Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
I should warn you. There’s been a last-minute plot-twist
Though it seems like three days went by during my sojourn in the lounge, there are still folks queuing up for plates in the buffet area.
A quick recon of the line produces no Johnny sightings.
Ditto in the ballroom, but I spy Arlo dancing with a woman his own age.
No visible piercings, so probably not the skanky ho party crashing in an effort to press “undo” on her stupidity.
Good. He can do better and no one deserves a cheater.
I find Johnny on the patio, back to the bar, surrounded by a clutch of women—two, three, six, eight—eight deep. Another woman ponies up to the circle, worming her way to the front to place a possessive hand on his chest.
With a loose shrug, he somehow frees himself from the attempted claiming, opening up a slice of breathing room in front of him.
In the next heartbeat, that gap narrows again until the ladies nearest him are practically standing on his toes.
Probably sneaking huffs off his woodsy cologne, the pushy minxes.
Elf really had not exaggerated the strength of his gravitational pull.
Not a surprise. And since I’m not immune either, I sympathize. But even if the rest of the night doesn’t follow my plan, the absolute least I can do is pull off a reciprocal rescue.
“Good. Found you.” I reach through the masses to take hold of his warm, callused hand and begin to pry him free from the tangle. “They’re waiting inside. I told them I’d retrieve you.”
Recognition alights in his blue eyes at the replay of his own words, goosing his half-smile up higher on one side.
More than one lady sighs, which kicks the other half of his smile into gear, which brings on more sighs.
“I thought they weren’t interested,” he says, stressing the word “they”. He lets himself be tugged forward a mere half step.
“They were always interested.” I strengthen the emphasis on “they” and pull harder. He gives me another inch.
“But I distinctly remember them turning down my offer.” Pondering me with his gaze lidded at a sleepy, sexy half-mast, he strokes his goatee and evokes a fresh round of sighs. “Some might say even before it was made.”
“They have recently come into new information that caused them to see matters in a new light.” I yank and it’s as though I’ve pulled on a wave, the motion eddying through him with no effect. “They may have been hasty in their initial analysis of the situation.”
“Sounds like an open door to a new start. But what if I have questions?”
“If you would allow yourself to be retrieved,” I say, biting the end off each word with a snap. “I am sure they would be happy to provide answers.”
Something about my reply pleases him into movement. He emerges from the crowd to stand beside me. With a swift flick of his wrist, he threads our fingers together, palm to palm, presenting us as a united front.
“Ladies, you heard the woman. My presence is requested and required elsewhere. Please, enjoy your evening.”
Another sigh—this one sounding suspiciously more like a rumble of discontent than a flutter of fawning—chases in our wake as we stride toward one of the patio’s exits, not running, but not dawdling.
Indoors, we sneak around a velvet rope to duck into a dimly lit hallway, heading far enough down to be invisible to both the casual observer and any determined unicorn hunters.
The faint strains of something dreamy and nostalgic join us in our retreat, serenading us from the distant ballroom. With a gentle tug of invitation, Johnny draws me into a slow dance, folding our linked hands between us, his free arm wrapping around my waist.
Seemingly of its own volition, my body nestles into his embrace, at some deep level recognizing a safe harbor after too long in rough waters. Soon, my head is tucked under his chin, his cheek, warm and ticklish with beard shadow, resting at my temple.
Drinking in his scent, leather and spice, I’m content to let the moment spin out, this stolen slice of peace before I open the waiting can of worms.
“Thank you for the rescue,” he says with a hint of humor, parroting my line from our first dance. “Though if we’re keeping score, I’m still one up on you.”
“We are not keeping score.”
“Probably wise. Well, if we’re not going to track who’s at the top of the leaderboard in number of rescues, want to share what new information prompted my deliverance from that pack of wolves?”
“Not really?”
“But you will.” He gives my hand an encouraging squeeze.
“Yep. New me is all about testing her bravery wings.” With a reluctant sigh, I leave my cozy hidey hole, my conscious insisting I need to do this face to face. “It’s going to play out like this. Confession, apology, solicitation of a carnal nature.”
“It so happens that I am a huge fan of both carnal and nature.” He spins me out and reels me back, his thigh wedging between mine as I land against him. Evidence of the truth of his statement presses against me, a hot, hard, promising length. “Tell me more.”
“Right. More.” I wriggle closer, trying to determine the exact size of his fandom. “Why am I so nervous?”
“Too much build up, not enough action. I vote you get whatever it is off your chest then we can dig into the ins and outs of this promised solicitation.”
His teasing, easy-going vibe acts like a salve, releasing tension from my shoulders and back.
“Confession. I thought you were Flirting While Engaged. My ex was a serial cheater, and it torched me that I was attracted to another bad apple. Especially when everything I thought I knew about you weighed in on the nice guy side of the scales.”
“Wait, you know who I am? I mean, more than just my name?” He blinks in stunned surprise
“I like design. I’ve, uh, followed your career for years.” The terms of my confession don’t require that I divulge how closely the following has been, so I keep that revelation sequestered where it won’t make things awkward. More awkward.
“Wow. I’m—okay. That’s kinda mind blowing. Convenient, too.”
“How so?”
“I am also attracted to you. I like movies. I have also followed your career for years.” His quiet words paint a trickle of heat down my spine.
“Though I’m paraphrasing here, I will add that I am also of the opinion that cheaters should be dipped in honey and staked out for fire ants.
I’d say you’re net positive on the confession. Let’s push on to the apology.”
“Based on the flimsiest of evidence, I let old wounds—my friend Vanessa calls them the Bitch Chorus—lead me into making a wrong assumption. Then I turned tail and ran—twice—rather than address you with my questions straight on. I must have given you whiplash with my hot and cold takes. I’m sorry.
If I’d had the guts to seek clarification, we could have arrived at the carnal solicitation portion of the evening a lot sooner. ”
“Not sure that’s mine to forgive, Evelyn, but if you need it,” he kisses my forehead, “I absolve you. Most of us have embedded triggers that short circuit our capacity to reason. A lot of folks would have kept their distance, too embarrassed to admit to a whoops. Thank you for having more grit.”
Our dance tapers to a shuffle, and from a shuffle to rocking back and forth. I loop my hands around his neck, pulling his face down to within easy reach.
“Solicitation time.” I press a soft kiss to one side of his mouth. “Although, I should warn you. There’s been a last-minute plot twist, making it less indecent proposal and more lusty edict.”
“As long as it’s still carnal in nature, I’m all ears.” He turns his head, offering up the other side of his face.
Happy to oblige, I even up the balance, this kiss landing a little closer to his lips, the contact lingering a little longer.
“I started this evening on a mission to lasso a one-night stand. Could have been anyone until I ran into you. Then no one was right, not even you.” I kiss him again, linger again. “If you look at it from a certain angle, you owe me. So, buddy, tag. You’re it.”
“Quick question. Who wears the lasso, you or me?” He jumps into the kissing game with a brush of his lips under my jaw.
I moan. My toes flex. My nipples pebble into tight, achy points. I lose the thread of what he asked.
Our mouths meet in a hungry collision. I nip his bottom lip and it’s his turn to moan.
He walks me backward until I’m pressed against the wall, blanketed by his hard, hot body.
I steal under his tuxedo jacket, palming his ass and pulling him into the vee of my legs. He pumps against me, once, twice.
This time the noise I make sounds like a whine, a humming plea that roughly translates to need, need, need, want, want, want, now, now, now.
Scrambling, I start trying to free him of his jacket. He catches my wrists in one hand. It’s possible I snarl.
“Feisty girl.” His low, dark amber chuckle rolls through me, robbing the air from my lungs. “I like a good wallbang, but unless you’re an exhibitionist, we should probably relocate to your room.”
“Point. It will have to be yours, though.” I tug and he gets my wrists go. They itch to continue their mission of getting him naked ASAP. Exerting heroic control, I keep them at my sides. “I’m in one of the cottages with Vanessa. Nice digs, but there’s only one bedroom.”
“I’m not on site. I’d invite you back to my beach house, but it’s filled to the rafters with spillover Macks. Unless you want to be the hot topic on various family group chats for the next seventy-two hours, probably best we steer clear.”
“Back to wallbanging?” Filled with misgivings, I glance up and down the hallway.
Still dim. Still quiet. But still way too exposed.
My happy boil of anticipation sputters into a tepid simmer in the face of our cruddy logistics.