Sasha’s lips parted, although no sound escaped. “I don’t do dates. At least, not the kind that involve bringing a guy to my brother’s romantic destination wedding where he’ll have to meet my parents. Never have, never will.”
But Sully held firm. He’d heard about the handful of losers she’d casually gone out with over the last seven months, quickly learning that Sasha was impervious to any guy whose name wasn’t formally registered at Douchebags R Us. Which meant that as a decent guy, his strategy for breaking the cycle had amounted to a great big pile of jack and shit.
Until right now.
“But it wouldn’t be an actual date—just someone who will keep up appearances and distract your parents from bugging you. Then maybe everyone can relax and have a good time.”
“Okay,” she said, drawing the word out like more of a question than a statement. “But where am I supposed to find a fake plus-one escort to a fairy tale wedding in Ireland with T-minus three days and counting? It’s not exactly like you can Craigslist that kind of thing.”
Sully stopped whisking, turning to look at her fully across the stainless steel prep table. “I’d go.”
“Y-you would?” Sasha stammered, and Christ, this unexpected sweet streak of hers was going to undo him right there on the kitchen tiles. Volunteering to go to Ireland as her not-really-a-boyfriend was potentially sticky, especially considering that if he had his way, the not-really part would disappear, and she clearly made it her mission to swerve around relationships. But he’d wanted a shot at being with Sasha for the last seven months. All he’d needed was a solid strategy to make that happen.
And going with her to Ireland couldn’t have been more perfect if it had been gift-wrapped and dropped into the lap of his Levi’s. Worst case scenario, she’d tell him hell no and he’d take the hint and move on.
Best case scenario, Sasha would end up not just in his bed, but his life.
Sully cleared his throat and took the chance in front of him with both hands.
“Absolutely. After all, what are friends for?”
CHAPTER TWO
Sasha fiddled with the black leather strap of her carry-on bag, wondering if nine-thirty on a Wednesday morning was too early to drink. She hated air travel under the best of circumstances, and the steady April drizzle sticking to the terminal windows didn’t bolster the enthusiasm she’d been trying to work up. Add in the fact that she was about to board a plane with a fake date to spend three full days under the mom-and-dad-manipulation-microscope, and suddenly liquor before lunch didn’t seem so unreasonable.
Okay, so the idea of Sully posing as her pseudo-boyfriend for Jace’s wedding had the potential to get her through the long weekend mostly unscathed, enough so that once she’d gotten over the shock, she’d readily agreed to his offer. But after they’d made preliminary plans and parted ways on Friday, reality had sunk into Sasha’s chest, good and hard.
Faking it with one of her exes for the benefit of her family wouldn’t have been too daunting of a task—after all, she’d faked enough other things with most of them that three days’ worth of goo-goo eyes would’ve been a breeze. Faking a relationship with Sully, however, was going to be a whole different ball game. Forget the fact that she genuinely liked the guy, and had since they’d become station partners seven months ago.
But Sasha had a strict personal philosophy against dating anyone on her good friends list, and between his stormy hazel eyes and his wildly ambitious demeanor, she got the feeling that if she broke her cardinal rule, she wouldn’t have to fake a thing with James Sullivan.
“Okay, I think we’re set,” Sully said, his easygoing half-smile not making her transition back to reality any easier. “One double-shot cappuccino for you—” He paused to hand her an oversized travel cup from the gourmet coffee shop they’d passed on their way to the gate. “And one first-class ticket to Dublin for me.”
“Thanks,” Sasha said, the bold, rich scent giving her no choice but to relax a notch. “I know we already talked about this, but I’m more than happy to cover your travel costs.” She was dragging him across two continents and five time zones, after all. Taking the sting out of his bank account was the least she could do.
“Well, since my airfare was free, I’m more than happy to let you.” Sully sat down next to her, tucking his ticket into the inside pocket of his leather jacket, and Sasha coughed out a disbelieving laugh.
“How the hell did you manage that?” The cost of her matching ticket had punched in at a four-digit number. She knew because it was printed in bold on the travel itinerary her father’s assistant had emailed her Friday afternoon after she’d lost round one in the war of the wills.
Sully shrugged, kicking his long legs out in front of him to cross one brown leather boot over the other. “I had some frequent flyer miles that were going to expire soon. It was use ’em or lose ’em, so I just cashed them in.”
“Did you have a billion of them?” Sasha asked, infusing the question with all her customary sarcasm even though she was only half-kidding.
“A hundred ninety-six thousand, actually. Give or take.”
Her cup of coffee screeched to a stop just shy of her lips. “Jesus, Sully. How much travel did you have to do in order to earn two hundred thousand frequent flyer miles?”
“Let’s just say I’ve been to all of the contiguous United States except three, and my passport’s seen a decent shot of wear and tear.” He leaned forward to slide the blue booklet from the back pocket of his jeans to hand it to her, and sure enough, the cover was creased from time and use.
“You’ve been to Rome? And Barcelona?” The colorful stamps lay scattered on the pages like well-traveled confetti. Sasha flipped through each one, her curiosity going off like a bottle rocket. “Oh my God, and Paris?”
“My former job required a lot of travel.” Sully’s words rode out on the same tone he might stick to a statement like nice weather we’re having or hey, would you happen to have the time? but no way was Sasha playing the no-big-deal game.
“Were you a spy? Because that would explain a lot.”
The rumble of Sully’s laughter sent another wave of ease through her nerve-jangled belly. “Nothing quite that exciting, I’m afraid, although my ego says thanks. I actually have an MBA. Before I enrolled in culinary school, I spent five years as a marketing consultant.”
Hello, curveball. “Really?” She might’ve believed the spy story over that. “You were a suit?”
“Six days a week, fifty-two weeks a year. My firm specialized in working with failing restaurants. I’d travel all over, strategizing effective marketing plans and combining efforts with management teams to get each business back in the black.”
Wow. That certainly put her stints as a corporate events coordinator and an information analyst for a local insurance company to shame. “With five years of a schedule that tight, you must’ve been pretty dedicated, not to mention invested in your job. What made you leave to go to culinary school?”
Sully tipped his head, his light brown hair brushing over his ear just enough to look bed-head sexy without going overboard into unkempt. “Being on the business side wasn’t a bad gig, but no matter how much time I spent going over a restaurant’s fine print, I always wanted to be in the kitchen. Don’t get me wrong—I’m a firm believer in a well-placed strategy to attain your goals. But I didn’t just want the plan. I wanted the concept, the restaurant, the food. I wanted it all.”
“You wanted it all,” she repeated, unexpected heat blazing a trail over her cheeks at the out-and-out determination covering his lightly stubbled face.
But if Sully heard the innuendo turning her blush into a fire hazard, he didn’t show it. “Mmm hmm. So two years ago, I came up with a plan to get it. I quit my job, spent a month in Europe learning from some of the chefs whose restaurants I’d helped save, and then when I got back, I enrolled in culinary school. Once we graduate next year and I get some experience in a professional kitchen, I’ll look for a re
staurant of my own to run.”
“I can’t believe you never told me any of this,” Sasha said, blinking past her surprise. She’d known Sully was ambitious, but wanting to own a restaurant right out of culinary school? That pretty much ate ambitious for breakfast.
“You never asked,” he pointed out, and God, had that little half-smile of his always been so freaking charming?
“So is there anything else I should know about you?”
“You mean aside from the fact that I really am also a spy?”
Affirmative on the half-smile thing. “Have you ever been to Ireland before?”
As if the airline attendant had zoned in on Sasha’s question from fifty feet away, the boarding announcement for their flight echoed through the overhead speaker. Sully shouldered his laptop bag, waiting for her to follow suit and start leading the way to the check-in stand before answering.
“No, but I’ve got a list of some places we can go if you want to check out Dublin. Being Irish myself, I feel kind of morally obligated to hit the Guinness Storehouse. But otherwise, I’m up for anything.”
“Jace and Delaney organized a day of sightseeing with both my parents tomorrow,” Sasha said, her shoulders involuntarily tightening up beneath her thin red sweater as she handed her ticket over to the agent at the gate. “But you don’t have to go. If you’d rather see Dublin on your own…”
“Sasha, of course I’ll go sightseeing with you and your family. I’m your date, remember? Even if it’s just for appearances.” Sully took out his own ticket, straightening his leather jacket as they headed past the gate and through the jetway. “You know, there’s no rule that says we can’t have a little fun on this trip.”
The dread in her gut jumped with each step closer to the plane, and ugh, was that the rain making that tin-can rattle on the roof of the portable tunnel? “You’re always a glass-half-full kind of guy, aren’t you?”
“Usually, yeah. I mean, if you’re going to get what you want, you’ve got to believe it’ll happen.” His easy shrug backed up the unvarnished truth in his words, and Sasha managed to scrape in a deep breath that came out on a sigh.
“Unfortunately, I think the only way I’m going to have any fun on this trip is if my glass is half-full with fine Irish whiskey.”
They found their seats easily enough, and the flight was blessedly only about two-thirds booked. Sasha listened carefully to the flight attendant’s spiel on safety exits and oxygen masks and water landings even though she’d memorized the card in the seat pocket in front of her before the woman had even started, her heart beginning to pound in earnest as the captain announced that they were next in line for takeoff.
“Sasha?”
Her pulse nearly smacked through the roof at Sully’s gentle interruption, but she pasted a smile over her lips in an effort to show her trembling breath who was boss. “Mmm?”
He dropped his eyes to her denim-clad knee, which was bouncing away like game seven of the NBA finals. “Are you afraid of flying?”
“No.” She glued the heel of her boot to the floor. “I just don’t care for it. There’s a difference.” God, why couldn’t she have a fear of something she’d never have to actually face, like sinkholes or raging zombies? The plane accelerated with a whoosh of movement and ear-pounding sound, gaining enough speed to make her belly flutter, and she white-knuckled the arm rest even though she knew it made her a liar.
Sully covered the top of her hand with his palm, curling his pinky finger beneath her thumb to break her death grip and lace his fingers through hers. “You know what scares the crap out of me?”
Whether it was the unexpected question or the totally unexpected gesture, Sasha couldn’t be sure, but her anxiety took a stutter-step as she turned to look at him, wide-eyed. “What?”
“Spiders. I can’t stand them.” He gave up a shiver, and a pop of laughter flew past Sasha’s lips, unbidden.
“You’re afraid of spiders.” He had to be six-foot-two, for God’s sake, and the muscular frame outlined by his faded jeans and the snug T-shirt peeking out from beneath his jacket suggested he was the polar opposite of wimpy. “They’re just bugs.”
“Give me a break, would you?” His chuckle melted over her nerves like warm, sweet butterscotch. “Eight legs on one creature just isn’t natural.”
“Wow, centipedes must push you over the edge, then,” Sasha said, letting a rare giggle escape as he looked at her with mock horror.
“I prefer to pretend they don’t exist. Creepy little bastards.”
She turned in her chair so she could face him more fully, her brain firing on all cylinders as her curiosity took over. “I’m not wild about them either, but they’re better than snakes.”
“Ah.” Sully’s knee brushed against hers as he mirrored her movement, settling further into his seat. “A buddy of mine had a ball python in college. They’re harmless, once you get over the beady eyes.”
“I’ll take your word for it, but I hope I never have to put the theory to the test.”
They dove into a back and forth of various potential fears—small spaces and spiders topped the list for him, while Sasha finally copped not only to her fear of flying, but the fact that urban legend ghost stories scared the pants off of her. With every story and suggestion, she found herself laughing just a little harder and breathing just a little easier, until finally, her chin lifted in shock as the flight attendant gently interrupted to offer them lunch menus and ask if they’d like a beverage.
“Oh my God, how long have we been in the air?” Sasha breathed, swinging toward the thickly-paned Plexiglas over her left shoulder.
“About twenty minutes,” Sully said. “Did you still want that glass half-full of whiskey, or should we try something else?”
She laughed, her surprise scattering along with the last of her residual nerves. That had to have been the smoothest takeoff in the history of aviation. “I’m okay for now. Thanks.”
Sasha shifted in her seat, realizing with a start that her fingers had been twined with Sully’s ever since he’d scooped up her hand just before takeoff. He followed her gaze down to the arm rest, not tightening his grasp but not letting go, either.
“I wanted to distract you as we took off,” he said, his sandy brown lashes framing the glint in his stare as he focused on their hands. Slowly, he tipped his palm to the side, dragging his thumb over the tender skin on the inside of her index finger, and every last nerve in Sasha’s hand ignited. The steady thump of Sully’s pulse patterned against her wrist, sending her own heartbeat into the stratosphere. “Does it bother you?”
“Oh.” The word collapsed past her lips on more of a sigh than an actual answer, and he met it with another slow glide of his thumb. Sasha leaned toward him, the scent of leather and rainstorms filling her lungs as she watched the steady movement of Sully’s fingers, and oh God, how could she not have known how utterly sensitive the spot between her thumb and forefinger could be?
Or how panty-twistingly sexy her station partner would look at thirty-thousand feet?
Sasha froze back into awareness, dousing her rogue fantasy with a quick dose of mental ice water. No matter how seductively hot he looked right now, Sully wasn’t just some guy she could casually date—he was her classmate, her friend. He’d offered to be her date because they were friends. If she crossed that line, as soon as things fizzled, it would be her fault. Their friendship would be toast.
And all relationships fizzled. No matter how hot they burned coming out of the gate.
“No,” she said, clearing her throat as she gently disentangled their fingers and pulled all the way back to her seat. “It’s just a little support between friends, right? But I’m okay now, thanks.”
Sully paused, flexing his empty hand slightly before returning it to his lap. “Sure thing. Glad to help, friend to friend.”
But as they settled into their seats to flip through the in-flight movie guide and silently scan the lunch menu, Sasha got the feeling that the only su
re thing in her future was the need for a nice, cold shower.
CHAPTER THREE
By the time the car service had taken them from the nighttime bustle of downtown Dublin to the sleepy little village of Willow Cove, Ireland, Sully was ready to take his strategy and throw it in a blender. He’d been winging it when he’d picked up Sasha’s hand at the beginning of their flight, half expecting her to either laugh heartily or deck him for his trouble. But she’d shocked the hell out of him by holding on tight, and the ballsy move had earned him twenty minutes worth of great conversation and some even better laughs—not to mention a sexy-as-hell moment at the end where he damn near obliterated his take-it-easy plan in order to kiss her senseless.
But something had snapped Sasha back from the desire he’d felt vibrating between them on that plane, and that same something had kept her sticking to her definitely-just-friends routine for the duration of their eight hour flight.
Before Sully could get any further with her in the not-a-fake-date department, not only was he going to have to figure out what the roadblock was, but he was going to need a surefire way to knock that sucker down.
“Well now, here we are. The Willow Cove Inn,” said their driver, interrupting Sully’s thoughts as well as Sasha’s snooze. She sat up straight, her thigh brushing against his in the tight confines of the dark backseat as she exhaled a long, soft sigh, and great. Just what he needed was a hard-on while hauling his luggage into the cozy little inn.
“Oh! That was fast.” Sasha’s throaty, sleep-laced murmur tagged him directly in the solar plexus, convincing Sully she was going to destroy him one piece at a time.
“Aye, lass. ’Twas fast for the sleepin’. But don’t you worry. You’ll be plenty rested to enjoy it in the daylight tomorrow, now, won’t ya?” The driver parked in front of a brightly lit, old world style inn, complete with ivy reaching over the white façade and carefully trimmed shrubbery just coming into bloom.
“I hope so,” Sasha answered, stifling a yawn behind her wrist. Christ, she looked sweet, all wide-eyed and sleep-rumpled in the shadows.
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