He was playing her. He didn’t actually think she owed him, but he was more than willing to take advantage of her guilt, and dammit …
Dammit. It was working.
“To be specific, you owe me two weeks of good hotels and gas money and fresh seafood and tour tickets and whatever souvenirs I may choose to buy you along the way. And you have to promise not to apologize for any of those expenses. Which will all be covered, to make things absolutely clear, by me.” He raised his perfectly arched brows, the cocky bastard. “It’s the least you can do, really.”
“Two weeks?” She should remove her hand from his. She would, any moment now … once he stopped playing with her fingers. “The wedding is next Saturday, so how in the world—”
“We can leave tomorrow. It’s not as if you have an extensive wardrobe to pack.” He directed a damning glance toward her bedroom closet. “A week up to the redwoods and the wedding, and a week back. Two weeks, Wren. That should cover your balance. For now, at least.”
Over her lifetime, she’d had very few male friends. She hadn’t realized just how affectionate they could be. Because that was definitely Alex pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, the brush of his soft, warm lips a jolt of lightning down her spine, and she couldn’t think.
Maybe this was what friendship with a man looked like without work involved?
Through the muddle of her clouded thoughts, something was niggling at her.
“Alex, I—” Right. That was it. “I can’t leave until Wednesday, at the earliest. When I told Sionna I wasn’t working anymore, she took Tuesday off so we could hang out together.”
In theory, she could ask Sionna to reschedule, but she wouldn’t.
Two weeks of him paying for everything? Nope. Not acceptable.
Then he was letting go of her hand, and she wanted to wail at the loss of contact, only—
Only he was cupping her face again, his thumbs sweeping over her cheeks, and her breath stuttered to a halt. He stared down at her for a minute, unaccountably solemn once more.
His hands slid lower, until he was cradling the nape of her neck with one palm and stroking her back with the other, and—and her face was suddenly nestled against his chest.
“You drive a hard bargain, you intransigent shrew.” He spoke against the crown of her head, his lips brushing her hair with every word, even his ostensible insult a caress. “We’ll leave first thing Wednesday morning, so be ready. Pack your pretty lace dress and sensible wedges. We’re dancing at the wedding.”
He smelled like sunlit cotton and starlit nights on a mountainside. Fresh air and warmth. Somehow, her arms found their way around his waist, and she was clutching him too.
Her eyes closed, and her throat was dry as Death Valley. “We are?”
It was a rasp. A trace of sound, and she let her mouth shape the words against the soft fabric over his heart.
He shuddered against her, his hands tightening possessively.
When he spoke, his tone brooked no dissent, and she didn’t offer any. Couldn’t.
“We are,” he said.
ALEX LEFT WITHOUT kissing her on the mouth. Barely.
He’d wanted to. He’d been about to. And then he’d looked down at her and finally acknowledged just how tired she was. Red-eyed, the thin, soft skin underneath those eyes bruised with fatigue. Uncharacteristically emotional and weepy, her body pliant and trembling with exhaustion against his. Ginger in her movements, as if still stiff and sore from her plane ride.
Their first kiss deserved better, and he refused to take advantage of her lowered defenses. If she chose to kiss him, he wanted her to do so with all her strength and alert intelligence intact.
Still, he’d taken his time before letting her go, and she had to realize how he felt. What he wanted. He hadn’t exactly been subtle about it.
He wouldn’t push her, but he wouldn’t disguise his feelings either. Not anymore. And after the way she’d clung to him, he hoped—
His phone buzzed from the other side of his desk, and he eagerly snatched it up.
Sadly, the message wasn’t from Lauren.
Instead, his agent had sent a peremptory text. Block out time to talk Thursday afternoon. We need to be on the same page before Saturday.
Alex’s ex, Stacia, was one of Zach’s clients too, and the wedding would likely include other Hollywood power brokers as guests. The desire to talk beforehand was reasonable.
The tone wasn’t.
Now that Alex was in disgrace, Zach apparently believed his client didn’t get a say in when they’d meet. But Zach, sadly for him, was incorrect.