Lovestruck: A Romantic Comedy Standalone

by Lila Monroe

  “It’s only—that email you were asking about finally came in.”

  “Wonderful.”

  I ease my fingers back to tease over his balls. His breath hitches before he can quite catch it.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Cassidy?” the assistant says. I swallow a giggle.

  “Yes,” Will manages. “Absolutely. Forward that email to me. And I don’t want to be disturbed for any reason until my four o’clock. Understood?”

  “Yes, sorry, Mr. Cassidy.”

  The door taps shut. I shift to take Will’s cock into my mouth again, but before I can, he’s yanking me to my feet.

  “You,” he growls. He spins me around so I land on the edge of his desk, his hips between my knees. Papers scatter. Then his mouth is claiming mine, punishing and needy. His hands shove up under the skirt of my dress to wrench down my panties.

  “I really should lock that fucking door,” he mutters. “But this can’t wait. If he walks back in here, he deserves to be scandalized.”

  I start to laugh, and then he’s kissing me again, so hard my head spins. His fingers graze over my slit, with a little moan when he feels how wet I am. He fumbles for a condom. Then he’s pushing inside me, as far as he can possibly go.

  I gasp, clutching him. I don’t think any other man has ever felt this good, the way he fills me, the slow burn of friction as he eases back and thrusts in again.

  His furious urgency from a moment ago has tempered now that we’re entwined. He pumps into my sex with slow, easy strokes, as if there’s no rush now that he’s gotten where he wanted to be. Gripping my hip, he leans in to kiss me. I run my hand up his neck and down into the V at the open collar of his shirt. His fingers trace around my nipple through my dress and then tug down the strap so they can dip under my bra to fondle me skin to skin. And all the while his cock keeps up that steady pace, in and out, with a torturous friction. I arch into him.

  “What do you want?” he says against my lips.

  A noise of frustration escapes me. “Fuck me. Fuck me so hard I see stars.”

  He hums as he kisses my throat. “Still dreaming of intergalactic voyages,” he teases. He thrusts faster, pulling me tighter against him. His fingers dig into my thigh. I rock with his rhythm, biting my lip against a whimper. The blissful pressure inside me expands. My legs tremble. I wrap my arms around his neck and bow my head to his shoulder. More. More. The ache for release just seems to grow and grow with the pleasure sweeping through me.

  He bucks into me even faster, his breath hot by my ear. One hand slides between us to press against my clit, and I moan. The sharp shot of pleasure tips me over the edge. I spiral off into another galaxy, the stars I begged for sparking behind my eyes. My pussy pulses around his rigid, perfect cock.

  Will moans too. He jerks into me with a shudder. His arm slips around my waist as he stills, panting against my hair. Then he raises his hand to touch my cheek. He kisses me, so tenderly it sets off a different sort of ache inside my heart.

  This is so easy, the way we fit. The way we know each other, even after all this time. Why can’t it stay like this?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Will’s four o’clock is pending, so I can’t stick around his office much longer. After a few lingering kisses, we disentangle ourselves. I retrieve my panties from the floor and right the desk calendar we knocked over. “Glad you could squeeze me in.” I wink.

  He smirks. “I think that’s my line.”

  I smack his arm. “You’re awful. And also very, very good.” His shirt definitely needs smoothing, and not just because I love how the muscles in his chest flex as I run my hands over them. “After the afternoon I’ve had, I really needed that.”

  Will’s smile fades. “What happened?”

  “Oh, the internet started to blow up around one of my clients, but I managed to divert the explosion.”

  “PR consultant as a demolitions expert? I wouldn’t have thought of the job that way.”

  “You’d be surprised then.” I shake my head. “It’s all about stories. If people start spreading a negative one, you’ve got to shoot a positive story out there. One that’s more powerful, so people will want to be talking about it instead. It writes right over the bad stuff and they end up just remembering the good.”

  “Hmmm.” Will steps closer again and trails his fingers up my arm. “Have we managed to write that jellyfish out of existence, or does that need a little more work?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it work,” I say slyly, but suddenly I can’t help thinking about the other stories between us. The real ones, my mistaken one. Has the time we’ve spent together this week been enough to write over all the past hurts and fears that were never really founded?

  My pulse skips, but it’s mostly excitement, not nerves. Maybe it has. Maybe I could let myself think about more. No letters, no big confessions. I can be chill about us and still be open to this fling turning into something real.

  If that’s a possibility Will would ever consider.

  I turn to retrieve my purse. “So,” I say casually, “do you have much business in LA at all these days?”

  Will shrugs. “Every now and then. Nothing major. I had a meeting with an architect there right before I came over here, which is why I was flying out of LAX.”

  “I guess you still have contacts left over from the USC days. And friends, of course.”

  This would be his opening to say that now there’ll also be me worth traveling there to see, if that’s even occurred to him.

  But instead, he just looks away. “I catch up when I can, although as Trevor will tell you, it’s not often. I’m traveling too much for that.”

  His voice is light, but I think his shoulders have tensed a little. The silence that settles between us feels awkward, and my heart sinks. So, no trips to LA on the agenda, not even to see me.

  I try not to feel hurt. Why would he be interested in more? He’s outright told me he doesn’t have time for relationships. He hasn’t uttered a word about us seeing each other after we leave here. I should drop it.

  I draw in a breath, trying to figure out how to set a course out of this awkwardness, and there’s a knock on the door. Time’s up.

  “And back to the grindstone I go,” Will says. He gives me a little salute. “Until dinner.”

  “You’d better be there,” I say, managing a smile. But the emotions inside me have gotten all twisted up. I hurry out and to the elevator before they can spill over.

  I’ve been lying to myself. I don’t know how to do fling with Will. No matter how much I try to talk myself out of it, I care too much not to wish it could be more.

  But fuck it. I’m in over my head already. We can have another fantastic night, maybe two. If this is what I’ve got, I’ll be damned if I don’t make the most of it.

  The rehearsal dinner is really just a formality—it’s not as if Brooke’s and Trevor’s families haven’t already had tons of time to mingle over the week—but I definitely can’t complain. The restaurant staff have set up tables at the edge of the beach. Solar lanterns glow on each one and dangle from the nearby palapas. The salt breeze whets my appetite.

  In more than one way. The smell and the crash of the waves reminds me of last night. I can’t help glancing at Will, who has descended from his office as promised. He shoots a flirty grin my way.

  Brooke and Trevor are making the rounds, thanking everyone again for coming and confirming their stay has been good. All the guests are beaming, the chatter in the air warm, but Brooke is fidgeting with her hair. She twists one strand of it and then another around her index finger as she smiles and nods. It seems like any potential disaster has already been averted, and everything should be in order for tomorrow. But I guess it’s a lot easier to assume there’s no reason for nerves when it’s not my wedding we’re on the verge of.

  Before I can grab a moment alone with her to check in, the head waiter announces that the appetizers are arriving. Everyone heads for their chairs. No on
e’s worried about exact seating plans tonight. Will nabs the spot next to me and bumps his shoulder to mine.

  “Perfect atmosphere for dining, isn’t it?”

  I tap my ankle against his under the table. “Some might say other activities too.”

  “Really? I think I’ll need you to explain in more detail.”

  “Try me after we’re finished the dining part.”

  Our flirting is broken by the arrival of the food. I dig into a puffy pastry of some sort—I don’t really care what’s in it, it smells like heaven. Colin, who has ended up across from me, leans forward.

  “So what part of LA do you live in, Ruby?”

  “I’ve got an apartment in West Hollywood,” I say. “In the middle of things but not horrendously expensive—just the way I like it.”

  “Nice. We cycle along to the ocean every now and then.”

  “I stick to driving it. I’ve got to admit I haven’t been on a bike since I was a kid.”

  Colin jabbed his thumb back toward the hotel. “The resort has mountain bikes for guests to borrow, you know. You could get back in the saddle out here. It’s definitely scenic.”

  “At this point, I doubt I’ll have the time,” I say. “Bachelorette tonight, wedding tomorrow. I’m thinking trying to get back in the saddle at whatever hour we get back tonight is probably not the wisest idea ever.”

  Colin laughs. “No, probably not.”

  Will sets his arm against my chair, not quite touching my back but close enough to warm it. A tingle races over my skin. “Don’t you have other plans for tonight anyway?” he says smoothly.

  I poke his leg gently with my heel. “Besides the bachelorette party? Do I?”

  “Maybe that was just my wishful thinking.”

  How direct is he planning on getting right here at the table? I study his face, and he grins. It’s hard not to answer that challenge, even with Lulu and Colin looking on.

  “What sort of plans were you imagining?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. The view of the stars from the rooftop deck is pretty amazing, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

  The seductive dip of his voice at the end brings my words from a few hours ago back to me. Fuck me so hard I see stars. Who needs spaceships when you have Will the sex god to provide?

  “And are you suggesting I go take a look on my own?” I tease.

  Will traces his thumb along the bare skin from the strap of my dress to the peak of my shoulder. I do my best to sit there calmly without letting on that my body just caught fire. As informal as this rehearsal dinner is, I’m pretty sure it’d still be poor etiquette to jump a groomsman’s bones in the middle of it.

  “I suppose I could be persuaded to go with you,” he says.

  I’m abruptly aware that we’re getting more than a few curious glances from around the table. Yep, my knack for subtlety has gone right out the window today, if I ever had much of one to begin with. Or maybe it’s Will who’s changed his approach. Either way, I’m pretty sure anyone who wasn’t already in the know is now speculating.

  So let them.

  “A tempting invitation,” I say. “Let me see how well I’m standing after we’re done partying.”

  “As the lady wishes,” Will says, with a gracious tip of his head and a glint in his eye that makes me want to rethink etiquette. And standing. I’m a little relieved that the entree shows up then to give me something to do with my hands that’s not pulling him down on that tabletop.

  When dinner is over, Trevor and Brooke urge us to our feet so one of Trevor’s aunts can snap some casual pics of the wedding party and assorted family. As the happy couple squeezes together with their parents, Lulu ambles up over to me.

  “So much for hands off, I see,” she says with a little smirk.

  “It’s not—” I start, and cut myself off, because technically it is what she thinks. Instead I just shrug.

  “You young folks, go on in the ocean, just up to your ankles,” the aunt hollers, waving her camera at the ready. I kick off my sandals and head over gamely. My legs lock up when the foam brushes my toes.

  Will comes up beside me, his arm brushing mine. “I’ll watch for jellyfish,” he promises with a wink.

  “My knight in shining armor.” I elbow him. “You didn’t spot that one last night.”

  I realize the second the words leave my mouth that I’ve just outright admitted to anyone close enough to overhear—that is, the entire wedding party—that I was out with Will when I got stung in the middle of the night. A blush creeps across my cheeks, but nobody seems to notice—or care. Will bends closer. “In my defense,” he murmurs, “I was a little distracted.”

  My blush deepens.

  “Oh, get a room, you two.” Maggie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “After we get these pictures taken.”

  Back on dry land, the aunt has us pair off into couples. As maid of honor I’m stuck with the best man. “Sorry, Will,” Brad says as he poses with his arm around my waist, and I debate whether to step on his foot.

  “I’m keeping an eye on you,” Will warns, with a grin.

  After a few of those, we’re allowed to loosen up again. “Just be you,” the aunt says, as if that’s a helpful instruction. Will makes his way over to me again. The camera is clicking, but I realize I don’t care.

  “So just how wild is this bachelorette going to get?” he asks, tapping me on the sternum.

  “I’m not allowed to tell,” I say archly. “Girl Code. Why, are you worried I’ll forget our ‘date’?”

  “I’m just thinking how much I’d like to be there watching you.”

  “Aw, you’d spoil all our fun.”

  “I think you should know by now that I can be a lot of fun when I put my mind to it.”

  I laugh, and he catches my hand, just for a second. A brush of his fingers over my palm. My heart flutters. I don’t know what I might have said next if Trevor hadn’t wandered over to us at that moment. He’s grabbed himself another glass of wine—I’d guess at least his third, considering how extravagantly he slaps Will on the back.

  “I’m glad to see this,” he says, sotto voce. “I really am. It’s so good that you two figured things out.”

  My pulse stutters, and not in a good way. Will blinks at him. Before I can say anything, Trevor picks up on our apparent confusion.

  “After the whole thing with Ruby’s letter to you—ending in Brad’s room instead of yours by mistake. Now that was a mess, wasn’t it?” Trevor chuckles, shaking his head.

  I freeze.

  Will turns to stare at me. “Ruby’s letter? To me?”

  I back up a step. “I, uh—”

  Trevor’s eyes widen as he must realize Will and I haven’t actually discussed that part of our past in any detail. “Oh, crap,” he says. “Er …”

  “What’s Trevor talking about, Ruby?” Will asks urgently. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of me. My heart is beating so fast I can hardly think. Shit, shit, shit.

  “I need to grab something. For the bachelorette party. Right now,” I babble, and take off across the beach toward the hotel.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I’d rather combat a dozen hostile alien invasions than talk to Will right now. I think somewhere in my panic-scattered brain I have the idea that if I can just make it to my room and hide away in there, I’ll have escaped it. As if Will is somehow going to forget this revelation overnight. As if I don’t have to spend most of tomorrow in the same rooms as him.

  But it doesn’t end up mattering that my strategy is totally illogical. Will catches up with me before I’ve even reached the steps leading to the pool deck.

  “Ruby,” he says. I’ve never heard him sound so uncertain before. It wrenches at my heart. I make myself stop and turn around. Then I don’t know what to say.

  He’s looking at me like he doesn’t recognize me.

  I swallow hard. “Well, now you know.”

  I’m aiming for nonchalance, but my voice comes out way too thin.<
br />
  Will shakes his head as if trying to clear it. “So what Trevor said—Brad’s letter—”

  “I didn’t write it for Brad.” I cross my arms over my chest, hugging myself. “I thought I was sticking it under your door. The guy I asked was obviously not a reliable source of information.”

  “But … It said … Why the hell would you sign it as Deanna?”

  “It was supposed to be cute,” I explain miserably. “A little inside joke. Because of my rant about Counselor Troi—the way you used to call back to that with me. It seemed like a good idea after a couple of back-to-back whiskey sours.”

  “Troi,” Will repeats, and then the bewilderment in his expression fades a little. “Deanna Troi.”

  “I would have used Troi instead,” I say, “but who signs a love letter with their last name?”

  “Maybe the same kind of person who’d sign a love letter with a name that’s not even theirs in the first place?”

  I throw my hands up in the air. “I thought you’d get the reference! I didn’t know it was going to end up with Brad.”

  “Obviously.” His eyes catch mine again. “So … all those things you wrote …”

  My arms tighten around me, but I manage to hold my gaze steady. “Yeah.”

  He’s the one who looks away. “I had no idea. I really didn’t.”

  “Obviously. I get it. I wasn’t really your type back then.”

  Will looks stunned. “Ruby, you have always been my ‘type.’ I just didn’t—” He tries to explain. “We were friends. If I’m being honest, you were my closest friend. You weren’t just some girl, you were different.”

  “Different from all the girls you banged and never called again?” I counter, not liking the way he’s talking. “I’m pretty sure all of them weren’t just some girl either.”

  Will winces. “You’re right. But in my defense, I was young and regularly killing brain cells with more cheap beer than was wise, and my priorities were not exactly the same as they are now.” He pauses, and his tone turns sincere. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks quietly. “You must have realized I didn’t know.”