Something Borrowed: The Wedding Party

Chapter One

Lark

Flying always makes me nervous.

Ironic considering I once wanted to be a stewardess. Or a flight attendant, I suppose they would be called now. On a flight to Europe for my honeymoon twenty years ago, it was clear I could never wear the cute hat or wings to fly across the world. I was jet lagged on our first night in Paris. Not something my late husband let me live down.

With my nose in a book, I pretend I am anywhere but on a plane to an island. Heart Harbor is supposed to be beautiful, Benji said. His destination wedding there will be perfect, he claimed. Smiling, I recall him trying on his tux a few days ago, so excited to get married, and I sigh. It will be perfect.

Ignore the twist of fear in my gut, I focus on the romance novel I am trying to get lost in. Romance stories have always been my favorite escape. I can go back to the golden age of romance or read about the sensual mafia bosses. Whatever I am in the mood for, I find in the pages of a romance.

Too bad it is the one source of romance in my life.

“That is a good one,” a deep voice startles me, my eyes flying up in guilt as I try to hide the cover. I nearly drop the book in my haste. Not trying to hide it. Because I am stunned by the man in front of me.

Standing so tall he has to bend to fit beneath the overhead baggage compartments, he blocks out everything else. Not because he is huge. He is the most handsome man I have ever seen. Sparkling blue eyes lit with mischief and a crooked smile flashing perfect teeth, he is exactly the sort of man I read about in my romances.

Leaning down, he smirks as he nods at the book I am clutching to my chest. I flush hot, my entire face aflame as I wish I could hide myself along with the filthy book. It is a good one, he was not wrong. About an Irish sailor finding his true love in a small seaport town, all at the flip of a coin. Peering back up at him, I find my heart is thundering in my chest as I bite back a smile.

“Yes, yes, it is a good one. I ought to be ashamed to be reading it at my age. I can’t help myself. I love a good happy ever after I suppose.”

Nodding, he moves to sit beside me. He takes up the entire space between us. Not with his big body, thick arms, and powerful thighs, but with himself. His presence. The air fills with warmth, with a spicy, leather scent. I find myself leaning closer, as if drawn to both against my will.

“We all want a happy ever after, don’t we?” His voice is soft, as if we’re sharing a secret, with the slightest Londoner’s lilt.

Why am I so hot right now? What is going on with me? My hand comes to my throat where my pulse thrums beneath my fingertips. Am I having a panic attack? Is that what this? Dizzied, drunk, and disarmed. I cannot tear my gaze from his. Well, not until his tongue comes out, dragging deliciously slowly across his full bottom lip.

“Yes, we do. Have you gotten to them and the jukebox?” He wonders, grinning at me as he settles in close beside me.

Blinking, I pull back as I am hit with a wave of reality. This man must be about the same age as my son. Much too young for me to be thinking all I am thinking. There is something smoldering in his eyes as they shift over me. That gaze is heavy, intrusive, appreciative as it slides over me slowly.

“N-no, I have not. Pardon me,” I clear my throat as my words come out choked.

“Oh, don’t be shy, love,” his voice dips impossible low, his hand coming out to touch my chin, tipping it up. “Nothing wrong with wanting a bit of spice in our life, is there?”

Flushing hot, I try to pull back from his touch. In my head at least, I am pulling back, being demure, being appropriate. What my body does is of its own accord. I lean closer to his warmth, to that delicious spicy smell, my senses buzzing all at once. I am attracted to this young man in a way I have never felt before.

It’s a fluke, I am certain of it. Brought on by the spicy book I am reading, the idea of being on my way to watch my little boy become a husband while I am painfully alone, and my resounding loneliness. I am seeking something anywhere I can find it.

“I meant... pardon me,” I whisper again, waving the book at him to tell him I am otherwise occupied. Turning away with a shake of my shoulders and a straightening of my spine, I burrow into the book again.

Settling in beside me, he lets out a dark chuckle that makes me shift in my seat. My skirt feels too tight on my thighs. The lace panties I was brave enough to wear rub against my sex as I cross and uncross my legs. I read for a few moments in silence, but I barely comprehend the words.

“You ought to read the rest in that series,” he speaks up as if he cannot help himself, nodding at the book. “There is even one with some pirates.”

Glancing his way, I watch him waggle his brows and I can’t help it, I laugh. Setting the book down, I nod. I am very aware of the pirate romance he mentioned. I am looking forward to it, but I have a few more in this series to get there. Impressed he seems aware of the author’s works, I smile.

“You do not look the type to read this sort of...well, smut.”

“Oh, love, I adore smut,” he deepens his voice again, leaning closer as he pulls his bottom lip in a little. “The moment I saw you holding that book, I knew we would make great friends. I am Lawson, yes from London so you do not need to pretend not to notice the accent. Headed to Heart Harbor for a wedding. I am thrilled I can talk all things smut on the way there with a beautiful woman who is not ashamed to read smut so openly.”

“Where in London? I am not exactly not ashamed,” I reply with a little laugh, hiding the book in the folds of my skirt. “I was reading a very good part when you caught me. I am going for a wedding as well.”

“Tell me your name, love,” he whispers in a way that has me thinking very smutty things about him again.

“L-Lark. What a coincidence we’re both going for a wedding.”

“Well, I’d have thought the same thing, except I found there will be three weddings on the island this weekend. Should we make a weekend of it, Lark? Go to all three?”

Grinning, I nod. Why not? It could be fun. Not that I would have ever considered it before he suggested it. Or ever thought about doing something with a total stranger. Maybe that is why it is so appealing to me. Doing something on the island of Heart Harbor I never would have done anywhere else.

“Why not? Wedding crashing is a thing, is it not? Free food and drinks, terrible music, awful attire, it could be a good time.”

Laughing, I shake my head. I mean none of what I said. Even if I joke with him about it, I could never do that. What would my son think of me? What would people think if they saw he and I going to weddings together? They would think all the wrong things, that is what they would think.

“Do not tempt me, love,” he murmurs as he presses closer, his big hand coming to my thigh. His touch sends shockwaves rippling through me, tearing me apart inside. I even let out a whimper I cannot hold back. “Do not offer to spend an entire weekend at romantic weddings with me, Lark. I will take you up on that offer. It would be the weekend of my life, I think.”

Swallowing hard, I find myself unable to look away again. His hand comes back to my chin, and I blink in surprise. It is then I realize the plane has boarded and we’ve taken off. I was so taken by him, so drawn in that I never even noticed. Being in the air makes me anxious and he notices.

“Calm down, love,” he hums, sliding closer, his hand still on my chin, the other heavy on my thigh. Cupping my jaw, he tilts my head back. “Focus on me. Tell me why you chose this series to read? What drew you to it?”

“Th-the men from other countries,” I whisper, watching his mouth as he talks low, soft, soothing me with ease. “I have never been out of the country. I thought hearing about romantic men from all over the world might be exciting. Weird that I am talking to a man from another country.”

“Must be fate, yes? I believe in this sort of thing. That all things happen with reason,” he clarifies, his thumb rubbing softly over my lip.

Lawson grins at me, his eyes darkening as his hand tightens on my thigh. There is something predatory in his gaze. His thumb plucks at my lip and I gasp. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, making me very aware of how much I like his mouth. How I have been unable to stop staring at it.

Sitting back in my seat, I close my eyes to close him out. It does not work. I can smell him, feel his warmth, and his hand is still heavy on my thigh. He talks about some of the previous books in the series, making me laugh a few times. Whenever he mentions the spicier scenes, his hand slides higher on my thigh, until his fingertips almost touch my panties.

Not once do I consider stopping him. To stop talking or stop touching me. His soft Londoner’s lilt is sexier than anything I have ever head. I imagine it would be so hot reading one of these filthy stories to me. I am at ease with him beside me, the two of us talking romance and real life.

“It is strange we’re headed to the same place, reading the same sort of books, having so much in common,” I muse after he tells me he too loves to cook, and reveals we went to the same college, though decades apart.

“Fate,” he hums, his lips brushing my ear as he leans close.

“I would wager half of the people on this plane will go to one of those weddings. Doesn’t sound like fate at all.”

“None of them are us, love. None of them enjoy the smut we do,” he waves a hand to show the rest of the plane. “Even if they do, none of them are you. Or me. It is not chance I found you, is it, Lark? You’re the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I came to you because I could not stay away. The moment I laid eyes on you sitting here, reading that book, I knew.”

“You... y-you knew what?”

“That I made the right choice taking this flight. Coming to this wedding. Being where you will be this weekend. That book you’re reading... that is the sort of romance I can show you, if you want, love.”

Swallowing hard, I stare at him for a moment. I cannot think. Cannot process what he is saying. Does he know I am old enough to be his mother? Even if I want to indulge him, I can’t. How could I?

“Lark,” his voice is so raw, my nipples ache and pucker. “Not taking the piss. We’re going to the same place, for the same reasons. Both of us came alone. We do not need to be alone all weekend, do we?”

“You can’t mean....” I trail off as his hand shoves at my skirt, sliding dangerously high on my thigh.

“Oh yes, I mean what you think. Do you doubt a man would want you the moment he laid eyes on you, love?”

Slowly, I nod my head. Because why would I think anything different? My husband died five years ago. I’ve been alone since. No one has flirted or tried to take me home from a bar. Not that I frequent bars or would notice a man flirting. I was married most of my life. Flirting or dating remain things I am not well-versed in. Except, I’ve been flirting since he sat down, haven’t I?

“Men do not want...I mean...well, me. I am too old for children. I gave most of my youth to one man who loved me as best he could. Men never look twice at me. Is this some sort of...is this some cruel thing you do to women who would never get a man of your.... ilk?”

“Wrong, love,” he murmurs, his fingers sliding slowly up my thigh.

“How am I wrong?

“Lark, no less than five men have stared at you with lustful looks. Not talking about children. Most importantly: I want you, Lark.”

Blinking up at him as his fingers reach my panties, stroking over them, I gasp. Not at his words, filled with heat, or the want burning in his eyes. Not from the brush of his fingers over my wet panties. I gasp because I am thrilled by his words. Turned on by his nearness, by his brazen touch.

“Do you? You know nothing about me,” I whisper, although I know nothing about him and cannot deny how I want him.

We’ve been in the air almost an hour for our three-hour flight. Never have I been so at ease. It is because of him. I am not at ease—I am comfortable. Enjoying being with him. Completely invested in our whispers about college, cooking, but mostly our love of filthy romance.

“One thing I know, love,” his mouth is at my ear, his breath hot, his words throaty. “This is for me. Every drop of it is for me,” he hums as he rubs his fingers over my wetness after yanking the lace out of his way.

Nodding, I let my thighs spread slowly. “Yes, yes, Lawson...”

“That’s good. Do as I say. Nod once,” he commands, and I nod. “Good girl. Go to the loo. I will follow you. Nod for me, love.”

For the first time in my life, I act rash, doing as I am told.