“Hank doesn’t exist.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, mate. Hank is the guy you’ve always known. Henry”—he sighed—“Henry is the one who isn’t real. He’s the one who puts on the sword and rides around like a dandy, nodding and waving at ceremonies. Don’t you remember what it was like at uni, when nobody knew who I was?”
“People knew who you were.”
“A few maybe. But even they didn’t really care.”
“That was before you became . . . what did that tabloid call you? Ah yes, the poster boy for overindulgence.”
“You can’t believe those rags. C’mon, mate, you know me. I mean really know me. Hank is the guy you lived with all those years, the one who helped you cram for exams and then took you out for drinks when they were done and you were absolutely certain you’d failed even though I knew damn well you’d have the highest marks in the class. Hell, Hank’s the one who taught you how to play pool at that little pub near campus.”
“You mean the one where I had to bribe the owner not to sell the photos of you doing tequila shots off that barmaid’s stomach? You still owe me for that by the way.”
“Perhaps,” Hanks said, glossing over the incident as he continued to recount examples of when his real persona rang true. “But I’m also the one who got you her best friend’s phone number.” His face lit up as another memory came to mind. “And the one who pulled your head out of the toilet before you drowned in your own vomit.”
“After you challenged me to see who could reach the worm first. I still think your bottle had water in it.”
“Bullocks. And who was the one who cut you free the next morning after your hungover ass woke up shrink-wrapped to the sofa?”
Matthew lifted a brow. “Who was the one who bought the plastic wrap?”
“Okay, not the best example. The point is, Hank is me. And he’s the one your sister met last night. I just want to spend a bit more time getting to know her before the proverbial shit hits the fan.” Hank grew more serious. “Everyone thinks being born of a royal bloodline is like hitting the lottery, but you know the downsides, mate. You saw it firsthand that weekend we spent in Paris. Once the truth comes out, so will all the baggage; and that’s a lot for anyone to take in, let alone someone you just met.”
“But she’s not just someone. She’s my sister.”
“And I swear, I will tell her everything tomorrow night. Then she can decide for herself if she wants to be part of the circus I call my life.”
Matthew pinched the bridge of his nose, and Hank knew he was considering it.
“And besides, if this blows up before the wedding, my balls won’t be the only ones in the to-go container.”
Matthew dropped his hand and narrowed his eyes. “How do you figure?”
“You think sweet Emily will be very happy about having her wedding crashed by TMZ?”
Matthew groaned. “How is it after all these years you still manage to drag me into your mess?”
Hank cracked a lopsided grin. “My boyish charm? Or maybe my rugged good looks?”
“Rugged? You are such a pansy. I could take your ass right here but there’s probably a SWAT team lurking somewhere.”
“Good point.” Hank squinted down the street. He hadn’t seen Clayton since the night before ,but if he had to guess, there were at least three members of his team within earshot.
“Where are your shoes?” Matthew asked.
Hank glanced down at his bare feet and wiggled his toes. “Didn’t have a chance to put any on.”
“Your grandmother would be so proud.” Matthew said dryly.
Hank chuckled. “I think my bare feet are the least of Her Majesty’s concerns.”
“Still not sure why she hasn’t demanded a DNA test. There is no way you could actually be related to her.”
“Bugger.”
“Wanker.” A hint of a smile formed on Matthew’s lips. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you for sleeping with my sister.”
Hank grew serious. “I know.”
“But she’s a big girl and as much as it pains me to admit it, needs to make her own choices. Just promise me you’ll tell her the whole story as soon as the ceremony is over.”
“You have my word.”
“Oh, and so you know, if you hurt her I’m going to pay Clayton to smother you in your sleep.”
“Something tells me if I hurt Cassie, he will do it all on his own.” It was the first time he’d said her name out loud. Cassie.
Hank stood and slung his arm around Matthew’s neck. “C’mon, let’s go check out the breakfast half of the B&B. I’m starved. Must be all the—”
Matthew stopped short and shot him a look.
“Fresh air.” Hank laughed. “Was going to say it must be all the fresh country air.”
Chapter Seven
Cassie was certain she was about to die. And not a death by orgasm either, although last night that had seemed like a distinct possibility. But at the moment that suspended sense of heightened pleasure seemed a million miles away. Her lungs burned and her legs shook and she was quite sure whoever the first person was who’d decided to run when they weren’t being chased was some kind of masochist hell-bent on destroying their body one joint a time.
The sun was inching its way toward high noon as she rounded the turn onto Main Street. To the north there was a small square with a white gazebo surrounded by more tulips than she’d ever seen in one place. Yellow, red, pink, and plum, they swayed in the late-morning breeze like a tourism ad for Holland. An elderly couple sat on a bench in the center of the white octagon, holding hands as they watched a finch peck at the seeds they’d scattered on the ground. At the end of the cobblestone road she could see her weekend work zone where inside her brother’s groom’s cake sat fully decorated. With only the final touches on the wedding cake left, she was in the homestretch of more than just her half-hearted attempt at a run. Her wedding duties were nearly done, at least the ones that required her to be trapped in the kitchen, which left forty-eight hours of wild wedding fun. Oh, who she was she kidding? The only fun she was interested in, wild or otherwise, was with Hank.
Immediately her mind went to the images of the previous night. The look in Hank’s eyes just before they collided; the urgency of his movements as he lifted her onto the dresser; the sound he made when he pressed inside her, like he’d died and gone to heaven. It was all so clear but yet still felt like it had happened to someone else, almost as though she was remembering the dizzying rush through a haze of alcohol. Cassie snorted. More like a haze of lust. Just the thought was enough to get her blood pumping all over again, but that wasn’t going to do anything to work off the cupcakes she’d “tasted” the day before. While being a pastry chef might have been good for her soul, it was taking a serious toll on her ass. Hank, on the other hand, was . . . perfect.
The image of Hank’s naked body flashed though her mind. There was no doubt she’d been admiring him in the bakery, but as hot as he’d looked in a pair of faded jeans, it was nothing compared to the sight of the man au naturel. Clearly he spent a lot of time at the gym, and not just at the smoothie bar like she sometimes did. No, this guy went for the workout. He was a solid slab of honed muscle. And she would know, seeing as how she’d given him a thorough, hands-on inspection. From his broad shoulders to his washboard abs to the sexy V between his hips, the man was a flipping Greek god. Maybe he was. After all, his thighs did look like they’d been carved out of stone. And don’t even get her started on the ass . . .
She groaned with what little air was left in her lungs. What in the world was a guy like that doing with a girl like her? It was a question that had haunted her all morning as she’d finished up her brother’s cake and was the reason she’d decided to get her booty moving before finishing the last project. Of course the odds that she would drop two dress sizes before the rehearsal dinner were a million to one no matter how much she tortured herself on the streets of Madison. Maybe it didn’t matter. Mayb
e he was one of those guys who liked girls with a little meat on their bones. What was that cheesy expression? Ah yes, the bigger the cushion, the better the pushin’. Yeah right. Hank Green was hot. Like seriously hot. And on top of that he had a hot accent. There was no way he ever had to settle for less than perfect, which is absolutely what she was. And not just in terms of the size of her jeans but in personality too. To put it bluntly, she was a nerd, a number-crunching Netflix-binging dork who was just as content talking about the latest tax code reform as she was the most recent episode of The Mindy Project.
Then again, she hadn’t been her normal “Cassie self” with Hank. She’d been wild and uninhibited. She had hovered between wallflower and spunky best friend her entire life. But last night she was a just a woman in a strange town, in a stranger’s shop. Hank didn’t know anything about her, and the anonymity was liberating. How else could she explain her “Who needs a bed?” line? Two days ago the mere thought of those words coming out of her mouth would have made her cringe. But with Hank, nothing felt awkward or forced. It was like she was another woman when she was with the guy. The feeling was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She didn’t have to be Cassandra Miller, the sensible girl who makes all the safe choices. To him she was an unknown, and when he’d called her his Little Vixen she’d felt sexy and wanton and like the most desirable woman in the world.
But all of that came crashing down when Hank stepped into the hallway and right into the middle of her family reunion. Leave it to her to take a walk on the wild side with a guy who turned out to be her brother’s friend. She’d sworn she’d caught a glimpse of some impressive morning wood when Hank stepped into the hallway. But instead of a little morning glory, all she got was a mortifying encounter right out of her worst nightmare. Scratch that, her worst nightmare would have involved nudity, but still, that had to rank fairly high on the list of embarrassing ways to start the day. And while she didn’t know for sure what had gone through Hank’s mind in those few awkward moments, it probably wasn’t good. He’d gone to bed with a mysterious vixen and woken up to an annoying kid sister. And if her babbling nonsense hadn’t completely deflated his libido, whatever Matthew said after she left would have no doubt finished him off. Nothing like a dose of early morning reality, not to mention an angry big brother, to completely kill a hard-on.
Cassie sighed as her pace slowed to nothing more than a stroll. She’d been so focused on how her ass would look in the clothes she would wear over the next two days that she hadn’t stopped to consider the fact that maybe Hank wasn’t interested in a repeat of last night. He’d seemed quite into her, but she’d been known to read guys wrong on more than one occasion. Who was she kidding, she got it wrong more than she got it right. It was like they were on different frequencies. Regardless of the encounter with Matthew, to Hank she might have been nothing more than a one-night stand.
It was a question that would remain unanswered—at least for the next few hours—and in the meantime there was one last cake to finish, which meant it was time to grab a shower and get back to work.
She’d no sooner pulled out her ear buds when she heard a familiar voice behind her.
“See, doesn’t it feel better to support a local coffee shop instead of a chain?”
Cassie turned to find Olivia pushing through the doors of an adorable little coffee shop called The Roasted Bean. Her blonde waves were pulled back into a ponytail and she was wearing her favorite faded jeans, the ones with the Bonnaroo patch that, according to her, turned her husband into a “horny bastard.” Funny, but no matter how Olivia described her husband, “bastard” always seemed to follow. Depending on the day, Cole was anything from a “gorgeous bastard” who could bring her to the brink of orgasm with a smoldering glance to a “depraved megalomaniac bastard” who would destroy the earth if it weren’t for her intervention.
Speaking of . . .
Just beyond her best friend was the bastard himself. He was tight on Olivia’s heels and from the look on his face, he was not a happy camper.
“Hey guys,” Cassie said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “When did you get in?”
The curve of Olivia’s lips shifted from a broad smile to a shocked O as she took in the sight of her friend dressed in shorts and gym shoes, not to mention covered with a light sheen of sweat. “Better question, when did you start jogging?”
“What? I exercise,” she said, which roughly translated as “I walk to the kitchen while Netflix is loading the next episode.”
Olivia wasn’t buying it, which meant it was time to change the subject.
“How was the umm, flight?” Normally the thought of Olivia and Cole and their high-flying sex-ventures would have made Cassie blush, but at the moment what she was really feeling was intrigued. Not that she could ever see herself having sex at thirty-five thousand feet, but then again, she would have never pictured herself soaking in a claw-foot tub with a handsome stranger either.
A furrow formed between Cole’s dark brows. “Uneventful,” he said.
Cassie’s questioning eyes darted to Olivia, who was fighting back a smile. “Conor ended up hitching a ride with us.”
So that explained Cole’s dour expression. A pair of ass-hugging jeans that didn’t end up on the bedroom floor would put a frown on any man’s face. But on a man who’d made extensive plans that involved new toys? Conor was lucky he hadn’t been shown the door . . . mid-flight.
As if on cue, Conor Lynch strolled out of the coffee shop. He was wearing a pair of tan cargo pants with a black Henley tee, and as he drew closer Cassie could see the cord of a shark tooth necklace peeking out at the neck. When they’d first met Conor he was wearing nothing but that necklace, a pair of swim trunks, and a devious smile. He’d been the one to invite Cassie and Olivia to join the party in the poolside cabana Cole had rented in Las Vegas. If it wasn’t for his superhero power of locating available ladies, not to mention his cheesy pick-up lines and offers of an open bar, Cole and Olivia would have never ended up together. Something Conor was quick to take credit for at every available opportunity. Although to be fair, Conor’s invitation only put Cole and Olivia in the same place. It was really more the alcohol and Olivia’s decision to “let the girls out to play” that flipped their contentious world upside down. Turns out a topless pool and a Jell-O shot in every color of the rainbow could turn even the staunchest of enemies into lovers. Of course the fact that they’d been secretly lusting after each other over the three months they’d claimed to hate each other’s guts hadn’t hurt either. Still, stubborn pride would have kept them apart, something Conor had actually helped Cole navigate. So in the end, Conor really had played a role in their happily ever after, he just liked taking credit for the naked ta-tas more than the heartfelt chats.
“Did someone call?” he asked before taking a sip from a blended concoction that looked to have more calories than Cassie had just burned.
“No,” Cole deadpanned. “We did not call. Nor did we invite you to be a third wheel on our flight.”
Cassie couldn’t help but grin. She knew from experience that this grousing was just part of the two men’s dynamic. Conor was Cole’s oldest and, according to him, dearest friend. Cole would of course argue that their friendship was based primarily on Conor’s need to spend Cole’s money. And while it was true that Conor did have a knack for being more cruise director than check payer, he would argue that he was the perfect yin to Cole’s “stick up the butt” yang.
“Hey, Conor,” she said. “Nice to see you again.”
His answering smile spread across his entire face. “Hey there, Red. See,” he said to Cole, “some people actually appreciate the finer aspects of my charm.”
Cole rolled his eyes. “That’s because she hasn’t been subjected to one of your cock blocks.”
“Dude, how was I supposed to know you had some sort of mile-high kink fest planned?
Cassie’s eyes grew wide. “Have you met them?”
Conor
chuckled. “True, but they’re an old married couple now.”
“Oh, that’s right,” she said, turning back to the sexually frustrated couple. “Happy anniversary.”
“Still celebrating each month?” Conor asked his best friend. “What the fuck, are you in middle school?” He pulled the straw out of his blended drink and sucked the whip cream from the end. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.
True to form, Cole flipped his friend a middle-finger salute. Olivia on the other hand remained uncharacteristically quiet. No laugh, no snort, not even a smile. Normally she would have rolled her eyes and hit the two of them with a witty barb that put them in their place. But at the moment she was far too busy scrutinizing Cassie to chastise her husband and his friend for their childish behavior.
“So what are you all up to this afternoon?” Cassie asked in an attempt to shift Olivia’s focus.
“Hitting the links for nine holes,” Conor said, teeing off with an imaginary club. “At least I am. This one,” he said, elbowing Cole in the ribs, “claims to have too much to do.”
Cole was busy typing away on his smartphone, his brow furrowed. He answered Conor without taking his eyes off the screen. “Some of us actually work for a living.”
Cassie wondered, not for the first time, what it was Conor actually did. He seemed to move through life without a care in the world, let alone an obligation, yet ran with a crowd of players with more money than free time.
“Buzz kill, dude. It’s a wild wedding weekend. No place for a conference call.”
“A fact that means very little to this company in Sao Paolo,” Cole said. He looked up as he tucked his phone back into his pocket. “Don’t worry, I’ll be done in time to meet you for a beer at the clubhouse.” He smirked. “And pick up the tab.”
“Just a quickie, eh?” Conor grinned. “And here I thought you were only speedy in the bedroom.”
“Asshole.”
“Dickhead.”
Icing on the Cake Page 8