“Who’s the guy?”
“Guy?”
“In your dream.” He couldn’t help smiling while he shut his laptop. “The way you were sucking on your lip and sighing, I figured there was a guy involved.”
She stared at him and blinked again, like she was trying extra hard to focus. “There was no guy.”
“Oh.” He crossed his arms and grinned. “Even better.”
Jules rolled her eyes and fidgeted with the tassels on her shirt. “For your information, I was dreaming about, um, cookies—chocolate chip, to be exact. I was eating cookies and…and getting a hot stone massage.”
“In your dream.”
She nodded firmly, but her cheeks were bright red and a pinkish marble pattern was creeping up the flesh of her neck. Talk about a liar’s tell.
“Sounds like one lucky cookie.”
Her cheeks turned that deep apple red again. “Um, yeah.”
Damn man. One lucky cookie, indeed.
“Anyway, we land in an hour.”
“Already?” She unbuckled her seat belt, leaned toward him and over his lap to look out the window.
Her hair smelled clean like citrus and girl. Did the rest of her body have the same scent? Suddenly, his mouth went dry, and it wasn’t exactly comfortable to have Jules leaning across his lap.
“You, uh, slept most of the way,” he said in a louder than necessary voice, hoping it would make her return to her own seat.
“Really?” Finally, she did sit back and encircled the place on her wrist where there probably used to be a watch. “I guess I was exhausted after—”
“Yeah,” he said, not needing her to finish.
“Did you get any sleep?”
“Not really. I was working.”
“The whole time?”
“I have a meeting at the end of next week. It’s important.”
She propped an elbow on the arm rest. “So those stories are true, too? You really do work all the time. Vince said you’re a workaholic and that’s why you don’t date properly.”
“Only so many hours in the day.”
She tugged at her hair, then tucked some behind an ear. “You don’t think it’s important to make time for personal relationships?”
“Oh, I always make time for those.”
She blew out a dramatic groan and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I mean real human connections, not meaningless sex.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Meaningless?”
“That’s what it is for you, right?” Her volume amplified. “I’m not talking specifically about what we did in the hotel last night—that was a drunken mistake. And a pretty wheels-off passionate one, judging by how my bra was hanging from the lampshade.”
“Shhh.” He placed a hand over hers to get her to lower her voice, but she slid it away.
“You’re pretty uptight, you know? You can have a promiscuous lifestyle but you can’t talk about it?” She pulled her knees into her chest. “I’m not judging, I’m just saying.”
It was as if the woman was speaking into a live microphone.
“Anyone ever tell you your voice carries?”
“How you live is none of my business, but all those women…”
“You make me sound like James Bond.”
“Aren’t you?”
He sat up a little taller and straightened the knot of his tie. “Well, I don’t want to brag.”
“Never mind.”
Dexter was done talking, too. It was fun to tease Jules about it, but honestly, last night wasn’t a joke. Waking up married in Vegas. How clichéd was that? If it had happened with one of those “other women”—someone he didn’t know, but who might actually hold him to those vows—he would’ve been in deep shit.
Not like this whatever-marriage would last long. The best attorney in Manhattan already set the wheels in motion to fix it as quickly and quietly as possible. Then he’d never have to think about Lady Juliet again, or that black bra, or those sounds she made when she dreamed.
Chapter Four
When Jules went for her bag, Dexter was already carrying it. “Thanks, but I can manage.”
“Quiet, little one,” he said, a bit ruffled, though letting her go first as they deplaned.
That casual sex talk must’ve really gotten to him. Why live the life if you’re too neurotic to be proud of it? Not her business. Though it was amusing to watch him squirm.
“Luke offered to make the airport run today,” Dexter said, “but I told him we’d cab it.”
“We?”
“Yes, we,” Dexter replied patiently. “Since everyone thinks we’re newlyweds, don’t you think we should show up together?”
“Right.” She nodded. “It’s just… I’m not used to people planning or taking charge.”
“Independent woman?” he asked with a crooked grin that might’ve been cute.
“I have to be. Now, especially.”
“Why? Because I’m a guy who likes to take charge if only to make his companion’s life easier?”
She shrugged, even though he’d hit the nail on the head. “Relationship-wise, I don’t allow myself to get entangled anymore. It’s messy, and I’ve learned my personality is a bit too codependent.” She sighed, wondering why she’d disclosed all that. “So I just don’t let it happen. End of story. Self-reliant, self-sufficient.”
“And always at a distance,” he inserted while studying her face.
Jules was relieved he didn’t say more. She didn’t need the guy to delve into her screwed-up psyche.
“Baggage claim is this way.”
“I know,” she said, feeling irritable. Who was she irritated with? Herself? “I’ve been flying into this airport alone since I was ten.”
“Okay, okay.” Some of his perfectly combed dark hair was falling across his forehead. For a second, she imagined her fingers pushing it into place, then running through his hair to the back of his head.
Ugh, no. She tried to shoo the image away. It was too similar to the one she’d been mentally replaying as they’d walked through the terminal. Just a snippet from the dream she’d had on the plane. It had felt so real that—even after she’d realized she was awake, and Dexter was beside her, looking at her, just like in the dream—it was almost like it was still happening.
She balled her hands into tight fists, then released them, concentrating on feeling her blood flow, though that didn’t stop the movie in her mind from replaying over and over: Dexter Elliott kissing her, sliding his hands up her back, down her ribs, covering her hip bones. The short scene was playing on a loop.
No way had she dreamed that on her own. The only explanation was…
She was remembering last night.
“Jules?”
“Huh?”
Dexter was watching her, and they were at baggage claim. Sure, Jules was great at zoning out and did it pretty frequently, but today she couldn’t seem to stay in the here and now even when she’d tried.
“I asked if that’s yours.” He pointed at the bag on the conveyer belt coming their way. “It matches your carry-on.”
“Yes,” she said. And again, before she could make a move, Dexter had it.
Calm down, Jules. Do you have to be self-reliant about everything? Allow him to be a gentleman.
“Why don’t you get in line for a taxi while I wait for my bag?”
Great plan. She wanted to be away from his pleasing good manners.
The April afternoon air had a chill to it. Jules was so used to the no-sleeves-year-round weather of Las Vegas, she had to think if she brought a jacket. A few minutes later, Dexter appeared, wheeling both suitcases down the walkway. She couldn’t help laughing at the way he was talking to himself, probably muttering how he had to be seen with her beat-up beaded suitcase with the peace sign patch.
It did make him look cute, and so comically uncomfortable.
The cuteness and her smile disappeared when she realized he was talking on his Bluetooth. Seriously, could the man n
ot take five minutes off from work? How tedious must life be if it revolved around a job and pitching the next great deal, or hitting the top of the next list or…well, Jules didn’t really know what Dexter did for a living, not specifically—a lot of Vince’s family info went right out of her head. What she did know was he was the youngest VP at Elliott Tech, and was in line to take over when Braxton Elliott retired.
“Yo! We’re next!” she hollered in a loud voice, even though he was obviously trying to listen to the other end of his Bluetooth.
He held up one finger but didn’t reply.
Exasperated, she blew out a breath and got in the cab. Still on the phone, Dexter slid in the backseat beside her. “Hershey,” he said to the driver. “Derry Woods Hill.”
“Not there!” She clutched his arm.
“What?” He peered at her, then said into his Bluetooth, “I’ll have to call you back,” then took off the earpiece. “It’s my parents’ house. Where the wedding party is right now. They’re probably just finishing lunch.”
“We need to make a stop first.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to change my clothes.”
“You look fine.” Dexter punched the back of the front seat. “Let’s go,” he said to the driver, and the car took off.
“I do not look fine. My shirt is torn.” Jules displayed a rip in her sleeve and that the seams at the front of her neck hole were pulled apart. “I’d like to wash my face with my own cleanser, and I’m not wearing any—” She cut herself off.
“Not wearing…?”
She squirmed in her seat and knew she was about to blush, cursing her fair complexion. “Forget it.”
He cocked a brow as his eyes traced down her body, making Jules feel warm but uncomfortable under his heavy blue-eyed gaze.
“I asked you to please not do that,” she said, crossing her arms, replacing embarrassment with attitude.
“I’m not doing anything.”
The image of that dream kiss flashed through her mind, made breathing slightly more difficult. “Let’s just get this over with. I have other things to do.”
“Don’t we all.” He sat back and loosened the knot of his tie.
“You missed a button, Mr. Bond. Two, actually. Your tie was covering it.”
“I didn’t miss them. They’re gone.”
“Where?”
He shrugged. “The floor of the limo, maybe. Our hotel room. In the bed.”
“Oh. You mean I tore open…” It was too mortifying to finish.
“Seems that way.” He rested his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. “But I won’t charge you for it, since I tore your shirt, too.”
Good gracious. What had they done to each other last night? And why couldn’t she remember? Actually, maybe it’s better I don’t.
“That’s fair,” she said.
“Might be a bit awkward when we first get to the house, but it’ll be over quickly. I was thinking we should act like we planned on surprising them all along. That way, they’ll politely congratulate you, while my brothers give me hell until they’ve had their fill.”
“Sure you can handle that?”
“I’ve handled rougher. Haven’t I?” He nudged her arm. “Oh, and Vince’ll threaten to give me a pounding for marrying you.”
“He’d beat you up? Why? We haven’t dated in eight years and he’s getting married.”
“Big bad player like me corrupting a sweet young thing like you?”
Jules couldn’t help chuckling. “How has some woman’s older brother not broken your face?”
He touched his nose. “Twice.”
“Seriously?”
“Never by an older brother. First time was in college during a mixed martial arts class. And I’m totally cool with that because it was the instructor who’s a level-five black belt badass.”
“And the second time?”
“Um.” He cleared his throat. “That happened at the end of a…bad non-date.”
“Non-date? What—” She waved a hand. “Never mind. Please go on about the broken nose.” She grinned and laced her fingers under her chin.
“I must’ve said something she didn’t like and she probably wanted to pick up a wineglass and splash it in my face, but we were at Starbucks, so she threw her oversize mug at me.”
“You mean the coffee in it?”
“No, the whole damn mug. Broke my nose in three places.”
“Impressive.”
“Worse thing is, it was hot chocolate. No dude deserves to get his nose broken by whipped cream.” He shook his head. “I’d been trying to shake off Hershey for years, then cocoa breaks my face.”
Jules threw her head back and laughed. Dang, Dexter Elliott was one hilarious big bad player. “So listen, we’ll go to your parents’ and do the meet-and-greet thing.” She paused to breathe through the sudden nervousness in her stomach. “I want to see Vince, of course, and Roxy and Luke, but I have to get to my grandmother’s attorney’s office. I told him I’d come today. Where’s the closest bus stop to your house?”
“How about I take you to the lawyer, then to your grandmother’s. But aren’t you staying at the house? I thought all the close family guests were. There’s plenty of room.”
Yes, she’d been officially invited by Vince and Eileen to stay at the Elliott estate all weekend, but she hadn’t planned on it. The plan was to stay at Grams’s house—her house. She’d better start thinking of it as her house, otherwise, signing the official papers would be too painful.
She loved the cottage. Even though the inside had been falling apart for years, it was her favorite place on earth. Everything from the screen-less windows and antique kitchen fixtures to the breakfast nook with the breathtaking view of the lake though the wall of windows. Her favorite place to paint.
If she ever found the inspiration to paint again.
During Jules’s last visit, Grams suggested—for the hundredth time—that Jules turn the nook into an art room. It would make a perfect studio thanks to the all-day natural light. Even though Jules had already decided to do it, the thought of gutting the nook now squeezed her heart so much she could cry.
“I already have a place to stay,” she said, answering Dexter. “It’s not right in Hershey so I’ll need to pick up Grams’s car. One of her neighbor’s kids has been driving it so the battery won’t die.”
“Why don’t you call to say you won’t be picking it up today?”
She rubbed her nose. “I don’t use my phone unless it’s an emergency.”
“Oh.” Dexter blinked about a hundred times, and wore the same expression everyone wore when she told them she was pretty much technology-free. Dexter flipped his cell in his hands, then rested it on his knee, as if the need to stay connected 24/7 made him keep his phone in sight at all times.
So what if she couldn’t Facebook mobile-ly or map app the nearest gastropub? She was doing just fine.
They were quiet the rest of the drive. Even sleeping for almost the whole flight hadn’t made her rested or energetic. She was still fighting the hangover and needed a session of yoga like nothing else. When the cab made a sharp left and headed up the hill, her stomach tightened.
“Here we go,” Dexter said. “Just remember, this is Vince’s weekend—I bet no one pays much attention to us.”
“Cool,” Jules replied with a nod. She was great with people, could talk to anyone about anything, even the Elliott parents, who seemed so scary when she was a kid. As she got older and realized she was reacting to their big house and money, Jules was never intimidated by them again. Having loads of money didn’t mean you were a better person or a kinder person or more artistic or happy.
Jules couldn’t think of a happier person than herself, and she didn’t have an extra dime to her name. All of her savings would go toward fixing up the cottage. With an extra ten thousand, or twenty times as much, would that make her happier?
Her thoughts were derailed when the cab pulled to a stop. Dex
ter tucked a credit card into his wallet and was out the door before she could take a breath of preparation. She double-wrapped the strap of her purse around her wrist and followed him to the driveway. Their bags were already on the porch.
“Thanks again,” Dexter said to the cab driver, slipping him a bill. “I know it was a long drive.” She couldn’t see the currency from where she was, but by the way the guy’s eyes lit up unbelievingly, it was probably a Benjamin.
At least Dexter believed in taking care of the little people. It always sucked when Jules put her whole body’s effort into giving someone an amazing massage, only to get tipped 5 percent.
Dexter walked to the porch. Jules leveled her chin and followed. Without a word, he pushed open the door, placed a hand on the small of her back, and steered her inside the house. Thank goodness she didn’t give a crap about money; the sheer size of the place was enough to intimidate a Rockefeller.
But, wait… Would the Elliotts think she was a gold digger for marrying Dexter, overlooking his zillion man-whore red flags?
Too late to consider that now. Instead, she breathed in the welcoming smell of wood polish, candles, and something homey baking.
“They’re in the yard,” Dexter said.
Jules let him lead her past the living room, down the hallway, and into the huge, industrial-sized kitchen. He dropped his hand from her to unlatch a set of French doors that opened into the green and spacious backyard. Jules saw only the backs of people—maybe twenty—gathered around an outside bar.
“Oh, my ever-lovin’ crap! Look!”
“They’re finally here!”
“Time for us to pay up.”
Dexter swore under his breath. And Jules really, really wished she was wearing underwear.
…
“Hi,” Dexter said with a wave, his confidence slipping a notch. “Hi,” he repeated, “um, everyone.”
“Hi? That’s all you have to say?” The next second, he was shoved out of the way by one of Roxy’s bony elbows. “Jules, this is too much awesome! Why didn’t you tell me?” His sister captured Jules in a bear hug.
Dexter hadn’t known they were close friends. Probably should’ve asked.
“Rox, hey!” Jules said, her voice high-pitched but lacking the usual volume. “Did we totally surprise you or what?”
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