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“Jesus.” Toe-rings were my downfall.
“Pardon, sir?” The bartender stood in front of me.
“Nothing,” I replied. “Nothing.”
I remained where I was, denying myself the pleasure of going over to her and striking up a conversation. She’d always smelled a specific way—vanilla and spice and everything fucking nice. I gritted my teeth, forcing myself not to move.
Would it be so bad to talk to her?
Yeah, it would be so fucking bad. So, so fucking bad it would be good.
And then all the shit would come sweeping back. I didn’t have time for distractions. I had a business to run, a past to move on from, a sister to protect. Summer had been collateral damage, and I regretted that, but nothing would change what had happened between us.
Stay where you are.
I couldn’t draw my gaze from her, though, the soft sweep of her neck down to her cleavage. Images of our one and only night together, twelve years ago, came back, and I was crippled for a minute, thinking about her body beneath mine, the softness of her kisses, and the warmth in her gaze.
Each touch had meaning. I’d never experienced anything like it after the fact and never would. By choice.
Summer heaved a sigh and slipped off her stool, collecting a silver clutch from the bar top. Her golden hair fell to her throat, and she swept it back over her shoulder. She walked along the bar toward the exit. Toward me.
Fuck.
Summer’s sea-green eyes met mine with that forever stare. She stumbled and nearly fell. I was out of my chair in a second. I caught her by the elbow and steadied her.
“You all right?” I asked gently.
“Fine,” she said.
The bar had disappeared. The shrieks and laughter from my sister and the other bridesmaids were distant reminders that we were in a public place. “You sure. Do you need help? Have one too many?”
“I have self-control, Matthew,” she said sternly. “Unlike you.”
“I’ve only lost control once,” I replied.
Her cheeks pinked.
“Where are you going?”
“I, uh, I just need a break from this,” she said. “It’s not my scene. I’m not used to this type of thing. Thanks for your help, but I’m good.” Summer drew herself from my grasp and walked off, her ass swaying.
I glanced around the bar, but no one had noticed our little interlude. If she wasn’t here…I didn’t want to be either.
Bullshit. Don’t be weak.
I paid for my scotch, left it on the bar, and followed her out into the hallway. She had reached the front doors of the hotel.
“Where are you going?” I called after her.
The receptionist looked up from behind her desk, noted us there, then continued with her business—a magazine.
Summer paused, turning to face me again. She didn’t say a word but blinked those long lashes. The doors were open, and a salty sea breeze drifted in and toyed with the golden strands of her hair.
I came forward. Summer remained in place.
“You look beautiful tonight,” I said.
She bit down on her bottom lip and released it slowly. “Thanks,” she said. “You look good too. But what do you want, Matt? We’re not exactly besties.”
I laughed. “Sure, we’re not. But it seems like we’re on the same wavelength tonight.”
“Meaning what?” she asked, lifting her chin.
I pictured stroking my fingers along it, drawing my lips along her jawline. “Meaning,” I said, clearing my throat and adjusting my coat so it would cover the mister, “that we’re both not digging the party vibe this evening.”
Summer’s shoulders loosened. “God, it’s crazy. I should be happy to be here. And I am so happy for Emmy, but I am so not into getting drunk and going wild tonight.”
“Same.”
Go back to the bar. Leave her alone.
“You want to go for a walk?” I asked. “On the beach?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It’s just a walk, Summer, not a marriage proposal.”
She snorted and pressed her fingers to her nose.
“Cute,” I said. “I remember those snorts.”
“No you don’t,” she replied, but her lips twitched. “I’ve never snorted in my life. That wasn’t a snort. It was a sneeze.”
“Sure.” I extended an arm, not a hand. “What do you say? Want to go for a walk with me?”
Chapter Five
Summer
There was a sliding scale of mistakes in my mind. On the high end, right in the red, the mistakes ranged from the ugly lower back tattoo I’d gotten and had removed to the time I decided that jumping off a roof into a swimming pool was a good idea. My ankle still clicked when it was cold. Good job, Summer.
On the lower end of the scale there were the minor mistakes, like forgetting the freezer door hanging open and melting my Ben and Jerry’s. A Saturday night without Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream was no night. Simple as that.
And this? This little trip across the white sands, with the moon hanging heavy and full in the inky black sky? This was off the fucking charts. Because Matt Baker was next to me, walking along, his suit pants rolled up, his coat slung over his arm, and the gentle breeze brushing his dark hair. Moonlight reflected in his eyes. The scent of his cologne hung in the air.
