‘I can’t.’
His jaw locked. But then her fingers moved, resting over the swell of it, lingering at where the muscles tensed, kneading them gently. Almost without realising it, he relaxed. Seconds later her hands lowered to his chest.
They were shaking.
‘It was never because you weren’t what I wanted,’ she said in a voice that did the same. ‘You silly man.’
He almost laughed. ‘What was I supposed to think?’
‘You were supposed to accept what I told you at face value.’
‘That you were too busy for a marriage?’
She lifted a shoulder. ‘You were,’ she admitted. ‘You were so busy trying to build your ideal life that you didn’t have time for your wife.’
‘Summer,’ he said, his voice hoarse.
She didn’t reply, and he lost his mind.
‘I thought... It doesn’t matter.’ He shook his head. ‘You were always going to leave. I just pushed you to do it sooner.’
Her eyes widened, before her face crumpled in emotion that broke his heart. Which made no sense. Her actions had broken his heart. Not her emotions. He stepped away from her when he couldn’t make sense of it. Away from the heat of her hands, which felt as if it had seeped into his chest, reviving parts of him he’d thought had died when she’d left.
‘You can’t really believe that,’ she said, folding her arms around herself. It made him angry, though heaven only knew why.
‘It’s the truth.’ His voice was hard; it was the only way he’d get through it. ‘Everyone leaves. My father left. Pulled away like you did before, too. Though thinking back now, I shouldn’t have been surprised.’ He took a breath. ‘And my mother...’
He trailed off when his throat tightened. Besides, talking about her would only serve to upset him more.
‘Those were the two people who were supposed to believe in me the most. And they gave up on me.’ His eyes met hers. ‘Maybe I could explain it by saying they didn’t get to choose who I was. Maybe they didn’t want me because they didn’t like me.’ He swallowed down the pain. ‘But you chose me. You chose me, Summer, and then you left. Just like they did. Even though I tried—’
Suddenly his face was clasped between her hands again and she was staring at him intently.
‘Don’t you dare say I didn’t believe in you, Wyatt Montgomery,’ she said sternly. ‘I did. I do.’
‘But you still left.’
‘So you wouldn’t go back to the life you had before.’
‘That wouldn’t have happened.’
‘It would have,’ she said, eyes bright. ‘If I’d stayed, I would have had to tell you...’ She swallowed. ‘It was the best thing for you, Wyatt. And it was because I believe in you.’ She held his gaze. ‘I would never give up on you.’
His heart felt as if it had been dipped into warm water after battle. He was stung, and bruised, and yet somehow still felt comforted.
‘Okay.’
‘Okay?’ she asked. He nodded. She dropped her hands. ‘This is so exhausting.’ She blinked. ‘Not you,’ she said. ‘Well, not entirely—’ She broke off. ‘I’m not making sense.’
‘No.’
She let out a little huff of air, and her lips parted. For some inexplicable reason his eyes dipped to her throat as she swallowed.
His gaze lifted to meet hers. ‘But that’s okay. For now.’
She nodded, and the air between them changed. A pang went through his body as if it had recognised a piece of itself that had gone missing.
She edged closer to him. ‘Really? Or are you just saying that?’
‘No,’ he said, and found it to be true. ‘It’s enough for now.’
‘Okay.’
They stood like that for the longest time, looking at one another, barely any space between them...
And seeing each other for what he thought was the very first time.
So when she moved even closer to him, standing on her toes, bringing her lips a breath away from his, he answered by dipping his head to hers.
CHAPTER TEN
SHE’D BRACED FOR the contact, so much so that when their lips touched, she felt nothing—heard nothing—except for her heart pounding. She wondered if she’d see it beating in her chest if she looked down. Or if she’d be able to see it beat outside her chest since it felt exposed.
Then everything faded except for the feel of his lips on hers.
They were soft, tentative, and so wonderfully real. She felt the contact in her heart and down to her toes and, for some cliched reason, right to her soul. His lips began to move against hers and something sparked. Lust, desire. Whatever it was, it had her body sighing in relief. With pleasure. She had begun to worry the only thing this kiss would result in were emotions.
Then she felt as if she’d been plunged into the coldest depths of the ocean beside them. Her skin shot out in gooseflesh—each cell of it hyper-alert, hyper-sensitive—so that when his hands rested on her waist, she felt it throughout her body.
She paid no attention to the crashing of the waves next to them, or to the breeze that somehow both smelled and tasted like the ocean. She didn’t think of the sun beating down on them, or how her toes were sinking into the sand.
No, there were only his lips on hers; his hands now roaming her skin; and the warmth of his tongue sliding against her own.
It felt as if she were a tourist in a different country, homesick and finally seeing someone from back home. It felt as if she’d been alone for years and were finally being reunited with her closest friends. And yet despite that, there was uncertainty. Caution. She didn’t know whether it came from him or from her; either way, she was sure it came from curiosity.
Curiosity about whether anything had changed since they’d last kissed. About whether the emotions—the deep and raw feelings they’d shared with one another—would have any effect on the mating of their mouths.
When he moved closer, her body sighed yes and moulded itself to his. The uncertainty, caution, curiosity faded.
Her hands slid up, over his chest, and back down again, savouring the feel of his muscles beneath her fingers. When she’d seen him in that white shirt, she’d thought him handsome. It had hit her in the stomach, really, and she’d vaguely wondered what he’d have done if she’d gone into his arms before she could stop herself. Then she’d been distracted and she hadn’t had to actively stop herself from being tempted by that face. By that body.
But she wasn’t distracted any more.
She opened the buttons of his shirt at the middle of his torso, moaning when it gave her access to his skin. The moan came again when he deepened the kiss, and she was lost in the sensation of their tongues tangling and the pleasure and heat it had tumbling down her body.
They stayed like that for what felt like for ever. Kissing. Exploring. And though she knew her legs weren’t working any more and that he was holding her up, she still kissed; she still explored.
Finally, they broke apart. And they stood there.
Breathing.
Standing.
Until finally he said, ‘Are you okay?’
Her heart, which up until that point had still been thumping in her chest, melted. His own emotions were likely up in the air about the kiss, but he was still asking whether she was okay.
That was the thing about Wyatt. He never did put himself first. He’d put his mother before himself when he’d been growing up. After his rebellious years at university, he’d put her father and the Bishop business first. For a brief—and, yes, wonderful—time, he’d put her first. Then, the idea. The illusion.
He was hurting himself by doing it. By putting himself second. His mother; her father; herself; the idea... They were all unreliable. They weren’t worth prioritising. Not even her.
Wyatt had already found that out with his mother. With he
r. If Summer told him about her father, Wyatt would realise it about Trevor, too. And the idea would unravel naturally, as he seemed to have linked it to her father...
Still, even after all they’d shared before that kiss, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him the truth. Even after she’d repeated her mother’s words to him about running, she was still running. From this. From hurting him.
Even if it meant hurting herself in the process.
She stepped back. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asked, his voice not giving away any of the emotion he must have been feeling.
‘Perfect.’ She cleared her throat when the word came out strangled. ‘I’m just... I’m thinking about tonight. About the dance. The disco. Whatever.’
Oh, no, she was rambling. That never ended well.
But she was still talking.
‘I don’t particularly want to go. Not because of this,’ she added quickly, ‘but I... My parents... It’s complicated.’
There was a long pause.
‘So don’t go.’
‘Do you know who my mother is? She will find me and drag me to that disco.’
‘What if I cover for you?’ He stuffed his hands into his pockets.
‘You—you’d do that for me?’
He lifted his shoulders.
‘You don’t have to, Wyatt.’
‘I know.’ His eyes met hers, which made her realise that he’d been avoiding looking at her since they’d stopped kissing. ‘I want to.’
‘You want to cover for me? Or you don’t want me to go?’
She winced at the accusation in her tone.
‘What do you want, Summer?’ he asked, though the question was heavy and didn’t at all feel as if he was asking about the dance. ‘Do you want me to cover for you, or do you want to go?’
She studied him. And realised what he wanted her to say.
‘Cover for me. Please. Thank you.’
She turned on her heel and left.
* * *
He’d offered to cover for Summer for his own selfish reasons. He knew it; she knew it. And she’d chosen to let him cover for her because of it.
It had taken him less than a minute to realise that after she left. It had taken more time to realise he had to come up with a reason why Summer wasn’t at her parents’ dance. And that he’d have to spend the dance mingling when that was the last thing he felt like doing.
But he couldn’t bail, too, regardless of how tempting the prospect was. He made his way down to the private beach that would be used for the dance. It was on the opposite side of the lodge to where his cabin was, and would be the venue for the vow renewal ceremony, too.
He shouldn’t have been surprised when he walked into the large room, then. When he looked through glass doors out onto a patio that opened to the most idyllic stretch of beach he’d ever seen.
The patio and beach had been decorated for the evening’s event. Colourful lights had been draped around pillars; both those supporting the patio, as well as the makeshift ones in the sand forming a dance floor. A bar stood to one side of the dance floor, lined with coconuts he assumed held alcohol. Considering the number of people on the dance floor who were swaying, holding their coconuts tightly, he was confident in that assumption.
The beach section was uncovered and open under the moonlight, which somehow made it romantic. He hadn’t expected that. Or perhaps he was projecting how he’d felt the night before. When he and Summer had stood under the moonlight on that bridge, the sound of the ocean—
He stopped his thoughts in their tracks. He had to stop thinking about her like this. It was a mistake to indulge in fantasies about her. It had been a mistake to kiss her and discover that those fantasies had a foundation. Because she still wasn’t telling him the whole truth.
Though what she had told him hadn’t painted him in the best light. He’d made her feel as if she weren’t what he wanted! He could still feel the shock vibrating through his body at hearing those words. But he understood them. Could see how the time he’d spent at work had led her to believe that work was more important.
What she didn’t see was that he’d been working for her. Or he thought he had been. He’d wanted to give her the life he knew she deserved. If he couldn’t be what she wanted, maybe he could give her what she wanted. What a stupid thought, he realised now. And he could have realised it earlier if he’d spent more time at home. If he’d paid more attention to his wife.
He’d been in his own head about how he thought she would respond to what he’d told her about his parents... He’d let it obscure how she really felt: that no matter what she did, she wouldn’t be able to give him the life he wanted.
But it wasn’t the life he wanted. It was the life she wanted...
Unless it wasn’t?
‘Wyatt?’
He turned, saw Lynette. Relief flooded through him when he realised he wouldn’t have to think about it any more.
‘What do you think?’
‘Looks good. People are already enjoying it,’ he said, nodding towards the dance floor.
Lynette smiled, though there was a tightness on her face that dimmed it. ‘I think that has more to do with the alcohol that hasn’t stopped flowing since yesterday.’ She gestured to the bar. ‘Can I get you something? We have many mocktails available. Or would you prefer something else?’
Wyatt smiled uneasily, wondering how she’d known about his non-alcoholic preferences. Had Summer told her?
‘I don’t have anything against mocktails.’
‘Good,’ Lynette said. ‘I made a special request after lunch today. Which, according to my understanding, was quite interesting?’
His smile was more genuine this time. From relief, and that Summer’s prediction that her mother would know about lunch had come true.
‘Things always tend to be interesting with Summer around.’
Lynette tilted her head.
‘Yes,’ she eventually replied, quite slowly, ‘our Summer does tend to make things more interesting.’ She paused. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen her this evening. Have you?’
‘I—No.’ He cleared his throat, trying to remember what he’d come up with as an excuse for Summer not being around. ‘She actually wasn’t feeling well after our walk on the beach—’
‘You two walked on the beach?’
Feeling heat push up his neck, Wyatt nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am. We...had a talk.’
‘People don’t tend to have talks with their exes, you know,’ she noted softly, her eyes both curious and...strained.
‘I—’
‘Nor do they sit next to one another on boat cruises. Or at lunches. Or ask favours.’
‘Oh, leave him alone, Mother,’ someone said from his side.
It took a moment for his brain to reset after it had scrambled with mortification. When he looked down and saw Summer, his mouth opened, just a little.
Summer looked amused. ‘You’ve broken him,’ she told her mother. ‘Which means you likely gave him a much harder time than what I overheard.’
‘Oh, there’s been no hard time at all.’ Lynette waved a hand. ‘Has there, Wyatt?’
He shook his head, not trusting his voice.
‘Anyway,’ Lynette continued, ‘how are you feeling?’
Summer frowned. ‘Fine?’
‘I...er...told your mother you weren’t feeling great after the beach walk,’ he jumped in, not wanting her to get caught in the web of lies.
Summer raised a brow at him, then looked to her mother. Her expression immediately changed. It took Wyatt a second to realise it was because Lynette’s expression had, too. It had gone from easy, teasing to...strained, he thought again. Concerned even.
‘I was tired,’ Summer said, softly. ‘But I had a nap. I’m feeling refreshed.’
If it hadn’t been for her expression, he might have believed her. She was wearing a red dress that looked as if it had been made with summer nights in mind. It had cap sleeves that exposed the elegant curve of her clavicle and shoulders. Its neckline offered the slightest—though no less enticing—view of her cleavage; and it stopped mid-thigh, showing off shapely limbs that made him remember what it had felt like to have them wrapped around his waist.
Besides all of that, she was there, instead of in her cabin. She was with him, instead of far, far away.
Despite what he’d thought on the beach, he was glad for it.
‘Well, darling,’ Lynette said, her lips curving though Wyatt wouldn’t call it a smile. ‘I’m glad you could make it.’
‘Is everything okay, Mom?’ Summer asked, her own lips curving, mirroring her mother’s not quite smile.
‘Everything’s fine.’
Lynette pulled Summer into a hug, pressed a kiss into her hair before patting Wyatt’s shoulder as she walked away.
‘For the second time today, I’m going to ask—what just happened?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she said, her expression pensive. ‘I think...’ She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She smiled at him. ‘What matters is that my mother just teased you.’
He winced. Lifted a hand to the back of his neck. ‘I’m aware.’
‘It’s not a bad thing, Wyatt,’ Summer said, her smile growing genuine. ‘It means she sees you as family.’
He opened his mouth.
It stayed open.
Summer laughed. ‘Almost a decade of creeping into her heart and you’re still surprised?’
‘I’m not family.’
‘Not legally,’ she agreed. ‘Not any more. But you were invited to this weekend. And she’s teasing you. Clearly she’s realised there’s no point in denying your relationship with the family is more personal than professional.’
‘I’m not—it’s still professional.’
She patted his shoulder, much as her mother had.
‘If that makes you feel better. But my father wouldn’t be grooming a man he didn’t think of as family to take over the family business.’ There was barely a beat before she said, ‘Drink?’
Second Chance with Her Billionaire Page 11
