by Noelle Adams
There was a pause on the other end of the call. “I’m supposed to be on a break.”
“Emergency situation.”
“Fine. We’re almost there. It’ll just be a minute.”
Andrew ended the call and turned to Laurel with a relieved smile. “They’re on their way.” He peered out at the drive leading up to the villa, evidently looking for sign of his brother’s car. “At least I won’t have the embarrassment of having to search for a room for us tonight.”
“I wouldn’t have minded changing plans and staying in a hotel. Seriously. I’m not as uptight as you think.”
He chuckled and pulled her against him again, pressing a little kiss on the corner of her mouth. “Aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not. As long as I know what to expect, I can be just as laidback and flexible as you are.” She said the words in all earnestness, and only afterwards heard what she’d said.
Andrew practically howled with laughter, pulling her into another hug. “Of course you can be,” he gasped. “I’ll make sure you always know what to expect so I can always keep you laidback and flexible.”
She loved the way it felt when he laughed as he hugged her—like his whole body vibrated with the warmth that was so much him. She melted into it, let it wash over her. As his laughter faded, the hug transformed with an emotion that was wordless and urgent.
She took a breath, knowing that she had to pull away, that she couldn’t stay wrapped in his arms forever. “I’m not really that bad,” she insisted, easing away from him.
He lifted both hands to cup her face. “Laurel, there’s nothing bad about you at all.”
But that wasn’t true. It just wasn’t true. So she made herself be brave and say, “Anyway, I was trying to say before . . .”
“Oh yeah. What were you saying? Something about the first time we met.”
“Yeah. I just wanted to make sure you know. I’ve been feeling bad about it and wanted… It’s about when you first arrived—”
“Andrew!”
The feminine voice broke into Laurel’s slightly stilted explanation.
They both turned and saw a blond woman in jeans and a t-shirt racing toward them. She flung herself at Andrew in a hug. “It’s so good to see you!”
Andrew hugged the woman with a laugh, obviously pleased with the exuberant welcome.
Laurel stood to the side awkwardly, fighting against a ridiculous feeling of jealousy. She knew this must be Marietta, who was Harrison’s girlfriend. She wasn’t any sort of threat to Laurel, but it still felt like Andrew’s hugs should belong to her alone.
Because the feeling was utterly irrational, she tried to stamp it out.
“You look great,” Andrew said, when Marietta had pulled away.
Marietta was very pretty in a fresh and sunny way with her smiling face, ponytail, and utterly unselfconscious manner. “I look exactly the same as when you last saw me.”
“Well, you always looked great. Where’s Harrison?”
“He’s parking the car. I told him to stop when I saw you so I could get out.” She turned toward Laurel, her smile just as genuine as before. “Hi. I’m Marietta.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Laurel said politely, extending a hand and smiling as brightly as she could. “I’m Laurel Grayson.”
Marietta clearly had no idea who she was and had attached no significance to her name, which made Laurel feel a little better. At least she wouldn’t feel like a Damon adversary intruding on a domestic gathering.
Marietta opened the door to let them in to the spacious, airy villa that must cost a fortune to rent. They were still standing in the entry hall when Harrison came in through the door from the garage, hauling four bags, an ice chest, and what looked like a tent in a vinyl sack.
Andrew gaped at his brother, who wore jeans, t-shirt, and hiking shoes. “What have you been doing?”
“We’ve been camping,” Marietta explained, taking two of the bags off Harrison’s arm and dumping them in a pile on the floor. “Don’t be mad at him for not returning your calls. I told him he had to keep his phone off.”
Andrew clearly found the idea of his brother on a weekend camping trip amusing. Despite her slight discomfort in the unfamiliar situation, Laurel couldn’t help but smile fondly as she watched him try not to laugh.
Then she felt like she’d been caught at something when she realized Marietta was looking at her curiously.
Harrison rolled his eyes at Andrew’s amusement but chose not to respond to it. “So what’s going on? Who is this?”
“This is Laurel Grayson,” Andrew said, as she returned Harrison’s polite handshake. “She’s the reason we’re here. It’s about that inn on Santorini.”
Harrison’s forehead furrowed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It’s that inn that we thought we got as part of the assets from that bank. You handled the whole thing. Laurel is Jerry Grayson’s widow.” It was obvious to Laurel that Andrew loved his brother, and she was really glad to see it, since Andrew’s relationship with his uncle was so conflicted. She wondered what it would be like to be close to a sibling, to be close to any member of one’s family.
It had been ages since she’d even had a family.
“Oh. That was a long time ago, and I can’t remember thousands of details from old cases off the top of my head.” Harrison turned to Laurel suddenly, as if he realized he was being rude. “I’m sorry I can’t remember your late husband.”
“Oh, no, that’s fine. I wouldn’t expect you to.”
Harrison turned back to Andrew. “Do you mind if we talk about it tomorrow? It’s been a long day, and we haven’t even invited Ms. Grayson into the house.”
Laurel was technically in the house but still held her bag and purse, so she understood what he meant. “It’s Laurel.”
From an objective standpoint, Harrison was just as handsome as Andrew. They were about the same size and had the same dark hair, although Harrison had chocolate brown eyes instead of green. But Harrison appeared more serious, more tightly wound, without the warmth that Andrew exuded from every pore. The only time Harrison’s eyes softened was when he looked at Marietta, whom he obviously adored.
“Please come on in,” Marietta said, giving Harrison a push to start them moving out of the entryway. “You both are welcome to stay as long as you want.”
“Within reason,” added Harrison, with a sidelong look at his brother. “I’m going to haul this stuff in. It’s very nice to meet you, Laurel. Please make yourself at home.”
Andrew took Laurel’s bag from her, and they both followed Marietta down a hall leading to the east wing of the large villa. She opened a door and showed them a large, bright room with a king-size bed made up meticulously in white bedding. “You can stay in here. Will this be all right?”
Laurel looked at the room. Then looked over at Andrew. She was perfectly happy to share a room with him, but she didn’t know if it would make him uncomfortable—like they’d already been coupled off.
“Oh,” Marietta said, blushing and looking flustered as she read their expressions. “I’d just assumed… I thought you two were together. I’m so sorry. Of course, we have another guestroom if—”
“No, no,” Laurel broke in, smiling at Marietta. “This will be perfect.” She glanced back at Andrew questioningly. “Won’t it?”
“It’s great,” Andrew agreed. “Thanks, Marietta.”
Marietta looked relieved, although she was still a little flushed. She turned on the light to the adjoining bathroom and then said she’d let them get settled.
Laurel wondered what kind of lifestyle and history the other woman had experienced to sustain such fresh, innocent candor. Laurel couldn’t imagine ever blushing like Marietta over an innocuous slip.
Laurel kind of liked her, though. Marietta was refreshing—like a crisp, spring morning. Laurel, with her messy history and her manipulative lies to a man who’d only been good to her, was more like the dark of n
ight.
The thought depressed her. She sat down on the side of the bed and tried to will herself back into telling Andrew the truth.
He dropped the bags on the floor with a sigh. Then seemed to notice her preoccupation. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head wordlessly. When he sat down beside her and wrapped an arm around her, she leaned against him.
“Harrison is a good guy,” he said. “Don’t be worried.”
She was worried, but not about that.
She opened her mouth to speak but then noticed how tired Andrew looked. Maybe he was more stressed about things than she’d realized, and she’d been too caught up in her own brooding to notice it.
The Talk could wait until later tonight.
***
Several hours later, Andrew was lying in bed as Laurel came out of the bathroom. She’d just taken a shower and wore a white camisole and pale blue pajama pants. Her hair was loose, hanging in a smooth fall down her back. She looked almost shy as she got under the covers with him.
She was the sexiest thing Andrew had ever seen.
He’d taken a shower earlier and was trying to relax. They’d had a light dinner with Harrison and Marietta and had talked about casual, friendly things like the camping trip before they’d all gone to bed. Now his mind whirled with possibilities—ideas about what would happen with the inn and what it would take for his uncle to accept Laurel’s ownership.
He also kept thinking of what might happen afterwards, what he could do to keep Laurel from slipping out of his life completely.
They hadn’t known each other very long. The ideas that occurred to him immediately—possible ways to keep Laurel in his life—would probably be premature.
But that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. Harrison and Marietta had known each other for only a month when they got together for real, and now he was pretty sure that relationship was permanent.
Andrew wasn’t going to let Laurel go, now that he’d found her.
When she turned out the light, he pulled her over to his side, wrapping his arm around her. She curled against him, smelling clean and fresh, like the lavender soap in the shower.
“I wonder how Theo’s doing,” he said, stroking Laurel’s soft hair.
“He’s fine. I called Agatha, and she said he wasn’t quite so droopy. He still can’t really walk on the leg, but he’s fine.”
“Good.”
He loved those dogs—all three of them. He had to make sure they didn’t lose their home and that Laurel didn’t lose hers. That Andrew didn’t lose all of them.
He kept imagining a few weeks from now, if the letter was verified and the Damons removed their claim on the inn. Everyone would expect him to go home, and Laurel would still be in Santorini.
They could have a long-distance relationship, but it would be complicated and frustrating. Would Laurel even want it?
But would she think he was some creepy-stalker-type if he upped and moved halfway across Europe after knowing her for two weeks?
“What are you stressing about?” Laurel asked into the silence.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re tense and fidgety, and it’s not like you. What are you stressing about?”
“Nothing.” He was a little embarrassed she could read him so well, even in the dark, but there was also something comforting about being known and understood so well. He’d never experienced that before. “Just can’t relax.”
“Oh.” He wasn’t sure what the resonance in her voice meant until she’d moved on top of him. She kissed him, her weight soft and lithe against him.
He returned the kiss, his muscles starting to tighten but for a different reason now.
She broke the kiss but didn’t pull away. Instead, she kissed a line along his jaw, her lips triggering sensations that pulsed all the way down to his groin. He released a hoarse sound of pleasure when he felt her lips on his chest, teasing him, fondling him. Then—slowly, very slowly—they descended lower to his stomach.
He was rock hard by the time he felt her hand slip beneath his waistband and then curl around his erection. “Laurel.” He shifted his hips as she caressed him with strokes that felt just too, too good. “Fuck, Laurel.”
Then, before he realized what she was doing, she’d lowered her head even more. He gasped sharply when he felt her tongue run up and down the length of him.
He groaned helplessly when she took him in her mouth.
It felt so good, so unexpectedly, that he didn’t have much control. He hadn’t had time to prepare or summon his stamina. He curled one hand around the back of her head as she sucked him rhythmically. And he kept groaning in uninhibited pleasure as she worked him up toward climax.
Soon, he had to grab the headboard with his free hand to keep from thrusting up too hard into her mouth.
“Laurel,” he rasped, on the edge of aching need and release, “I’m about to—If you don’t stop, I’m going to—”
Then he came, smothering his shout of release so it wouldn’t be too loud for the quiet house. The pleasure pulsed through him, sustained by the delicious suction of her mouth, until his whole body fell limp.
“Oh fuck,” he muttered, collapsing back on the pillow. “That was…”
She came up from under the covers, and there was a smile in her voice as she asked, “That was what?”
“That was incredible.” He wrapped an arm around her as she curled up beside him again, pressing her sweet body against his.
She laughed softly. “You should feel better now.”
He felt deliciously relaxed, his muscles softening and his breathing starting to slow. His eyes were even starting to close, but he tilted his head to kiss her hair. “I do. Thank you. I can do you now, if you want.”
“I’m good.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I liked it. Doing that for you.”
It felt important—that she’d say it, that she’d mean it. “Thank you,” he said again, since he didn’t know what else to say.
“You’re welcome.”
He felt so good he was almost asleep, but he suddenly remembered her interrupted attempts to say something before Harrison and Marietta had arrived. “What were you going to say to me earlier? You said you needed to tell me something.”
She hesitated, her body tightening briefly. Then she relaxed and said, “It’s not for tonight. Let’s just go to sleep.”
Andrew had no objections to that. He held Laurel against him until he fell asleep, which was only a few minutes later.
Before he dozed off, he murmured in the dark, “I’m crazy about you, Laurel.”
He could almost feel her smiling. “You just say that because you got a blow job.”
He chuckled groggily, but he knew—he knew—it wasn’t true.
Chapter Ten
Laurel woke up early, as usual.
She lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling. Andrew was still asleep beside her, one of his arms hooked above his head, in what must be his habitual sleeping pose.
She listened to him breathe, felt the heat from his body.
She had to tell him the truth. She didn’t want to keep from him a part of herself he needed to know.
He wasn’t a judgmental man, but he trusted her. It would matter to him that she lied to him.
She’d chickened out last night. He’d been so soft, so affectionate. She’d loved taking care of him in such an intimate way. She hadn’t wanted to ruin it with a hard conversation.
But she really needed to tell him soon.
The guest suite they’d slept in was nicely decorated in Provençal style, with fresh fabrics, aged furniture, and gorgeous landscape paintings. She looked around as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, trying to kill time, until she’d taken in every detail, including the fraying hem of one of the curtains.
Finally, she gave up and tiptoed to the bathroom. She took a quick shower, clipping her hair up so she wouldn’t have to dry it, and got dress
ed without turning on the light in the bedroom.
Andrew was still sleeping when she slipped out the door.
The whole house was quiet. It was just five-thirty. Restless and antsy, she made coffee and then emptied the clean dishes from the dishwasher. Needing to keep busy, she found some baking supplies and quickly made up some lemon-cranberry scones.
While they were in the oven, she cleaned the counter and swept the floor.
She was telling herself it would be rude to reorganize someone else’s pantry when Marietta came in with a friendly, “Good morning.”
Marietta had obviously just gotten up. She was wearing pink man-style pajamas, and her hair wasn’t brushed.
Laurel could never have pulled off that look, but Marietta managed to look adorable.
“I hope I didn’t wake you up. I have a bad habit of getting up early.”
“No, you didn’t,” Marietta assured her, peeking in the oven. “Yum! Is Andrew still in bed? If so, he’ll have to miss out on the scones, since we’re eating those as soon as they’re ready.”
Laurel laughed. The more she got to know Marietta, the more she liked her. She’d felt chastened yesterday over dinner, when she learned that Marietta had spent thirteen years of her life in a wheelchair.
She’d assumed Marietta’s life had been simple, easy, protected, but Marietta’s life had been harder than Laurel’s—and she’d never lied to and tried to use a man the way Laurel had Andrew.
Marietta got a cup of coffee, refilled Laurel’s mug, and then sat down at the kitchen table beside her. “How long have you and Andrew been together?”
Laurel blinked, surprised by the blunt question, but the gray eyes were friendly and not offensively prying. “I don’t know if we’re really… I mean, it hasn’t been very long. We haven’t talked about it or anything.”
“Ah,” Marietta said with a smile. “I get it. He’s a really great guy.”
“I know he is.”
“He seems to like you a lot.”
Laurel looked away, self-conscious and hopeful at once. Too much was uncertain to let herself hope for a future with Andrew, but she couldn’t help but feel a rising excitement.
