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He watched her laugh, joke, and make suggestions, while the sadness in her eyes never dissipated. It was surprisingly distressing for him to see her like this. He didn’t want her sad. He wanted her stern or disapproving, happy or angry, turned on and consumed by desire . . . anything but this absolute heartbreak in her beautiful eyes. He wanted to take her to bed and distract her from the world and its disappointments.
But he couldn’t. Not right now. Right now he had to watch her put on a brave face and get sucked into planning her sister’s wedding.
The evening finally ended because Daisy and Mason were both absolutely exhausted. Everybody, with the exception of Dr. McGregor, who had his free clinic in the township, planned on meeting for breakfast at the farm in the morning, and Lia’s mother insisted that Brand join them. Daff and Spencer promised to bring him. Everybody departed in a flurry of goodbyes until it was just Lia left with her parents. Luckily cleaning up had been a group effort, so there wasn’t much to do but bid her happy parents good night.
When she was finally in the privacy of her own room, Lia sank onto her bed and wrapped her arms around her shuddering body.
“Get a grip, you idiot,” she scolded herself. “Your sister’s getting married—it’s a wonderful thing.”
What was wrong with her? Was she really this self-absorbed? She swiped at a couple of errant tears and loathed herself for being this way. There were other things in life. Marriage wasn’t the key to happiness, she knew that. She’d very nearly made the stupidest mistake of her life because of her eagerness to get married and start a family. If she’d followed through with that wedding, she’d be completely miserable now.
She would allow herself this one moment of self-pity, and then she would move on. She was better than this, stronger and less pitiful than this.
Her phone beeped, and she reached for it. A message from Brand.
I could send you pics of my dick so that you’d know exactly what I’m in the mood for, but even I’m not that crass. Shocking, I know.
She snorted and swiped at a tear with the back of her hand, then thumbed a response.
€===3?? She smiled through the sheen of tears.
LIA!! WTF? That is in no way an accurate rendering of my cock. It should be at least €=====3!!
She giggled, surprising herself with the lighthearted sound. He was incorrigible and unapologetically crude at times. But she was getting used to it and even finding it funny and refreshing. He was base and obscene and somewhat shocking, but she liked his honesty.
My apologies. Will have to reacquaint myself with the appendage in question, so as to refresh my memory. She blushed while she typed the words, hesitated for a moment, and then sent the text.
His response was almost instant.
Get over here right now! You should be here, riding my cock, not moping alone in your childhood bedroom.
How did he know she was moping? She didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to talk about anything meaningful. She and Trevor the boxer were in the same boat right now—both in serious danger of becoming way too attached to someone who would be leaving soon.
She reminded herself of Rule One and Rule Eight, possibly the most important rules on her list. No falling in love, and accepting that the end of their fling wasn’t a matter of if, but of when. Keeping things casual and physical only would be the best way to ensure that there would be no danger of falling in love.
I’m on my way, she promised. A quick shower and change of clothes later and she was sneaking out of the house like a teenager. Her parents weren’t nosy about her private life, but they would still be concerned if they saw her leaving at this time of night. And Lia would rather not be confronted with difficult questions she had no way of answering right now.
Sam was waiting for her by the front door like some overeager schoolboy. When he heard the car drive up, he flung the door open and watched her exit the vehicle. She had changed her clothing and was now wearing a flowery slip dress—risqué for her, as it was an inch above her knees—a pair of strappy sandals, and a green cardigan. He could tell that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and his mouth went dry as he wondered if she was naked on the bottom, too.
She didn’t say a word, simply launched herself at him, plastering her lips to his desperately, muffling his greeting as her tongue plunged into his mouth. His arm went around her and pinned her close, his hand landing in the small of her back and fisting the fabric of her dress. He was keen to discover if she was wearing panties, but she slipped out of his hold before he knew what her intentions were and pushed him back into the cabin. She shut the door and then turned to look at him again, her expression wild and unfocused. Her eyes drank in his face, and he opened his mouth to speak again, not sure how to react to this marginal aggression. He liked it and wanted to see where she was going with it, but he wasn’t quite sure if she was okay.
