What Happens in Summer

by Caridad Piñeiro

  “I need some air,” she said and jumped out of the chair.

  Jonathan did the same and, looking around, he said, “We’re outside.”

  “Shut up, Jon. Just shut up,” she said with an angry slash of her hand.

  He followed, but as they reached the edge of the dance floor, the MC announced that it was time for the cutting of the cake.

  Before she could take a step onto the great lawn to head down to the beachfront, Emma and Tracy were there, grabbing her elbows and propelling her back toward the dais.

  “You know what comes next, Connie. You can’t miss that,” Emma whispered.

  Connie cringed. Yes, she knew. The dreaded hauling out of the old maids and having them battle for the bridal bouquet for the privilege of being groped by a drunk-ass bachelor hoping to get lucky.

  “No way,” she said and jerked her elbows free.

  “Way. If I have to do it, so do you,” Emma replied.

  Tracy held up her hand to show her wedding band. With a shrug, she singsonged, “Married.”

  “Traitor,” Connie said again, but she patiently waited as Maggie and Owen cut their cake and ate it. Moments later, Carlo came out onto the dance floor and called for his staff to assist and wheel the cake aside so it could be served.

  The lead singer from the band walked over to Maggie, grabbed her bouquet, and waved it in the air. “All you single ladies, come on up,” she called out.

  A gaggle of teens raced up, followed by some reluctant millennials. Tracy pushed Connie and Emma out onto the dance floor, and to appease Connie, they hung out at the back of the pack. From the corner of her eye, Connie noticed Jonathan standing by the dais, an amused grin on his face. She kept her hands fisted at her sides, having no intention of catching the bouquet, but as her gaze connected with Maggie’s, it was obvious her friend was calculating how to accomplish just that.

  As the new bride turned her back and the countdown began for the toss, Connie quickly sidestepped Emma and, with a subtle hip check, shifted her friend to where she had been standing seconds earlier. As Maggie had planned, the bouquet flew through the air and straight at Emma’s head, giving her no choice but to catch it or be beaned by the tussie-mussie.

  Realizing what Connie had done, Emma whirled on her and whined, “I thought you were my friend!”

  “Totally,” she said and waltzed off to the side to grab Carlo and pull him onto the dance floor for the next part of the ritual.

  He protested at first, and all eyes settled on him as he balked. Jonathan came over to haul him onto the floor, and Carlo finally relented, although clearly reluctantly. The handsome caterer stood by Jonathan, and as Owen prepared his garter toss, Emma closed her eyes and mumbled something beneath her breath.

  It sounded like a prayer to Connie, but apparently God wasn’t listening (or maybe he was), since the garter flew across the air, and like a horseshoe tossed at a ring, the garter encircled Carlo’s index finger, earning hoots and shouts from all gathered there at the perfect shot.

  As Emma opened her eyes and saw Carlo standing there, dangling the baby-blue garter for all to see, a bright-red flush erupted across her face and up to her ears. She half glanced at Connie and said, “I will kill you for this. When you least suspect it, it will happen.”

  Connie couldn’t stifle her chuckle, and when Jonathan came to her side, she high-fived him for his assistance with the plot but asked, “How did you know Emma and Carlo—”

  “I didn’t until yesterday and then it was damned obvious,” he said.

  She guessed that there was more that he wasn’t saying. She wanted to pry but suspected there was some kind of bro code that would keep him from telling her, much like she wouldn’t share her friend’s secrets. Or her own—namely that, deep inside her, she still cared for him. Still wondered at times what it would be like to be with him.

  The band launched into a sexy riff to assist Carlo with placing the garter on Emma. Ever the gentleman, he kept it clean, his touch deferential while he slipped the lacy fabric past her shoe and ankle. Up a little higher to her calf where he paused to look up at Emma, who was staring skyward, her color deepening. With her fair skin, it was impossible to hide the flush.

  Carlo grinned and inched the garter past her knee but stopped there despite the entreaties of the single men to go ever higher. He wagged his head, shook his finger in a no-way gesture, and draped Emma’s gown back over her legs.

  Emma finally met his gaze, thankful, but then Carlo did the totally unexpected. He wrapped an arm around her waist and slowly drew her close. Keeping one hand at her waist, he cradled her jaw and kissed her like there was no tomorrow.

  When Carlo finally ended the kiss, Emma stood there, dazed and a little unsteady, until Carlo bent and whispered something in her ear and she playfully shoved him away.

  That prompted yet more catcalls from the single men, and with a shrug, Carlo left the floor and started giving instructions to his crew again, while Emma stomped toward her friends, her green eyes blazing fire.

  She thrust the tussie-mussie bouquet against Connie’s chest and repeated her earlier warning. “You’re a dead woman.”

  But Connie could only chuckle, and Jonathan joined her with a full belly laugh and a clap of his hands. “Oh man, she’s got it bad for him,” he said.

  “Yep, she does,” Connie replied. Caught up in the lighthearted spirit of the moment, she didn’t refuse him when he led her out on the dance floor for a fast number.

  Chapter 11

  Connie stood before Jonathan as the wedding guests lined up to say goodbye to the newlywed couple. After Maggie and Owen emerged from the Sinclair mansion, Maggie hugged both Tracy and Emma, then came over to the other side of the stairs to embrace Connie. The two women shared a heartfelt hug and for a second, Maggie met Jonathan’s gaze as if to say Take care of her. His brother followed, enfolding Connie in his arms and then shaking Jonathan’s hand. He dipped his head toward Connie as if to repeat his wife’s entreaty.

  When Jonathan leaned forward to get a better look down the line and toward the Pierce Lightning prototype his brother was driving, his chest brushed across Connie’s back, and it was impossible to miss her trembling. He stepped closer and wrapped an arm around her waist, and she leaned back into his support.

  A few short minutes later, the Lightning pulled away soundlessly, thanks to the electric-powered engine. As it did so, the crowd gathered along the steps of the mansion and the driveway dispersed leisurely. Some walked back toward the patio and great lawn, where a Viennese table held dozens of different sweets. Others drifted toward the cars parked along Ocean Avenue, ready to go home.

  Connie stood there silently, as did Emma and Tracy opposite her. Scattered tremors still drifted across her body, but they’d abated somewhat as she marshaled her control. Tracy was the first to move, wrapping Emma in a one-armed bear hug and holding out her other arm for Connie to join them.

  Jonathan released her, and the three women embraced, heads tucked tight, until Tracy finally straightened and said, “You did good, Emma. Everything was absolutely perfect.”

  “Thanks,” Emma said, her voice husky with emotion, then she looked back toward Carlo. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Carlo smiled and brushed a lock of Emma’s strawberry blond hair back from her forehead. “I’m always here for you.”

  Jonathan hoped Emma would one day realize that and make Carlo a happy man, but he wasn’t sure about it, just as he wasn’t sure about Connie and whatever was going on with them. But as she stepped back toward him and didn’t protest as he wrapped his arm around her waist again, it occurred to him that maybe it wasn’t a hopeless cause.

  “Why don’t we go get some dessert?” he said, but Tracy and her husband demurred, saying they had an early morning date with other friends.

  “Carlo and I need to give the staff
some final instructions,” Emma said.

  Carlo confirmed it with a nod and said, “Maybe later.”

  “How about it, Connie?” Jonathan held his breath and waited for her to bail on him, but she surprised him yet again.

  “I could use some sweets to help me deal with the last few weeks,” she said.

  He held out his hand, inviting her to lead the way, and she did, cutting through the house to the patio, where the Viennese table had been set up. They walked around the display of sweets together, piling a plate high with an assortment of pastries. He carried the dish to the dais where they’d been seated earlier, laid it down, and excused himself to get them some coffee.

  At the hot beverage service, one of the waiters was prepping Irish coffees, and Jonathan ordered two, thinking that a little alcohol would also go a long way toward soothing Connie. When he returned, he noted the tiny dollop of cream on Connie’s upper lip that said she hadn’t waited to attack the sweets. After he placed the large mug with the coffee before her, he swiped away the cream and licked his finger. Teased her with, “Delicious. I see why you couldn’t wait.”

  * * *

  Connie’s insides twisted with desire at the thought of him licking assorted parts of her body. Especially since she had never forgotten the wicked things he could do with his tongue and mouth. A part of her was wondering if he could still bring her such intense pleasure.

  Needing to prop up her failing reserve, she grabbed her coffee and took a bracing sip, only to sputter as she got past the whipped cream to the whiskey-laced java beneath the surface. A trail of warmth from the liquor worked its way down her throat.

  “Holy shit, that’s strong.”

  “Is it?” He took a sip and shrugged noncommittally, but all she could see was the whipped cream sitting at the corner of his mouth, right by where his dimple would emerge when he grinned. As if on cue, he grinned when he noticed her attention and licked away the cream with a catlike swipe of his tongue.

  She grabbed her mug with both hands to hide the tremble in her hands and drank some more. She placed the mug down and reached for a napoleon on the plate, but Jonathan had already taken hold of it.

  “Never let it be said that I’m not a gentleman.” He offered it up to her, and she took a tentative bite. He took the next, substantially larger, and then offered it to her again.

  As she placed her lips on the pastry, she wondered if she would taste him there and chastised herself at her foolishness. If she wanted a taste, he was right before her and obviously willing, but was she? Could she give herself this one night with him and then walk away in the morning?

  He popped the last little bit of napoleon in his mouth, chewed, and then washed it down with some of the spiked coffee. He picked up another treat, a chocolate-covered cream puff, and offered her a bite.

  She bit into it, and as she did so, cream burst from the other side, all over his thumb and forefinger. With inordinate attention, she fixated on him as he ate the rest of it and licked the cream from his fingers.

  Beneath her gown, her nipples tightened once again, begging for his attention. Between her legs, damp heat gathered, warning her that she was balanced on a razor-thin edge that would only bring pain if she fell.

  She shot to her feet and said, “It’s getting late. I really should get going.”

  With a wry grin and a jerk of his head in the direction of Maggie’s beach home, he said, “Yeah, that walk up the stairs is a long trip. Don’t want to get stuck in traffic.”

  “Your trip isn’t much longer,” she reminded him, feeling awkward, because she really had no reason to cut the night short other than her own fear of what she was feeling around him.

  He shrugged, and his grin faded. “Actually, I may have to drive back to the city tonight.”

  Confusion filled her, since she knew he’d been staying next door for days. “Work on a weekend?” she asked while jealousy reared up inside and silently added, Or a hot date?

  He looked over his shoulder at the Pierce mansion and then pointed upward. She followed the line of his gesture to the third floor, where lights blazed and a shadow passed in front of one window and then another. It didn’t clear up her confusion at first, until the most obvious answer hit her. “Your dad? He’s here at the house and didn’t come to the wedding?”

  “Looks like that,” he said, but it was obvious there was so much more he was holding in. The lines of his face were tight, and his body had tensed up. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth, obviously uneasy.

  She understood. The Pierce brothers had always had a complicated relationship with their father. In the many years since Jonathan had decided not to return to college, that relationship had only become even more intricate and rancorous. With Owen marrying Maggie and defying their father… She couldn’t even begin to imagine how much worse it could get.

  She laid a hand on his chest and stroked it back and forth lightly, trying to offer comfort. “I’m sorry. I know how hard it is for you to be around him.”

  He huffed out a laugh. “That’s an understatement. I haven’t seen or talked to the bastard in nearly eight years.”

  “Sometimes that’s not a bad thing.” Since the day her father had left and not come back, things around her house had gotten decidedly better. But at least she’d had a loving mother and eventually grandparents who loved and cared for her, as well as Maggie, Emma, and Tracy, who were like sisters. Jonathan had only had Owen.

  He pursed his lips and nodded abruptly. “I should get going.”

  Trying to lighten the mood, she smiled and said, “That’s my line. Besides, you don’t really want to do the nearly two-hour trip to New York tonight, do you? And what about your stuff? You’re going to leave your laptop here? And Dudley?”

  * * *

  Jonathan narrowed his gaze and scrutinized her. “You think you know me, Reyes?” he teased as some of the tension left his body.

  “I know you and your laptop have a deep and abiding relationship, and you wouldn’t go anywhere without it or Dudley,” she kidded right back.

  He shook his head and looked away from her, not daring to dream about what she might be proposing. “And what am I supposed to do? It’s too late to walk into one of the inns in town. Besides, they’re probably all full, between the tourists trying to hang on to summer and the wedding guests. I guess there’s always the beach and a blanket. It’s still warm enough, and it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  His words brought back a memory of the two of them, making love at midnight while wrapped tight inside a blanket on the beach. As he met her gaze and saw it darken from that unique gold green to almost emerald, he realized she was remembering that night as well.

  “No, it wouldn’t,” she said, her voice rough with desire. “But you’d be more comfortable bunking out on the settee in my room.”

  He would, since sand wasn’t nearly as comfortable to sleep on as people thought. But the two of them, in a room, all alone…

  Gesturing toward the Sinclair home, he said, “What about the other rooms? There must be one that’s free.”

  She shook her head. “All filled with family, even Maggie’s room. One of her cousins decided to attend at the last minute and didn’t have a place to stay.”

  “Your settee, huh? You really don’t mind?” He wanted to be certain that she was sure about the offer she had just made.

  She shook her head. “I don’t mind. Come on. It’s getting late,” she said and held out her hand to him.

  Certain Dudley would be okay until the morning, since he’d set him up with a fancy new device he’d accessed with his smartphone to give Dudley food and water as well as wee-wee pads so he could relieve himself, he twined his fingers with hers, and together they walked toward the french doors off the patio that led into Maggie’s home. The event staff was clearing up the Viennese table and the bars
on the patio. As they passed one bar, Connie grabbed an open bottle of wine. With his free hand, he snared two glasses.

  It was quiet inside the house, and they tiptoed up to her room. Once inside, Connie led him to the sitting area at the far side of the space. The settee, a chair, and a small table were right by the doors leading to the balcony that ran along the length of the house and faced the ocean. Although there were lights by the entrance to each bedroom, they were off, and since Connie hadn’t turned any on in the room when they’d entered, the settee, chair, and table were in intimate darkness.

  She placed the bottle of wine on the table and kicked off her heels. A second later, she plucked the orange blossoms from her hair, undid the intricate braid, and let her thick, brown hair cascade to her shoulders. With a relieved sigh, she sank onto the settee and curled her legs beneath her.

  Taking his cue from her, he set the glasses on the table, shucked off his jacket, vest, and ascot, and undid the first few buttons on his shirt. “I hate this monkey suit,” he said and tossed the wedding attire onto the nearby chair.

  “I know. Believe me, I’m not a fan of all this dress-up stuff either,” she said as he poured a glass of wine and handed it to her.

  “But you looked beautiful. You all looked beautiful.”

  The dark failed to hide the splash of color on her cheeks. He found it delightful that a woman as poised and professional as Connie could still blush.

  “Thank you, but Maggie stole the show in her great-grandmother’s gown. Did you know her mom wore the same gown when she got married here at the mansion?”

  He hadn’t, and he tried to drag up a memory of Maggie’s mom. When they were kids, she’d often join them on the beach. As he recalled her vibrant smile and her kind eyes, it occurred to him that Maggie looked a lot like her mother. “I remember her. She was a nice lady.” As other memories surged forward, he added, “She was the only one who ever seemed to be able to make my father smile. I even remember her convincing him to help us build a sand castle once. He had just come down from the city and was still in his suit pants and starched white shirt, but he got down on his knees and did it.”