Chapter 4
4
“Can we please make that the last time we talk about your hard-on during this trip?” She blinks at me, with that same pouty little attitude that slayed me last night. Her silver eyes are light this morning, made brighter by the slightly bloodshot effect.
“Of course we can’t. We have an agenda, if you recall from the pact we made last night. And I intend to follow through on every one of my promises.”
Last night I was amped up by success, Mo?t and a spectacular sunset. I can admit the combination of Lila’s gorgeousness and sass hooked me, but I couldn’t help wondering very early this morning if it was a case of being caught up in the heat of the moment. If maybe I’d overdone it by offering to drive her all the way to fucking California .
But now, I can feel whatever hold she has on me digging deeper, like those hooks are sweetly barbed with the kind of pain that feels…not just good, but better than anything has.
I don’t know what the fuck is happening here, but if she’s this fucking adorable when she’s exhausted and hungover, I’m a goner.
Apparently not appreciating my early-morning sense of humor, Lila groans and mutters something under her breath, but lets me guide her towards the monstrous RV.
As she pulls herself up the steps, gripping the doorframe for support, she sways to one side and for a second I’m worried she’s about to topple right back out again. I place my hand on her back to steady her, trying not to stare at how good her ass looks in those sexy little shorts.
“Easy there.” I try to ignore the warmth that floods my entire body—especially one very hot thick and overly eager part of it—at the contact.
Lila gasps when she sees the interior of the RV. The sound of her light inhale does fucked-up things to me. Especially since I’m practically grabbing her sweet ass in those tight Daisy Dukes.
Damn.
I like it, I realize. I love her awe. I like being the one who’s inspiring it. It makes me want to give her everything I have, just so I can hear that amazed little huff.
I don’t stop to think about the fact that I might possibly be losing my goddamn mind. I’ve never wanted to spend more than a few hours with a woman before and I’m now planning a journey that will take at least a hundred and twenty with this perfect little stranger. By choice. Because I’m fucking fixated.
“Wow,” she breathes. I wasn’t joking about the hard-on, and the sounds she’s making as she checks out the bus are getting me rock fucking hard.
I’m not going to analyze the fact that I’ve just rented an oversized and overpriced bus just to impress some admittedly-gorgeous friend of Sloane’s, who I’m now planning to drive across the entire continental United States so she can meet up with her ex and supposedly seduce the fucker.
Cash interrogated me about why I’m taking a week off and about who I’m spending it with. If I told him the truth I would never live it down.
He knows I don’t commit.
Then why are you standing here gazing at her like a lovestruck idiot?
Lila’s Daisy Dukes have leather strips sewn along the sides. Must be one of her own designs, and the cowgirlish detail suits her. There’s something a little bit untamed about her, like she has trouble fitting into other people’s boxes and can’t quite thrive when she’s expected to. She told me last night she was from L.A. and it almost surprised me. I might have guessed Tennessee or Wyoming or something wilder than Venice Beach. Then again, L.A. is its own trip. Either way, I find myself looking forward to being the first one to show her Nashville. The times I’ve spent there have always been good ones .
The longest strands of her still-damp hair hang halfway down her back. The shorter strands are wavier this morning, framing her face with whimsical almost-curls. It’s the cutest fucking hairdo—again, not something I’d usually stop to think about. Her tight t-shirt, with Eat the Patriarchy emblazoned in small letters right across her nipples, makes me bite back a smile.
Eat it? When can we start?
She’s slim but curvy with long legs. She has the kind of banging body that any clothes look good on. The tight little outfit is messing with my fucking head.
Don’t even get me started on her face. Her features are petite and devastatingly cute. Her cheeks are flushed and her mouth looks slightly puffy, and pink with lipgloss. Like a piece of candy-coated ripe fruit that’s basically the most appealing thing I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life.
All these details combined are blowing my mind to an extent that’s downright maddening. I know for a fact that I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman in my life. How is she not on the cover of every magazine? How did she just slip through all those cracks and end up alone and unguarded at a random Hamptons party? She seems too fucking good for randomness. Someone should be making sure she’s okay. Someone should be making sure she’s safe and taken care of.
Me.
I want to do that.
I don’t even know what to do with the sudden—but as forceful as a runaway freight train—thought. It’s such a foreign one, I do my best to dismiss it, but something rages in my psyche. Troy wasn’t up to that job. He let her go. And now you’re actually going to deliver this beautiful girl straight into the arms of a clueless asshole who doesn’t deserve her.
Something is going to break between this moment and that one and I’m starting to hope it’s not my own sanity.
Lila doesn’t notice me staring. She’s too busy checking out the bus. “This thing is amazing . It’s nicer—and bigger—than any apartment I’ve ever lived in,” she muses. “And it’s on wheels .”
She sits on one of the two large leather couches, bouncing lightly as though to test it out. There are a couple of matching armchairs, a dark-wood coffee table, a flat-screen TV, lamps, and even a fireplace. She’s mesmerized by all of it, giving herself a little tour. At the far end of the bus, an open-plan kitchen has stainless steel appliances, granite countertops and a kitchen nook with a table and seating area. Beyond that, a door opens into a full bathroom. Between the lounge and the kitchen, a staircase leads up to a second floor, which has another larger bathroom and a bedroom with a king-sized bed. I happen to know this because I spent a lot of time in the small hours of the morning googling like a fucking maniac.
She’s already upstairs. “Oh my god!” I hear her squeal, which causes more blood to rush to my overly-enthusiastic cock. “There’s a huge bed up here! ”
All the better to begin your lessons, darlin’.
I force myself not to take those stairs by threes and begin Lesson Number One right now, dragging my brain into less X-rated territory. It might not happen. We might soon find that we don’t click, I’ll buy her a first-class ticket from Nashville to L.A. and we can both get back to normality.
Bullshit. You’re more smitten than you’ve ever been in your wretched, serial-dating life.
It’s because I’ve never found anyone I wanted to date twice, that’s all.
Until now.
Fuck this train-of-thought argument going on inside my own head. It’s like I just developed a full-blown addiction and my brain has no idea how to deal with it.
I need to calm the fuck down.
I sit in the driver’s seat and turn on the engine. I’ve already got our route planned, the playlist organized and the GPS ready. Details I took care of while she was in the shower, to distract myself from visualizing rivulets of hot water gliding down her plush, naked body. Over her tight nipples. Down her stomach to her soft, sweet?—
Fuck. I said calm the fuck down, not spiral into fantasizing about how hot the sex with her is going to be.
So I focus on the sleek dashboard. This machine is growing on me. The windshield rounds the corners of the side of the bus to give better visibility and the two leather seats are what sold me on this RV—at 3 a.m., when one of my assistants (not Sloane, she was too wasted) finally got through to the owner of the dealership, who couldn’t believe I was willing to pay his asking price.
The driver and passenger seats are huge, leather, they recline all the way and they have every kind of gadget known to mankind, including a massage feature.
Won’t hurt to keep my girl nice and relaxed, I figured.
Would you listen to yourself? “Your” girl?
Yes. I made that decision last night. Around thirty seconds after meeting her. For one week, she’s mine. I’m going to awe her, charm her, teach her and show her the time of her life.
And then what? Let her go? Hand her over to the dipshit?
I have three thousand miles to figure that out.
“You ready?”
She’s back in the kitchen now, opening cupboards and the fridge, which is stuffed full of food, Mo?t and bottled water. “Did you get all this stuff?” she asks.
“Affirmative.”
“Can you stop saying ‘affirmative,’” she laughs, mimicking my deep voice as she says the word. “What are you, the Terminator?”
“You can call me whatever you want, baby girl.”
More laughter, and I’m even more beguiled by the sound than I was last night. “I can’t believe you got more champagne.”
“Hair of the dog, sweetheart. You’ll want one later, I guarantee it. ”
“It would probably kill me at this point.”
“I doubt that. Come on. Get your sweet little ass up here and buckle up. I’ve never driven one of these things before. Safety first.”
Lila comes up to the front and takes her seat. The scent of her fruity shampoo makes me want to feast on her mouth, which is becoming a painful problem.
Especially when she smiles sort of insolently. “I’m going to ignore the ‘baby girl,’ ‘sweetheart’ and ‘sweet little ass’ comments, but only because you’re saving me from a very long, bumpy drive. My Toyota’s shock absorbers are totally shot.”
“That thing belongs in a museum. How are you feeling? Any better?”
“Yes. Much better. The shower and coffee helped. Thank you for the Americano, by the way. My electrolytes feel almost fully restored.”
“Glad to hear it, Sunshine.” The banter between us is so easy it feels like we’ve known each other a lot longer than twelve hours.
With Lila safely sitting down, buckled up and appearing to no longer be about to hurl, my first job is maneuvering the RV out of this narrow street and out onto the open road without flattening anything or anyone. A girl I used to know once told me there’s something very attractive about a man who’s a good driver, and of all the things women have told me, for some reason that one stuck. I have no idea why my number one priority in life has become impressing the hungover little goddess next to me, but I have other things to worry about right now.
Gripping the wheel, I ease the RV backwards and forwards, attempting to get out of the space that suddenly feels way too small for the Goliath I somehow squeezed into it.
I murmur, more to myself than her, “This can’t be any harder than driving a Zamboni, am I right?”
“A Zamboni? When did you drive one of those?”
“In college once. Just as a prank. We got hold of one and drew a cock and balls on the ice one time as a joke.”
A sarcastic, “How hilarious.”
I smirk at her. “It was, actually.”
“You’re about to hit the curb,” she says helpfully.
“Thanks, co-pilot.” Inch by inch, I ease the colossal machine forward, praying that I don't take out a mailbox—or worse, a pedestrian.
But once we clear the narrow street without causing a neighborhood crisis, it’s not all that much different to driving a Hummer. I catch Lila’s wide-eyed gaze and I give her a cocky wink, like I do this all the time.
“Well, that was nothing short of a miracle,” she announces, as I get us onto a main road with what I hope looks like effortless ease. “I’m sure part of your sales-pitch last night was that you’re a good driver.”
“We’re still alive, aren’t we? Cut me some slack, princess. ”
She tilts her chin, like she has no intention of doing any such thing. “So far, yes, but the day is young.”
“Come on, you have to admit this is far more interesting than the alternative.”
“I’d be sleeping, so no.” But I can tell she’s having fun. There’s excitement in her lightning-bright eyes. “So, if you drove a Zamboni, does that mean you played hockey?”
I glance over at her. There’s something almost breathless about her question. “Four years for the Crimson, two as starting center.”
“That’s Harvard?”
I give her a mock-horror frown at the question. “Yes. Everyone in my family has gone to Harvard, for at least three generations. I wasn’t allowed to even look at other schools, I had to maintain a solid A average, and if I so much as missed a single class, my father would—and so often did—threaten me with disinheritance. He barely put up with the fact that I was on the hockey team but overlooked it when I became captain my junior year.”
“You must have been good. Did you ever think about going pro?”
“All the time. But Daddy-o again threatened to disinherit me if I didn’t immediately give all my time, blood and guts to the family business as soon as I finished my degree. I wouldn’t be surprised if he put a hit out on me to make sure he got his way. My knee got slammed between the boards and most of the Cornell defense. It got bent forty-five degrees in the wrong direction. ”
“Ouch.” She winces at the thought.
“It took a few surgeries to fix it. And it pretty much guaranteed my hockey career was over. Of course my father was thrilled.”
“How awful. I’m sorry.”
“What, that my father was an overbearing tyrant or that I never went pro?”
“Both.” Lila’s watching me, like she’s genuinely interested. There’s empathy in her expression. And the clear absence of the grasping eagerness I’m so used to. It strikes me that Lila isn’t here with me only—or at all—because I have a lot of money. She’s not trying to get anything from me. It’s sort of stark in the moment how much that detail has been a part of all the very-short-term relationships I’ve had.
I find myself craving more of this realness between us that’s been a part of our conversation from the very first word.
“Hockey was the one thing I did that was completely mine,” I admit, without really meaning to. “It had nothing to do with my name or any entrenched family legacies. I could take out all my angst and rage and disappointments on the ice. At the time, it helped.”
“So you took your aggression out on the puck.”
“Affirmative.”
Lila laughs and bats my arm and I have never felt such a sense of triumph. I fucking love making her laugh. “Well, Terminator, it’s too bad you couldn’t have made a career out of it, but it looks like you’ve done pretty well for yourself without hockey.”
“I always knew it would have created a war between me and my father if I’d seen it through. When the accident happened, it almost felt like fate had stepped in.” It’s been a while since I thought about all that. The little angel is digging into emotional territory—places I don’t usually go.
“It sounds like there were a lot of heavy expectations on you.”
“You could say that.” She doesn’t know the half of it. “Are you a hockey fan?”
“Not really.” She’s gone cagey, and her gaze lands somewhere out over the scenery, like she’s not really seeing it. She’s clearly got baggage of her own.
So I dig a little further. “A hockey player fan?”
“Definitely not.” Her answers are suddenly blunt and sullen.
“Interesting,” I tease her.
“What’s interesting?”
I’ve touched a nerve, obviously. “You went to UCLA?”
“Yes. How did you know that?”
“You told me last night.”
“Right.” She’s embarrassed by the memory or lack thereof and twirls a long strand of her hair self-consciously. “Last night I gushed about a whole lot of stuff I should not have gushed about. I’m sorry about that. My oversharing knew no bounds. Tequila and champagne are clearly a lethal combination when it comes to obliterating self-control.”
I shrug. “It was a good way to break the ice. I feel like we’re old friends at this point, I know so much about you.”
A light grimace crosses her expression. “A little too much.”
“You must have gone to a few Bruins games,” I fish.
“A few.” She’s still staring out the window.
But I’m not letting her off that easily. “We’ve got a long drive, honey pie. You might as well tell me what’s rolling around in that pretty little head of yours because I’ll keep interrogating you until I get all the dirty details you’re clearly skating around. No pun intended.”
Lila gives me a dismissive look, like she has no intention of telling me anything. And like she’s starting to second-guess her decision to come with me.
But it’s too much fun getting a rise out of her to relent. I lift my eyebrows, letting her know I’m not bluffing. “We’ve got five whole days together”—at least—“and I’m nothing if not persistent.”
More eye rolling. But then, as though realizing I’m as relentless as I’ve promised, she gives me the short answer. “The guy I spewed about in far too much detail last night…was a hockey player.”
“Ah. The unrequited lover. That explains the mood. What’s Troy’s last name?”
She gently pinches the bridge of her nose. “Let me guess. I told you last night that his name is Troy. ”
“Sure did. Tell me his last name.”
“No.” Another huff. “I just said I’m not telling you. Is there something wrong with your hearing, Terminator?” She imitates me again, muttering in a deep voice, “Affirmative.”
I can’t hold back a low laugh. “Come on. I can google it. How many guys named Troy have played for the Bruins? Actually, it rings a bell.”
“It does?” Cautiously, like she’s horrified by the thought.
“Yeah. Now that I think about it, there was a Troy who played center for the Bruins for a while.”
I can tell she really doesn’t want to tell me, but we’re in too deep by this point. And maybe she knows me well enough by now to know I’m far too thorough—okay, and nosy—to let this go. “Troy Beckett.”
I glance over at her. “Troy Beckett. Yeah, I remember that name.”
“Did you know him?” Her face is flushed and I fucking hate that it might be because we’re talking about him .
“I didn’t know him personally. But I knew of him.” I almost don’t say it. “He was famous for being the biggest douchebag in Division 2.”
She sighs, folding her arms. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.” She can’t bring herself to look at me—or barely. Her mouth is twisted into a sultry little pout. I feel like kissing the pout right off her and showing her what a real man does. Namely, the opposite of ignore her. That this angel was ever ignored is a fucking crime. “Anyway, it hardly matters,” she murmurs.
“Of course it matters.” I’m no choirboy, but there are so many things wrong with this equation, it’s beyond infuriating. She loved him. She might still love him. And he can’t have her. He’s not fucking good enough for her.
I don’t know what to do with my rage at the thought or why I feel like there’s fucking fire burning through my veins.
So I twist the knife. “But you already know he’s a douchebag, don’t you, Lila? Because he never swept you off your feet like he should have. He never lifted you into his arms and carried you to bed like a fucking caveman because you’re so damn beautiful there should have been no other choice.”
She makes a scoffing sound, sliding me another half-surprised glare, but it’s softer this time. “You mean like you would have? Give me a break.”
I veer the RV into the right lane, signaling only after the fact. Someone honks at me.
“What are you doing?” She puts a hand softly on my arm and a zing of awareness shoots straight to my cock.
“Proving it.”
“What? No. Colton, do not pull over. Are you crazy? Keep driving. I mean it.”
I do, but I stay in the slow lane. Our gazes meet and the brightness in her eyes slays me a little more. What the fuck are you even doing right now? “I’ll prove it to you right now if you don’t believe me. ”
“Fine. I believe you.” Not convincingly. Like she’s just saying that to stop me from behaving like a lunatic. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, okay? It’s in the past and you weren’t there and I don’t want to talk about it. Can’t we just listen to some music or something?” She props her feet up onto the dashboard and I’m momentarily mesmerized by the sight of her bare, painted toes.
I have the most insane urge to lick her everywhere, to suck on her toes and feast on her softness like a starving man. I’ve never felt this fucking hungry in my life.
I realize I’m veering further, so I swerve us back into our lane, ignoring her white knuckles on the armrests.
“Isn’t that the whole point of our trip?” I insist. “Aren’t we driving three thousand miles so you can change this dipshit’s mind about you?” I know I shouldn’t be this much of an asshole, but I want to rile her. Who am I to have any say in any of this—and I have no idea why I would even want to, especially this fucking manically—but the whole topic is making my blood boil.
“All right,” she seethes. “Pull over. Stop the car.”
“Why? Are you going to be sick?”
“No! I just need some air. And a time out from the most relentlessly annoying person I’ve ever met. I said I don’t want to talk about this!”
With someone else, this might feel like a full-blown argument. But it doesn’t. There’s a playful edge to it, despite the real emotion behind the things we’re talking about. It’s weirdly fun. It also feels a lot like very hot foreplay. “You told me last night that you don’t want your heart to get broken for the second time. I think that also needs to be addressed.”
“Okay, that does it. I’ve changed my mind.”
“About what?”
“Driving with you. Just because I got drunk last night doesn’t mean you have total license to delve into all my deepest emotions. Whether my heart is or isn’t broken is, in fact, none of your business. And I don’t think I can bear this for five whole days.”
I could be wrong but I think she’s bluffing. She’s pissed off but she’s also flattered. That I won’t let this go. That I care. So I push her a little further. “You should have thought about that last night, princess, before you shook my hand and made a deal with the devil.”
“Thanks for confirming my suspicions.”
This makes me smile. She’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, and the quickest. I can definitely rule out the two of us not clicking. We’re sparring like we’re long lost soul mates. “Just pretend I’m your therapist.”
“As if.”
“Come on, Lila, you didn’t have any trouble telling it like it was last night.”
“That’s because I was three sheets to the wind, thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome.” If it’s half as much fun having sex with her as it is arguing with her—and it will happen—I’m going to be one happy bastard. “We’re not stopping just so you can argue with me. It’s my job to get you to your destination on time and I won’t be able to do that if we pull over every time I annoy you. It would take at least a month to get to California.”
I catch her biting her bottom lip, as though to stop herself smiling. “More like a year.”
“That’s my point.”
She leans her head back on her headrest. The sight of her throat and her slightly parted lips hits me like a wrecking ball. She’s so fucking gorgeous. “Has anyone ever told you you’re incredibly infuriating, Maddox?”
“Once or twice.”
At this she laughs, despite herself. “I’m sure. And the answer to your question is no, by the way. We’re driving three thousand miles to go to my best friend’s wedding. That’s all we’re doing.”
“That’s not what you said last night.”
“God, Colton, can you please just let it go already? I don’t want to hear the name Troy Beckett again on this entire trip, okay? He might not even be going to the wedding.”
“Oh, he’ll be there. I guarantee it.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know.”
She lightly smacks her forehead with her palm. “No, you don’t know. You can’t. End of story.”
“I’ll bet you five dollars he’s there. ”
“No. As if I would bet you. Besides, you won’t know if he’s there or not. You’re not going to the wedding.”
“Most wedding invitations imply a plus one is welcome to tag along. I’m sure your best friend wouldn’t mind. If the girl baking the cake can bring a plus one, I’m sure you can.”
Her silver eyes flash and I love this. I want her to react to me. To feel me. To take out her passions and her rage all over me. Her soft voice is cool when she replies. “I would prefer to go without a plus one. I appreciate the ride—and I’m still not sure why you’d want to bother with all this—but it’s just a ride. It’s not an invitation to the wedding. I’m sorry, Colton, but I’m going alone.”
I’ve spent a lifetime arguing with my brothers, and the past three years perfecting the art of convincing everyone I meet to do exactly what I want them to do, from employees to investors to watchdogs at the SEC. The adorable little goddess is hardly getting off that easily.
“You’ll need moral support,” I tell her. “Think about it. You’re about to come face to face with the guy you’ve saved yourself for. For years . That’s major. And it could go either way. I mean, I’m going to equip you with all the skills you’ll need to guarantee success, but you mentioned last night that the guy already has a date, so you’ll have to be ready for curveballs. I’m prepared to be your emotional support person in case this chick already has her hooks in, even if your best friend told you they’re not exclusive.”
Lila stares at me like she can’t believe I just said that, and that she can’t believe she told me all that, and also like she knows I’m winding her up on purpose. “Is there anything I didn’t tell you last night?”
“Nope.”
She shakes her head, mad at herself but mostly at me. “I don’t need an emotional support person. And even if I do, I have Jessie for that.”
“Jessie’s going to be busy . Duh. It’s her wedding night. She’s not going to have time to be your shoulder to cry on. I will. Besides, I’m invested at this point, Lila. You really hooked me with your backstory last night and I need some closure.”
She blinks at me, like she’s seriously considering throttling me. “I can’t believe a person can be this persistently and intentionally infuriating. I really can’t.”
“What can I say? I have three older brothers. I’ve turned bugging people into an art form—and supporting them in exactly the way they need to be supported, even if they can’t see that right away. I persuade people to do things that are in their own best interests. It’s a gift. Trust me, I can do this for hours.”
Lila gives me a long once-over. “Well, I’m an only child, so your well-practiced techniques are useless on me. Like laser bullets bouncing off a fully-functioning Death Star.”
“I like the analogy.”
“And I refuse to take your bait again for the remainder of this trip. So I’ll ask you nicely, one last time. I’ll even humor you by taking your bet, if that helps. Once and for all, would you please shut up about Troy Beckett.” Like the matter is now closed.
I pretend to mull it over. “If you take my bet and take me as your plus one, I promise I won’t mention the loser who doesn’t deserve you again until at least your first lesson.”
This earns me a blush and full lips parted in a light O.
I do my best to ignore how fucking painful my life is right now because I have never, ever been this hard in my life as I ease the RV through traffic to take a left exit. “I’ll take that as a yes.”