Chapter 10
I wake up to a hand on my rib cage and the full length of Jacob’s body plastered along my back.
I’m not startled or confused. I think both of us knew there was a good chance this would happen, that we might gravitate toward each other in the night.
Especially in this uneven pull-out bed. But I meant what I said.
We can be adults about this. He’s not doing this because he wants me.
I’m just a warm body next to his, and he’s only hard because it’s morning and it has nothing to do with—
“Neelu.” A puff of air travels over my ear, and I go still. Is he still asleep? Does he know what he’s doing?
The hand at my rib cage tightens, then pulls away. When I turn to face him, he’s awake, his pupils blown wide, his features tense.
My lungs constrict, because I recognize this look. It’s the way he was in the bar, when he was suppressing his want. In my hotel room, when he tried not to rush, when he tried to hold himself back.
There’s a faint shadow at his jaw, and his glasses are off, his gaze a bit unfocused. But there’s something needy, almost hungry about the way he looks at my mouth.
I’m not sure which of us reaches for the other first, but it’s a rushed, hurried sort of collision.
“Jacob,” I exhale against his lips, and then it’s familiar. The shape of his mouth. The taste of him, the way his hips slot against mine.
“This is—” he says, breathless, incoherent.
I nod, reaching for the back of his head, pulling his mouth back to mine. “I know,” I say, though I don’t know what either of us really means. His hand climbs up my torso, his palm closing around my breast, and I reach for the clasp at my back, wanting my bra off.
He takes hold of my wrist, stopping me. “I’ve got it,” he says, and after a moment he manages it, one-handed, and pulls the material away.
He stares for a long moment, and with the way he looks at me, all eager and desperate, it’s like the last couple days haven’t happened. Like we’ve rewound time, and it’s just the two of us in a hotel room, secluded from the rest of the world.
“You feel so good,” he says, the words a whisper, and I drag him down to me, relishing the pressure, the feel of him. His skin is soft, the hair at his chest rough. His mouth slick and tender.
“You too,” I say, and his hips rock against me, pulling a gasp from my lungs.
There’s a little voice in the back of my mind. You don’t like each other, it says, but I push it away. We don’t have to like each other to like this.
I lift a leg, wrapping it around him, the pressure exactly what I want. What I need. I arch up into him, meeting his movements, and—
Squeak.
The sharp noise cuts through the air, but we ignore it, still clutching at each other, still moving against each other, chasing a rhythm we’ve both been missing—
It takes a while for my brain to make sense of it. The mattress, the old creaky springs. Jacob, wearing nothing but his boxers. On top of me.
My father sleeping in the other room.
Oh god.
It seems to register for Jacob a second later, his glazed-over expression fading, horror taking its place.
My head swings to the double doors leading to the bedroom, relieved to see them still closed, and Jacob scrambles off me, the bed emitting a few more creaks as he comes to his feet.
His hair is wild, dark waves sticking out in different directions.
He pats his palm along the side table, finding his glasses and slipping them on in a quick, fluid motion.
He gapes at me, then turns around, and I reach for my bra on the floor. I fix it back in place, then grab my dress, yanking up my zipper, contorting my body so I can get it up as high as I can go.
“We can’t—that wasn’t a good idea,” he says, reaching for his shirt, buttoning it up his front.
“Yeah,” I say. “I know.” I wave my hand toward the bedroom door, and Jacob’s eyes follow.
“No. That’s not what I—”
There’s a sharp knock and both of us nearly jump out of our skin. But it’s not coming from the bedroom. It’s the front door.
I open it to find a young man in the hallway, holding a silver dome-covered tray.
“Breakfast?” he says, in a tone that’s entirely too cheery for this time of the day.
“We didn’t order any,” Jacob says over my shoulder.
“It’s part of the package, sir.” The man smiles wide. “Congratulations,” he tells us. “You two make a lovely couple.”
“We’re not—” I shake my head. “Are you sure you have the right room?”
“He does.” Jacob steps forward, taking the tray from the man’s hands. “Thanks,” he says, shutting the door with his foot. Then he turns and places the tray on the desk.
I’m about to ask what that was about, but when Jacob takes off the silver covering, I have my answer.
The tray holds a carafe of orange juice, two small bottles of champagne, and two plates. And everything on them is heart-shaped. Heart-shaped pancakes, and heart-shaped sausages, and heart-shaped fried eggs—I’m not even sure how they cooked those that way.
“Oh,” I say.
I forgot. This is the honeymoon suite.
Jacob stares, absolutely dismayed, then casts a worried glance across the room. The doors to my father’s bedroom are still closed, which is a relief, but I know what Jacob’s thinking. We have to get rid of this before my father sees it.
The scent of something cinnamony floats over to me, and my stomach rumbles.
I reach for a rolled-up white napkin and grab one of the plates.
“You’re going to eat this?” Jacob seems appalled at the thought, looking at the food as if it’s cursed.
“Yes. I mean, we need this to disappear, don’t we?”
“I thought I’d just stick it back out in the hall.”
“And waste it?”
His brows scrunch together, conflict written across the lines of his face. And then he reaches for the other plate, taking the chair across from me.
I cut into a pancake and lift a piece to my mouth, savoring the apple-and-cinnamon flavor.
We eat in silence for a while, and Jacob refuses to meet my eyes.
“What were you going to say?” I ask him. “Before the food came.”
He coughs. Hard. “What?”
I roll my eyes. “Let me guess, you don’t want to talk about that”—I look pointedly at the sofa bed—“either? Because I think we should just get it all out in the open. Clear the air.”
He reaches for a glass of orange juice and takes a long swallow. “I don’t see why we need to. We’re clearly on the same page.”
“And that page is…”
“That this was a mistake. That we shouldn’t do this again.”
I lean back in my chair. He hadn’t seemed reluctant at all this morning. Unless…
“Did you mean what you said? The morning after we slept together? That you couldn’t do this again because I was leaving—”
His eyes flash. “Yes,” he says, his voice hard. “I wouldn’t lie about—I wasn’t lying about that.”
“Okay.” I take another bite of my pancake. “Then I don’t see what the problem is. If that’s the reason you were staying away, it clearly doesn’t apply now. You can’t stand me.”
His jaw goes slack. “I don’t—it’s not that I can’t stand you.”
“Okay, but you don’t like me. Which is fine, by the way. Perhaps even better.”
“And why is that?”
“Because my leaving is probably a check in the pro column for you now. We can just keep this simple. Just physical. It doesn’t have to mean a thing.”
His head moves back, the smallest amount, and for a second I swear he almost looks…
wounded. Which only confuses me more. I’ve just offered him no-strings-attached, fun, meaningless sex.
He was down for a one-night stand before.
He declined the offer for a repeat because he was worried about feelings, but that’s not an obstacle any longer. I thought he’d be into this.
“Unless that’s not what you—”
The water in the bathroom turns on, and I look over my shoulder. The door to my father’s bedroom is closed. Still, he must be awake.
“We should talk about this later,” Jacob says in a hushed tone, and I don’t disagree.
I scarf down the rest of my breakfast and quickly place the tray in the hall.
—
When I see my father and Jacob wearing their half-rumpled wedding outfits from yesterday, I decide on our first stop of the day.
“We need to buy some clothes,” I say. I can feel the fuzzy texture of my unbrushed teeth, and it makes me want to cringe. “And toiletries.”
Jacob frowns.
“You’re not going back today?” my dad asks, a crease forming between his brows.
I shake my head. “Nope. Postponed my flight to tomorrow night.”
My father looks surprised, and Jacob simply stares at me, but I don’t allow any further questions about it. I don’t know how I’d answer them when I’m not 100 percent sure what I’m doing myself.
I don’t technically need to be here. I could head back to Aberdeen and make my original flight. My father and Jacob would be fine. They could manage a bus or a train to Skye. It’s only three to four hours away. But the idea of leaving right now doesn’t feel right.
It’s just a one-day delay. It’ll give me enough time find Maggie and make sure she’s okay. Then I can go back home with a clear conscience, without any lingering sense of guilt.
We check out of the hotel and find a corner shop, where we load up on deodorant and toothpaste. On the way, we pass a number of touristy shops. Their window displays feature stuffed animals of Nessie and T-shirts that say I survived the Loch Ness Monster.
“Are we near Loch Ness?” I ask.
My dad nods. “River Ness runs through the city.”
“It’s not a loch?”
“The loch shares the same name,” Jacob says, his voice a tad professorial. “The two of them connect.” He pauses. “That’s what ‘inver’ means, actually, in Scottish Gaelic. ‘The place where the river meets the sea.’ It’s where the name Inverness comes from.”
It takes us a while to find a department store where are all three of us will be able to find clothes. Once inside, we part ways, Jacob and my father heading to the men’s section while I go to the women’s.
I take my time, grabbing pairs of jeans, shirts, and some underwear. I don’t know my exact size in the UK, so I take a few options into the fitting room, only to face the same issue I had last night.
My zipper is stuck.