He squeezed and then pulled me onto his lap. “Go on a date with me?”
I laughed.
He slapped my ass. “I’m serious. I want to take you on a date, a real date . . .”
“Okay.” I grinned. “Tomorrow night I’m—”
“Nope, right now. And you just said okay, so no backing out.”
I burst out laughing. “This seems very . . . spontaneous for someone who freaked over a blue wall.”
“At least you didn’t paint it pink,” he grumbled. “And it’s growing on me . . . you’re growing on me.”
“Aw, nicest thing a man’s ever said to me.”
“Hey, weeds are hard to pull, I’m being sentimental!”
“Maybe on this date you just kiss me and stop talking.” I gripped him by the shirt and slammed my mouth against his.
He pulled away. “Sorry, but I’m not that sort of guy. It is, after all, a first date.” He stood and grabbed his phone, music suddenly filled the air, and then I was in his arms, dancing.
He twirled me around a few times before dipping me. His expression was so serious. And the last few pieces of my heart that I’d kept for myself.
For the just-in-case.
Fell into his hands.
I felt the exchange in my soul as tears filled my eyes.
Jessie Beckett was mine.
And I was his.
“Tell me,” he whispered in my ear.
“Tell you what?”
“Everything.” He twirled me again. “Favorite childhood memory, most hated color, embarrassing stories, I want it all . . . I want you.”
We stopped dancing.
My chest was heaving.
This, this was what I’d always wanted but been too afraid to hope for. “Do you mean it?”
“Yes.” His eyes flickered to my mouth. “I’m kind of regretting that whole not-kissing-on-the-first-date rule.”
“Bet you are . . .” I teased, gripping him by the shirt and pulling him in close, our mouths a half an inch apart, sharing the same air, existing in the same universe. “I hate the color gray, one time I sent a love letter to Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s fan group and sprayed it with perfume, and my favorite childhood memory is baking with Goo-Poh during the Chinese New Year. Your turn.”
We stopped moving.
His mouth was still so close to mine I could almost taste it.
“I used to hate the color red . . . now it’s my favorite, especially on you. Most embarrassing moment is the day Colin accidentally kicked a ball into my junk and I puked in front of all of my friends. They called me Retchy Jessie for a whole year.” My lips quirked. “And favorite childhood memory I’m going to exchange for favorite current memory.”
I sucked in a breath.
“Proposing to you. Dancing with you. Loving you. In a few days, marrying you. Seeing you covered in flour from head to toe. Red. Red. Red. Every favorite is attached to you.”
I kissed him.
He didn’t stop me, just pulled me into his arms and kissed me back so hard that I felt his heart beating against my chest, felt his erratic pulse as his lips moved possessively over mine. His kiss sent a flurry of sensations through my body as he swirled his tongue and released another spurt of lust between us. A scorching heat took over as he removed my flimsy pajama top and shoved my shorts down. Without warning I was pressed against the wall and then Jessie was filling me, my legs trembled as my knees clamped against his naked hips. Over and over again he rocked in a rhythm I almost couldn’t keep up with, his lips still fused to mine. My body closed tightly around his as he flexed his legs and braced an arm above my head.
His husky voice whispered my name, and then he was groaning out a curse. “Isla, you have no idea what you do to me.”
“I can feel it.”
“It’s more than this.” His lips grazed the side of my neck as he pushed forward, sending me into a fit of ecstasy. “It’s so much more.”
His hard thighs pressed against my hips one last time before he clenched his teeth, his greedy mouth took possession of mine, and I was lost as wave after wave crashed over me.
“Isla . . .” His eyes were crazed. “I have to tell you—”
“I love you,” I interrupted, my eyes filling with moisture.
He surrendered his mouth to mine again, and hours later, when I woke up in his arms, it never once occurred to me that he didn’t say it back.
Chapter Fifty-Three
JESSIE
Two million dollars.
That was the price for silence.
Money wasn’t the issue.
It was the fact that I was paying someone off, someone I’d already given a large sum of money to, to do exactly what I was currently ready to pay her not to do.
Fuck.
She’d texted me an account number with a smiley face and “Thanks for doing business with me.”
Me: Proof, deposit all evidence you have at my house. If you ever go public, you’ll owe me triple what I gave you, and you’ll be imprisoned. My lawyer and accountant will handle things from here on out. Oh and I’ve also slapped you with a restraining order. Go. To. Hell.
It was taken care of.
The money was in the process of being transferred.
I had nothing to worry about. So why was this soul-crushing anxiety attacking every inch of my body and making me want to ram my fist through the wall?
I shook it off and fired a text to Blaire.
Me: It’s done.
Blaire: ????
Me: The Danica business: dealt with. Done, including a fancy restraining order.
Blaire: When you say done . . .
Me: Two million dollars done.
Blaire: YOU DIDN’T!
Me: I had no choice.
Blaire: So instead of coming clean . . . you’re just sweeping it under a two million dollar rug?
Me: I have to go . . .
I didn’t have an answer for her. Besides, it wasn’t her business, it was mine. I needed to tell Isla, I just didn’t know how to start that conversation. Oh hey, remember when I was out to destroy your career? Almost did, but don’t worry, I paid off the same hacker I paid in the beginning, so all is well. Should we pick out a wedding cake?
Damn it!
My mind wouldn’t stop coming up with all the ways she could find out without me telling, so much that I finally just grabbed my keys and headed to the dress shop on Rodeo.
I needed to confess.
Now.
Chapter Fifty-Four
ISLA
A month ago I ate an entire tub of ice cream while watching the fifth season of Orange Is the New Black and convinced myself I was never going to get married.
With Wayne, I’d been looking at dresses, but since we hadn’t set a date it didn’t make sense to buy something.
With Jessie, the date was set, and now I was struggling to find a stupid dress.
Goo-Poh was supposed to come too, but apparently there was a meeting she couldn’t miss, meaning if she did miss it Stanley would gain control of the retirement home. As Goo-Poh often said, “Over my dead, wrinkled body.”
Only she said it in Chinese.
And very loudly.
And aggressively.
Tears filled my eyes as I did a slow circle in front of the large mirror. I’d chosen a cap-sleeve embellished lace mermaid gown—it had a plunging neckline and hugged every curve. It wasn’t something I would normally choose, but the minute I put it on, the dress felt like it was made for me.
Blaire wiped her cheeks and poured herself more champagne, then stared at her phone for a good five minutes before turning around and giving me a huge smile. “You look beautiful!”