothered to ask the question earlier.

  “Gleeson slash Ross, according to Helen’s trusty clipboard.” Then, as if she were illiterate, he slowly added, “Sam and Ali, according to those engraved glasses in front of you.” Filling a large plastic tub with dirty cake plates, he stowed it under a covered, portable cart. “Are you done being mad at me now? If I promise never to mention your moneyed heritage again? A lot of people would die to be in your shoes, you know.” He looked at her black patent leather flats with a frown. “Metaphorically speaking.”

  Hope smiled, knowing there was no way she could stay mad at Valentino Sabato. It wasn’t easy to be pissed at a guy who shared his coveted, three-hundred dollar wrinkle cream with you and wasn’t afraid to shoot a syringe chock full of black market Botox between his eyes on a dare. And the name Gleeson didn’t ring a bell, not that she was familiar with her brother’s circle of friends. They didn’t hang out much these days. Never had.

  And now he was buddied up with Hope’s dream man, effectively beaver-damming her.

  Pouting, she denied the urge to stomp her foot in pent up sexual frustration. “For those men who’ve been cock-blocked, I’d just like to say, I hear you, I see you, and I feel your pain.” Adding fresh ice to the buckets of chilling champagne, she wished she could take a swig or two without Helen noticing. “This really sucks the big one.”

  “Considering your sad dating history, Hope? I don’t think there’s any chance you’re gonna be sucking the big one tonight. Or in the near future.” He paused, noticing something over her shoulder, and his voice turned coy. “Or is there?”

  She looked up from the champagne buckets in time to see him shoot two fake guns at her, making a clicking sound before blowing invisible smoke from his index fingers. Nodding behind her, he whispered, “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

  Rolling her eyes, she turned toward the source of his amusement and caught her breath, hoping the shocked grin on her face didn’t make her look like an idiot.

  Mr. Man Candy was approaching, his gait steady, his expression sure. Confidence times a thousand. And holy smokes, they were green. His eyes, staring at her with fixated intent, were the color of the jungle after a heavy rain. Clear, deep and so saturated that Crayola couldn’t replicate the shade if they tried.

  He discreetly tossed a thin, white plastic card down on the table in front of her, the hotel’s signature crimson and gold logo scrolled in the center. Her mouth dropped open when she realized what it was.

  “Room two-eighteen,” he said, his voice rough, as if underused. “When you’re done.”

  And with that, he turned and walked away, not bothering to wait for an answer. Hell, he never really issued an invitation. More like an order. It should have pissed her off. Only it didn’t.

  Hope couldn’t say for sure what made her nod, even though he wasn’t looking her way to notice. Or what made her pocket the keycard before Val could see it and warn her on the dangers of sleeping with complete strangers in random hotel rooms. And she couldn’t say for sure what had her actually walking toward room two-eighteen a few hours later, her shift over even though the wedding reception was still going strong.

  Maybe it was the unexpected sight of her brother after so long, reminding her that she was no longer a helpless girl who needed taken care of, but a woman taking care of herself. Maybe it was witnessing a lovely—and unequivocally loving—wedding, reminding her that at the end of every day, she was truly alone in the world. No mother. No father to speak of. And a half brother who saw her only as the reason his own mother was dead, when he bothered to see her at all. Maybe it was the embarrassing fact that she’d just turned twenty-five and was still holding on to her innocence, and who better to take it than the no-nonsense Mr. Man Candy.

  Or maybe, just maybe, it was simply those well fitting suit pants.

  Taking a deeply fortifying breath, Hope smoothed a hand down her gray vintage tank top and over her airy, white eyelet miniskirt, the motion a failed attempt to discourage the rapid rise and fall of her chest. At least she’d had the foresight to shave her legs this morning and Hope took that as a sign from God. Discount store flip-flops completed her outfit, the snapping sound obnoxious as she steadily made her way along the empty hotel corridor. Past room two-ten. Then two-twelve. She’d changed out of her ugly work uniform, the white button down shirt and short black skirt hardly seduction material, and quickly showered in the women’s locker room attached to the hotel gym. Talking herself into, then right back out of, accepting his indecent proposal several times, she’d dressed in the casual outfit she’d worn to work and put on a minimal amount of make-up, planning to head for the employee parking lot.

  And then his ass in those pants popped into her mind and well, a girl only had so much willpower.

  Squeezing the plastic keycard agains
t her palm repeatedly, she stopped in front of room two-eighteen, closing her eyes briefly. Her heart raced, the pulse in her neck thumping rapidly. Hope knew what would happen if she walked into this room. And she wanted it to happen, she really did. Straight up stranger sex was an unconventional way to start a relationship, but she was sick of being an adult in every area of her life except this. And he—cripes, she didn’t even know his freaking name—was the first man she’d ever felt such a potent physical response to. A tugging deep down in her belly that wouldn’t be ignored. No casual boyfriend had ever inspired that pull, hence the virginity she so desperately wanted banished. Third base had been her limit with the guys she’d dated over the years, even though Val thought she was putting out regularly. Testing the men first had seemed more important, finding out if they really wanted her or just the bragging rights her last name would bring. When they realized she wasn’t giving up the goods that easily, they’d split, and Hope had been happy to watch them go.

  But this one, Mr. Man Candy, was going to be different. He was pretty much guaranteed a home run.

  Licking her lips, she took another deep breath and squared her shoulders, slowly sliding the card into the key slot. The lock disengaged, the door sliding open with little effort, and Hope’s knees went weak. Her gaze immediately snagged on the empty king size bed, made up in high thread count Egyptian cotton, then moved to the open balcony doors, the breeze blowing the white gauze draperies like boat sails. Leaning back against the ornate iron railing, he stared at her, not saying a word as his eyes traced her body from head to toe. Hope had no earthly idea whether he liked what he saw or not. His face remained impassive as he drained the bottle of water dangling in his fingers before pushing away from the railing and slowly stalking inside, stopping to prop a shoulder against the doorway as he nodded toward the fully stocked wet bar.

  Fighting the urge to wring her hands, she stood in the center of the room and shook her head, although the small shooters of coconut rum looked tempting. The bottles of Pinot Grigio and Chardonnay, with their familiar Coleson Creek Winery labels, doused any desire to imbibe. This man was a ride she wanted to enjoy with all her faculties in full working order.

  His shirt was undone, the tails hanging wrinkled and loose, exposing a mouthwatering amount of sculpted chest. A light dusting of dark hair covered the toned muscle and her fingers flexed with the need to touch him, her eyes following the path of chest hair down past his ridged abdomen and flat navel, the sexy trail disappearing into the shadowy awesomeness of his partially undone suit pants.

  Good Lord.

  Her quick inhalation was loud in the quiet room and sparked a cocky half grin from him, making her feel as inexperienced as she was. But that was all about to change.

  “Commando, huh? I appreciate the easy access.” Hope had no freaking idea where she found the courage to say that. “In fact, I’m tempted to do a little cheer. With cartwheels.”

  “Feel free.” The slow, rough words sent tingles down her spine. “I can see if you roll the same way. Or you could just drop the skirt.” It was evident he preferred the latter.

  Looking at him, then around the room, she waited for him to do something. And waited some more. Wasn’t this where the small talk occurred? Where they took a moment to get to know one another before the banging began? At least exchange names and a cordial handshake?

  His brow lifted when she looked back at him and he gestured toward her skirt.

  Was he for real? “Is it always this easy for you? You just nod and direct while the girl does all the work?”

  He shrugged, his abs contracting. “She doesn’t do all the work.”

  God, that voice. It could talk her into doing anything. Including all the work. “Well, I’m not sure what exactly you’re used to, but I’m gonna need more of an interactive experience here, okay?”

  He smiled wolfishly. An all out, no holds barred grin, perfect teeth and everything. Her stomach bottomed out and she smiled back, suddenly, wholly, glad as hell she’d shown up for this. Pushing away from the balcony door, his grin disappeared, replaced by a feral look that had her taking a quick step back. He noticed, stopping just in front of her, surrounding her with his clean, musky scent but not so close that she felt invaded. Giving her an opportunity to back out.

  Hope held her ground, her head tilted back, noticing tiny gold flecks flashing in his green eyes. She hadn’t realized how tall he was. How big.

  He reached out, tracing a fingertip along the dainty platinum chain of her necklace, down to the tiny heart charm laying nestled in the hollow of her throat. She swallowed, her chest rising when she finally drew in a breath. His touch was gentle, at complete odds with the hard edged man in front of her. Oh, he was downright beautiful, there was no doubt. But good luck to the person who told him so.

  “Door’s unlocked. You can leave,” he said, when she just stood there, like a deer caught in bright headlights.

  She laughed lightly and shook her head, too hot for him to hide her nervousness. “Nope.”

  His eyes narrowed, darkening to a deep jade, and he slid his hand around to cup the back of her neck. Pulling her up to him, his breath fanned her cheek. “Then off with the skirt.”

  She gripped the tails of his shirt when his lips met hers, the arousing sweep of his tongue deeper, the delicious contact longer, than she expected. His first kiss wasn’t tentative. It was erotic. Blatantly sexual. Angling his dark head, her ran the tip of his tongue along her plump bottom lip, dipping inside to taste her slowly, thoroughly, before pulling back, their lips clinging briefly. She whimpered when he broke contact, tugging on his shirt and rising up on her tiptoes, not caring if she appeared desperate.

  That might have been the best kiss of her life and she wanted more.

  He obliged, plucking at her mouth and sweeping skillfully inside. The urgency was still there, but he wasn’t as rushed. Like he had all day to do nothing but kiss her. Okay, there was no might about it, Hope thought, letting go of his shirt to slide her hands along the warm, muscled expanse of his chest. This was, without a shadow of a doubt, the best kiss she’d ever had.

  Rough hands ran up the length of her bare arms and behind her, pulling her tighter against him as the kiss to end all kisses made her dizzy with desire. Taking a serrated breath as he trailed his hot mouth along the line of her jaw and down her neck, Hope felt his significant hardness against her stomach and a surge of confidence energized her. His arousal fueled hers, shooting heat through her veins, while his talented lips and tongue did amazing things to the sensitive skin on her neck. Spreading biting kisses along her collarbone, he nuzzled his way along the loose edge of her tank top.

  Cool air hit the bare skin of her stomach when he abruptly stepped back with the hem of her shirt bunched in his fist, pausing only long enough to say, “Lift.”

  She raised her arms without thinking and he had it off a split second later. Green eyes glued to her ivory lace bra, his hand quickly snaked out, the tips of his fingers digging into the wide waistband of her skirt. He yanked her up against his rangy body and kissed her again, his rich taste more intoxicating than anything displayed on the bar. With the sudden, hard tug of his hand, her skirt dropped to the floor next to her shirt and he took a step back, shrugging out of the white dress shirt as he took in her matching ivory lace thong with unwavering focus.

  “Take the rest off.”

  Christ, he was making this difficult for her. It would be a whole lot easier if he’d just do it himself. Perfecting an impromptu striptease hadn’t been a priority for her lately, the possibility of getting completely naked while the hottest guy she’d ever laid eyes on watched intently never crossing her mind. Looking cute while she did it seemed too much to ask.

  Suppressing an eye roll, she reached back and unhooked her bra, knowing she was in this all the way. The lace dropped to the carpet without a sound and she quickly hooked her thumbs in the string band of her panties, shimmying her way out of them before she lost her nerve.
He groaned under his breath, his scorching gaze assessing her from her average C cup breasts to the juncture of her thighs, and she grinned, suddenly thankful for every torturous minute spent in spinning class. And then her heart skipped a full beat when he tossed a condom on the bed and took a step into her, touching his wonderfully hard body to her soft one, pushing her until her bare legs hit the mattress.

  Falling back, she let out a surprised laugh and lifted herself to her elbows, nodding toward his considerably tented lap.

  “Take the rest off,” she ordered, mimicking his demand.

  He nearly smiled but tilted his head in warning instead, quickly shedding the pants.

  And Hope just about lost her shit. Despite her unpopped cherry, she wasn’t a prude by any means. The internet had a wealth of porn and she’d seen plenty of it. Spent her fair share of solo time, too. But still, looking at him now—and it was quite the eyeful—she couldn’t help but wonder how the hell this was going to work, logistically speaking.

  Because Mr. Man Candy had it going on.

  Coming down over top of her, she automatically spread her thighs to cradle his lean hips, his mouth a welcome distraction as he kissed her expertly, sweeping inside to taste and tangle with her tongue. Nerves made her hands tremble as she ran them along the tight skin of his back and up into his hair, tugging when he trailed wet kisses down the nape of her neck, working his way south. Cupping her sensitive breasts in both hands, he licked across each hardened tip before sucking one deeply, rolling the other tight peak between his fingers.

  Hope moaned lustily, a surprisingly intense arc of desire shooting from her nipples straight to her core. Instinctively raising her knees up to give him better access, she ran her short nails across the sharp blades of his shoulders and heard him hiss in response. And as his tongue laved her breasts and his mouth suckled, she realized she had no freaking idea what his name was.

  “Hey, I have a question,” she said breathlessly, thankful he couldn’t see the blush blooming on her face. “What’s your name?”