by Logan Chance
“Ah.” She faces me. “And you use to come here?”
“Yeah, growing up whenever I wanted to get away from life, or my family.”
“I love it here.” Then she turns to face me, her eyes growing serious. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“I’m happy I brought you.” I step closer until we’re toe-to-toe. Her eyes flutter closed as I graze a finger along her cheek. I like touching her. She’s so soft and feels like silk and happiness. “This place is really special to me.”
Her eyes open, their vibrant blue color shining up at me. “You’re special to me,” she whispers.
And damn if that doesn’t do things to me. I pull her in, capturing her lips with mine. Fire blazes through my veins when she moans.
I can’t think about anything but taking this girl, making her know just how special she is to me. Is it possible I could be falling for her?
No, it’s too soon, too risky. Here’s the thing, though—I want her. And not just sex. I like being around her. Holding her today on the couch while my family decorated the tree, felt all too domesticated. But, I liked it.
I deepen the kiss, running my hands all over her body as she clings to me.
“We shouldn’t…” she doesn’t finish her thought, because I kiss her again. Oh yes, we should. Fuck the negativity. I lay the blanket at our feet and kneel down, bringing Zoe with me.
There’s way too many clothes in the winter time. She removes her coat, sweater, bra, and then pulls me in until I’m up close and personal with her tits. I trail my tongue along the stiff peak, sucking her nipple into my mouth, and then doing the same with the other.
Her intense gaze, trembling body, and little moans tell me she likes the way I touch her. And that thought makes me greedy for more, so I rid her of her jeans and panties to run my tongue over her silky thighs. Chills erupt along her skin. I spread her legs and stare at her, and not at her eyes. She’s ready and wet. Her cheeks blush and she tries to close her legs, but I tsk her. “Don't be embarrassed.”
And then I drop my body, settling on my elbows between her legs, and plant a few kisses over her thighs, making my way to her sweet spot. I swipe my tongue over her wetness and her legs try to close again. “Relax, Zoe, let me enjoy all of you.”
She closes her eyes, and leans her head back.
I bring my hands under her ass, cupping each cheek in my palms, and feast, sucking and nibbling against her heated skin. It’s heaven, and she moans, grinding her body against me. Fuck, she’s so hot.
She rocks forward, her hands in my hair, leading me exactly where she wants me, and I don’t disappoint. I take her in all the ways I can. I lick at her skin, playing with her clit between my lips and teeth. She gets louder and louder, and I keep fucking her with my tongue, my face, and then my fingers. And my fuck, she’s so turned on, and so am I. My body is iron, my cock made of steel, as I hum my lips along her skin. The moment she loses control is a beautiful sight. I wrap an arm beneath her, squeezing tighter, as if I can hold onto her forever by not letting go.
“Graham, oh fuck,” she whispers as her body calms after her orgasm.
I don’t want the moment to end, I want to drag it out for fear of never having the chance again. So, I bring my lips to meet hers, kissing her until I can’t stand it anymore. A ragged groan tears from deep within my throat as I push my way inside her. Goddamn I can’t get over how tight she is. And how good she feels.
Her legs grip around my back, and I keep pushing, keep trying to go in as deep as I can. Until I can stop the incessant want and need of this girl. But, it’ll never end. I have a feeling I’ll keep wanting her more and more after each time.
I lean my forehead against hers, our lips a millimeter apart, and whisper her name again and again.
Her eyes crash into mine, owning me. Completely fucking owning me. My orgasm rips through me as she tells me how she’s never had it so good. My heart beat ramps up, and I know in this exact moment, I am completely fucked over this girl.
Chapter 10
Zoe
The next morning, I sleep in. And it’s heaven in this big comfy bed with thoughts of Graham swimming in my head. Sounds like a Christmas rhyme. What happens next, is exactly what’s in the poem. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
I look out the window and this can’t be happening. I mean this really can’t be happening. Eleanor has a thingy, an actual wedding thingy, assembled in their backyard. An arch, with white flowers snaking around the frame of the trellis. The only thing missing is the wedding officiant underneath.
I get dressed in a hurry and fly down the stairs.
“What do you think?” she asks as I step outside.
“What is it?” I rub my hands along my arms to warm up.
“Well…” she draws out, “I was thinking why not have the wedding here and now while the family is all together?”
She can’t be serious. I grasp at straws. “I’d want my mother here, so I don’t think that’ll work.”
At that precise moment, Graham steps outside, and like a saint has my winter coat in his hands. He helps slide it over my arms, and then smiles at his mother. “What is this?”
“A wedding. It’s already decided,” his mother exclaims, nodding at me.
My mind can’t comprehend all of this. I glance over at the deer-in-the-headlights look Graham has on his face, waiting for him to step in and explain everything. Or to come up with an excuse as to why we can’t get married this weekend.
He doesn’t. Instead, he strides over confidently to his mother, places a kiss on the top of her head, says, ‘perfect,’ then walks back inside the house.
What the…? Men.
I turn back around to face Eleanor and try to lift my lips. “I love it.”
Ugh, I guess I’ll play along until Graham tells everyone the truth, preferably before my mother shows up.
“You have a lot of explaining to do, Zoe.”
Oh my god. My mother. She’s here. I blink to make sure the petite woman with a dark bob stepping onto the patio isn’t a hallucination. It’s not.
I can tell by the tone of her voice she’s not happy. And why should she be? Her only daughter didn’t even tell her she was getting married.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Eleanor says with a smile, moving around us to go inside.
“Zoe, you’re marrying Graham Steele?” my mom asks, once we’re alone. “I searched him on the internet. How did you end up engaged to a man like that?”
“Mom, it’s a long story. It all just sort of happened.”
I know this is so wrong, and I’m probably going to Hell, but I’m actually beginning to like the lie. I’m kind of believing it too. Just like the kid says in that movie, ‘Oh fudge.’ I decide to sit on my throne of lies a little longer. “I’ll explain everything later. Let’s go inside; it’s cold.”
We step inside to find Eleanor and Lindsey sitting on the couch with a million bridal magazines. Graham is nowhere in sight. And I’m not in the mood to plan a wedding I’ll never get to enjoy. A wedding to a man who doesn’t truly want me. I think it’s this thought that depresses me further.
But then, I remember our deal and plaster on a fake smile, because, let’s be honest...the only way to put on a fake smile is to plaster it on. Right?
I move closer, feigning interest. “Are you looking at dresses?”
“Yes, and this one would look so perfect on you,” Lindsey says, pointing to a form fitting gown with a low back. “Mother knows the owner of Fantasy Dresses, Pierre Von Ludwig. Yes, the Pierre Von Ludwig. And he’s coming...here...today.” Her voice rises on each word.
Eleanor taps away on her phone. “Yes, what’s your dress size? I’m texting him now.”
I tell her my dress size, and then sit on the red wingback chair before my legs give out. Pierre is a legend in the wedding arena. Well, in the famous socialite wedding arena. He designs all the top dresses of all t
he top brides. Ugh, put it this way, I’m so out of my freaking league here.
There’s no way Graham will let this happen. I just need to pretend until he reappears to fix this.
A few hours later, it’s not fixed, and I stand in the middle of my room, wrapped all in white, looking like a bridal nightmare. That’s basically what I’m in right now. A nightmare.
This just doesn’t feel right anymore.
Flutes of champagne are passed around as everyone waits to see me in the dress Pierre has brought over. Pierre has basically brought the whole store with him. He says it’s because this will be the event of the century because I’m marrying one of the country’s most eligible bachelors. And I haven’t even been able to find that most eligible bachelor anywhere, let alone talk to him.
Hopefully he’s planning our escape.
I close my eyes and count to ten, taking a deep breath for good measure.
It’s like a fairy tale gone rogue. How do I say I love the dresses and not actually have them purchase one?
Lindsey and Eleanor sit like jurors in the high back chairs waiting to judge me in the next greatest creation of Pierre’s. And somehow, Trudy has managed to weasel her way in to this fashion show. She looks disgustingly pleased with the way each dress isn’t the right one.
“You look like a giant snowball,” my mom says in regard to the silk organza mess of madness that I can’t even figure out how to sit in.
Lindsey laughs a little, and Eleanor gives a dismissive shake of her head. “That’s not the one,” she says.
Pierre prances over to his portable rack. “I have another.”
Of course, he does. This is more than a ‘few’ dresses. I’m on my fifth fiasco. Each one more extravagant than the one before. If this were my real wedding, I’d want something simple and elegant, not full and frilly. But, no one listens to me.
I step inside the bathroom with my mom as he hands me another dress.
After mom zips me up, I study myself in the mirror of this makeshift dressing room. I twist and turn, admiring the dress from all angles. This dress is kind of perfect. It’s classy, with art deco beadwork on the bodice. Sometimes less is more, and the drop back ends in a tasteful v.
“It’s stunning,” my mother says to me in the mirror. I can’t believe it’s me in the reflection. I really can’t.
“Oh my,” Lindsey says, when I step out, her eyes shining with excitement.
Eleanor rises from her chair with a smile on her face. “I think it’s perfect.” And then she does something I’m completely not expecting. She turns to Pierre, and says, “We’ll take this one.”
“Wait,” I squeak out, but no one is listening to me. They’re all occupied with a little mini-chaotic party that just erupted the moment Mrs. Steele spoke her approval.
Oh my God, she just bought this dress.
I’m sure this dress is a small fortune, and it’s not a real wedding. I want to say something. I open my mouth to actually do it, until a knock at the door stops me.
“Zoe, are you in there?” It’s Graham. Just the man I need to see.
Lindsey hops up from her chair. “Don’t come in here. It’s bad luck.”
Pierre and Eleanor hurry me back into the bathroom to change, and I do, as fast as possible. I need to talk to Graham. Now. Before I can get to him, the door to the bathroom opens and Trudy steps inside.
“Listen,” she says in a low voice, “we need to talk.”
“I can’t right now,” I say, trying to move around her.
She blocks the door, leaning back against it. “If you marry him, my dad takes his resort.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are things that have been in the works long before you came around.” She eyes me, coldly. “Do you want to be the reason he loses everything? It’s me or the resort. And if you tell him any of this, my father will move hard and swift to take control of it. So you need to stay as far away from him as possible.” Her words slide in my ears and go straight to my heart. “Let’s be real, you’re not one of us anyway.”
“I can definitely see why he doesn’t like you,” I tell her, before nudging her out of the way. This is all fake, and it’s time to get out of the fantasy. No matter how much I want it, Graham and I will never be anything. And it’s time to end the charade.
Chapter 11
Graham
“You can’t go in there. It’s bad luck to see the bride in her dress before the wedding,” Lindsey chastises me as she slips out the door of Zoe’s room.
Fuck, a dress?
I need to put a stop to all of this, but I don’t even know where to begin. I can’t believe how on board with this wedding my mother is.
“Ok. Ok,” I grab her arm to pull her away from the door, “Lindsey, I have to tell you something.”
I’m pretty sure it’s shock that freezes her face as I blurt out all my lies, everything Zoe and I have been keeping secret. She looks like she’s watching a train wreck happen right before her eyes. And that’s how I feel about my life right now—it’s one giant train wreck.
“Well, shit,” she says, after I finish telling her everything.
“That’s your best sisterly advice? How do I tell Mom?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t believe you’re so blind.”
I run a hand through my thick hair. “What?”
“She loves you.”
“Who?” Is she talking about Mom?
“Zoe.” She places her hands on her hips, her eyes shooting bullets at me. “And you need to stop being an idiot.”
“No, she’s not. Trust me.” No, Zoe is doing this for a soap deal. And I don’t blame her.
“I know love, and she’s got it. And so, do you.”
“I do not,” I scoff.
Her brow rises, and her hands stay firmly rooted to her hips.
“I’m not in love.” I raise a brow back. “I’m not.” Right? I mean, Zoe is great—really fucking great—and I’d love to date her and all, but...
I don’t long-term date. Ever. My life is simple, easy, it’s the making of my own design. And I like things the way I like them. I wouldn’t call me stubborn, but I’m definitely not one to go and fall in love.
Yet, Zoe just fucking does something to me, like makes my heart beat this whole new rhythm. If there was anyone who could get me to hang up my bachelor suit and tie, it would be her. She’d be the one I’d settle down with, but again…
I’m not in love.
Lindsey nudges me. “Are you still sure you’re not in love?”
I scowl at her. “It doesn’t matter.” Because Zoe doesn’t love me.
“You need to just come out and be honest with mom.” She grabs my arm. “But, you need to be honest with yourself first.”
I kiss her cheek. “Thanks.” For whatever that advice meant. Be honest with myself? Sure.
The door opens, and Zoe stands before me looking like a vision in her ivory sweater and jeans.
“Zoe, I’m sorry.” I step inside and Trudy brushes past, leaving the room. Good. “Everyone—“
“Graham,” Zoe cuts me off, “we have to end this.”
“I know,” I whisper.
She looks around at the curious faces assembled. “We’re not really engaged,” she blurts out, and my mouth is drier than. And then she confesses to everything, including being the mall elf. “I’m really sorry about that,” she says to Lindsey.
My mother stands statue still in the center of the room. “I don’t understand. So, you’re not getting married?”
“Mom, I’m sorry,” I say, feeling a pit of sadness forming in the middle of my chest. “I can explain.” I step closer to my mother, trying my best to get control of the situation.
“So, no dress?” the skinny man in a fedora, holding a white gown in his hands, asks.
“Pierre, not now,” my mother snaps. “Explain, Graham.”
Before I can say anything, Zoe rushes past me with her mother in tow.
“Wait, Zoe,” I say, following her out the door. I touch her arm. “I want to see you again.”
She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Why?”
“It’s just too complicated.”
“What’s complicated?” I drop my hand from her arm as she steps further away. My mind can’t process what exactly is going on. I know I just want to see this girl again. A lot.
“Just let me go, please?”
I hate this idea. I hate every word flying out of her mouth. “Is that really what you want?”
“Yes.”
“But…” I slide my hands in my pockets to keep them from holding on to her. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” She tilts her head up, shoulders back and smiles. “I am.” She quietly removes her ring and slips it in my pocket. And then her and her mother take off.
I want to chase after her, my feet beg me too, but I do the right thing and let her go.
Chapter 12
Zoe
Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Do not shed one single tear. The stars come into view out the window as I gaze up, trying my best to stop the tears. We've been driving for what feels like hours now, and I can't wait to get home. The scenery passes by in a blur and I wish I could just erase the last few days.
This is all my fault. Waltzing around that room, dolled up in white, pretending to be the doting fiancée of Graham Steele, I enjoyed it. I wanted it. I should have said no to his offer. I shouldn’t have let my dreams of becoming the soap queen of Colorado overcome my sense of right and wrong. More importantly, I shouldn’t have developed feelings for him.
I mean, so what if I would have lost the Mountain Goat Resort account? It’s not like I had any accounts to measure it with.
“They just live different lives than us,” my mother rambles on in an attempt to make me feel better. “They just use people for their own silly games.” She drives us down the mountain, away from my fake family. Away from Graham.