Ashley
JULIAN’S NOT KNOWN for playing games, so I’m curious to hear his excuse for faking an injury. I cross my hands over my chest and lean against the cottage door. “Well?”
The fraudster shakes out his hands and legs before he speaks. “How’d you know I was lying?”
“Outside, when we started walking again, you switched the foot you were limping on.”
He scratches his jaw. “Yeah. I’m not a good liar, which arguably is commendable.”
Oh, jeez. Is he for real? “No, Julian,” I say with laughter in my voice, “not being a liar is commendable. Whether you’re skilled at it is beside the point.”
He twists his hands as he paces. It’s an unusual demeanor for him, so I’m anxious to hear the reason for this latest ploy.
“Listen,” he says, stretching out his neck. “I was planning on telling you as soon as we got inside. You just beat me to it.”
“You’re still not answering my question. Why the fakery?”
He stops in front of me. “I wanted to speak with you alone, without everyone around . . . and under circumstances where I could be reasonably certain we wouldn’t be interrupted.”
Goodness. Such an ominous preamble to whatever statement he needs to make. What could it be? “Should I sit down for this?”
He tilts his head. “Not particularly, no.”
“Okay, then what’s going on?”
He lifts his shoulders and blows out a slow breath. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Every fleeting touch between us, every time we share a joke, every time we talk, every time I’m around you—all of it makes me ridiculously happy, and I refuse to believe there’s something wrong with that feeling. I know we agreed it would be a bad idea to be together, but the more I’m around you, the more I’m convinced it’s the only idea that makes sense.” He pauses and rubs two fingers over his mouth before he licks his lips and continues. “Will it complicate my relationship with your brother? I suspect so. Will I need to work doubly hard to ensure it doesn’t? Of course. But dammit, Ashley, if you’re feeling anything close to what I’m feeling, I’d like to try.”
My heart squeezes in my chest as though someone’s trying to fit it through a pinhole. Did Julian just confess to wanting me? No, more than that, wanting to be with me? I look down at my clenched hands, a few seconds away from pinching myself, and then I return his steady gaze. His brows are knitted, and he’s peering at me with such focus he doesn’t appear to be blinking.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he urges.
I’ve spent so much time convincing myself that a relationship with Julian would never happen—and that I didn’t want one anyway—I’m unsure how to process the possibility that it could. Our reluctance stems from good and valid reasons, among them the risk that our being together would further complicate his ability to serve as Carter’s agent, and for me there was the added worry that I’d be the loser in any fallout. But as Julian pointed out earlier, I’m not in competition with anyone, not Lydia or Carter, and if we’re willing to meet the challenges openly and honestly, I’d be a fool not to give us a chance.
I shoot out my hand, grab the front of his T-shirt, and tug him flush against me. When I rise on my toes, our mouths are centimeters apart, the soft puffs of his breath tickling my nose. From here, I can fully appreciate his impossibly long and thick eyelashes. It’s a common theme where Julian’s concerned—long and thick—and I’m discovering it’s my favorite combination. Forget peanut butter and jelly, long and thick is where it’s at. “I’m in if you’re in.”
The heat in his dark gaze intensifies. “I’m not in yet, but it’s going to be so fucking good when I am.”
I draw back. “Are we talking about the same thing?”
He moves closer and cages me against the door. “I’m talking about being inside you.”
Oh God. Julian inside me. I tense everywhere, and a frisson of electricity begins at the nape of my neck, travels over my breasts, and settles on my clit, the tingling making its way down my body like falling dominoes. Desperate for more contact, I sweep my cheek across his five-o’clock shadow. “I like where this conversation is headed.” He swallows hard. I tilt my head and press my mouth against his Adam’s apple. His sun-kissed skin smells warm and earthy, like a cinnamon stick dipped in brandy, and I’m eager to lick every inch of him.
But that’s not going to happen now. Because Julian spins me around, gathers my hair to the side, and runs his strong hands down my back and over my butt. “Your ass looks amazing in these shorts but—”
The sound of crushed gravel warns us that someone’s approaching. I spin around and face Julian, who’s doing a terrific impression of a deer caught in headlights.
“Hey, Julian, you feelin’ better in there?” Tori yells.
Outside the door, Carter asks, “Babe, why are you yelling?”
“Oh, was I yelling?” Tori replies. “I’m a loud woman, what can I say? And you love me, don’t you?”
Carter doesn’t respond verbally, so I’m guessing he’s responding in other ways.
“She’s covering for us,” I whisper to Julian.
“Yeah, she’s probably right that we shouldn’t spring this on him now. He should be focused on them.”
I nod, grateful—and relieved—that we agree on this. “Quick, get on the couch and put your leg up.”
Channeling his inner long jumper, Julian hops three times and leaps on the couch. He places a throw pillow on the coffee table and rests his foot on it while I scurry to the fridge, grab some ice, and throw it in a plastic sandwich bag. Because I’m as devious as Julian, I put a small amount of water in the bag, too, so it appears that some of the ice has melted.
Nice touch, Julian mouths.
Tori enters the cottage with my brother following closely behind her, his hands on her shoulders as he steers her inside. Carter’s gaze bounces around the room, taking in the scene, and then he focuses on Julian.
“Hey, man, how you feelin’?”
“Much better,” Julian says. “Your sister’s an excellent nurse. How’d the rest of the game go?”
“We won,” Tori says with a triumphant smile. “Despite Donovan’s complaint that he was, and I quote, ‘perspiring’ too much.”
I grin, picturing Donovan wiping his sweaty forehead, a look of disgust on his face.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Carter collapses onto the armchair across from Julian. “Listen, I’m supposed to collect you and bring you to the house. Poker night with my dad and father-in-law. We’re supposed to make ourselves scarce because the women are hanging out here for the evening.” He hangs his head. “Tori’s not even sleeping with me. They’re having a slumber party out here.”
Dammit. That’s not what I’d hoped to be doing this evening. “We are?”
Tori nods. “Yep, that’s on the schedule. I know it might sound silly, but I don’t want to share a bed with Carter the night before we marry. It’s not about”—a tinge of rosiness appears on her cheeks—“sex. It’s just . . . I think it’d be nice for each of us to have an evening alone to reflect on the momentous step we’re taking.”
It’s a lovely sentiment. It truly is. But I can’t pretend I wasn’t envisioning a different end to the day, one in which I’d be reflecting on Julian’s body parts.
Julian and I glance at each other. I’m sure his plans ran along the same lines.
“The ladies are gathering snacks from the fridge,” Tori continues. “They’ll be here soon.”
Julian jumps up from the couch. “All right, let me make a pit stop before we head out.” He strides through the living area with no apparent limp.
“Damn, you really are feeling better,” Carter says from his chair.
Julian pauses, his back to us, and then he resumes walking, this time more slowly. “Yeah, it must have been a cramp or something.”
“I’m . . . uh . . . going to grab some stuff for the slumber party. Should be getting dark soon.” I rush out of the room and close our bedroom door.
Julian pops his head out of the bathroom. “It’s for the best.”
My stomach drops at the shuttered expression on his face, and I drop onto the bed. Is he having second thoughts about us? So soon? “What’s for the best?”
He comes out with a small towel in his hands and dries off his face as he sits on the bed. “Think about it. Do we really want our first time together to be this quiet affair, us both holding back because other people might hear us? I don’t want you to be distracted or reserved.” He places a single finger under my chin and slowly turns my head toward him so that I’m forced to meet his gaze. “I want us to be able to shout and cuss and wail if we need to, and I think we will . . . need to, I mean. Plus, being in the same bed without doing what we both want to do? That’d be torture.”
I exhale. He isn’t changing his mind. Quite the opposite. But all this talk about having sex is a poor substitute for actual sex, and I’m strung so tight that even sitting here now I can feel the ache between my legs. Woman, get a hold of yourself. “Okay, when you put it that way, I’m forced to agree.” I flop back and stare at the ceiling. “I’m still grumpy about it, though.”
He falls back next to me. “So am I.”
“Good. So tomorrow we’ll have loud, grumpy sex.”
He turns on his side, and I do the same. Then he nudges his face forward, and our lips meet. It’s a soft kiss, just a brush of our mouths, but there’s so much promise in it that I’m vibrating with the need to have him inside me.
“It’s a date,” he says.
Screw the date. I want loud, grumpy sex, and that’s final.
“WOULD YOU RATHER date a guy with chronic bad breath—that can’t be corrected—or a guy whose penis is too large for your vagina?”
After reading the card, Kimberly slaps her hand on the couch and snorts. “Eva, where the hell did you get this game from?”
Eva, who’s draped over Tori like a lap blanket, waves her glass of champagne. “An online sex store, if memory serves. Aren’t they great?”
Clad in pajamas, the women are lounging in the living room, consuming bubbly and inhaling leftovers from this afternoon’s picnic. We’ll be spending the night here as Tori requested, and I’m already devising a plan to get a spot on the pull-out couch; that king-sized inflatable mattress in the corner looks as comfortable as the floor.
After licking the barbecue sauce off my fingers, I say, “That’s an easy one. I’d go with the extra-large dick. Halitosis is a deal breaker. Plus, a guy with a large penis can still make use of his tongue, and there’s no rule that says his dick needs to go all the way in. Besides, only twenty-five percent of women regularly orgasm from penetrative sex.”
Several beats of silence pass before everyone bursts out in laughter.
“Damn, Ashley,” Tori says with tears in her eyes. “You sounded like you were defending your thesis.”
Bianca blows out a raspberry, a bored expression on her face. “Does this game have any questions geared toward women who enjoy having more than just dick on the menu?”
Oh. Okay. That’s a good point.
Eva flips through the cards and waves one in the air. “Here’s one. Would you rather have your parents catch you having sex or catch your parents having sex?”
Bianca throws her long hair forward to cover her face. “Oh God. Pass.”
“I caught my parents having sex once,” Kimberly offers.
I slap her thigh. “Shut. Up. You did? When?”
“In high school—”
“No, don’t share the details. Not with me at least.” Obviously, my parents can have all the sex they want, but I don’t need to know about it. I jump up and shuffle to the kitchen to grab another beer. After I pop the bottle open, I spin around and watch everyone. It’s been a great weekend, and I’m so glad I came. Although pretending to be Julian’s girlfriend didn’t quite work out in the way we’d planned, I’m not complaining. In fact, this weekend exceeded my expectations. Plus, it got me to this moment. If I had shown up tomorrow as originally planned, I would have missed out on spending time with these fantastic women.
My gaze strays to the left side of the room, where Lydia’s work papers are strewn all over the dining table. She chose not to join us, explaining that she’s behind on another project that she can’t put off any longer. After Tori told her a professional photographer would be snapping pics at brunch, she ran off to her place to find something to wear and prep her hair, the messy evidence of her major project temporarily forgotten. I feel bad that she needs to work this weekend, but I’ll admit to being relieved she isn’t around. When we’re together, my guard is up, and it’s exhausting.
Tori stretches on the couch and rises to her feet. A few seconds later, she joins me in the kitchen. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something, and please, please, please don’t feel like you have to say yes, because you don’t, but Carter and I were talking about tomorrow, and we thought it might be nice if you would sing during the reception, with your guitar as accompaniment.”
My stomach roils, and my palms will be slick in seconds, I’m sure. I’ve never sung or played my guitar for a large audience. That alone gives me the jitters. But making my debut in front of my family? I generally don’t bite my nails, but I’m gnawing on them now. Will they think I’m trying to be someone I’m not? Or think I’m ridiculous for fancying myself an entertainer when everyone knows that’s Carter’s department?
Tori nudges me. “Earth to Ash, you still with me?”
I shake my head and give her a weak smile. “I’m here.”
“I can see the idea doesn’t appeal to you.”
Her voice is soft, no hint of reproach in it whatsoever. But I feel like I’m letting her down somehow. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Tori. It’s just . . . I didn’t plan for this, and I’d be too nervous.”
“Sure, sure,” she says, waving me off. “No worries at all. Tomorrow’s going to be perfect no matter what.”
I drop my chin into my chest. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m not as much of a badass as I lead people to believe.”
She throws her arm over my shoulder and pulls me in for a smothering hug. “There’s more than one way to be a badass, you know. And if you think about it, pushing through your fears to accomplish a goal is pretty badass in and of itself.”
Her smile chases away my worry that she’s upset with me. I owe her the favor of not rejecting the idea outright. “I’ll think about it, okay?”
“Of course. Like I said, no pressure. If the mood strikes you, get up on that stage and sing your pretty little heart out.” She tries to stifle a yawn but fails. “Okay, time for us to head to bed. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
My mind drifts to the vow Julian and I made earlier. In less than twenty-four hours, we’ll be having loud, grumpy sex. Tomorrow’s a big day, indeed.