11. Piper #2
“Before you head out for the night, I want to confirm our itinerary for tomorrow,” Jean said. “You can have breakfast whenever you like, either here in the main house or down in your bungalow. Just call the house line on the phone in your room and let our manager know your preference.”
“Then, horses at eleven,” Joe said.
Vincent flinched almost imperceptibly. “I was thinking…”
I held my breath. For my part, I was more than happy to drop the idea of riding now that I knew it was a touchy issue for Vincent, but Jean loved her itinerary. Was she going to be offended if he asked to change it?
“You might know my Piper is quite the golfer,” he continued, flashing a look at me, “and I was thinking it might be fun if the four of us went out for a quick nine holes? Assuming you still play.”
I started to say something. After all, where Vincent had baggage with horses, I had baggage with golf.
Prentiss had almost ruined my love of the game.
But I stopped myself. Golf was a good solution to get us away from horses.
And I’d heard the courses out here were gorgeous.
Did golfing have to be a bad thing? Maybe this would be a chance to reclaim the game for myself.
Instead of it being a bone of contention between me and Prentiss, I could use it to help close a deal.
I met Vincent’s eyes. He was looking at me hopefully. I mustered a smile and gave him a nod. If Joe and Jean agreed to change the plans, I was on board.
Joe raised an eyebrow. “We do indeed, but Jean had her heart set on you two going out riding…”
“No, no, no,” Jean said quickly. “I just wanted to make sure we had plenty for you to do, but if you prefer golf, then golf it is. And what’s this business about nine holes? If we’re playing, we’re going for the full eighteen.”
“Guys, there’s just one problem,” I said hesitantly. “I didn’t bring golf clothes or shoes.”
“Don’t you worry,” Jean swished her hand at me. “I’ll have the club send over a few options for you. But are you sure you want us old folks joining you?”
“Of course,” Vincent insisted. “This trip isn’t just about me and Piper, it’s about our partnership.”
Jean melted, and Joe gave Vincent a nod of approval. “I like to hear that. I’m looking forward to embarrassing you on the course tomorrow.”
“Not so fast,” I said, starting to get into the spirit. “Why don’t we make this even better? Let’s switch up the teams. I’ll partner with you, Joe, and Jean can play with Vincent.”
Jean clapped her hands delightedly. “Oh, this is going to be so silly and fun!”
We finalized our timing, then Vincent and I headed back to our bungalow. I was so tired that when he took my hand, I automatically leaned against him.
“You were perfect,” he said softly. “Thank you.”
Warmth spread through me. In this moment, everything was perfect. My fizzy buzz, the fat moon in a navy sky, the feeling of Vincent’s hand wrapped around mine…I couldn’t recall ever feeling this happy, and content.
And yet, even in this contentment, there was still a part of me hungry for something I wasn’t allowed to have. I glanced up at Vincent to remind myself that the man who was holding my hand was my boss and not my date.
“I’d say we both were. Masterful job getting out of horseback riding, by the way.” I glanced up at him and saw that he was smiling.
“Yeah. It’s a great trade-off: more time to woo the Sullivans, and you can show off your skills.”
“You better prepare to lose,” I giggled.
“And you better prepare to eat your words,” he parried.
We walked into the bungalow, and I suddenly felt wide awake.
Because it was bedtime. One-bed-for-two-people time.
“Listen, I can sleep on the couch,” Vincent said, his voice a little too casual, as if he’d read my mind. “I don’t want to make this awkward.”
I gestured to the open air beyond it. “Are you used to sleeping outside?”
“I mean, I have,” he shrugged. “I’ve done plenty of hardcore camping over the years. And it’s not like this would be roughing it.”
He gestured to the plush and cozy couch.
“Well…” I paused and realized, with a little flutter in my chest, that I sort of wanted him next to me. “It’s a big bed.”
He nodded. “Looks like a California king.”
“We could each have our own side,” I suggested.
My voice was steadier than my pulse.
“You sure you’re okay with it? This is probably an HR violation on some level.”
“Yeah, but I’m not a real employee,” I whispered. “Shh!”
Vincent chuckled, the sound warm and low, rolling over me like a wave. “Okay, it’s settled then. I’ll get changed and meet you, uh, I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”
Vincent was overthinking the whole thing, as well. I ran to the gigantic closet the size of my room in my apartment and found one of the silk pajama sets I’d bought. This one was black, so it wouldn’t be see-through, with shorts and short sleeves so I wouldn’t be too hot.
I swiveled in the mirror to look at myself. Smooth and soft, the fabric clung to my skin just enough to feel daring. Yeah, it wasn’t lingerie, but it was still sexy.
Not that I wanted to look sexy for Vincent.
I was lying. I totally wanted to look sexy for him.
He came out of the bathroom, and we nearly ran into each other. I sucked in a breath, because his version of pajamas was just navy boxer briefs.
Vincent looked good in everything I’d ever seen him wear, but he was downright devastating when he was nearly naked.
My eyes were drawn to his broad shoulders and defined chest, but it was his thighs—thick, muscular—that had me swallowing hard.
I couldn’t understand why so many men focused their efforts only on their upper body when there was so much to be said for a couple of muscular thighs.
Vincent cleared his throat, and I realized I was staring. My cheeks burned, and I swore the temperature in the room spiked.
“Cute pajamas,” he said, gesturing to me.
“I bought, I mean, you bought every color of the rainbow, so prepare for a show each night.”
His eyes darkened just a fraction.
“No, no, not that kind of show,” I laughed nervously. “Like, a fashion show, but it’s pajamas.”
“I’ll watch whatever you perform for me,” he said in a low, rumbly voice that made me ticklish all over.
“Ha!” I squeaked out. My laugh came out high-pitched, too eager, and I wanted to slap myself for it.
I ran over to the bed and practically dove beneath the sumptuous sheets, needing the barrier of cool fabric between us before my thoughts completely ran away from me.
Vincent turned out the overhead light, and the room went dark except for the tiny bedside lamp. I felt his side sink as he climbed in.
My breathing went shallow.
Vincent and I were now in bed. Together.
And the room felt suddenly much, much smaller.
“I want to apologize in advance,” I said as I rolled over to face him, jolting when I realized a shirtless Vincent Forde was staring at me.
He was backlit by the lamp, so I couldn’t make out his expression.
“I’m a restless sleeper. I might accidentally end up in your zone. If it happens, I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” he replied. “I move around in my sleep, too.”
The air in the room felt heavy as we sorted through our sleep quirks. How did we end up here, exactly?
“It’s more than that, though. I might unintentionally…spoon you,” I said softly, the words catching in my throat. It was an insane thing to admit…but it was the truth. “I can’t control it.”
“Well, that won’t do at all,” Vincent murmured.
I worried I’d scared him off, and now he was going to go sleep on the couch.
“I like being the big spoon, not the little,” he continued, his eyes locking on mine, dark and unreadable, “so if it’s okay with you, let’s fix the problem before it begins.”
He reached out and gently clasped my wrist, then slid me across the bed until I was just inches away from him.
My breath hitched at the closeness, his heat washing over me.
“Are you okay being the little spoon?” he murmured.
My heart was jumping out of my chest at his nearness.
“I am.”
We held each other’s gaze for a few seconds longer as we grappled with the idea of what we were doing until I shifted onto my side and pressed back into him.
Vincent draped his arm over me, and I let out a sigh at how perfect it felt to be nestled against him.
The sensation of his body molding against mine was electric.
“Good night, Piper,” he whispered in my ear, the sensation of his breath against my skin sending sparklers up my spine.
I’d thought about this very sensation, hell I’d dreamed about it, yet the reality of it was even better than I’d imagined.
The weight of his arm over my waist, his body pressed closed against me—everything felt so right, so perfectly aligned.
I was tucked against him like my body had been crafted to fit exactly here.
“Good night, Vincent,” I whispered, my voice shaky. Speaking was the only thing grounding me in that moment.
I tried to fight off my exhaustion so I could enjoy the sensation of being pressed up against him, but it wasn’t long before sleep won out.
Best dreams ever.