Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3)

by Gretchen Galway

  Oh, not candy: a real flower. Interesting. She swirled it around in her mouth, not sure what to do with it. Petals stuck to her tongue. She didn’t want to eat it but didn’t have a free hand to extract it. Bending over and spitting on the floor was probably against the Bridesmaid Rules.

  Zack returned with two flutes filled to the top. “Let’s sit over there.” He nodded to an empty corner and walked ahead, his square shoulders flexing in the tux with the minor effort of carrying two glasses at chest height.

  Her gaze dropped to his hips swaying under the tails of the tux jacket. Dangerous territory, hard to look away. She shifted up to the tips of his glasses poking behind his ears. Dark hair curled slightly at his nape, just over the white collar of his shirt.

  Desire spread through her body like warm butter. Stifling another sigh, she lifted the plate and bit off another flower. At least she didn’t feel like crying anymore.

  He chose an empty table that had never been set for dinner, behind an easel displaying pictures of Mark and Rose as children. One sweet picture had a young Rose dressed as a penguin for Halloween. Another had Mark in front of a chess set. Painfully cute, both of them.

  Zack put down the glasses, took the plates out of her hands, and pulled out a chair for her. She lifted the glass and gulped down half of it before her butt hit the seat. The flower petals got washed away in the deluge.

  “Got forks?” she asked.

  He took one out of his chest pocket, set it down next to her plate, and sat next to her.

  The alcohol drifted through her body, lifting her spirits with thousands of sweet fermented bubbles. As she ate the cake, she chided herself for getting melancholy. It was probably just jealousy—of Mark and Rose, Liam and Bev—and that wasn’t cool at all. Just because she’d been feeling a little lonely lately was no reason to withdraw and wallow in self-pity.

  “The cake’s good,” Zack said.

  She lifted her champagne and nodded. “No expense spared.” She tapped her glass against his and caught his gaze. “Thanks, by the way. I was starting to lose it.”

  “Weddings do that to people.”

  “Well, it’s never happened to me before. I don’t know what came over me,” she said. “I hope you’re having a nice time. How was it talking to Sylly? Snare him for your next gig?”

  He looked down and pushed the cake around his plate. “We didn’t get that far.”

  “He seemed to like you, though,” she said.

  “I wasn’t bullshitting him, by the way. I did read about him somewhere.”

  “I believe you.”

  “I’m not sure he did,” he said. “He wasn’t in any hurry to set up a time to talk again.”

  “Maybe he’s playing hard to get,” she said.

  His lips twitched. His blue eyes met hers. “Maybe.”

  Her pulse gave a kick and went off racing through her body. She tried to sip from her glass, but it was empty.

  He pressed hers into her hand. “Have mine. I’ve had plenty to drink already.” He reached up to his throat, loosened his tie. “Very generous at the bar. Stiff drinks. Unlimited champagne. My head is swimming.”

  She took his glass and lifted it to her lips. His spit had already mingled with hers once. What was the harm?

  “I’m lonely,” she blurted out.

  His eyes widened. Then his dark brows met over the bridge of his glasses.

  Oh, damn it. He thought she was going to assault him again. She went on quickly, “In the family, I mean. Now that both of my brothers are married, it won’t be the same. Especially Mark. I was close to Mark.”

  “You can still be close.”

  “It’s not the same. It won’t be the same.” She forced a bright smile. “But that’s good for him. I’m so happy for him. He’s been married to his computer for too long. He needs somebody who really loves him.”

  There. Good save. Now he’d think she was just sad because she wouldn’t see Mark as much as she used to, not that she longed for hot sex with a meaningful, committed partner who understood and loved her at a profound level—a level her personal elevator had never reached. For all she knew, her building might have skipped that floor, like superstitious architects leaving out the thirteenth.

  Looking over her shoulder, Zack put his hand over her wrist on the table. His touch sent shockwaves up her arm. “I think Mark and Rose might be leaving now,” he said. “There’s something going on by the door.”

  She was tempted to stay where she was, using sexual frustration to distract her from existential despair, but she didn’t want to miss the goodbye. She stood up. “Let’s go see.”

  She wiggled through the throng until she reached a giggling cluster of women gathered in a colorful ring in front of Rose, who had her back to all of them and was swinging her bouquet over her head.

  Whack. Like a pie in a clown show, the bouquet smacked April right in the face. She didn’t even have time to lift her hands.

  She gasped, bending over in pain. Her left eyeball stung. Thank God she’d flinched in time. It wasn’t just flowers in those things—the pretty blossoms were tied together with braided ribbons, wire, and tape, and it was as big as her head.

  “Fuck,” she whispered, picking it up.

  Dozens of lenses from phones and cameras caught the moment. She gazed out at them, blinked away the pain, and held up the bouquet like the Statue of Liberty brandishing her blazing torch. She’d light it on fire as soon as she found a match.

  Zack was there, touching her arm. “Are you all right?”

  Catching Rose’s concerned look across the crowd of laughing faces, April glued a goofy smile on her face and waved the bouquet. The bride didn’t need to worry about her new sister-in-law’s skull fracture. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ve got a head like a rock.”

  The crowd surged forward to follow Rose and Mark to the car parked in the front driveway. April followed, rubbing her cheek, more distracted by the feel of Zack’s fingers sliding down her bare arm than she was by the throbbing pain under her eyeball.

  “We need to get you some ice,” Zack said in her ear, his low voice sending tendrils of desire down her spine.

  She let the crowd hurry ahead of her. Getting the best view wasn’t as important as she thought it would be that morning when she painted abstract white roses all over their getaway car.

  Zack slowed, too, and his fingers slid down her forearm and then over her wrist and knuckles to clasp her hand.

  Her heart thudded in her chest. “Maybe I should lie down,” she heard herself say.

  Yeah. I need to lie down. Right now. Not alone, though.

  “Are you staying here at the hotel?” he asked.

  She nodded. Her head swam. “Are you?”

  His thumb stroked hers. He didn’t answer.

  She turned and looked up at him. The world around them fell away, going dim and fuzzy and dark, leaving only Zachary Fain. She saw the stubble on his jaw, the crease between his eyebrows, the slight parting of his lips, and the darkening pupils of his eyes.

  She didn’t know if he wanted her, but if he didn’t, he’d better make a run for it. “I’m room sixteen. Upstairs.” She held his gaze.

  His eyelids fell. She licked her lips and watched the tension flex in his jaw.

  “Zack?” she asked.

  He swallowed visibly. “Upstairs,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  His hand slid up her arm and over her shoulder to her cheek. Both of them were breathing heavily now.

  “Sixteen?” he asked. His knee bumped hers, then his thigh. His face was inches away.

  “That’s what I sa—”

  His mouth came down on hers. The kiss was deep and slow, unhurried, unbelievable. Her body responded like dry leaves blasted with a flamethrower after months of drought. If his other hand hadn’t come up around her waist, pulling her firmly against his body and unbalancing her in the unfamiliar heels, she would’ve fallen over.

  And then he lifted his head a few
inches. “What luck,” he said softly. “That’s the same room I’ll be in.”

  Chapter 19

  HANDS SHAKING, ZACK MOVED AWAY from her and scanned the reception hall.

  She wasn’t pushing him away. He was going to have her. Tonight. Right now. Desire burned through his veins.

  Most of the guests had followed Mark and Rose out to the car, but some remained. If he stayed another minute, they were about to get quite a show. He’d never kissed a woman like that in his life. What was it about April that pushed him over the edge, over and beyond who he thought he was?

  She was watching him with serious, vulnerable eyes—he didn’t see any hint of the sarcastic, careful, tough girl in combat boots.

  He didn’t want to hurt her. She looked like a woman who could be hurt.

  “April…”

  She grabbed him by the lapels. “Don’t you dare. Don’t even think about it.” She released him abruptly and turned on her heel, keeping her gaze locked on his as she walked away. “Sixteen.”

  Heart pounding, he watched her disappear through the doorway.

  Then he followed.

  Ghosts tried to tag along: women in matching pink taffeta from a different wedding years ago, his best friend still hungover from the bachelor party; his parents in their Sunday best; Meg. But he broke free of all of them, waking up from the bittersweet dream, seeing only the curve of April’s neck under the flowers in her curly hair, the flow of her silk dress, the living, breathing movement of her body.

  By the time she reached the curved redwood stairs that led up to the second floor, he was fully in the moment, an amnesiac who was grateful for what he had in the present.

  She shot him a guarded smile over her shoulder. “Still with me?”

  He stepped up directly behind her and brought up his hands to her waist, resting them on the flare of her sexy hips. Then he reached around to caress her stomach, leaning close to whisper in her ear, “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She pressed her round ass into his pelvis. “Good.” Her voice wavered.

  He was going to have her.

  The sound of people returning to the hall to continue the party drove them up the stairs, hand in hand. He was in the lead now, his fingers entwined firmly in hers, pulling her along. When she tripped on the top stair, she kicked off her shoes without stopping, leaving them where they lay on the landing.

  He paused, but she said, “Leave them,” and rushed ahead.

  He wasn’t going to argue. They reached her door only a few seconds later, both breathing heavily, their hands roving close to one another in clumsy anticipation.

  It seemed to take her an hour to find her key card—apparently wedged in her bra—and open the door, but then finally they were inside in the dim bedroom, quiet but for their labored breaths, and he had her in his arms.

  Fears he hadn’t admitted to himself vanished in the heat of her touch. When her tongue darted between his lips and danced across his teeth, he remembered what to do. When her breasts rubbed against his chest, his hands instinctively cupped them, when her fingers found the fly of his trousers…

  He tore off the layers of his tuxedo, his shirt, his underwear, choosing to get himself naked first, which had always seemed more polite.

  You’re so silly, Meg had said once, laughing at him. Flashers aren’t polite.

  He waited for the surge of guilt to chill his body to uselessness.

  Promise me you’ll be happy, she’d said at the end.

  I can’t promise that. He wanted to. He wanted to give her anything. But he hadn’t promised, hadn’t been able to lie.

  April was watching him, waiting. Eyes locked on his, she began to undress—not like a boy about to jump in a lake, as he had, but slowly, deliberately. Fingers trailed down her throat to unfasten the tiny button between her breasts. It was a pearl, and there seemed to be dozens more dotting the front hem of her dress, all the way down to her knees.

  Tilting her head to one side, she pushed the delicate fabric off the opposite shoulder, exposing the thin, lacy strap of her bra. Then she slid her fingers across her collarbone, stroked her throat, and rubbed her lips until they were shiny with saliva.

  Seeing the effect this had on him—his body, though rigid in parts, had not been paralyzed with guilt—she smiled around her fingers. “Get on the bed.”

  His pride woke with a start. If she thought he was going to roll onto his back like a service dog, she was going to be disappointed.

  He moved closer to her, took the next button between his fingers, popped it open, and lowered his mouth to hers in a crushing kiss as he continued unbuttoning his way down until her dress fell away.

  She melted against him, soft but enthusiastic. Her tongue tangled with his, her hands dug into his shoulders, her hips pressed closer. Finally the dress was off and the curvy body under his hands wore nothing but some flimsy fabric, which felt good, but wasn’t her skin.

  “Take this off,” he said roughly.

  She put a hand on his chest and pushed him away. “Get on the bed.”

  “You said that already.”

  “Yet here you are,” she said, taking another step back.

  He ran a hand through his hair, unable to look away from her nipples, tantalizingly erect under the thin fabric. He didn’t want to argue with her. That would only delay things. Like his mouth tasting what he saw and what he was imagining and had been imagining for quite a while.

  With a fierce look that told her he wasn’t her slave, when of course he was, he turned and went to the bed. He tore off the duvet like a bullfighter with a red cape and lay himself down, face—and erection—up. Very up.

  She followed him and stood at the foot. Tiny flowers still clung to her hair. Her eyes were huge, luminous, knowing. She was beautiful.

  Under his ribs the lock snapped, the cell door opened, light poured in.

  He reached for her.

  Chapter 20

  LOOKING DOWN AT ZACK RECLINING on the white sheets, April wondered why she’d insisted on being on top. Maybe because this way she was able to get a really good look at him, naked in every way except for his glasses.

  “You’re still wearing your glasses,” she said, lifting the hem of her slip over her thighs, not quite high enough to show him her panties.

  His eyes followed her every move. “The better to see you with,” he said in a low voice.

  She shivered. He should’ve looked less intimidating, being butt naked, but he wasn’t. Even with the glasses. He was just too beautiful.

  She waited to catch her breath before lifting the slip the rest of the way and pulling it over her head. After flinging it onto a chair, she tried to regain her earlier confidence. The blazing look in his eyes made her falter, and it was hard to strike the seductive pose she’d intended without giggling.

  He propped himself up on his elbows. “Come here.”

  She had to fight giggles again. And the urge to run. What was the matter with her? She’d done this a million times.

  Well, not a million.

  It’s just he didn’t look like himself sprawled out like that. Looking at her like that. Wanting her like that.

  She focused on his eyes behind the glasses and realized that his expression wasn’t too different from his usual one. Had he wanted her all this time? She liked the idea of him lusting over her—secretly, just as she had for him.

  Holding that delicious thought, she gave him her back as she unfastened the bra and shimmied out of it, throwing him sultry looks over her shoulder. His gaze made her hot. She stopped worrying and fell into the moves of the dance. Men loved this foreplay she did, but she loved it more. It transformed her from goofy chick to woman, delivered them both to a sensual, intimate sanctuary.

  “April—please—”

  She fingered the waistband of her panties, moving her touch around her hips, behind her back, rotating for a moment to show him the strain of the shell-pink lace. She didn’t have much on top, but her ass, she’d been to
ld, was miraculous.

  Zack groaned from the bed. “Oh my God.”

  Down went the panties. She waited a moment, her back to him, then turned. Fighting down another wave of nerves, she got on the bed and crawled up his body on her hands and knees. His hardness brushed her nipples, her belly, and then, just slightly, between her legs. She held herself above him, not touching, and moved her face close enough to feel his breath. Then she shifted her weight to one hand and gently removed his glasses, setting them on the bedside table.

  There. Now he really looked naked.

  “April,” he said roughly.

  She rearranged her self above him. “Yes?”

  He hooked a hand behind her neck and pulled her down to his mouth in a hard kiss that knocked the strength out of her arms. She fell on him, chest to chest, hearts beating against each other, lost in the onslaught of his tongue in her mouth. She felt his hands slide up her body and find her breasts, her nipples, then down and around to the swell of her ass. Caressing her, he slowed his kiss, gentle and light, and then he rolled her onto her back.

  “April,” he said, running one hand through her hair, kissing her forehead, her nose, her cheeks.

  She couldn’t think. It was moving so fast. Who was this guy? Where was this passion coming from? Why—

  His tongue drove into her mouth. She spread her legs, suddenly urgent for him. “Zack.” Her voice sounded like a stranger’s. “I want you.”

  His hand was there. There. She fell into a mindless pool. Who was this, what was this, why was this—

  He raked his mouth across her cheek to her ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he said.

  “So are you.” She was dead serious, almost angry, but she felt him laugh against her throat.

  “I want everything you have. All of it. Every piece of you.” He stroked her skin from hip to shoulder, leaving a trail of fire wherever he touched. “Can I…”