Chapter 15
Kellin
“I have an idea.”
Maeve glances up from tapping out a note on her phone and raises a brow. “Okay?”
I snag her waist and yank her flush to my side. “At the next one, let’s pretend to be a couple.”
A small tremor courses through her body. She bites her lower lip while temptation and resistance war on her pretty face. Progress. I’m convinced she would have shot me down cold yesterday, but every hour away from the Cypress, a little more tension drains from her shoulders.
She twists her hair around her fingers and finally smiles. “You’re on.”
I return her grin.
I like this version of Maeve. Less uptight, more at ease. I never anticipated enjoying her company this much.
Maybe too much. I’ve managed to extract plenty of hotel-related information from her, just not anything about Nolan Doyle, Declan Gallagher, or the Port Kings.
That needs to change—and soon—if I hope to complete this mission on time.
So when we arrive at the next hotel, I set out to accomplish that goal.
With drinks.
We wander into the hotel’s sleek, modern restaurant, which features dark carpeting, cream booths, white tablecloths, and sharp, industrial lighting fixtures.
Pricey, with a high-quality menu. Though, admittedly, I find the offerings at Emerald & Oak and the Cypress more to my taste.
The ma?tre d’ straightens when we approach. “Good evening, sir, madam. Welcome to Nightstar. Two for dinner?”
“Yes, please. My wife and I are celebrating our first anniversary.”
“Wonderful. In that case, I’ll bring the champagne.” A knowing gleam enters the man’s eye as he scoops up a set of menus and gestures for us to follow. “Right this way.”
Maeve stifles a laugh behind her palm while I rub my chest and try to recover from the unexpected impact of calling her my wife.
She whispers in my ear. “I thought we came to tour the place.”
“Touring the restaurant counts.” I let her go first as the ma?tre d’ leads us up a short flight of steps to a more intimate seating area in the quiet, luxurious dining room.
Once we’re alone with our menus and water, Maeve flicks her hair over her shoulder. “Mr. Jameson, are you trying to wine and dine me?”
I give her a genuine smile. “How else do you expect me to charm the dress off you?”
She swats my arm, playfully feigning offense.
Not that I’m joking. Sleeping with Maeve could scarcely be called a hardship. I find myself entranced by her charms more often than not.
If I’m not careful, I’ll forget why I’m here.
Better focus, Kellin.
With every drink, Maeve grows a little more carefree. Sip by sip, her lips loosen, providing me with my chance to sneak past her lowered defenses and question her about her father.
But instead, I lose myself in the ecstasy flashing across her face as she samples gourmet appetizers. I wonder if this is what life with someone like Maeve would be like.
I know this isn’t real. A fairy tale at best. But the experience mesmerizes me all the same.
Sitting side by side in an intimate booth. Laughing. Sharing soft touches and champagne. She feeds me bites of chocolate cake and brushes crumbs from my mouth with her fingers.
Her dark gaze lingers on my lips, like she’s tempted to eat me next.
The danger is how much I want that to happen.
At one point, her head rests on my right shoulder, and her left hand settles on my right quad. The simple, warm, showy gesture is meant to encourage the waitstaff to keep spoiling a couple celebrating a new anniversary.
But the tingling electricity that zips up my leg, to my groin, is very real.
I shift in the chair. We need to get out of here. If we don’t leave soon, I might reserve a room at this place and lead her upstairs within the hour. That can’t happen.
Not yet.
Not before I maximize this opportunity to pump her for information.
I squandered my first chances, too distracted by her pretty face and plump lips.
I won’t waste the next ones.
Once dinner’s over, I guide her out into the thumping heartbeat of Santa Monica. At least on the streets I won’t be as easily led astray, mission be damned.
Maeve sways as she walks, just a little. Happy from the champagne.
Without warning, she laces her fingers through mine. The Santa Monica pier opens up ahead of us.
She points with a grin, clearly tipsy. “Next stop!”
“The pier?”
“Better.”
I don’t know what she means until she drags me through the evening crowds and procures two tickets to ride the Ferris wheel.
“Let’s go!”
Though I know I should steer us back toward the hotels and shops, I’m a sucker for the twinkle in her eyes. The way her face lights up as she watches the wheel go around.
She reminds me of a little girl who never got to go to the fair, who’s living vicariously through her older self.
I should find it annoying, but she’s…cute. I can’t bring myself to steal the moment from her.
I can’t recall the last time my heart felt so light.
We progress through the line. A ride attendant ushers us into a bright yellow bucket in the shape of a hexagon.
The bucket swings from our weight as we venture inside. Not a big fan of that, but once we’re seated, the rocking slows. If Finn told me at the outset that the mission would involve a Ferris wheel, I would have laughed in his face.
Yet here I am.
Soon, we’re hoisted into the air above Santa Monica, the coastline glittering beneath us.
Maeve’s breath catches in her throat. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
The setting sun imbues her freckles with a soft glow.
I can’t take my eyes off her. “Beautiful.”
She sighs. “Right?”
Sure, the beach is pretty too.
“Question.” I nudge her shoulder. “Why Santa Monica?”
Her eyes meet mine, gleaming and a little wild. Bathed in golden light, she sparkles enough to rival any diamond. Out here, she’s freer, less constrained by responsibility, and that little hint of abandon stokes my desire for her even higher. “Hmm?”
“Why did you and your dad choose to operate a hotel in Santa Monica?”
She taps her ring finger against her bottom lip, and suddenly, all I can think about is kissing her again. “The beach is magic. That’s why.”
With effort, I focus on her reply. “How so?”
She beams. “I’ll show you.”
After we climb off, Maeve leads me to Santa Monica Beach, where we follow the boardwalk.
Cyclists and skateboarders out for a night cruise monopolize the bike lane. Families flock away from the beach, hauling off shrieking, sandy children.
I’m still waiting for the “magic” Maeve mentioned. So far, the Santa Monica Boardwalk resembles many East Coast shorelines, only busier.
More temperate, maybe, but a beach is a beach.
At the next opening, she veers onto the sand, pausing to remove her heels. We traverse the uneven mounds, closing the distance between us and the incoming tide. Meanwhile, sand seeps into my favorite shoes.
I’d take them off, but then sand would stick between my toes, which would feel even worse.
Not far from the water’s edge, I crack. “What part of this is magical?”
Maeve skips ahead of me. “Just wait!” She shoots me a grin over her shoulder and breaks into an all-out sprint toward the ocean.
I follow at a more sedate pace. When she hits the wet sand, she drops her shoes and runs for the waves like a mad woman.
My eyes widen.
No one else is swimming right now.
No lifeguard stations anywhere.
No lights.
And yet, this tipsy woman splashes into the water and dives under a wave like a world-class freestyle swimmer.
Fuck.
I pump my legs to catch up. “Maeve!”
Eerie seconds pass without her head bobbing to the surface. Ice courses through my veins. No, no, no—
Maeve explodes from the water and spins in a circle. “Magic!”
The relief crashing over me is short-lived.
Because she’s facing me, Maeve can’t see the huge wave rearing up behind her.
“Look out!”
Too late, she attempts to peer over her shoulder. The wall of water bowls her over, yanking her right off her feet. Once again, she disappears from my view. “Shit!”
I rip off my shoes and race into the water. I’m only ankle deep when she reemerges, gasping for breath.
She staggers toward me. I meet her halfway and guide her to the sand. She collapses on her back, giggling up at the inky night sky.
I brace my hands on my thighs, cursing and trying to slow my heart rate before I go into cardiac arrest.
What the hell was she thinking?
But the longer she laughs, the more my anger fades.
That sound is a balm on my soul.
I tower over her, blocking her view of the stars. “What are you laughing at, daredevil?”
“I told you the beach was magic.” She sighs, satisfied. “It makes you forget all your problems for a little while.” With a dreamy smile, she closes her eyes, relaxing into the sand.
The rest of my anger dissipates. How can I possibly stay mad when she’s this happy?
Besides, she’s right.
For those few minutes, my other worries disappeared.
Granted, that was because I thought she was about to drown, but I guess the details don’t matter.
I chuckle and help her to her feet. “You may be on to something.”
We scour the beach for our shoes and hike back toward the boardwalk.
By the time we return to the Cypress, Maeve is shivering.
Now that the levity of her beach stunt has worn off, I’m worried about her catching cold. We may be in California, but the late October evening is chilly.
She needs to go inside and warm up.
Our biggest problem now is how to manage that.
Maeve’s drunk, ice cold, and covered in dried salt and sand. As adorable as I find her in this state, I very much doubt she wants her staff to witness this.
She clutches my sleeve, fighting a giggle between shivers. “Let’s sneak in the back.”
“Good idea.” I mold my palm to the curve of her spine as she leads us to a darkened side of the building.
After Maeve swipes her key card, we enter the bowels of the hotel, unseen as we slip into a hallway somewhere beneath the lobby.
“Maeve?”
The voice stops us dead in our tracks.
Well, shit.
Guess Brody Gallagher also thought tonight was a good time to sneak in the back way.