by C. M. Albert
“Cold, princess?”
I turned, wishing it were anyone other than Carter. I hated to admit it, but it was torture seeing him again after all these years. The man had aged ridiculously well, making it even worse. He’d been fit at seventeen with washboard abs from surfing and hours of hard labor. But now? He’d not only gotten taller, but he’d filled out. His arms were much larger than I remembered. His shoulders too.
“No,” I lied, gratefully accepting the tall flute of champagne he handed me. “Just enjoying the view.” I looked up at the night sky, and a few stars winked back at me. “So, you actually came. I wasn’t sure you were going to show up.”
“Now why would I miss something as big as this?” he asked. “Besides, I couldn’t pass up a chance to see Dex marry his first couple. Now that was something!”
I grinned. That was a sweet thing of Dex to do for Lauren and Richard. Even though he was important and busy with Montague Enterprises, he was never too busy for a friend. It was inspiring, really. Bianca was a lucky woman.
“You think he’ll ever do it again?”
“Never say never,” Carter said and shrugged. “Maybe he can do your wedding next.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” I said, laughing.
He cocked his head and examined my face, his dark eyes drinking me in. I felt so uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his gaze. No—not uncomfortable. Vulnerable.
“So, what? You’re telling me little Miss Moneybags doesn’t have a boyfriend, then?”
God! I hated when he called me that. “I’m too busy for a relationship right now, Carter,” I snapped. “My career keeps me busy.”
“Which is what?”
“I write for the Finance Times.”
“Isn’t that cute,” he said. “You’re a journalist.”
“I’ll have you know I graduated at the top of my class with a double major in finance and international business.” I don’t know why I felt the need to justify myself. Well, yes, I did. It was Carter. And I’d spent many years trying to impress him and get him to notice me. Old habits die hard, I guess.
“What about you?” I tossed back. “What did Mister Stand-In do before he was arm candy?”
Carter smirked, and I wanted to wipe that damn smug look off his face. “Does it matter what I did before?” he asked. “I’m here now.”
“So, who was it tonight?” I asked, looking around. “Which one of these lucky ladies gets an evening with the much-desired Carter Wright?”
“That would be you, princess.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Carter
PAYCHECK OR NOT, the look on Presley’s face was worth it. She sputtered prettily, then narrowed her eyes at me.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Wright. I don’t need a stand-in for anything,” she said suggestively.
“That’s not what she said.”
I thought Presley might actually slap me. If I were being completely honest, it kind of turned me on. I chuckled as she opened and closed her mouth, debating on how to retaliate. But the “she” in question joined Presley at her side, wrapping an arm around her waist.
“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you,” Lauren said. “We’re about to line up to enter the dining hall for dinner. Come,” she said, reaching out for my hand and pulling the two of us along with her.
“Wait,” Presley said, stopping in her tracks. “Why is he coming with us?”
“Because, he’s sitting with you at the head table, darling.”
Presley’s eyes darted between mine and Lauren’s and the tick in her jaw was absolutely adorable. “And why would Carter be sitting with the wedding party?”
“Because I invited him. PJ had to head home. He and his family have a long flight back to Amsterdam.”
“Who the hell is PJ?”
“Seriously, Presley. Do you read any of the emails I send you? All of this was outlined by Mattie in the bridal party memo I forwarded weeks ago. We were lucky he could make it at all, but the finance meeting made that possible. Now, with him heading home this evening, it leaves us with a dreadful hole in the table seating arrangement. And Carter was gracious enough to fill in as your date so the tables wouldn’t look all lopsided in pictures,” she said, wrinkling her nose as if that offense were too distasteful to bear.
“So, let me get this straight. You hired me a date, so you wouldn’t feel embarrassed about what others think if I happen to be sitting without a partner by my side? Does my singleness offend you that much, Lauren? And why didn’t I get a say in any of this? If I knew I needed to bring a date, I would have!”
“Presley, this is very unbecoming of you. It’s Carter we’re talking about, not some random stranger. You two practically grew up together.”
Presley threw up her hands, her exasperation bubbling over and getting the best of her.
“And for the record, Carter offered to do this for free, as a wedding gift.”
“Oh, well wasn’t that charitable of him,” she said, glaring at me. “Couldn’t you have just bought her a crystal vase like a normal person?”
I laughed hard. “Come on, Presley. I’m not that bad to walk in with, am I? Aren’t you the one who called me ‘arm candy?’”
I swear I heard her snarl under her breath.
“Fine,” she said, “but I am not dancing with you. This is not a date. This is us sitting and eating side by side. Understood?”
Lauren glanced between us, a satisfied smile on her face. “There. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? Chin up when we walk in. Act like you like each other. And smile, for heaven’s sake, Presley. Pictures last forever.”
We lined up with the rest of the wedding party in pairs of two, and our names were announced as we entered the dining hall. All other guests had already been seated at their assigned tables. The room was awash with a warm, golden tone from the candlelight, and a mixture of white and saturated purple flowers spilled from tabletops, fireplaces, and large floor urns. The dance floor’s smooth, dark surface beckoned me, and I knew, without a doubt, that I was getting a dance in with little Miss Moneybags before the night was through.
I offered her my arm, and for a minute, I didn’t think she’d take it. Then she glanced up, saw Lauren, and sighed as she slid her hand around my arm. It was the first time we’d touched as adults, outside of me pulling her ponytail. I think she was as surprised as I was by the feel of her fingers on my arm. Even through my dress shirt and jacket, I could feel her energy. Her fingers felt right the way they fit around my arm. I pulled her a little tighter to my side, curious how more would feel.
I nearly groaned at her closeness. How was bratty, little Presley Kincaid stirring up these kinds of feelings? She smelled like champagne bubbles and springtime, her scent far lighter and more favorable than Lauren’s.
“Come on, Mister Stand-In. We’re up,” she muttered.
We stepped into the room to the sound of the DJ’s deep, melodic voice saying, “Mister Carter Wright and Miss Presley Kincaid.”
That’s when the photographer stepped in front of us for a quick picture of us walking in. I didn’t have time to think. In fact, I didn’t think at all.
I spun Presley around, wrapped my arm under her, and dipped her back as my lips found hers. The entire room broke out in applause as I kissed that sassy mouth of hers. I knew I’d pay for it later, but when she relaxed against me, and her lips parted, I knew it would be worth the cost.
And I had no doubt she’d make me pay.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Presley
“WHAT IN THE hell was that?” I fumed to Willa later. We’d found a small area within the garden that had a bench, a fountain, and best of all—privacy.
“It was hot, that’s what it was!” Willa said, laughing. She took a puff of a small cigar someone had handed us. She offered it to me, and I wrinkle
d my nose. “Guess he’s more take-chargey than you thought.”
“That wasn’t being in charge, Willa. That was arrogance again! He knew I was stewing, and he took that opportunity when I couldn’t very well make a scene to catch me off guard. But what’s his end game? I don’t get it.”
“Maybe his end game is you,” Willa said simply, blowing cherry-scented smoke into the air.
“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be smoking in here,” I said.
“Presley, loosen up. This is a Kincaid/Brash wedding. There’s not a person in the Excelsior who will say no to anything we want to do tonight. I bet we could strip butt naked and dance a conga line down the hallways and they’d ask if there was anything else we needed.”
I chuckled. She was right.
“Sooo?” she said, letting the OOOs do the talking.
I knew damn well what she was asking, but there was no way I’d admit what that simple kiss did to me. Grown-ass women with master’s degrees and financial minds didn’t get weak in the knees, or feel “butterflies,” or actually swoon—ack!—when a man kissed them. I hadn’t in twenty-five years. And I certainly wasn’t going to let one tiny, delicious, tantalizing kiss ruin my track record.
“It was okay,” I lied, shrugging. “It happened so fast I hardly had time to experience it. Maybe I should call him Mister Slip-In instead, since he just slipped right by me and stole that damn kiss.”
I huffed, not realizing what was so funny until I looked over at Willa. She was clutching her sides and laughing hysterically. “What?”
“Mister Slip-In? Really, Presley? Mister Slip-In?” Willa wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “That sounds X-rated, if you ask me.”
“What? No—that’s not what I meant. Eww . . .”
“Mmm-hmm,” she said, pursing her full, purple lips together. She snuffed out the cigar in a discrete bin near the bench and looked me dead in the eye. “I know when you’re lying, Presley. You forget how long we’ve been friends. All I know is that man gave you one little peck and your mind is already in the gutter. I see where this is headed. I think you need to scratch this itch, girl. You know—get him out of your system.”
“Oh, my god! Willa! This is not headed anywhere. It was a peck. Not even worth all those childhood fantasies.”
“Liar,” she said as we headed back to the reception. A waiter walked by, and she gracefully lifted two champagne flutes from the tray and handed me one. “To many more nights of X-rated shenanigans with Mister Slip-In.”
“Willa!” I hissed. But I couldn’t help but laugh. I lifted the glass to my lips and swallowed, knowing I really needed to get back to the party. They would be cutting the cake soon, and if I missed that, I’d never hear the end of it from Lauren.
“Excuse me, ladies,” I heard from behind us. I turned and found Carter leaning against a wall, his eyes glued to mine. “Mind if I steal your friend for a bit?”
“No—”
“Absolutely! I was just going to find my dance partner anyway,” Willa said over me. “Meet you on the dance floor later?”
With that, she was gone, leaving me alone with Carter—the man who slipped in and stole the first kiss I’d waited twelve years to get from him. I wasn’t sure if I could forgive him.
“What do you want now, Carter?” I asked and sighed. My feet were tired from running around in my strappy, four-inch heels. I bent down and tried unfastening one, eager to take them off.
“Here, let me,” Carter said, surprising me. Damn if the man didn’t take a knee and start unfastening my sandal.
His dark brown hair was slightly tousled, and for the first time I noticed how big his hands were. They were strong, capable hands—tempting me with their skill as he lightly brushed his fingers over my calf. He let my foot down gently and started on the other shoe. I had to close my eyes and bite the inside of my cheek. Seeing Carter on the ground like that in front of me brought all kinds of naughty scenarios into my head. Maybe Willa was right.
My eyes were still closed when he stood up in front of me, his body way closer than necessary. “Presley,” he whispered, “open your eyes.”
What? I blinked, looking up into eyes I could lose myself in for days on end.
“Here,” he said.
Hmm?
“Here, what?” I asked, mesmerized by the way his lips were formed. The way his teeth were near blinding they were so white. What would he taste like? If I just ran my tongue over those lips, past those teeth and really tasted him?
“Your shoes,” he said lightly.
Oh, right. My shoes.
I took them from his outstretched finger that they dangled from by their long, complicated straps. When I did, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer, until I was flush against his chest. My breathing accelerated, and I wasn’t sure how to react. Should I joke and push off him? Close my eyes and let him kiss me again?
He put his hand under my chin and lifted it, forcing me to look at him. “You think too much, princess. Has anyone ever told you that?”
All the time.
“What are you doing, Carter? Ha-ha. It was very funny to catch me off guard and embarrass me like that in front of a room full of people earlier. You got me. But the party’s almost over, you’ll get paid, and you’ll never have to see me again.”
“Is that what you think I want?”
His voice was low, and it pooled warm in my belly. I bit my lip, daring to meet his eyes. “I don’t know what you want. We’re not kids any more. But you certainly never wanted me then. I know you had a crush on Lauren—everybody knew that.”
His silence told me what I suspected. His jaw clenched, and he pulled me even closer. “You were only thirteen then, Presley. Thirteen. But you’re not anymore,” he said huskily. “And Lauren has nothing to do with this, princess.”
“Stop calling me that!” I finally huffed.
He chuckled, and I could feel the vibration through my chest. What would his skin feel like if I just placed my hand on his shirt, under his open collar?
“Thank god we’re not kids anymore.”
“Why?” I croaked.
“Because back then, I couldn’t do this,” he said.
His hand wrapped around my neck and cupped the back of my head, sending goose bumps racing across my arms. The shawl I had earlier long disappeared at some table or another. His other hand trailed up and down my bare skin, making the goose bumps worse, not better. Then his head dropped, and I was ready this time.
My pride wanted me to turn my head, give him my cheek. But my heart had other ideas, giving over to the soft sweep of Carter’s warm lips. I may have moaned as his mouth brushed mine again, his tongue making slow, confident strokes and wetting my lips. I parted them, giving him permission this time. I heard the low chuckle as his hand tightened on my neck. That small act skipped right over goose bumps and sent tsunamis of lust straight to my lady bits. My hands snaked up under his coat until they found his waist. I clung to his belt as he deepened the kiss, this time pressing his tongue forward and searching out mine. He tasted like whiskey, warmth, and bad decisions. I knew I should push him away, leave it at one kiss, and be grateful I even got that after all these years.
But I couldn’t.
I wanted more of Carter now that I’d tasted him. My hands slid up his strong back, running my fingers over his dress shirt and moaning into his mouth as he owned me—literally owned me—with his lips, his tongue, his hands in my hair. Then the kiss slowed, his warm tongue sensuously teasing mine, giving my bottom lip a sexy tug that made me want to do very naughty things.
But he gripped my hands and pulled them out from under his coat and backed up, putting a little distance between us. Confused, I looked up at him, in a daze of lust as memories swirled together in my mind. The sun-kissed skin of his youth, all bronze and wet with humidity. Watching the strength in his
legs, torso, and back as he surfed near the cove. Listening to him laugh with his friends as they built some of the newer houses, getting all hot and sweaty under the strong Carolina sun.
He was still gripping my hands, holding them together between our bodies. Our breath rose and fell together.
“Presley—”
“Wow. I can’t believe I just did that,” I said, trying to back up. I’d practically thrown myself at him the minute he gave me the time of day. What was I thinking? “Look, Carter, I gotta go. I have to get back to the party.”
“Fuck the party, Presley,” he growled.
“No. I can’t,” I said, touching my swollen lips. They still tingled and tasted of Carter and whiskey.
“We’re not done with this, Presley,” he said low.
“There is no this, Carter. It was just a kiss. Right?”
I backed away, not waiting for his answer. It would be easier to walk away now after just one kiss than to let this slow burn catch fire.
I knew, with every ounce of my being that if I let Carter in, I would go up in flames in no time. And if being rejected by Carter as a kid was tough . . . Well, I wouldn’t take that risk again.
Not even for a first kiss that made my legs buckle and butterflies take flight in my belly.
CHAPTER NINE
Carter
“YOU ALL RIGHT, man?” Dex asked. I was at the bar staring into my tumbler, swishing the liquid around. I wasn’t going to find what was making me thirsty in a glass.
“How well do you know Presley?” I asked.
His silence was deafening. I could feel his eyes taking inventory before he cleared his throat and finally answered. “I’ve known the family for some time. How come?”
“Because the last time I saw Presley Kincaid, I was seventeen. It was my last summer at The Grove. She was skinny, had braces, and was annoying as hell,” I said, taking a sip.
