The Wedding Affair (The Affair Series Book 2) (16 page)

“Ryan.” Her voice sounded tiny. Shaky.

He’d shocked her. In a good way.

“Open your mouth, darlin’. Let me taste your sweetness.”

There were kisses. And then there were
kisses
. And then there was Samantha. Her mouth was made for him to claim. Only by him. He didn’t give a flying fuck about whoever was in her past. She was his now. He sensed it. Felt it. Tasted it. With virtually no effort, he could bend her to his will in a glorious surrender that Ryan suspected would change both their lives.

The lusty mating of their mouths forced him to move them into the shadows where he could enjoy her at his leisure. She truly was a goddess because nobody kissed like she did.

Her little whimpers and the way her hands clutched wherever they landed made his pulse thump. He banded an arm around her waist and wallowed in the heat coming off her body.

When he found the strength to slow things down and eventually put a sliver of air between them, her eyes bored into his. Things he never expected to see in the gaze of a girl he’d only just met slammed into his heart.

“I like you,” she whispered in a quivering voice.

He heard the stunned amazement, knew what she felt, and answered quickly so there’d be no doubt whatsoever.

“I like you too, Samantha Evers.”

“This is going to get complicated.”

He snorted out a laugh remembering that he’d said the exact same thing to Kyle and also what his response had been.

“It’s already complicated.” He said the words as his hand mapped her ass through the layers of chiffon and squeezed a pleasing handful. “I’m all for being realistic, but I think we owe it to what we’re feeling to calm the fuck down and see what happens before we start borrowing problems.”

Her head nodded jerkily in agreement. The arm still around his neck relaxed, and she ran her fingers through his hair. “I, um,” she stammered, “I think I have to ask this.” Her expression was pained, and her eyes brimmed with a mix of apology and regret. “Tara?”

Oh, right. He was so wrapped up in this extraordinary thing happening that he’d completely dismissed the tiresome woman from his thoughts. Since beating around the bush was never his forte, he went with sincere honesty.

“No matter how it looks, I’ve never touched her. Never wanted to. Is she a problem? Yes. If she wasn’t Andi’s business partner, she’d be a splattered bug on my windscreen, but that’s not the situation we’re in.”

“Did she do something? Andi rarely gets mad, and I’ve never seen her be anything but even-tempered with Tara. Red flag, ya know?”

Sighing, he unwound them from each other, reached for her hand, kissed it, and then started them walking again.

“Until about six months ago, Tara Donner existed as a name only. She had nothing to do with Kyle and Andi’s relationship. Then, because of a high-profile project Andi landed, she asked me to work with her partner on a graphics design for a campaign that would boost business. Seemed harmless until I met Tara.”

“Oh, I bet she took one look at you and. . .”

“Yeah. Something like that. Anyway, we kept being thrown together, and she tried every trick in the book to use that togetherness to her advantage. And just so you know, it’s been over a year since I saw anyone, so Tara had a clear field.”

“Wow,” Samantha murmured. “A year? Really? So that makes this first date kind of special, huh?”

He looked at her and smirked while rolling his eyes.

“Little over a month ago, I was featured in an exhibition that was getting media attention. Normally, I avoid that shit because eventually, someone will roll in with one of those damn modeling pictures and my credibility gets shot to hell in an instant.”

“You could ride the celebrity hot body wave in Hollywood.”

“Nah, I’m good.” He chuckled. “But the exhibition was a big deal for my business, so I turned to Andi to help me pull off my end of things. I guess Tara figured out what was going on, and she turns up at the event and passes herself off as my girlfriend.”

“What?”

“My reaction too. Every fucking press photo taken that night shows us together. Hell,” he barked with angry amusement, “there’s even one of Andi giving her the most epic side-eye you’ve ever seen.”

She swung in front of him and claimed her hand, waving both like a football referee calling a play. “Whoa. Hold on. She impersonated your girlfriend at a media event? That is so not cool. Why didn’t Andi do something?”

“She couldn’t. Not without causing a scene in front of the press. And afterward, when she did light into her for stepping over the line, Tara’s defense was that I led her on.”

“What a bitch.”

“It gets worse,” he ground out.

“Aw, come on! For real?”

“She also went after one of the guys who represents Kyle’s sponsor. Flat out seduced him, although he denies sleeping with her. Kyle told me about it and asked how I thought he should handle it. Playing the fucking hero without a clue, I told him I’d take care of Tara because I figured Andi was at her breaking point with the wedding coming up.”

They were at the door to her room. He pulled her keycard out of his pocket where he’d stashed it hours earlier after she lent Kelly her tiny purse because she had spilled wine on hers.

“Long story short. Fucking Tara, in a move of sheer desperation, played the pregnancy card. First, she tried to play on my sympathy, and when that didn’t work, she changed tactic and threatened to pin the deed on me.”

“Get the fuck out,” Samantha howled.

“Needless to say, that didn’t end well for her. Andi reacted exactly as you’d expect, and Kyle, well, Ky freaked so hard she’s lucky to still be walking.”

“Um, is she pregnant?”

“I have no fucking idea. Remember, this was just a few weeks ago. But she knows where the boundaries are with me. I’m sorry she chose tonight to test them.”

She shrugged off his apology. “No need, no need. I’m used to Tara’s peculiarities. She’d sell me to the gypsies if she could.”

“Territorial over Andi?”

“I’m sure.”

“Is Tara the reason why you never come to Florida to see Andi?”

She put her hands behind her back and leaned against the door, looking up at him as she chewed on her lip.

“I wish it was that simple, Ryan. Technology makes it far too easy to stay connected while being apart. And I’m not nearly as together as you may think.”

Was that a reference to California losing its allure? He sensed her shift, knew she was listening to the voices in her head.

“Is your day completely filled up tomorrow?”

“Mmm-hmm. We get started right after breakfast and go all day. Getting married is a full-time affair.”

“Would you have breakfast with me, Samantha?” He rushed the asking and felt he sounded a little desperate, so he kept talking, hoping to smooth any gaffes. “I’ll come to you,” he suggested. “With room service. Anything you want.”

“Anything?” she asked with a silly grin.

Oh, shit. He sensed a challenge coming at him that being on an island in the middle of the Pacific might be hard to meet. Mentally crossing his fingers, he smirked with a shrug.

“Okay. Then strawberry shortcake. With loads of whipped cream. Loads, Ryan,” she scolded in all seriousness. “I’m talking a mountain, not a bump. And Earl Grey tea. A whole pot. Cream and sugar on the side.”

“My trainer would be clutching his heart about now. No protein first thing in the morning?”

“I’ll be good for the wedding. Promise.” She giggled as she crossed her heart. “Steak and eggs. Already placed the order!”

Satisfied that he had her on board for a morning get-together, he playfully moved her aside and inserted the key card in the door lock. “What time?” He was asking as the door popped open and he turned to hand her the room key.

He caught her just as she was straightening up and smoothing her dress into place. A pair of white silk panties dangled from her finger.

Taking them, Ryan had a moment of sheer incredulity, quickly replaced by a speeding train of desire. He studied the flimsy panties, marveled that this was what she wore and then balled them up and pressed them to his nose. His eyes locked on hers as he inhaled and a slight shudder of ferocious arousal shook him.

“Um, uh,” she murmured. “Seven o’clock okay?”

Stuffing the potent reminder of what was at stake into his pocket, he gave her the room key and escorted her inside, being careful to remain outside. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d be much of a gentleman if he got her alone right now.

“Seven o’clock, it is, Goddess Samantha.”

He winked and started to turn away as she giggled merrily. “Loads, Ryan. Not a bump. Remember!”

And then she shut the door, and he silently threw an exaggerated winning fist pump into the air.

W
andering from the patio sliders back to the bed, which lay in a crumpled mess after her sleepless night, Sam sat on the corner and yawned.

Rubbing her hands up and down her face, she let out a long, throaty groan as she tried to wipe the exhaustion away. Not even her daily sun meditation had helped very much. Thank god, the wedding wasn’t today. She didn’t want to show up in pictures for the rest of time looking like a hag.

Standing, she barely managed to straighten her shoulders before taking hesitant steps toward the bathroom. Along the way, she grabbed the robe left draped over a chair from last night, slipped it on, and then stopped at the door to the bathroom.

Sam didn’t reflexively dislike many things. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t completely true—she disliked clothes with in-your-face patterns, cooked zucchini, and candles pretending to smell like roses. She also hated bathroom lights. Something about the intense brightness and the light bouncing off tile and chrome made her twitchy.

Belting the sash of the robe with brutal efficiency, she reached inside the door, found the light switch on the wall, and flicked it on. The long rectangular space flooded with light. Stepping into the blazing brilliance was like walking into a spotlight.

Her first glance in the large mirror confirmed her worst suspicions. There were faint, gray smudges beneath her eyes, and her skin looked like shit. Ten minutes later, with her hair piled in a sloppy mess on top of her head, she looked halfway presentable, smelled of toothpaste and body lotion, and had less of a sleep hangover.

That was when she heard a tapping at her door. Oh crap, really? Was it seven already? Dashing from the bathroom, she flung open the door to her room without bothering to check the peephole and stopped dead.

How the hell did he manage to look so devastating this early in the morning? Her eyes narrowed at the peevish thought, and somehow, she managed not to sound grumpy when she spoke.

“Hey.” Not being grumpy was one thing but not rolling her eyes at how stupid she sounded was another.

Ryan grinned. On anyone else’s face, the expression wouldn’t mean much, but the Sommerfield smirk, as he and Kyle described it, was unabashedly sexy.

Damn.

“Morning,” he chortled in a cheerfully exuberant voice.

Sam jolted when he leaned in and kissed her soundly in greeting. Oh! They were doing hello kisses? She didn’t know.

She waved him in and quickly shut the door. A delicious aroma from two large cups on a carrier he juggled along with a good-sized white bag enticed her to follow him like a dog on the scent. He went straight out to the little private patio and started arranging the chairs, the table, and the breakfast items he pulled from the bag.

Checking out the feast, her fatigue and grumpiness vanished the second she spied the two individual strawberry shortcakes in domed, clear plastic containers. He showed her two more containers filled with whipped cream. Enough for a family of six. Sam laughed at his boyish enthusiasm when he took control, held out a chair, and after seating her like the maître d at Sardi’s, proceeded to give them a memorable interlude to start what, for her, would be a nonstop day.

They ate, drank their beverages, and talked about absolutely nothing. And everything. He knew more about ice hockey than a Florida boy should, had an ongoing love affair with a classic blue Camaro, and preferred a button-down shirt to a Henley any day.

He also watched Saturday morning cartoons and swore on everything holy that he knew how to country line dance.

If she’d bothered to put on panties, they’d be soaked once he made the quirky admission. One thing Sam loved was watching line dancing of any kind. Country. Soul Lines. Even kids doing the Electric Slide. The very idea of a big, sexy guy getting down in a line dance had giggle-swoon stamped all over.

When it was time for him to head out, she was genuinely bummed their early morning time together was ending. If not for the fact that a dozen women would pitch some monumental fits, she’d have canceled on her plans and gladly spent the day with Ryan doing nothing. His brand of nothing was more exciting than a day crammed with activity.

They were walking toward the door when all of a sudden he grunted, “Fuck it,” turned and grabbed her so fast she just froze. A surge of excitement ricocheted throughout her body when he slammed her against the wall. Whatever this caveman alpha thing was, it electrified Sam.