The Wedding Affair (The Affair Series Book 2)

by Suzanne Halliday

  Julie’s laugh came through the phone. “Have a good time, girlfriend, and tell Ryan we said thanks for everything.”

  Before she could object or deflect Julie’s comment, the other woman laughed and hung up.

  “Give me the phone,” he growled. She didn’t hesitate or object when he slipped it into his pocket. “Where’s your bag?” he asked.

  Bag?

  He did something to her neck that felt like Morse code nips.

  Slipping in and out of a pleasure coma, she heard a train go by.

  Wait.

  There wasn’t a train on the island.

  That sound?

  It was her grunting and groaning.

  “Babe,” he breathed against her skin. “Your bag. Know where it is?”

  “T-table,” she stammered.

  He licked her neck from ear to shoulder and squeezed her ass.

  “Wait here.”

  No problem, she thought when he walked away and she had to grab hold of something.

  Returning a minute later with her big satchel dutifully crammed with every possible thing a maid of honor might need, he hoisted it for her inspection but didn’t hand it over.

  “Phone. Check. Bag. Check. Sexy hula girl? Double check.” He reached for her hand. “Let’s stop by the bar and relax.”

  She glanced at him with surprise clearly evident on her face. She expected him to rush them to privacy and get naked in record-breaking time.

  He lifted her fingers to his mouth, smirked, kissed them and said, “Got a drink for you to try. It’s called the Delayed Gratification.”

  That box of thirty-six condoms? Might not be enough.

  A couple of drinks involving rum and cocktail umbrellas later, they were pleasantly sloshed and playfully uninhibited on their way to Sam’s room. Until tonight, she’d found the idea of indulging in dirty talk somewhat creepy, but with Ryan, it was like discovering a new artist that no one else knew about.

  “I think the slave girl foot jewelry will stay on,” he told her with puffed up authority.

  “Says you,” she joked as the ambled along.

  “Now come on,” he teased. “Think it through first. Get the visual in your head, examine it carefully and then tell me the picture of your ankles on my shoulders with those sexy silver chains twinkling with each thrust doesn’t make you wet. Mmph,” he grunted. “Yup. Me likey.”

  “You are a kinky fucker, aren’t you?” the alcohol asked with her mouth.

  He roared. “Ah, babe. If that qualifies as kink, you’re in for a little surprise.”

  “Shh!” she whispered with a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? But I wouldn’t know kink if it knocked on my door with an introduction letter.”

  Ryan found this enormously funny and had a hearty chuckle. She wanted to kick him in the shins for laughing at her.

  “Ever bought a woman tampons?” she asked with haughty indignation dripping from every word.

  “No,” he choked out.

  “Well, see?” she crowed triumphantly. “There are some things you don’t know and some things I don’t know.”

  He used her hand to pull her close. “Captain Morgan logic. I like how you think.”

  “Hey,” she burbled—changing topic in a one-eighty. “Did I hear Steve say he and Barbara were flying out together?”

  “Yeah. Apparently. Kismet or something like that.”

  “Hmm.”

  They walked along.

  “When are you headed to the airport?” She had to ask even though she didn’t want to know. Reality was such a bitch.

  “Day after tomorrow.”

  She hated that movie. Hated that so many people died. Oh, wait. Not a movie. He was answering her question.

  “My plans are fluid,” he added. “Easily changed.”

  The first dark spot on an otherwise bright and shiny bling of happiness appeared.

  “Mine aren’t,” she muttered.

  “Second thoughts?”

  She shrugged. “No. More like deferred truth.”

  They came to a stop outside her room. All the teasing, flirting, and hot make-out sessions had led to this. There’d be no turning back once they were on the other side of the door.

  “Samantha,” he murmured.

  As casually as she could manage, Sam raised her eyes and waited for Ryan’s next words. Did she nervously nibble on her lip? Yeah.

  “I was serious before. I’m not interested in a random hookup. There’s something going on here, and ready or not, my emotions are engaged. Yours too,” he whispered as he soothed her mangled lip with a stroke of his thumb. “If you’re not sure. . .”

  “Oh, Ryan,” she said. “I’ve never done anything like this before and that kind of messes with my head.” She lay her hands flat on his chest and sighed. “And then there’s the whole what happens next thing, and I’m worried you’ll be disappointed. I’m not very good at the bedroom stuff, and I really like you and, shit. Then there’s Andi and Kyle. Your folks. Tara,” she added on reflex.

  “Got any more ‘ands’ in your head?”

  He moved her against the wall and took her face in his hands.

  “And what happens next. And worried you’ll suck in bed. And you really like me. And Andi and Kyle. And my folks. And some shit. Forget Tara. She doesn’t deserve ‘and’ status.”

  “Don’t make fun,” she grumbled. “All that stuff is real for me.”

  “Ah, babe. I’m not making fun. Not at all. You’re right to bring a bit of caution and sense to the table.”

  He chuckled and placed a barely there kiss on her lips. “It’s me who’s operating on optimism and. . .what did Barbara call it? Kismet. Yeah, that. Destiny. Fate. Whatever the fuck you wanna call it.”

  Was he programmed to always say the perfect thing?

  “I forgot something earlier when we shared what we liked and what makes us nutso.”

  “And this is something you need to say now?”

  She gave him a dry glance that ended with a smirk. “No, Mr. Charming. I’m just making idle conversation because, you know,” she said with a deep shrug, “not much else going on.”

  He looked down and drawled, “Feet? Meet Samantha. Get used to being on your toes cause this golden goddess is nobody’s twit.”

  “Twit, indeed,” she huffed dramatically as though he’d called her an airhead. “And just for that bit of insolence, Mr. Sommerfield, you can pound sand before I share anything else.”

  Ryan immediately started to chuckle. “Oooh,” he quipped. “Think you’re all big and bad, huh?”

  She crossed her arms across her chest, rolled her eyes when her boobs threatened to spill out of her top, and pressed her lips together.

  “Nothing. That’s what you get from me. Nothing.”

  Did she expect him to launch a tickle attack? Hell, no! She could withstand almost anything except tickling.

  “Hand over the room key, lady, and no one gets hurt.”

  “It’s in your pocket,” she shrieked. Her futile attempts to smack away his hands earned her absolutely nothing but an urgent need to use the bathroom. “Hurry,” she giggled when he finally stopped and tried to open her door.

  Inside her room, she shoved him aside—the look of surprise on his face made her bark with laughter—and then took off running. “Gotta pee,” she called out a second before disappearing into the bathroom.

  It was quite a challenge to giggle and take care of business at the same time, but she managed somehow. Running her fingers in a stream of warm water, Sam glanced at the mirror and did a double take.

  Her face was a mask of blushes that made her eyes appear to shine brighter. The greedy kissing and lip chewing made her mouth seem fuller, and her hair was a windblown mess.

  A slow smile crept across her face. She liked it. Liked that she wore a sort of manhandled look.

  Are you sure this isn’t a huge mistake?

  “Shut up,” she growled to her conscience.

  Out i
n the living room area, she found Ryan in the process of removing and tossing aside the vest she found insanely sexy. He strode through life with such an air of confidence that she was sure he could work nothing but a bra and panties like a bitch.

  Pushing hair behind her shoulders, she touched her forehead and was muttering, “Oh, pooh,” as he turned to look at her.

  “Pooh? Because the vest is history?” He snickered and wagged his brows. “I can put it back on if you want. But nothing else. Just the vest.”

  The visual he intended to plant in her brain struck Sam as terribly funny, especially because her version of Ryan and a vest also involved the badass watch he wore the night they met. The one with the wide leather band. The picture she created was funny and sexy at the same time. A winning combination.

  “The pooh,” she told him while crossing the room, “was because I liked the crown of flowers and the orchid lei. This getup doesn’t feel right without them.”

  He eyed her critically, and she absolutely did not overlook the sensuous flames in his expression.

  “You’re beautiful. With or without floral accessories.”

  Hmph. Nice thought but she still missed wearing them. “Andi and one of her Ya Ya moments that was either an island tradition or something she made up.”

  “Tossing them off the rocks?”

  “Yep. I think the ocean spirits take the flowers and distill the wishes, and then send rain sprinkles or something silly like that.”

  “I should draw that,” he said more to himself than to her.

  Sam inhaled deeply to clear her head. He’d opened the patio sliders. The aroma of plumeria and bougainvillea wafted in on the ocean breeze.

  Crooking his finger, he said, “Come here,” before lowering onto the center of the sofa. His tone was confident, not suggestive, and she followed him like a trained puppy. A puppy who didn’t know where to sit with him man-spread in the middle of the couch.

  When he patted a thigh and smiled, her knees nearly gave out. Lap sitting wasn’t on her resume.

  “Uh, well,” she sputtered. “Like, what do I do? Where does my butt aim?”

  “Oh, for god’s sake,” he barked. “There are no rules, Samantha. Jump, dive, shimmy, slither—do whatever feels right.”

  “Oh,” she squeaked.

  Muttering something about trying to be a gentleman, he grabbed her wrist and gave a good yank that sent her flying through the air, to land against him with a grunt. There followed a moment or so of jostling, rearranging, and shifting until he was comfortable and Sam didn’t feel like at any moment she’d be sliding to the floor.

  “I was going to try and take it slow, but you’re making that impossible.”

  Thrilling words that she did not have a problem with.

  He didn’t move.

  She started to panic until her desires took over. Sliding unsure fingers into his hair, she angled her head and slowly lowered her lips to his mouth. At the last second, she didn’t hesitate to beg, “Kiss me, Ryan. Please.”

  Two different and distinct things happened when Samantha initiated a kiss that they both understood would lead to them getting naked.

  First, he was engulfed—like, totally swamped and bowled over—by a wave of longing so intense he whimpered into her mouth when it slammed into him.

  Second was the strange calm mixed with thundering excitement coming from the area around his heart because on some level, for him, everything in his life finally made perfect sense now that he’d found her.

  She was. . .the one.

  Freed from restraint, they kissed like maniacs. He couldn’t get enough of the way her hair felt in his fist or how with every subtle tug she melted down a little bit more.

  Her mouth was voracious and her tongue greedy as she used her soft hands to caress every centimeter of his face, head, neck, and shoulders. Discovering her to be insanely tactile made his cock so hard he worried about the restricting blood flow to the rest of his body.

  Things got crazy fast when she tore open his shirt and buttons flew in every direction. His chest bared to her lusty gaze, he knew the second Samantha spied the unusual ink tattooed along his ribcage.

  Running her fingers over the dark blue symbols, she made him shudder with her shy touch.

  “What’s it mean?” she whispered as their eyes met and held.

  He put his head on the back of the sofa and let his hands drop to his sides in a sign of surrender.

  “It’s Elvish script,” he said in a husky growl. “Means Not All Who Wander Are Lost.”

  “Tolkien,” she murmured. “Are you a wanderer?”

  “When I was younger? Yes. By design. But not anymore. I want a home and a family and a Christmas tree with goofy ornaments and a camping vacation with the kids every year.”

  She froze at his mind-blowing admission. “Is there a wife in this happy picture?”

  Is there a wife? Was she really that clueless where this was headed?

  “Samantha Evers,” he ground out. “This is the strangest relationship I’ve ever had.” And then the laughter came. Since having her straddling his lap wasn’t helping things, he deftly rearranged their positions. He could think better when a hot, turned on nymph in a skimpy sarong wasn’t grinding on him.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “If anyone told me I’d be half drunk on a tropical island with a gorgeous brunette clawing at me—oh, and with all our clothes on—and all of a sudden the conversation would turn to kids and a wife, I’d have sneered, thought they were certifiable, and walked away.”

  Her eyes twinkled, and he knew she got how funny this was.

  Acting all prim and proper, she crossed her legs, fluffed her tousled hair, and declared with a tiny giggle, “Well, when you put it that way.”

  In a silly, pompous tone he pretended affront when he told her as succinctly as he could, “Wife first. Then the house. The kids, Christmas decorations, and camping trips come later.”

  “Oh, I see,” she playfully bantered. “So what you’re saying is that you intend to observe the proprieties.”

  The proprieties! Holy fuck. He might have to download a word-of-the-day app so his vocabulary kept up with hers. His mother was right about Samantha but didn’t know the half of it.

  “Don’t you?” he asked. “I haven’t met your parents,” he paused, and then casually slipped in “yet.” She squeezed her eyes shut briefly and bit her lip. Good. “But from everything Andi says, they sound a lot like my folks. I’d rather think they’d expect proprieties, yes?”

  Ryan was congratulating himself on how clever he was when she upended the conversation.

  Sighing dramatically, she flashed him a regretful look and then went poker-faced.

  “So what you’re saying is we’re disrespecting our parents with this shameful display of rum-horniness.”

  He choked back a bark of denial just in time because one closer look and he saw her nose crinkle as she fought a laugh.

  “Yes, well. . .once a rebel, always a rebel, I suppose. Now, where were we? Oh, I remember. You were about to show me what’s under the sarong. I’ve wondered all day. Is this a free bird situation or are there granny panties involved?”

  “Hey!” she scolded. “I was in no way about to show you my underwear.”

  “Sure you were,” he teased. Flapping the torn open sides of his shirt with a droll smirk, he took things to an eleven by saying, “Right about the time the buttons took flight and you put me in danger of having a boner narcolepsy episode, I distinctly heard you say—”

  She cut him off with a snap of her fingers, a wag of her head, and a pithy snort. “Oh, no you don’t, buster. I didn’t say. . .wait. What? Boner narcolepsy? What the hell is that?”

  “Seriously?” He shook his head. “Boner is in your vocab, right?”

  Her face was hilarious. The ‘are you kidding me’ expression tickled more than his funny bone. “So a boner that diverts blood flow from the brain can lead to, what?”

  “
Is that your way of saying erection hyperventilation might make you hit the floor in a dead faint?”

  He had her on the ropes now and shit, was this ever fun.

  “I know a way you could help,” he teased.

  “Oh.” She chuckled. “I just bet you do.”

  Standing, she patted her leg and said, “Come on. I know what you need.”

  He watched her walk away and took great delight in the way her hips rocked and rolled. The faint tinkling of her foot jewelry cut through the normal sounds in his head. He got up and trailed behind her, eager to find out what she had planned.

  Sam’s mind was clicking at maximum speed. Ryan’s detour to serious and the comical U-turn involving her underwear reminded her just how unusual their relationship was. On one hand, they were strangers who’d just met, but on the other, they had an instant rapport mixed with a devastating physical attraction made that much stronger by how comfortable they were with each other.

  In a way, that comfort was making the seduction she expected a lot stranger and way more unpredictable.

  She headed to the bedroom and walked straight to the nightstand where she flipped a switch so a low light came on. He watched her from the doorway with a shit-eating grin on his handsome face.

  Crooking her finger, she went to the end of the bed and plopped down on a corner. He approached but stayed a distance away until her hand shot out, grabbed him by the belt on his slacks, and pulled him till he was standing at her knees. She could tell he was surprised and a little taken aback by a frontal assault.

  Ha! Not knowing what the hell she was doing wasn’t the same thing as being seriously and dangerously aroused.

  “I took a first-aid class for Girl Scouts,” she told him matter-of-factly. “Earned a badge and everything.”

  She undid his belt buckle and went straight for the clasp on his pants.

  “To alleviate a dangerous constriction, the first thing we need to do is loosen your clothes. Allow things to, um, breathe.”

  He put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

  “Nope,” she answered truthfully. “And that’s what makes it so much fun. Now, be a good boy,” she scolded before pushing his finger away, “and suck it in so nothing interferes with the zipper.”