Chapter 14
Her face…
It’s so damned beautiful.
And it gives her every thought and feeling away.
As I pull up in front of The Royal Dunes, the premier luxury hotel in Saint Mary, Sully’s jaw drops and her cheeks flush. “What have you done?”
“Exactly what I said I was going to do,” I murmur. “This is one of the things you deserve.”
“Are you sure? I think the people who work here are dressed better than I am,” she whispers, tugging at the lapels of her coat as two tuxedoed valets approach the car.
“Not a chance.” I take her hand, giving it a squeeze. “You look like a million bucks.”
“My dress cost thirty dollars,” she says in a rush. “Secondhand. And I didn’t wash it because I was afraid that I’d ruin it because I’m bad at laundry. And yes, they probably washed it before they put it up for sale, and it smells clean, but there’s a chance I’m wearing another woman’s sweat as well as her dress.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say, holding her anxious gaze, loving that she lets me in like this. Even when it’s embarrassing or hard. “You could be naked, and you’d still put every woman in this hotel to shame.”
Her shoulders relax as her lips twitch into a crooked grin. “You’re a liar, but I like it.”
“I’m not a liar,” I say, before turning to the valet opening my door. Another appears on Sully’s side, welcoming her to the hotel.
I hand my valet the keys and a twenty before sliding out into the brisk evening air. I circle around to meet Sully on the passenger’s side, offering her my arm and the other attendant a twenty, as well. I tell him the name on the reservation and he gives me a claim ticket and a big grin before moving toward the trunk.
Sully glances over her shoulder. “Do we need to get the bags?” she asks in a soft voice. “Or give them a room number once we have one or something?”
“No, they know where to take the bags. I checked in online this afternoon. The key to our room is already on my phone.”
Her eyes widen. “Wow. I love an old-fashioned key, but that’s swanky.”
“And convenient.” I tip my head to the uniformed men at the top of the steps, who leap to open the copper and glass doors as we approach. “It will give us time to do a little shopping before dinner.”
Her brows lift. “Shopping for what?”
“Jewelry,” I say. “You could use some.”
Her nose wrinkles. “I know. But I didn’t have anything that looked good with a dress like this, and Elaina’s earrings are all enormous. I’m not a big earring girl.”
“Absolutely not,” I agree. She’s far more understated than that, elegant though I know she doesn’t think of herself that way. But she is, a fact proven when she selects a stunning, but discreet pair of diamond-and-pearl drop earrings from the gift shop beneath the grand staircase leading to the second floor.
“I can pay for them,” she whispers, as I tell the clerk we’ll take them and reach for my wallet.
“No, it’s my treat, consider it an early birthday present.”
“All right. Well, thank you.” She smiles, but her grin vanishes when the clerk gives me the total before taking my extended card.
“Five thousand dollars?” she mouths when the clerk dips her head, her eyes wide and scandalized.
“It’s fine,” I mouth back. “You deserve it.”
Her lips press into a thin line, but she leaves the earrings in her ears as I finish paying and takes my arm again as we leave the store. It isn’t until we’re halfway up the staircase that she says, “I had no idea they were real. I thought they were costume jewelry. We can take them back before we leave.”
“We’re not taking them back.”
She scoffs. “You don’t buy a five-thousand-dollar present for a friend.”
“I buy whatever I want, whenever I want,” I say, smiling down at her as we reach the top of the stairs. “It’s one of the benefits of being a heartless finance guy who invested wisely in his twenties.”
She makes a considering sound beneath her breath. “The only thing I’ve invested in in my twenties is new traps when someone stole some of our old ones last season.”
“We’ll have to change that,” I say, leading her toward the entrance to the ballroom on the far side of the impressive lobby. Soaring ceilings, two-story windows, and bronze Art Deco accents give the space an old-world feel. They also give me hope this party won’t be the usual cheesy, skeletons-and-fake-spider-webs Halloween affair. “We’ll get you set up with a retirement account that reflects your risk tolerance before I leave. Even a small monthly investment will grow with compound interest. It’s not too late to make sure you’re taken care of when you’re older.”
“Okay, that sounds smart,” she says. “I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”
The reminder that our time together is flying by dampens the mood for a moment, but by the time we reach the small line forming in front of a woman dressed in a gold ball gown, we’re both smiling again.
“What is this?” Sully asks, her eyes shining as she reads the velvet banner draped across the top of the ballroom door. “Harvest of the Mystic Moon?”
“A Halloween party,” I say, “but no costumes, thank God.”
She snorts. “I can’t imagine you in a costume, Mr. Fancy. Far too undignified for the likes of you.”
“Damn straight,” I agree, pulling my cell from my pocket and scrolling to the event app for our tickets.
She laughs and squeezes my arm. “But you’d make a great brooding Mr. Darcy. At least the Weaver I see around town would.”
My brows draw together. “Yeah?”
She nods, glancing forward as the line starts to move. “Yeah. That Weaver never smiles. Which is a shame.” She shifts her gaze back to mine. “Your smile is pretty special.”
I want to tell her that she’s special, that I wish I never had to be the Weaver I am in town, the one who has to walk around the world without her in his impenetrable shell. The realization hits hard, making my stomach tighten as we amble the final few feet to the check-in desk, and confirming the fear that’s been sneaking up on me with every amazing night I’ve spent with Sully this past week.
I’m falling in love with this woman.
Hell, maybe I already am in love with her.
As I look down at her now, the outline of her profile and the faint freckles on her nose are enough to send an ache spiraling through my chest. I want to write a song for this girl, to paint her the way I see her—perfect and authentic and wildly, messily alive.
I’m a money guy, a numbers guy. I appreciate art, but I’ve never had the urge to do anything “artsy” in my life. The fact that now it’s all I can think about half the time…
I’m screwed, so fucking screwed.
Even if I could find a way to fit into Sully’s life, she would never want to fit into mine. She made me pick her up next to a dumpster for God’s sake. She was that worried about someone seeing us together.
I hold my phone out to the woman in the ball gown with only half of my mind present and accounted for. The other half is racing through the facts as I know them, trying to figure out a way to dismiss the emotion swelling behind my ribs.
It’s just the sex. The sex has been better than I could have imagined when a virgin cat burglar crawled into my bed. Sully makes me feel things I haven’t felt in so damned long. Maybe ever. I think about being inside her, about fucking her until she makes those husky, sexy-as-hell coming sounds at least two hundred times a day.
Fabulous sex is intoxicating, disorientating.
I’ve never mistaken a great lay for true love before, but there’s a first time for everything.
Then there’s the fact that I’m back in my hometown, dealing with my brother’s death, surrounded by people who profess to love me even as they plot and scheme behind my back. As much as I hate to admit it, I’m in a weakened state, and Sully is a dangerous person to let your walls down around. She’s too curious, too kind. If you let her, she’ll crawl right over your defenses, pull you into a big hug, and convince you that don’t need your armor anymore.
Not as long as you have someone like her watching your back…
That’s all this is, a case of disparate, but powerful outside forces combining to convince me I’m feeling things I couldn’t possibly feel.
Not after a week.
Not when I know there’s no future for me and this shining girl.
She does shine, like she’s lit up from the inside. As we step into the ballroom, moving through a surprisingly realistic cornfield sprouting from the tile into a Stonehenge-type gathering of giant papier-maché boulders positioned around the still empty dance floor, heads turn.
But Sully doesn’t notice, she’s too busy spinning in a slow circle, taking in the decorations.
“Wow,” she says, with a soft laugh. “This is so cool.” She motions toward the far right of the room, where several vintage wagons with brightly colored tents on top are parked in a row. In front of them, half a dozen women, wrapped in silk scarves, sit behind tables with tarot cards and crystal balls. “Fortune tellers, I assume?”
“Looks like it,” I say, still feeling off-kilter. My voice sounds strange, even to my own ears, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by my savvy companion.
Her brow furrows. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “I’m fine.”
“We don’t have to do the fortune-telling thing if you don’t want. My friend Maya never will, not even in Portsmouth, where the ladies at the witchy store are always the sweetest. She has a phobia that a fortune teller is going to foretell her doom and she’ll end up going insane and throwing herself into the sea.”
“I don’t have a phobia about a fortune teller foretelling my doom,” I say, forcing a smile. “I do need to go check in with the host in the dining area, however.” I motion toward the long table set up in a clearing in the fake cornfield near the stage where the band will start playing at nine. The table is filled with other people in ball gowns and suits, sipping white wine and coffee as they tuck into their dessert course.
“Oh, okay. Sure thing.” She starts that way, but I stop her with a hand on her arm.
“No, you go ahead, check out the fortune tellers. I’ll touch base with the host and meet you there.” I glance down at my watch. “We still have thirty minutes before they seat the second dinner service.”
She considers me for a moment, looking like she’s about to ask if I’m okay a second time. But in the end, she just nods and says, “Okay. I’ll see you there.”
I give her arm a light squeeze. “See you in a few.”
Then, I turn and stride quickly away across the room.
I just need a few moments to pull myself together and remember that tonight is for good times, good company, and fantastic, no-strings-attached sex. It isn’t for obsessing over what will happen when it’s time to leave Sea Breeze or getting swept up in some ridiculous feeling that isn’t even real.
It can’t be real.
It’s too fast, too intense. This surge of emotion is like a junk stock propped up by some Reddit chat board. It’s surging like crazy right now but will plummet just as quickly. Things that are built on unsteady foundations always do.
And a foundation can’t get much more unsteady than mine and Sully’s…
I dated her mother, destroyed her father, and permanently altered the course of her childhood and life. Her people hate me, with good reason, and my “people,” such that they are, consider her beneath them. I don’t care what the other Tripps think, but she would.
With both of our families against us, we’d never last. We’d end up isolated on my yacht, turning on each other. She’d resent me for making her a pariah in her own hometown, and I’d resent her for forcing me to stay in a place I loathe.
The reminders of how pointless this longing is helps ease the feeling. By the time I check in with the host, get our seat assignment—the far end of the communal table, as requested—and start back across the room to rejoin my date, I’m feeling more grounded than I was before.
Then I see her, Sully, crouched in front of a striking older woman with a bountiful collection of smile lines and silver-white hair, taking her picture.
Instantly, my stomach starts to churn all over again. And it isn’t even because Sully’s skirt has ridden up, revealing one toned, sexy thigh, nearly to the hip.
It’s the reverence on her face, the awed smile on her lips, the way she sees the beauty in this woman I know so many would have dismissed as unworthy of a second glance.
In an instant, I’m falling for her all over again, all my logical reasons for dismissing the emotion evaporating in the wave of warmth that fills my chest.
Looks like love isn’t something that can be managed by logic.
I’m in uncharted territory, guided only by the burning certainty that this woman is worth striking out into a scary new world.
She’s worth just about anything…