“Oh, shut up.” She laughed. “I already told you we had breakfast.”
“Well, we’re damn glad you did because knowing Steve and Barbara probably got their freak on is all that’s standing between me and a private jet flying my mother’s poisonous ass away from here.”
Good way to look at it, as far as she was concerned. “Hey. Thanks again for the massage. Nalani’s got magic hands.”
“Just getting you primed for the wedding night.”
Sam laughed. Wait. What? “Wedding night? What are you talking about? That’s all you guys. My job is done at ‘I do.’”
Andi’s roaring laughter made Sam chuckle. “There’s a thirty-six pack of premium ultra-thin condoms in your possession. If the juju magic spell Kyle and I put on you and Ryan works, then girlfriend, our wedding night is going to blow your mind.”
“I love you,” she happily declared. “And I wish you weren’t such a wicked instigator. If I get pregnant or end up with a broken heart, it’ll be all your fault, ya know.”
She heard Andi gasp. “Oh god, Sami. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
“What? You want me to get my heart broken?”
“No, silly! You know Kyle and I just cleared the deck for some ardent baby making. If you got pregnant too, then we could have babies together! Oh, my god. How awesome would that be? And it’d be just like with Ryan and Kyle. Our kids could be like siblings, Sami!”
“Andrea Eleanor Frank,” she drawled. “I want you to stop that nonsense right now. Ryan and I just met, and this island getaway could very well end with me toting thirty-six unused condoms home in my luggage. And what friend, by the way, wishes a pregnancy on their unmarried BFF? Huh?”
“Just sayin’.”
Sam groaned and squinched up her face. Dammit. Now, she was going to be thinking about what Andi said.
The packed dance floor erupted in an explosion of approving whistles and claps when the DJ queued up “Twist and Shout” by the Beatles. With the older generation showing them the way, the wedding guests broke out some hilarious twist moves made downright sexier due to the bare stomachs of the bridal party and their hip-tied sarongs.
Ryan hadn’t stopped grinning since he first saw Samantha strolling along the flower-strewn walkway in a custom-made sarong and halter-top with a gorgeous orchid lei and flowered headpiece. The color of the orchids coordinated with Kyle’s tie. A small touch that did not go unnoticed.
But the thing that hit him like a Taser set to stun? She wore silver jewelry on her feet that jingled softly as she walked. The result was a quirky and charming combination of a harem girl and island beauty. All of the ladies carried off the elegant, if slightly risqué, outfit with award-worthy aplomb.
Ryan took special delight when the memorable Beatles classic fired up because his mom and dad were twist masters extraordinaire. Anytime Chubby Checker came on TV, his mom would jump up and twist away, giving the grand master of the dance phenomenon a run for the money.
It went without saying that the Sommerfields took their twisting seriously!
To his everlasting delight, Samantha also had some pretty serious Twist moves complete with twirling arm waves and a hip shimmy that threatened his sanity. Not to be outdone, their turn on the dance floor became a competition when Andi and Kyle joined in, and a space around them cleared. The whole crowd clapped in rhythmic unison as they put on a hell of a show.
And it was probably on YouTube or Facebook before they finished catching their breath.
Thankfully, high-energy dance floor gymnastics wasn’t the only thing the DJ had up his sleeve. It was the slow dancing where things got interesting for Ryan.
As they swayed to Eric Clapton singing “You Look Wonderful Tonight,” he drifted his fingers on Samantha’s bare back and thanked his lucky stars when she relaxed against him and sighed.
They fit together perfectly.
“I thought men who danced were just an urban legend.”
She made the statement as her cheek lay on his shoulder and her warm breath landed on his neck.
Ryan tightened his hold and feathered a slow caress on her skin. “Then you’ve been hanging out with the wrong men.”
Her head popped up, and she winked at him. “Men being the operative word.”
He wasn’t sure what she meant, but he sure as shit hoped that was her way of saying she hadn’t made the jump from stupid twenty-something boys to a flesh-and-blood man. Yet.
His flesh throbbed at the prospect of being the man, the only man, to show her the difference.
Though he held her hand in his and clasped it close to his chest, when she spoke, he lifted them and traced a fingertip across her forehead and down her cheek.
Searching for something meaningful and profound to say, he blurted out, “I like the harem-inspired foot jewelry. Very much.”
He closed his eyes for a second and inwardly grimaced at how lame he sounded.
Samantha hugged him tighter and giggled. “Ah! So the slave girl thing revs your engine, then?”
He was certain at that moment infatuation made a slow U-turn to love.
“Well, let’s see,” he answered with mock seriousness. “Would this slave girl take commands without comment?”
“What kind of commands?” The uncertainty in her voice turned him on. Go figure.
Ryan chuckled. “Now see? You’d make a lousy slave because already you’ve got a comment.”
“That wasn’t a comment,” she quipped. “It was a question.”
“Oh. So does that mean this is a negotiation? Are we hammering out the terms of your surrender, golden girl?”
She gave him the funniest look and said, “How do you know it’s not your surrender on the table?”
Oh, my god. As if! He taunted her with a line that he hoped was at least halfway original. “You’ve heard the expression let the alpha roar. Right?”
Her smile got so big it practically jumped off her face. “Am I correct that you see yourself as an alpha?”
It didn’t dawn on Ryan that she was messing with him until after he replied.
“Well, yeah,” he scoffed. “You don’t?”
He loved every second of her laughing in his face, and for the second time in his life, he contemplated the nuances of a sexy spanking.
“See the floor?” he innocently asked.
She glanced down and then looked at him in confusion. “Uh, yeah.”
“You like the floor?”
“I guess.”
“Good to know since that’s what you’ll be looking at when I put you over my knee.”
Their dancing stopped so fast, he almost toppled them to the floor when his feet kept moving and hers didn’t.
“Excuse me?”
There was no need to be concerned by her reaction because Ryan heard the unmistakable sound of curious excitement in her voice.
He gathered her close again and danced on. “You heard me.”
“Is that the sort of stuff you’re into?”
“Not until now,” he answered truthfully.
She appeared to consider his answer then cuddled against him and said, “Oh. Well, okay then.”
How the hell was he supposed to take that? Did that mean, ‘Well, okay then—I’ll rip your face off if you try a stunt like that?’ Or was she saying, ‘Game on?’
“You’re a curious little thing,” he murmured into her hair surprised as much by his words as she was ‘cause he had no idea where they came from.
“Is that good?” she asked in not more than a whisper against his neck.
One answer. Straightforward. Direct. No ambiguity. “Yes.”
“Butthead,” Ali sneered when Ryan dropped into a chair at the family table.
“Snitch,” he growled in return.
“Ah,” his dad quipped as he sat forward and folded his hands together on the table. “The dulcet tones of my progeny.”
Ryan turned to his sister and in mock outrage asked, “Did he just call us progeny?”
Ted Sommerfield looked at them with an arched brow and the family smirk. “Eat my dust, children.”
Laughing, Ryan snatched Ali’s water glass as she was reaching for it, stuck his tongue out at her big sister’s yelp of offense, and drained it in one, long mouthful. “Ahhh,” he goofed dramatically while slapping the empty glass back into place.
Ali chuckled in her good-natured way and shook her head. “Gawd! You really are a butthead.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Using the universal hand gesture for ‘Blah, blah, blah,’ he rolled his eyes and relaxed on the chair with the body language of someone who owned the place.
Were all sisters natural troublemakers ‘cause the second she had the chance, Ali scooted her chair closer and started to stir the family pot. “Mom’s got you in the headlights,” she smugly taunted. “You just wait, Ry. When she gets back to the table, you’re in for the third degree.”
His father heard and nodded in agreement. “I’m afraid she’s right this time, son. Better buck up ‘cause Hurricane Hannah is ready to rumble.”
“What the hell did I do?”
Ali wagged her eyebrows at him over the rim of her tropical drink. “Busted!”
He looked at his dad for clarification when all his sister could do was chuckle.
“Anything you want to tell us?”
He didn’t care how old he was because no matter how far he got from his childhood, Ryan still dreaded that tone his parents used. The one that said, ‘You’ve got some ‘splaining to do.’ It was a kid’s worst nightmare—especially when there wasn’t a clue what they were getting at. Had he made some horrible public gaffe without realizing it?
“Uh, I changed my voter registration to Independent?”
Ali’s amused chuckle accompanied a dry comment. “Butthead and a smartass. Way to score points, Ry.”
Before some simple clarification cleared things up, his mom caught sight of him at the table and descended like the wrath of motherhood with astonishing speed.
He swallowed hard and sat up straight. Uh-oh. “Mom,” he murmured when she walked right up to him and stopped at his knees.
She blew right past his timid hello and fixed him with a withering scowl. “We do not keep secrets in this family, young man.”
“Yeah, Ryan!” Ali snickered in agreement. Their mom could just as easily have announced that red was white, and his stupid sister would’ve agreed just to score points.
“Zip it, Alianna,” Hannah Sommerfield bit back. “Unless you’d care to explain why your assistant is pretending to give a rat’s ass about her date, who I am told is the pilot your publisher uses. Odd, don’t you think?”
Seriously? Ryan looked at Ali, saw the beginning of an embarrassed blush, and bobbed his head with approval. You go, girl, he cheered silently from the sidelines. His sister could use a little romance in her romance author life.
Their dad choked off a snicker just in time.
Then the attention swung back his way. Shit.
“It would have been nice to know my son was involved with someone before everyone else did.”
Knee-jerk reaction. “What are you talking about, Mom?”
“Why you and that girl, of course. Don’t play dumb with me, Ryan. You and Samantha Evers are not strangers at a wedding. I’d give that cousin of yours a piece of my mind about keeping us in the dark, but it’s his wedding day, so he gets a pass.”
“Oh, uh, Mom. No,” he stammered. “We just met. Like for real.”
Hannah Sommerfield’s radiant look of maternal triumph lit up her face. It took him a few seconds to realize what he’d just admitted. And then he laughed. Moms.
She pounced, and he tried to withstand the emotional onslaught. “I’m surprised you remembered we were here,” she slyly goaded, “when clearly you only have eyes for Samantha.”
He literally gulped and swore it was so loud they all heard it.
Of course, she didn’t stop there. Not when the opportunity for a full parental critique presented itself. He settled in and let it happen. After all, moms have certain rights when it comes to this stuff.
“She’s lovely, sweetheart. And I liked her before the hint of a romance with my only son was revealed.”
Oh, god. The only son riff.
Ali tittered quietly.
“Your cousin speaks of her with warmth and praise. Apparently, Andrea thinks of her as a sister. How amazing, don’t you think? Just like you and Kyle.”
“They’re quite close,” he muttered. What else could he do but agree?
“So you’ve just met, hmm?”
Glancing at his dad and hoping for a lifeline, he found him avidly following his wife’s free-form endorsement with a comical grin.
Ryan decided right then that a new sport was needed at the Olympics. Parent Tag Teaming.
For some jaw-droppingly insane reason, instead of attempting to deflect his mom’s line of questions, he fiddled with the strap on his watch and rolled a shoulder. “What can I say? She’s fantastic.”
His parents automatically reached a hand toward the other and held on tight. Now that he’d met Samantha, he viewed the familiar action through different eyes. Eyes that were open to the sort of unshakable bond he’d always known they had but had been nonchalant about before now.
It was like a light went on in a dark room. He got it.
“Inconveniently on the other side of the country,” Ali reminded all of them.
The Sommerfields did not pussyfoot around. They got straight to the point and wrestled all obstacles to the ground.
“We’re not there yet.”
His mom, dad, and sister eyed him sympathetically and nodded.
Quickly standing, Ryan put out his hand and winked at his mom. “Come on, Hannah. Time for you and me to show these folks how the cool kids dance.”
Proudly beaming as if she’d just be crowned Miss America, his mom slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and let him guide her onto the dance floor. As they moved away, he heard his sister snicker playfully, “Well played, butthead.”
“For heaven’s sake, Kelly! Stop squirming or we’ll be here all night.”
“Oh, shut up, Lisa.”
It was good-natured ribbing done bridesmaid style. Sam threw an arm around Andi’s shoulders and hugged her. “Well, Mrs. Sommerfield,” she said, “you can’t say we didn’t have a great time.”
“Ladies, ladies, please,” implored the harried photographer. “We’re almost finished, but you have to take direction.”
Andi leaned into the hug and giggled. “Take direction?” she snickered. “Who is he kidding?”
“Julie! The girls are escaping,” Sam hollered.
Andi sat up and looked at the group of friends jockeying for position. “Oh, my god,” she muttered with a snorted laugh and jumped up to run a blocking maneuver in order to save Julie’s dignity.
“Holy shit,” Julie barked. Her throaty laugh rang out as she scrambled to tuck her fugitive boobs back into the halter-top that did little to tame her enormous assets.
“Mrs. Sommerfield, please,” the photographer grumbled. “Just one or two more.”
Realizing that their antics weren’t amusing to everyone, Sam stepped up and cracked her maid-of-honor whip.
“Assume your positions,” she snapped with a firm clap of her hands for emphasis. Pointing at each of the women, she moved them into place behind Andi. “Look at me,” she commanded. Like synchronized meerkats, all eyes swung to her. “Smile check girls. Give me a big one and I’ll look for picture-ruining food stuck in your teeth.”
Once she was satisfied no broccoli bits or wobbly boobs would mess up Andi and Kyle’s wedding album, Sam slid into place, and within five minutes, the grumpy photographer had his shots and moved on.
Lisa sidled up alongside her as she gathered the stray lipsticks and makeup supplies they’d left scattered on a table. Without any setup or introduction, her longtime childh
ood pal fired off a surprising comment.
“I feel sorry for Tara.”
Now, there was an opinion come straight from left field.
“Look, Sami, I know you have your differences with her, and that’s perfectly understandable. But when you take out the personal and look at it objectively, I can’t help but feel bad for her.”
“Why? Because she has a great job and runs her own life?”
“It’s all window dressing.” Lisa sighed. “At the end of the day, I think she’s just scared and not sure what to do about it.”
Not looking at Tara wasn’t an option so she swung her eyes to the left and checked her out.
It was difficult not to examine her with a critical eye. They’d been silently sharking around each other since the unfortunate altercation at dinner, and though she wanted to be sympathetic—she really did—knowing how the woman behaved behind-the-scenes made grading her on a curve next to impossible. And she certainly wasn’t about to let her guard down.
When it came to posing effectively in a tantalizing sarong, Tara took the prize. Though each of Andi’s bridesmaids had some input into the garment’s fit, only Tara opted for pushing the less, less, less button. She wanted less coverage and more tit. Less fabric and more leg. The bride put her foot down when it came to blingy navel rings and exposed tattoos. She wanted classy tropical not hula girl wobbly doll on a dashboard.
Not for the first time, Sam eyed Tara’s exhausting insistence on vamping it up twenty-four seven as a tedious affectation. She lived in Hollywood, for Pete’s sake, where the me-me-me culture was the norm. So she knew a little bit about these things.
It always struck her as kinda desperate. She liked the occasional reality TV table-flipping, vulgarity-laced altercation just as much as the next person, but she understood it was all for show.
Oh, my god. She just thought of something so damn funny. With upfront apologies to all Native Americans for the slight, she decided All-For-Show had to be Tara’s Indian name.
Giving a half shrug, she looked back to Lisa. “She forced me into an unbreakable vow, ya’ know,” she told her with complete seriousness. Lisa would get it. “Andi. She made me promise not to start any shit with Tara.”
The Wedding Affair (The Affair Series Book 2) Page 14