Chapter 8
CHLOE
I feel the heat of Kade’s hand on the small of my back like a blowtorch.
It’s both delicious and excruciating all at once.
It’s been like this throughout the ceremony.
We were in the front row, seated next to my parents, so he kept his hand on my bare knee the entire time, despite my mom side-eyeing him and tutting every so often.
It’s the intimacy and his refusing to stop despite my mom’s clear disapproval that has driven me wild.
I’m so turned on by him that my panties are probably ruined.
Of course, Kade has been the perfect gentleman.
At least that’s what I thought until we were being brought up to the main house.
The look I saw as I climbed into the buggy said that he couldn’t wait to devour me, and I nearly begged him to, even if it meant leaving my sister’s wedding reception.
After all, nobody would notice if we snuck off; it’s not like we’re in the wedding party.
What is wrong with me? I’m not the type of person who sleeps with strangers. I don’t do one-night stands, and yet I’m seriously considering it with Kade. Hell, I’ll probably never see him again after today anyway.
Music plays in the distance, spilling through the open doors up ahead. It’s something classical and a song I’m sure my sister and her now-husband had no say in. This has my mom written all over it.
I pick up my pace as I cross the foyer, my eyes locked on the poster board with the table assignments. Anything to have a little reprieve from Kade’s touch, just a little breathing room so I don’t make a fool out of myself in front of a man who’s only being kind. That’s all he’s doing.
Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.
Kade’s large hand, one that I’m becoming all too familiar with, snakes around my waist, coming to rest just under my breast and halting my movement.
Anyone watching would probably think this is the most natural thing in the world for us.
But they don’t feel the tension I’m trying to keep out of my body.
He bends, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. “You okay there, buttercup?”
Oh God, please stop with this torment.
The heat in my chest travels up the expanse of my neck and into my cheeks. It would be so easy to just lean back and beg him for something more. “Yup, never been better,” I rush, resting my hands on his forearm and barely resisting the urge to push it away.
“Then where are you running off to?”
Away from you.
I just need a second to breathe, to figure out if this thing I feel for him is because of his proximity or something real.
Blinking through the fog of my arousal, I keep my gaze locked on the board up ahead, where a small crowd has formed. It’s my lifeline, and I can’t look away, or I might do something stupid. “I was going to check where our table is and then grab a drink.”
God, I hope he can’t see how badly I’m struggling to keep my shit together.
“Why don’t you go and find our table, and I’ll get you one.”
Yes. I want to shout it with relief, but I bite my tongue and incline my head instead, waiting for him to remove his arm.
“I’m going to kiss you, Chlo.” His voice is quiet enough for just me to hear, like he needs to warn me because he doesn’t know how I’ll react.
He’s still holding me like I belong to him.
I don’t dare breathe, let alone move or ask him what he means.
Although there aren’t many ways to interpret what he’s said.
It’s pretty straightforward, but didn’t we agree to some rules?
No. I got sidetracked by Aunt Liz, and then the ceremony started, and now I’m turned on beyond belief, and he’s about to kiss me.
Surely I can’t be held responsible for whatever comes out of my mouth once he does.
When I don’t say a word, Kade dusts his lips over the exposed skin on my shoulder, and I shudder, the softness of his kiss almost taking my knees out from under me.
Everything else falls away, blanketing us in a calm quiet, like we’re standing in the eye of a storm we’ve created.
It would be so easy to turn in his arms and press my lips to his. To take more.
It’s not real. It can’t be. We barely know each other. But God, does it feel real. The most real thing I’ve ever had, even compared to Paul, who I was with for two years. This thing with Kade, the instant connection, is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
Someone walks past us, their smile telling me that our ruse is working—they think we’re together. I almost want to turn and tell them that it’s not real, just so someone knows the truth, because clearly my mind is not getting the message.
Far too suddenly, Kade straightens, releasing me, before he strides past me without another word and into the main room.
What just happened? I stand still, frozen in time, as the room comes back into play around me, and he walks away completely unaffected.
Somehow, he manages to play the part of the devoted boyfriend perfectly, not missing a beat, while I’m over here flustered and panicked.
It’s all pretend, I remind myself.
In a daze, I walk to the board that I was so desperate to reach moments ago. It takes me a second to focus on the plan of small tables laid out in front of me, my attention drifting more than once to where Kade is leaning against the bar, waiting to be served.
Come on, Chloe. If he can act like that was nothing, then so can you.
Mentally shaking myself, I focus on the board, searching for my name.
Chloe Lawson and her plus-one. Table three.
Despite having been together for years, my family didn’t know the name of my ex.
This wedding was supposed to be Paul’s big introduction to my dysfunctional family, and yet I still didn’t tell them his name when I RSVP’d.
Maybe I was foreshadowing us breaking up.
Or I wanted to keep the judgment I knew was coming my way at bay a little longer.
They know very little about my life in Seattle, and yet I’ve still been living it for them and not for myself. After two decades of being told how much of a disappointment I am, I’m not na?ve enough to think I’ll fix myself in seven years. It’s going to take years of therapy for that.
My gaze shifts to Kade. Guilt settles on my chest as I watch him. I shouldn’t have dragged him into this. When he turned up at my cabin, I should have sent him away, not clung on to his kindness like he was a life raft in a stormy ocean.
“Chloe, dear. How about dinner on Friday before your father and I leave?” My mom’s voice cuts through the bubble I’d built around me, replacing it with cold air.
I close my eyes briefly before opening them and turning toward her. “Sure, sounds good.”
She looks over my shoulder, a hint of disgust filling her features as she curls her top lip. It’s a familiar sight and usually reserved for my failures. I’m not entirely sure she’s aware she’s doing it.
I bite my tongue, fighting the urge to tell her to stop, but it would only lead to an argument, and if I’ve learned anything in my twenty-seven years of being her daughter, it’s that Marie Lawson will make a scene, regardless of where we are. And Rachel doesn’t deserve that.
“Don’t bring the cowboy, dear.”
A muscle ticks in my jaw, and I bite my tongue so hard that a metallic taste fills my mouth. “Of course.” You couldn’t pay me enough money to subject Kade to a sit-down dinner with my parents. Hell, I barely want to go, because I know that it will only see all my hard work unravel.
Satisfied with my response, my mom dips her chin before waltzing past me.
I inhale a deep breath before slowly blowing it out in an effort to relax.
I’ll probably spend the entire night trying to analyze why she wants to go to dinner, but more importantly why I agreed to go.
I could blow them off, but my mother is nothing if not persistent and I wouldn’t put it past her to escort me from my cabin to the restaurant.
Just a few more hours and I can leave.
I head in the direction of the table Kade and I have been assigned, smiling at people that I vaguely recognize as I cross the room.
The entire time I’m thinking over how different my night would have been if the man I was supposed to come here with hadn’t done what he did.
I certainly wouldn’t be as turned on as I am, which is funny given he was my boyfriend of two years.
But more than that, I think my parents would have loved Paul because he was exactly what they wanted for me: career-driven and looking like he’d just waltzed out of an Ivy League school.
There’s nobody at the table when I arrive, which I’m thankful for.
It gives me a moment to gather my thoughts and rid myself of the ones that sound like my mom.
I watch Kade as the bartender hands him our drinks.
He looks at ease and commanding, even though he’s standing in a room full of people he doesn’t know.
With a drink in each hand, he weaves his way across the room, his gaze locked on me. With every step he takes, I feel a needy and thrilling sensation flood my body, sending goosebumps over my bare skin.
He’s not yours. Not really.
But God, I want him to be, which is crazy because I barely know him and whatever might happen between us will end in ten days regardless of how I feel. I’ve never felt a connection like this before. It’s as if I knew him in another lifetime and our souls are rejoicing at being reunited.
He comes to a stop, setting the two glasses down on the white tablecloth before sliding into his seat. “I didn’t know what you wanted, but I remembered you drank whiskey, so I got that and champagne. Take your pick, because I can have either.”
Reaching for the champagne, I hold it up as he picks up the whiskey and clinks it against mine.
“You know, you’re supposed to keep eye contact.”
As I take a sip, I wrap an arm around my body and reply, “Yeah?”
Kade nods, his focus moving around the room. “Yeah, if you don’t, it’s seven years of bad sex.”
I choke on the sip of my drink I’d just taken, champagne spluttering everywhere. Reaching for my napkin, I dab at my chin as Kade pats me on the back and takes my glass, placing it on the table. “Seven years, huh?”
“Yup. I don’t make the rules.” He shrugs.
A laugh bubbles free from my lips, some of the tension easing out of my body.
Today has been a lot, what with my parents being my parents and the sexual tension between me and Kade that I can’t be certain isn’t all in my head.
But it’s as if he could sense I need to relax and has taken it upon himself to make sure I do.
That’s probably why, a few hours later and a couple of glasses of champagne down, I find myself saying yes when he asks me to dance.