Better than the Book: A Romantic Comedy (Charitable Endeavors Book 4)

by M. E. Carter

  “What if she does?”

  Abandoning me and our conversation, Matthew leaves me to speak with someone who is calling his name and waving his arm above his head. Everyone here is very animated. I stand here for another beat and consider what he’s said. I’ve already met her so it isn’t like it would be awkward to say hello, would it?

  We spoke for what probably only amounted to ten complete minutes of conversation over the course of a weekend. Once. It isn’t as if we even exchanged numbers.

  But do I do as my friend suggested? Walk across this party and start a conversation with the only woman who has held my interest in longer than I’d care to admit?

  Nope. At least not tonight. I take my whiskey and go to my room. Alone.

  Chapter Ten

  Celeste

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  Cheers and catcalls erupt from the small crowd as Matthew and Carrie make out like a couple of horny teenagers on prom night, completely oblivious to the world around them. Or maybe they just don’t care. They’re officially married now. Who’s going to stop him from sticking his tongue down her throat?

  “Dad. Daddy, gross.” Calypso, Matthew’s spunky and hilarious daughter tugs on his sleeve, looking over her shoulder to see the reaction of the guests. The look on her face screams “Do you people see this? Make them stop!” She looks horrified. “Dad!”

  The happy couple framed by the bamboo pergola adorned with flowing white fabric and flowers finally separates, smiling at each other before turning toward the crowd. As Matthew raises their clasped hands in victory, the officiant announces, “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Roberts and family.”

  Another round of cheers serenade the trio as they stroll down the makeshift aisle toward the pool area where the reception will be held.

  It was important to Matthew and Carrie that the wedding be about their new family, so they skipped the usual wedding party, keeping it to only themselves and Calypso. While the family meets with the photographer for pictures, the guests all head straight for the open bar. I’ll have to thank Matthew for this gift later.

  As I step up to the bar, I twist my lips in contemplation. I’m in the mood for something a little sweeter to go with the ambiance of a tropical vacation. “Do you happen to have sangria?” I ask the bartender, who nods his response. Come to think of it, maybe I should have a piña colada. It’s not every day I’m at a wedding on the beach, enjoying perfect temperatures and the sounds of waves in the background.

  Too late. My drink is handed to me as a guy approaches to my left. Not behind me in line like a civilized person. Doesn’t this guy know how open bars work? We all get a drink. His elbows rest on the small bar top, almost bumping into me. Great. The reception hasn’t even begun and I’m already about to be hit on. I’m all for a little flirt session and can’t say I would be opposed to a one-night stand. But at a wedding? So cliché.

  “Don’t I know you?”

  Worst. Line. Ever.

  I drop a bill in the tip jar and wonder why men can’t be more creative. Is the art of the pick-up line dead? Taking a sip of the deliciousness that is my sangria, I wait a beat before responding, never turning to face the guy. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  “What?”

  “You know, your pick-up line. Try again.” I turn to the poor sucker and wait for something more interesting to come out of his mouth while I sip more of my drink. Tasty. Maybe this was the right choice of drink for the night.

  “No, really. I know you.” I keep my eye roll at bay. Yes, I’m disappointed by his lack of imagination but since he is likely one of Matthew’s friends, I still want to be polite. I let him finish his latest effort. “You’re Celeste. We met at the Prince of Darkness con. You’re a blogger of all things theater and were supposed to email my manager for an interview but never did. And I have had a couple of shots of whiskey, enough to loosen my tongue to say I was disappointed you didn’t follow through.”

  My jaw drops open as I take in his appearance. There is no way Hunter Stone is standing in front of me. He looks so different than the last time I saw him. The transformation from vampire cop to tourist is incredible.

  “Wait… Hunter?” I know I sound completely confused, but I am. I knew he was friends with Matthew, but I had no idea they were close enough for him to be at the wedding. I make a mental note to berate Carrie for this lack of information. Speaking of, I quickly scan the crowd, spotting Calypso and the grandparents. Suspiciously, the bride and groom are nowhere in sight. I don’t even want to know why.

  “You, but…” I shake my head as I try to wrap my brain around this turn of events. “You have a beard. And your hair is long. And wavy. Holy shit, you look totally different. Actually, you kind of look like a lumberjack.”

  He chuckles, and based on that sound, there is no denying the man who has starred in most—okay all—of my fantasies over the last few months is well and truly standing in front of me.

  Shoving his hands in his dark blue pants pockets, he smiles shyly. “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately. I was trying to blend in. I guess it worked.”

  “I’ll say.” This version of Hunter Stone is unexpected but not unwelcome. A quick perusal of him from head to toe sends a shiver up my spine. The navy pants look to be tailored perfectly to his body and the white button-down shirt is fitted but not too tight. The collar is open, showing off his olive skin, but it’s the rolled up sleeves that show off his forearms that have me taking a hearty sip of my drink. And then it hits me. “And what do you mean I never emailed? I did it that day.” Yes, I’m trying to be polite, but I’m still a bit miffed the offer was extended and then taken back with no explanation.

  Actually, I’m not really irritated anymore. I’d moved on from the incident after a couple weeks of being home so I’m not really sure why I am suddenly on the defense. I blame the bottle, okay bottles, of champagne Carrie and I consumed in her suite before the ceremony. Maybe Hunter isn’t the only one with loose lips right now.

  “What are you talking about?” His brows furrow together. “I had Eddie checking for your email for two weeks. You never sent him one.”

  “Well he didn’t check it then because I sent it before I even left that room. Ask the volunteer. She made me sit down and do it right then so I wouldn’t forget.”

  Hunter opens his mouth to reply but changes his mind, pushing his hair back instead. “I don’t understand. Why would Eddie not schedule an interview? He’s a media whore. That doesn’t make any sense.”

  I watch as the frustration and confusion play out on his face. Hunter seems genuinely concerned about this snafu. Maybe even wondering if Eddie betrayed him and if so, why. The strong, alpha persona he plays on TV is gone, replaced by a sensitive, empathetic man. This isn’t “Hunter Stone” standing in front of me. This is the real Hunter.

  “I’m so sorry, Celeste. I hope the scheduling issue didn’t mess anything up with your blog.”

  “It was fine. Don’t worry about that.” His features relax a bit. “Sure I was disappointed, but things happen, you know? If you only knew how many years I was supposed to go to before I finally made it, you’d know this was par for the course.”

  Understatement of the year, even if he doesn’t know it.

  “I’d like to make it up to you. Do you maybe want to do the interview now?”

  “During the wedding reception?”

  He shrugs. Something about it tells me he really doesn’t want to. And that’s when I see it. I’ve been so focused on his hair and his beard, I didn’t notice the circles under his eyes until now. The man is exhausted. This is probably the only vacation he’s had in way too long. As much as I want that interview, now isn’t the time.

  Putting my hand on his forearm, I swear his skin burns my hand. It’s like a zap of electricity. More than likely, it’s the tiny hairs on his arm being extra hot from a tropical sun, but I still notice. “We’re in Turks
and Caicos. I’m deeming it a no-work zone. How about we find a table and just talk like friends instead?”

  His mega-watt smile, the same one I saw after everyone else had left our meet and greet flashes my way. “I’d like that.”

  “Do you want to order a drink while we’re here?”

  Nodding, he places an order for a whiskey on the rocks and a water. I suck down the rest of my sangria and order another. With our drinks in hand, we wind our way through the outdoor space, passing the newlyweds who have reappeared and are speaking to the DJ before he asks everyone to take their seats as the bride and groom move to the middle of the small dance floor area. A sweet love song fills the air as the happy couple sways together. I ignore the fact that Carrie looks a little more disheveled than she did thirty minutes ago. None of my business and the less I know the better. Besides, who can blame her? Her husband is hot.

  But so is the guy walking close behind me. Even with No-Shave-Vacation, which apparently also means not keeping the new beard cleaned up, he’s still incredibly attractive, his piercing green eyes only one-upped by the magnificent smile he gives me. When we sit, I also notice his teeth fidgeting with his bottom lip. Is it a nervous tell? Interesting.

  “Is this your first time in Turks and Caicos?”

  “It is,” he says, stretching his long legs out in front of him. His feet cross at the ankles and I find it incredibly sexy, which is the weirdest thought I’ve had all day. “I realized yesterday this is my first vacation in over a decade.”

  No wonder he looks this exhausted. “What? That’s too long.”

  “I know,” he says with an amused grin. “But you know how it is. Once I moved to New York, it was all about my career. I was living off Ramen and picking up quarters on the sidewalk, hoping to collect enough for rent. A vacation was a distant fantasy.”

  I neglect to tell him that’s how I still live.

  “Then once I joined the cast, work has been non-stop. I travel quite often but don’t actually stop to enjoy it. I’m glad I’m finally getting to breathe for a few days. Plus it beats the hell out of camping with my brother.”

  “Was that your last vacation?” I settle back in my chair, enjoying the warm breeze blowing through my hair.

  “Yep. The whole family went. My dad had us convinced it would be a fun family outing.”

  “Uh oh. Sounds like there’s a story there,” I say as I bring my drink to my lips.

  The sound of his quiet laughter is something I could get used to. “Let’s just say we discovered quickly my mother is more of a glamper than a camper.”

  “I agree with her on that one. So your parents are still together?”

  “Going on thirty-five years.”

  “Wow. That’s impressive. I think my parents maybe lasted five before calling it quits.”

  Hunter’s eyes soften, like every other person who finds out my parents are divorced. “I’m so sorry. That must have been hard.”

  I shrug. “Not really. I was little so it’s my normal. Besides, two houses means double everything… holidays, presents, grandparents. Worked to my benefit.”

  “That doesn’t sound bad at all.”

  “It wasn’t. And since my mother loves to travel and it was just the two of us, we spent a lot of time exploring. She’s in the Galapagos Islands with her husband now.”

  We continue talking about anything and everything, as the evening turns into night: his European tour that sounds like a total shit show, my inability to make it to a convention for three years running which he found way too humorous, the role he hopes to get in a small Sundance type film, my disappointment at being passed over for a second assistant stage manager position on a Broadway show.

  We laugh. We talk serious. We share secrets. And we drink. Lord, do we drink. The sangria and whiskey he’s having never stop flowing and before I know it, we’re wrapped in each other’s arms on the dance floor, slow dancing to a fast song, not caring at all that Matthew has made more than one quip about our “newfound romance” as he calls it. That man needs to quit reading the books he’s on the cover of.

  Hunter and I aren’t as blitzed as our friends seem to think. We’re not propped up on each other. No, we’re just embracing. I’ll be damned if it doesn’t feel better than I imagined it would. So it’s not the alcohol fueling this moment. It’s genuine, true attraction.

  I’ve always heard it’s a bad idea to meet your celebrity crush because when they turn out to be completely different than you expected, it’s ruins the whole fantasy for you. In Hunter’s case, that’s true. He is not at all who is persona is—he’s better. He’s genuine and kind, funny and easygoing. And he doesn’t have a cocky bone in his body. Quite the contrary. He’s actually quite reserved. Almost shy. All of the traits I love about a man wrapped up in a beautiful package. It’s almost jarring how much we click. But we do, in so many ways.

  Underneath the light of paper lanterns and tiki torches, his large hand rests on my lower back, holding me close, the other hand grips mine on his chest as we sway. Cheek to cheek, his nose brushes against my temple every once in a while. My skin is peppered with goose bumps. I could blame the ocean breeze, but I won’t. It’s all Hunter Stone. When he leans down to press a kiss to my neck, my entire body lights up. This isn’t just a man on vacation. This is a man feeling the same attraction I am. A man who wants me as much as I want him. And I’m not going to let Hunter slip away from me again.

  Reaching up, I quietly speak in his ear. “Would it be presumptuous of me to ask if you’d like to come back to my room?”

  He pulls back to really look at me, a startled expression gracing his beautiful face. “Are you sure?”

  I nod. “I wouldn’t normally ask after meeting someone a few hours ago. But we met before. Several times. Well, it was all in one day, but it didn’t feel like it.”

  He chuckles. “I get it. Each one of those events felt like they were a day long.”

  “For you they practically were. My point is, I don’t want us to miss the opportunity. While we’re in this vacation bubble, no stress from the outside world.”

  I can’t ignore the deep breath he takes, but then he smiles. “I don’t think anything could make me happier in this moment than going back to your room with you.”

  This time, I’m the one biting my bottom lip nervously. Looking around, I know no one is paying attention to us.

  “Come on,” I say and grab his hand, leading him across the dance floor and through the courtyard to my room.

  We race to the elevator to take us to the fourth floor where my room is. It takes far too long for the lift to arrive, probably because of the family of five who has twice as many bags trying to get off on the first floor where we’re waiting. But we finally get on and the doors close.

  The energy is palpable between us. Sexual tension rolls off both of us in waves. When he stands behind me and softly runs his fingers down my arms, goose bumps break out across my whole body and I practically melt into the floor. This isn’t even foreplay and I’m already about to explode. If that’s any indication, this is going to be a very good night.

  The doors open revealing a hallway void of anyone else. Within seconds, we’re standing at my doorway, nothing but a night of promised pleasure on the other side.

  “Last chance,” I whisper.

  Not a second later, his lips are on mine, tasting mine. I moan in response and that one sound has him pushing me up against the door, one hard thigh between my legs as he continues to devour my mouth. I’ve never been kissed like this. Not ever. I can’t get enough.

  With one final peck, he says, “Does that answer your question?”

  I nod quickly, my lips feeling puffy and bruised. Dear god, tonight is going to be phenomenal.

  Hunter takes the keycard out of my hand and flashes it against the automatic lock. As the door opens, we step through, Hunter moving farther inside to glance around my room, while I lean my back against the door, still recovering from his kiss.

/>   When he turns back to me and gives me that same smile most people don’t see, I know for sure this night is going to happen. This isn’t a movie star looking to score. This is Hunter, a man who is attracted to a woman and wants to spend the night getting to know her in every way.

  Finding my courage, I push off of the door and whip my dress over my head tossing it aside as I step toward him. Standing before him in only a lacy thong and a simple strapless bra, which barely contains the girls, I wait for him to do something. To say something. Instead, Hunter’s eyes widen as he takes me in. His eyes slowly move across my body. I’m not an overly confident woman but tonight, standing here before this man, I’ve never felt more beautiful. Reaching behind my back, I flick the clasp of my bra, letting it tumble to the floor.

  I have one night with my dream man; I’m not wasting a second of it.

  To hell with wedding clichés.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hunter

  Is it still called a walk of shame when you feel anything but shame?

  Leaving Celeste this morning was not easy. Her warm body curled around mine was pure heaven. Her skin warm against mine, the blonde spirals messy from our night of exploring one another. Thank goodness the hotel is discreet and able to provide condoms with a single phone call. The hours I spent familiarizing myself with every inch of her body should have exhausted me, but it seems to have had the opposite effect.

  As we lie in bed, watching the sunrise, I suggested locking ourselves away for the morning, ordering room service and staying in that vacation bubble she mentioned last night. Then her alarm shattered that peaceful thought, reminding her she is supposed to meet up with Carrie before the new Mrs. Roberts leaves for her honeymoon. Since most guests arrived for the nuptials four days before I landed, they’ll be leaving today as well. Everyone we know will be gone except Celeste and me. Since I couldn’t make the trip days prior to the wedding, I settled for staying a few days longer. Celeste on the other hand, says she gets the best deals on less traveled days.