Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Galeana
This is definitely not the way I expected to start my non-honeymoon.
I yank a sundress from my suitcase and throw it over my head, fumbling with the straps as I try to dress quickly. Anything to stop hot abs from staring at me like I’m a dessert he’s about to lick clean after devouring every last bite. The worst part? I wouldn’t even mind.
Because holy hell, he’s illegally hot. The kind of hot that should come with a warning label. Caution: Prolonged exposure may result in spontaneous combustion, inappropriate thoughts, or accidental drooling . Or maybe just a fire extinguisher.
Broad shoulders, muscles rippling with every slight movement, abs you could probably use as a washboard. If circumstances were different—if I wasn’t a jilted bride with zero patience and an ego the size of a crushed peanut—I’d be tempted to let him bite. Maybe even beg him to.
No. Stop. Focus, brain.
Once I’m dressed and somewhat composed, I glance at him. He’s on the phone, pacing near the window, speaking rapid-fire Italian with the kind of confidence that suggests he actually knows what he’s saying. Great. So he’s not just hot—he’s fluent.
Another point for him.
Meanwhile, I spent way too much money on LearnLingo, and the only phrases I know are where is the restroom? and can I have more? Oh, and gracias . . . or is it grazie? Damn it. I should’ve picked one language and stuck to it instead of trying to learn both Spanish and Italian just because they’re similar. Multitasking didn’t come in handy this time.
I grab my phone, determined to do something productive while he sorts out this mess. Dialing Aiden feels automatic, like muscle memory, and her voice crackling through the speaker immediately steadies me.
“Hey, sunshine. How’s Italy? Sunny and delicious?” Aiden chirps, her voice annoyingly chipper.
“Everything was okay until my luck fucked it all up,” I growl, pacing the length of the suite. “You wouldn’t believe how bad it is.”
“Try me.”
I give her a rundown in clipped sentences: first class from Denver to Italy was fine; the trip to the hotel, crappy-ish; arriving at the suite, ridiculous. I tell her about the rose petals, hot abs barging in like he owns the place, and now, we’re stuck in some idiotic standoff about who gets to keep the room. By the time I’m done, I’m practically vibrating with frustration, glaring at him as he gestures animatedly at nothing in particular.
There’s a beat of silence before Aiden bursts out laughing. “So let me get this straight: you’re stuck in paradise with a guy so hot he could melt glaciers, and you’re calling me instead of figuring out how to make this a rebound-honeymoon moment?”
“That’s not what I said and this is not helpful,” I hiss.
“Neither is pretending you don’t want to climb him like a jungle gym,” she quips.
“I never said that,” I argue, but my voice comes out very screechy.
“Uh-huh,” she says unconvinced. “You don’t have to. I know you, remember? Best friend for, what, almost three decades?”
I groan, pressing the heel of my palm to my forehead. “Twenty-five years isn’t three decades, Aiden.”
“Fine, fine. But seriously, this screams one bed, slow-burn tension. Use it wisely.”
“Stop reading romance books and streaming romantic movies,” I mutter, pacing toward the window.
“I will when I find my own happily ever after—and he’s hot as fuck, treats me like a queen, and fucks me like a dirty slut,” she shoots back, unapologetic. “Maybe hot abs can be that guy for you.”
“How is this supposed to help me?” I grumble, glancing over my shoulder.
Ledger is still on the phone, his voice smooth and rich, like honey dripping straight into my core. It’s warm, seductive, and maddeningly distracting, pulling at parts of me I’ve been trying to ignore for months.
I can’t help myself. My eyes trail downward, lingering on his broad chest, the ridges of his abs, and then lower—wondering. Could he be just as impressive there? His jeans hang low on his hips, and while his stance isn’t giving me the perfect view, there’s enough of a hint to make my mouth dry.
My imagination fills in the gaps. His hands—big, calloused, and capable—are probably a preview of everything else. Thick. Heavy. The kind of dick that’d make me forget my name, let alone Chase. A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of his jeans dropping, him stepping closer, his voice still dripping in that syrupy Italian as he tells me exactly what he’s about to do?—
Stop.
I blink hard, dragging myself out of the fantasy, but my body’s already betraying me. My nipples are tight against the fabric of my sundress, and my thighs press together as if that’ll ease the ache growing low in my stomach. Get it together, Galeana. You’re practically drooling over a man you just met.
This is Chase’s fault. The whole let’s not have sex before the wedding thing was his idea, and now I’m the one suffering through one hundred and eighty-something days of celibacy. No sex. No orgasms unless they came from my fingers or a damn overpriced vibrator that barely did the job.
I should’ve bought that rabbit instead of the sleek suction one. Something bigger. Thicker. Something that could have prepped me for a man like this. Because clearly, my body’s decided it’s ready to jump into the deep end with zero hesitation.
I glance at hot guy again, and this time he catches me looking. He raises an eyebrow like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
God help me.
Focus, Galeana. Focus.
He hangs up the phone and looks at me, his gaze sweeping from my head down to my sundress, lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle. Then he smirks, the kind of infuriating, cocky grin that belongs in a cologne ad. “You’re hot with clothes on too,” he says casually.
I scowl, trying to ignore the way my pulse skips. “Can we focus on our problem?”
“They don’t have rooms,” he says with a shrug, like it’s no big deal. “And they don’t know if they can find anything nearby. You mind moving to another town?”
I cross my arms, my irritation bubbling over. “Move to another town? Are you kidding me? Why should I leave when this is supposed to be my honeymoon suite?”
His brows lift, like he’s surprised by the bite in my tone, but I don’t care. I’m not about to let hot abs bulldoze me out of the one good thing Chase left me with.
“I’m not moving out,” he declares. “There’s a wedding I need to attend and a million stupid activities I have to be a part of. Driving back and forth isn’t an option for me.”
I turn back to the phone, whisper-shouting into it like Aiden’s my lifeline. “They don’t have any other rooms. None. Zero. Apparently, the resort’s packed. So now my options are sharing the most romantic room in this stupid place with a guy who doesn’t even own a shirt, or heading to another town because he has a wedding to go to. A wedding, Aiden.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Aiden says, her words tumbling out in excitement. “Back up. He doesn’t own a shirt? Tell me everything. What does he look like without it? Is he Hugh Jackman hot? Henry Cavill size . . .”
“What does that matter?” I snap, lowering my voice further as I step onto the terrace. The Mediterranean horizon stretches out in front of me, stunning and serene. But all I can see in my mind is hot abs—broad shoulders, lean muscles, the kind of face that belongs on a billboard.
“As I said, you should make him your rebound guy.”
My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” she says, unrepentant. “Sleep with him. It’s the perfect revenge. Post pictures of him on your honeymoon suite’s balcony, champagne in hand, shirt off. Show Chase exactly what he’s missing.”
“Your plan is insane,” I hiss.
“It’s genius,” Aiden insists. “Do you know how many people would kill to have a gorgeous stranger as their rebound guy? Chase left you in a wedding dress you hated but you bought to make his mother happy, Gale. He fucking left you. The universe is handing you an opportunity. Seize it.”
I let out a groan, dragging a hand through my hair. “This is not an opportunity. This is a nightmare. And even if I wanted to?—”
“Oh, you want to,” Aiden cuts in smugly.
“Even if I did,” I continue, ignoring her, “this wouldn’t be fixing anything and might create more problems in the long run.”
Aiden sighs dramatically, as if this is all too predictable. “Fine. Be boring. But just promise me you’ll at least make him suffer a little. If you can’t have fun with him, make sure he doesn’t have any either.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I mutter before hanging up.
I turn back to the room and catch hot guy watching me, his dark blue eyes glinting with mild amusement. Leaning casually against the wall, he looks every bit as smug as Aiden just sounded.
“So,” he begins, his tone infuriatingly casual, “are you heading to another town? The hotel said they’ll cover your accommodations.”
“Nope.” I fold my arms and square my shoulders. “I already booked some amenities, and I plan to make this the best fucking week.”
“In your honeymoon suite . . . alone?” His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smirk.
“None of your business,” I snap. “Why don’t you change towns?” I glance pointedly at his duffle bag, daring him to explain. “Why exactly are you here? You book solo vacations all the time?”
“As I told you, I’m here for a wedding,” he replies smoothly. “And the woman I invited canceled on me because, apparently, I’m not taking her seriously.”
“Oh, you’re one of those,” I say, rolling my eyes.
His brows pull together, irritation flashing across his face. “What the fuck does that mean?”