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“Oh, I rode my bicycle over.” Abby laughs like it’s the greatest joke ever, and there, chained to the post, is one of Maddie’s rickety bicycles, which come with the cottage rental. Relief washes over me and I guide her back to the truck.
“Perfect. I’ll pick it up tomorrow. Let’s go.” I’m glad I won’t have to worry about a seventy-thousand-dollar car sitting in the local barhop parking lot, or one feisty inebriated woman driving it along the coastal highway. Thankfully, I’ve worn off the buzz from the beers I drank earlier by dancing with Abby; I’d never drive anywhere drunk as a hard rule.
/> I pick up Abby and get her inside my truck, careful to buckle her in, but when I reach across her, she slumps forward clearly in a drunken stupor and her breasts rest against my arm. Under normal circumstances a week ago, she would have killed me for getting near her. Sweet heaven, her softness makes me hard and the curses rest right on my lips. Her breasts aren’t overly large or small—probably a nice handful if I thought about it—and having her soft mounds rest against my arm makes my mouth dry because I’m thinking about what I want to do to them and how they would taste. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was doing this to me on purpose.
“Come on, Abby, lie back in the seat for me, sweetheart.” Groaning, I try to untangle myself, glad she’s unconscious. She’s asleep with her head against the window, which looks terribly uncomfortable. Luckily, my truck has front seats that connect, so I pull Abby over and rest her head in my lap once I’ve got myself situated and my own seatbelt on. Her soft snores vibrate against my leg and I pray my dick behaves for once in my life.
I get to look at her closely from this distance and run my fingers through her soft, pale hair. The moonlight makes it look silver. She has tiny dangling earrings in her ears, small-as-shit diamonds. I can tell the quality of them isn’t great, but I don’t know if they are sentimental to her or not. I rub the shell of her ear, touching the earring as I drive her toward Maddie’s place. If Abby was my girl, she’d have hunks of rocks in her ears. But she’s not my girl… as much as I might like her to be.
Sighing, I pull up to the house and park my truck. When I see a shadow dart inside the house behind the curtains, I know Maddie is still awake and being nosy. The woman was probably waiting on Abby to come home safely, and there will be an inquisition in the morning if I don’t leave Abby’s cottage promptly. I get out and go to her side, opening the door. I’ll worry about Maddie’s impending censure tomorrow.
“Come on, princess, let’s get you tucked in bed.” I pick her up and carry her down the path to the cottage. She is slight, but a dead weight under the influence of all the drinks she consumed earlier. Lemony-sweet breath fans my neck mixed with ocean air. The moonlight shining down on her unconscious body makes her appear nymph-like and even more forbidden.
Nudging her gently, I whisper in her ear, “Abby, where are your keys?” All I get is a cute grumble as Abby digs her face deeper into my shoulder, licking her lips in her sleep. With her soft mouth now resting against my neck, her tongue slides along the sensitive skin of my neck in the process. God help me.
“Argh. Please stop,” I implore, groaning out loud, not caring if she hears me or not. Actually, I hope she does, so she can wake up and give me a smart-mouth response to remind me of all the reasons this is a sublimely bad idea. Holding her close, I squeeze my eyes shut and pray I don’t drop her as my dick tents my shorts uncomfortably, diverting my attention obviously elsewhere.
I listen to the ocean crashing on the beach for a moment, steadying myself, and feel the breeze kick up outside the cottage, cooling us off. This must be karma. Digging around in my pocket, I take out my set of master keys that Maddie made me and open the door to Abby’s cottage. She will freak out if she knows I have these keys, but I haven’t gone into the cottage in the last three weeks, and I certainly don’t plan on ever doing so uninvited.
Looking around the inside of the cottage, I see how neat the occupant draped in my arms has left it. She certainly doesn’t leave a mess anywhere, except for the rumpled sheets of the bed as I carry her through the living room into her bedroom. I can just imagine her sleeping here, silver blonde hair fanned out across the pillows and kicking the sheets off on those warm nights. Abby is going to kill me with my own imagination.
I lay her on the bed and pull the sheets out from under her. The gesture brings me leaning over her body, and for a brief second, I rest my head closer to hers, listening to her soft puffs of breath as she dreams. Her lips part slightly in a low moan and I back away, afraid our thoughts are similar in nature. My fists clench a second as I get my body and brain under control enough to slip her strappy gold sandals off her feet and cover her up.
If I knew Abby more intimately, I’d take her shorts off to make her more comfortable, but screw that; a man only has so much patience and I’m not looking for trouble.
I dump her little gold purse on the nightstand, and as I’m about to turn the bedside light off, it starts vibrating and dinging like crazy. It scares the shit out of me so much so that I almost topple the lamp over in my nimble efforts to not look like a complete tool in front of this sleeping angel. Afraid to wake Abby, I grab the bag and run into the small kitchen. Opening the bag, I feel like some sort of creeper as I take the phone out and turn the ringer off. Unfortunately, my finger slides across the screen and I can see the partial message from some dude named Lucas. I wonder why Abby doesn’t bother with a password for her phone.
Lucas Crowley: Babe, call me ASAP. Need to talk to you. You should consider coming back to LA now. I still love you.
Great, I’m about to leave Abby for the night adorably snoring and some douche-canoe boyfriend named Lucas is trying to reach her. Thoughts of another guy weighs heavy on my chest, and I feel a burst of competitive energy unlike before. I’d bet my first boat design this jerk is the cause of the ice princess’ troubles. He sounds like a demanding asshole. What did he mean he needs to talk to her and that he ‘still’ loves her? This doesn’t sound like good news—how could you still love someone? I thought if you loved someone, you always loved them. Fucking semantics at 2 a.m. is screwing with my head, and while this is probably none of my business, I can’t let it go either. I leave the phone on the kitchen counter with a growl, hoping she’s broken up with this asshole.
Slipping from the cottage, cool, salty air slaps me in the face, waking up things I buried long ago, twisting my gut. Feelings I’m uncomfortable with stirred leading me back to the girl safe in her bed right now. Locking her door, I stomp off down the broken path knowing I should leave her alone but seemingly tempt myself each time I find myself in her presence. I can’t shake off the unexplainable myriad feelings. Unexpectedly like everything else with Abigail Holliday, those feelings crash into me. What I need is to get the hell out of here, maybe drive back to Seattle or take out my boat for some alone time to think things over. Just me and the waves…and my blasted head wrapped up in this girl.
Cursing, I turn right back around. The walk back from my beach house much is longer than usual and—what do you know? —I feel that much more bone-tired from working all day around town and dancing with Abby all night. Fuck the inquisition tomorrow, Maddie’s prying eyes will just have to wait to grill me later. I want to be here in the morning with the sassy girl who makes me questions my decisions and motivations.
Hurriedly, I step back onto the porch and use my key again to get inside. I take the phone from where I left it on the counter, taunting me, and slip it back into her purse, putting it on the nightstand. I lock up the cottage before heading back into the bedroom. Taking off my shoes, I slip into the bed with my clothes on. I’m that stupid—I’ll probably scare the shit out of Abby tomorrow morning by being here, but at least I’ll have this one night to savor slowly while the claws are sheathed.
I pull her against my body, snuggling her into my arms, smelling the faint vodka snores and sugared lemons. My hold is no more or less from when I carried her into the cottage from my truck. No copping a cheap feel for this guy keeping my hands in the safe zone. If Abby wants more than fleeting touches, I’ll need her to articulate that. You can question my motives all you want, but if I was a bad guy and a real dick, I’d be doing a lot more than just slipping into bed with Abby.
Sure, I’d like for the asshole boyfriend to be out of the picture, but I can’t help that. Abby will have to make that decision on her own. For now, I’ll be the good guy and hope she sees me that way in the morning.
Chapter Five
ABIGAIL
Waking up with a pounding headache and th
e taste of sour lemons rotting in my mouth is a new experience for me, far outside the regimented life of reading court transcripts, filing motions, and nail maintenance appointments. I lie still, letting everything slowly come to me in the morning—smells not quite pleasant, sounds of soothing waves from outside on the beach, and the heat, incredible heat surrounding my body. Lemon drops and Roman Winters, of course. It’s all coming back slowly to me now, like waves rushing in over the sand. I’m confused by the hard, warm body that had wrapped his arms around me sometime in the night.
I’m caught between lucidity and regrets. That’s strange—I don’t remember Lucas coming to the cottage, and this body feels much more solid, just plain bigger all around as I let my fingers dance over what my closed eyes can’t see. Carefully opening one eye, I still my greedy finger going as still as possible. It’s not Lucas. There’s a lot of dark golden brown messy hair—and strangely, I’m thanking God, because as much as I think I miss him, I’m still incredibly wounded by his careless actions.
Instead, it’s Roman. Shit, the guy I’ve been—I don’t know what I’ve been thinking lately. Hyperventilating, I try to wiggle my way out from under his arms so I can hide for the rest of the summer in the bathroom. Bile rises in my throat and I shimmy my arm up between us so I can cover my mouth. I’m sure the last thing any guy wants is to smell morning breath after a binge drinking fest that reeks of bad lemonade. At least that’s what Lucas would say.
After one of our infrequent nights out with preppy friends in West Hollywood, one pair of designer shoes busts a spindly heel and instantly I’d become the group DD… He declared I was the designated driver so I didn’t embarrass myself again after ass-planting myself in the parking lot.
“Easy, Abby, nothing happened except sleeping,” Roman whispers into my ear, and I swear he’s kissing the spot just below my earrings—a gift from Lucas, of course. Shame heats the rest of my body as he’s brushing his nose against my neck softly. I envision ripping the earrings out from my guilt for being in bed with another man—even if Lucas said we should take the summer off. This wasn’t how I, Abigail Holliday, conducted my personal business, break or no break. Ugh, where is my morality? My sense of self-respect… which is slowly falling away as I take in the warmth of Roman’s body next to mine under the blankets.
“You’re totally overthinking this. I promise nothing happened.” A hand squeezes my shoulder, injecting warmth into my body. He tries to reassure me, but my guilt and self-recriminations are interrupted by my bladder stirring and I’m saved by the sudden need to distance myself in the bathroom.
