Warmth spread through Libby’s chest as she watched Paul toasting his brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law. When it came to crunch time, Paul was every bit the kind of man she’d once hoped to end up with. Kind, articulate, sexy. Most of all, he’d never tried to change a thing about her.
“With all the jokes and embarrassing stories I’ve saved for tomorrow I really didn’t have much material left for this speech. So I got a little philosophical.” Paul winked at Des.
“Here we go,” Des said with a chuckle. “Just remember who’ll be giving the speech at your wedding one day.”
“I thought about the ideal relationship and the kind of qualities one might need to have a happy marriage. Now, I’m no expert as you know.” Paul took a sip of his drink and placed it back down on the table. “I know some people have a bit of a wish list when it comes to the ideal partner.”
Some eyes at the table turned to Gracie, who flushed and waved them away. “I’ve changed, I promise!”
“A lot of people say they want a partner who’s funny, intelligent, good-looking, rich. All of those things are great, but a true partnership requires something more.” He stole a glance at Libby. “For a relationship to last you need someone who’s going to inspire you. Someone who’s going to push you, change you for the better, and challenge you. When that person comes into your life you’ll question everything…including your sanity.”
The table tittered, but Libby couldn’t drag her eyes away from Paul. Had he reached into her mind and plucked those very thoughts from her head? He made her question everything she believed about family and relationships. He pushed her and challenged her to think creatively, to solve problems without getting stressed out…even when she’d blurted out the lie about them getting married. He was her opposite in the best way possible.
“If you can wake every day beside the same person and say that you still feel inspired a year, ten years, fifty years from now,” he paused, his eyes flicking down to Libby for the briefest second. “Then that’s the best possible thing you can ask for.”
He continued the speech, citing some funny moments in Gracie and Des’s relationship, but Libby’s head swam, blocking out the anecdotes and laughter at the table. She’d never been anyone’s inspiration before. Hell, she’d never been anything but a temporary situation to the people in her life…aside from Nina. She’d been a temporary child until her mother had one she planned for, a temporary daughter to her father who wanted a carbon copy of himself, a temporary girlfriend to her ex until he grew tired of her.
As Paul finished his speech Libby clapped so hard her palms stung. “That was beautiful.”
He shrugged. “Just doing my job.”
Was that all it was? Sweet words for the sake of his family? Libby knew one thing for certain, she needed to know how Paul felt. How he really felt underneath the fake engagement and the layer of emotional protection he’d built.
She would find out before this wedding was over.
Paul plied himself with alcohol after the speech. The words hadn’t seemed so raw when he’d written them in haste, shocked by how cathartic it felt to get all that crap out of his head and onto a page.
He’d also needed a few beers in him to distract himself from Libby and the way she watched him like a hawk. Had the speech freaked her out? Probably. Did he care? No. They were out in the open now and, if she questioned him, then he’d use Gracie and Des as an excuse.
Before meeting Libby he would never have given a speech like that, but being with her had made him appreciate how good he had it. His family wasn’t perfect by any stretch, but they were his.
“That dessert was amazing,” Libby said as the waiters came to clear the last plates. “I’m not going to fit into my dress tomorrow.”
“I am! I don’t care if it takes five people to stuff me into the damn thing.” Gracie chuckled. “There’s so much boning in the corset I may not be able to breathe, anyway.”
The girls hugged as the guests parted ways, and Libby looped her arm through Paul’s. She wobbled on her heels as they made their way back to the room.
“Have a bit to drink, did you?” he asked.
She moaned. “They kept topping up my glass so I have no idea how much I had. If I have a hangover tomorrow just kill me and put me out of my misery.”
“You won’t be much use to me then.” Electricity sizzled along his arm where she held onto him for support.
“I’m not much use to anyone,” she muttered.
They arrived at the hotel room and Paul held Libby up with one arm while he opened the door. “Why would you say that?”
“Didn’t you hear what I said before?” She spat the words out, her features twisted. “He said I’m wasting my life.”
“Yes, and you agreed to talk to him. That doesn’t change because you’ve had a few drinks.”
Libby tripped on the carpet, and Paul steadied her before scooping her up into his arms and kicking the door closed behind them.
“You don’t need to carry me,” she said, wriggling in his grip.
“Since you can’t even walk through a doorway in your current state…yes, I do.” He set her down on the edge of the bed and caught a foot in his hand, fiddling with the buckle at her ankle. “Why do you have to wear these damn fiddly shoes?”
“They’re pretty.” She flopped back and flung an arm over her eyes. “Tell the room to stop spinning.”
“You’ll be all right. I’ll get you a glass of water once you’re out of the shoes.” He handled her as gently as he could when her body hung like a ragdoll over the edge of the bed.
By the time he’d returned with her water, Libby had stripped and crawled into bed. Her naked body was mostly covered by the thick white sheet, but his mind knew exactly how to fill in the blanks. He knew how smooth and soft her thighs felt, how she had a smattering of light freckles all over her body, how her nipples were perfectly rosy and responsive.
“Here.” He helped her to sit up and handed her the water. “Drink it slowly.”
She sipped, holding the glass in one hand and the sheet with her other hand. “I don’t want you to sleep on the couch tonight.”
“You’re drunk,” he pointed out.
“Tipsy,” she corrected. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he muttered.
For someone who pulled sex off the table at the outset, she’d certainly done a one-eighty. Not that he was complaining, but the idea of sex with her now felt loaded. Dangerous.
Who the hell are you anymore?
“Good night.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and stood, shrugging out of his jacket. “Make sure you drink plenty of water.”
Her still made-up eyes had fluttered closed, her features softened. He’d always scoffed at those who referred to people as angels when they slept, but Libby may as well have been wrapped up in big golden wings.
He snapped the light off and undressed in the dark. The bed squeaked as Libby shifted and he made his way to the couch.
You’re turning into a sap, Chapman. Get your head out of the clouds and back to reality—this is not a relationship.
Chapter Fourteen
Paul’s eyes opened but no light greeted him. He blinked, trying to adjust to the darkness while wondering why the hell he was awake. His neck ached from where he’d fallen asleep at a strange angle on the couch, the throw cushion acting as his pillow nowhere to be found.
He pushed up into a sitting position and kneaded the knot in his neck. Perhaps he should have taken Libby up on her offer to share the bed.
The sound of a door closing caught his attention, then a thin beam of light filtered out from under the bathroom door. He must have heard Libby getting out of bed. Strange, since his family joked that he could easily sleep through a monster truck rally.
He walked over to the bathroom as she opened the door with a fresh glass of water in her hand.
“How are you feeling?”
�
�Oh!” She shook her head. “You startled me.”
The bathroom light fell into the room, outlining the curves of her silhouette and catching the red-gold edges of her hair. She’d thrown on a T-shirt at some point and it came down to the tops of her thighs, leaving miles of shapely legs exposed.
“I’m fine.” She sipped her water and leaned against the doorframe. “I’ve got a bit of a headache, but otherwise I’m good as new.”
Her eyes skimmed over him, catching on the only item of clothing he wore—a pair of boxer briefs. Shadows obscured her face, but nothing could hide the sharp intake of her breath in the silent room.
“You should get back to bed,” he said, swallowing against the flood of desire that raged in him. He burned from the inside out, his skin begging to have her hands on him.
“You should come with me.”
“Libby,” he warned. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“I wish you would.” She stepped closer and touched her palm to his bare chest. “I’m not drunk, and I’m perfectly capable of voicing what I want.”
He took the glass from her hand and guided her back to the bed. “What do you want, Tiger?”
She dropped down to the mattress, pulling him with her until he knelt over her, nudging her thighs apart with his knees. “To pretend we’re not pretending…just for tonight.”
Before he could protest she looped her arms around his neck and dragged his head down to hers. He feasted on her mouth, greedily seeking out her tongue, sucking on her lower lip and dragging it between his teeth. Nothing about this was pretend.
“Libby.” He pulled his head back, trying to think through the fog of arousal that engulfed him. “We can’t—”
“Shhh.” She pressed a finger to his lips.
He buried his face in her neck, feeling the flutter of her pulse against his lips. His hand caught the hem of her T-shirt and dragged it up, exposing her pale skin to the moonlight. Heat flared within him like a fire blazing out of control. She fanned him. Heightened his senses. Filled him with burning power.
Tossing the T-shirt over the side of the bed, he brought his head down to one breast. Above him, her soft moan made a tremor run down his spine. She fisted her hand in his hair and arched against him.
“Let’s go slow and enjoy it.” He moved to the other breast, lavishing attention on the nipple with his tongue.
“I lose control with you.” She ran her hands over his shoulders and scraped her nails along his skin.
“Me too.”
He kissed his way down the plane of her belly, relishing the feel of her soft skin against his lips. Something told him that tonight was his last chance to hold her in his arms before reality came crushing down on them both in the morning. So he would pretend, as she’d asked, and deal with the fallout tomorrow.
He pressed his lips to the inside of her thigh, skirting around her heat. Making her wait. Drawing out the moment that they would drown together.
When he moved his mouth to her sex, she cried out and the sound shattered something inside him. He couldn’t wait, didn’t want to. Every second with Libby was a precious gift that would soon expire. He focused on her center, feeling the quake in her thighs, pushing her higher and higher until she broke.
A shudder ran through her as she came, his name falling from her lips over and over. As she floated back down he pressed his cheek to her belly, and she ran her fingers through his hair.
“You’re so very good at that,” she said, the fog of climax blending her words together.
Her skin was smooth against him, her warmth fueling his desire. He pushed up onto his hands and hovered over her. A smile pulled at her lips, her eyes heavy-lidded. Sooty lashes touched as she blinked and he drank it all in, committing every curve, every line, every plane to his memory.
“Are you just going to stare at me?” she asked with a husky laugh.
“For starters.” He ran a palm over her ribcage and caught the weight of her breast in one hand, smoothing his thumb over her nipple.
She hummed in pleasure. “And then?”
“Everything.” He came down onto her, resting on one arm so he could brush the hair from her face with his free hand. “I want every moan, every shudder, every orgasm I can possibly get from you.”
“Greedy.” She kissed his shoulder.
“I am when it comes to you.” The weight of his words should have driven him away but instead it seemed to suck the air from between them until there was nothing but skin on skin, their hearts aligned.
When he pushed inside her the whole world slipped away. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled back until he was sitting upright and she straddled him. Her hips moved up and down, the rhythm perfectly matched as he slanted his mouth over hers. She tasted sweet and warm and familiar. Like home. Like everything he’d once wanted.
“I don’t regret this,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear. “I don’t regret being with you.”
“Me neither, Tiger.” He stroked her face with one hand and ran a thumb along her lower lip.
He reached down between them and found her sweet spot, feeling the tremors run through her as he stroked, intent on having her come around him. She tightened, her forehead dropping down to his shoulder, allowing him to fully support her.
“Paul, I…” she gasped. “I…”
“Let it happen.” He kissed her forehead, her cheekbone, her temple. “Let me feel you.”
Her teeth sank into his shoulder and she muffled the sharp cry of release as she tipped over. He buried himself deep inside her and lost himself to the sensation of her pleasure, giving up control to feel her as he came.
His arms were wrapped around her so tightly that no air could pass between them. They were fused together, her body wrapped around his, heels digging into his back. He cradled her as he lowered them back to the mattress, her hands never letting go.
The words from his speech came echoing back to him. He questioned everything with Libby curled in his arms, and his sanity was high on that list.
Libby woke the next morning to the gentle pressure of lips on her skin. Exhausted from a night of too much pleasure and too little sleep, she tried unsuccessfully to clear the fog away.
“Don’t get up,” Paul said as he stroked the hair out of her face. “I have to go, but you don’t need to get down there for another few hours. Order room service and stay in bed.”
She smiled, blinking to bring his face into focus. “I wish you could stay.”
“You won’t be thinking that when you starfish on that bed.” His lips brushed against hers.
He’d already changed into his tux, and he smelled of soap and cologne. Combined with his olive skin and dark hair, he looked as though he’d stepped from a magazine ad. But the hunger in her eyes reminded her that he wasn’t just a handsome face; he was a protective, caring, passionate man whom she’d fallen in love with.
Her heart thumped as the words swirled in her mind. Love? Did she really love Paul?
“You need some rest. I think I wore you out last night.” He chuckled and looked around for his phone, slipping it into the inside pocket of his jacket.
“We wore each other out.” She pulled the covers up to her chin, as though a few layers of cotton could protect her from the weight of her realization.
“Very true. I’ve got to go, but I’m looking forward to seeing you in that black dress.” He leaned against the door as though he didn’t want to leave.
“Are you looking forward to getting me out of it?” The thought left her breathless and, despite the fact that they’d made love not a few hours before, her body already ached for him again.
She’d become addicted to him, his touch inciting a hunger and craving that was totally new to her. But it wasn’t only about sexual fulfilment…he made her whole. All the doubts and insecurities her family had fostered in her vanished when he was there. He filled the grooves in her soul, soothed her wounds, smoothed out the rough parts of her.
The end had come too soon, and she didn’t want it to be over. Ever.
“Do you need to ask me that?” He waggled his brows and opened the door, hovering for a moment before leaving her alone.
Libby stared up at the ceiling, her eyes refusing to focus. Her body still tingled with the memory of his hands and lips on her, as though he’d tattooed the feeling onto her skin.
As she raised her hand to cover her face she noticed the band of diamonds on her ring finger. She’d forgotten to take it off before she went to bed, and now the diamonds glistened like tears catching sunlight.
What happened to avoiding relationships? Did she really want to put herself out there and risk the shame and rejection that had plagued her for her entire twenty-five years?
Yes.
Her mind may try to argue, but her heart spoke the truth. It sang the word from the deepest part of her soul.
She loved Paul Chapman, her fake boyfriend turned fake fiancé. All she had to do was tell him…and hope that what they’d shared hadn’t all been in her head. She couldn’t have imagined the looks he gave her during the speech last night, nor the way he seemed drawn to her the way she was drawn to him.
The black dress hung from the wardrobe door, a silent challenge. It would be easy to stay warm and cozy inside her comfort zone, but there was nothing there for her anymore. She’d taken a risk starting Libby Gal Cocktails, and it was starting to pay off. Perhaps if she took that same risk on love she’d find happiness there, too.
Libby sat up and swung her legs out of the bed. Today would be the day she let her heart do the talking, and she’d have an answer one way or another.
By the time the reception was due to start Paul had decided that perhaps weddings weren’t so bad. His mother had turned into a weepy mess in the room where the family had a quiet breakfast, but everything else had been fairly painless.
Paul, Des, and Noah had shared a celebratory Scotch with his father in the dressing room. Despite his outwardly confident demeanor, Paul knew his brother was anxious for the proceedings to kick off.
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