by Lily Everett
“What I would love,” Felicity said, disentangling herself and struggling to her feet, “would be to nail down a reception location. I’ve planned everything I can without that last piece of the puzzle in place.”
Zane glanced at his wafer thin sports watch. “So. The most amazing sex of your life distracted you for all of … eighty-seven minutes. I must be slipping.”
“Who said it was the most amazing sex of my life?” Felicity responded tartly, hands on hips.
The smoldering look Zane directed up at her from his boneless sprawl on the ground made Felicity’s thighs tremble and her cheeks heat. There was something unbelievably sexy about Zane’s confidence, especially now that she’d peeked behind the curtain and glimpsed the reasons behind everything Zane did.
His brother’s death had scarred him. Zane might think he was over it, that he’d moved on by living his life a certain way—but Felicity could see that there was still healing to be done. For instance, even now, Zane avoided looking past her and out across the beach to the sea.
Holding out a hand to help brace him, Felicity felt a thrill when he clasped her fingers and let her tug him up. They were in this together.
“You’re right,” she said, quiet and simple and to the point. “It was the best sex of my life, because for the first time in a long time, I let go and allowed myself to enjoy it. And you’re the one who showed me how. So thank you for that.”
His eyes heated to the color of the blue flames at the heart of a fire. “It was my pleasure, I assure you.”
“Let me show you something in return.” Felicity tried not to beg, but his answer mattered so much.
Zane zipped up his jeans, leaving the top button undone in a way that played havoc with Felicity’s hormones. Shrugging back into his waffle-print cotton Henley shirt, he gave her a wary glance. “The beach?”
She nodded, doing her best to project calm emotional support. “You wanted me to admit that the world wouldn’t stop turning if I let go and had fun. We proved that together. Now let me prove to you that you’re strong enough to stand at the edge of the ocean.”
* * *
Fair was fair, Zane supposed, swallowing as a chill sweat broke out along his hairline. Ignoring the clenching of his gut, he said, “Sure. What the hell.”
Relief and happiness turned Felicity’s smile up to eleven. She clasped his hand, apparently not minding that his palms were a little clammy, and walked backwards onto the edge of the sand.
With Felicity holding his hands and pulling him forward, Zane managed to take that first step out onto the sand. The shift and scratch of it under his shoes tightened his stomach, bringing up memories, but Zane held them at bay by staring into Felicity’s soft amber eyes.
He inhaled salt sweet air and the sound of gulls calling to each other as they rode the breeze overhead. Sharp, dry cord grass brushed and caught at his jeans as they tramped through the dunes to the wide expanse of flat beach. The sound of the waves rushing in filled Zane’s ears, and for a disorienting heartbeat, the crying gulls sounded like humans shrieking for help. Zane tensed, but Felicity linked her arm through his elbow and stood shoulder to shoulder with him. As if it were the two of them against the world … or at least, the two of them against Zane’s darkest nightmares.
The Atlantic Ocean rolled out before them like a vast, endless blue void. White-capped waves surged and danced, hiding untold dangers in the depths below. Zane forced himself to confront it—not just the view of the ocean but the undertow of his memories. “This is the same ocean that killed my brother.”
Felicity’s arm tightened around his, but her voice was calm. “It’s never the same ocean. The water ebbs and flows, the tides go in and out, and everything changes. What happened to you and your family was horrible, Zane. But the ocean is as beautiful as it is terrible. And it has a lot of meaning, for a lot of people. I’m sure Miles and Greta would love to celebrate their vows right over there.” Felicity pointed a little ways down the beach to a protected inlet, small and intimate looking.
Heart pounding, Zane pictured it. He pictured himself in a suit, after standing up with Miles, who reminded him of Michael so much that at times, it was hard to be around him. Could he do it? Could he dance at Miles’s wedding reception, on the sandy beach he’d avoided for so long, and be happy for his friend?
Surprise washed through him. Instead of dread, the image felt good—right. It was what Miles wanted, and Miles should get to live his dream of the perfect wedding. Zane wanted that for him, and since he could never give it to Michael, he’d do his damnedest to make sure Miles got everything he wanted.
Which, for some reason, included Zane working together with Felicity Carlson to plan the reception. Maybe Zane owed Miles a thank you.
Drawing in a deep, cleansing breath, Zane cracked his neck and dropped Felicity’s arm so he could turn to face her. She stared up at him with hope and compassion brightening her eyes to the color of ancient gold coins, and Zane couldn’t resist dipping his head to steal a kiss from her berry-pink lips.
His next breath came straight from Felicity’s lungs, and it gave him strength. “It’s going to be a beautiful wedding,” he murmured, nuzzling against the silk of her cheek. “And it’s going to be a beautiful reception, too—right down there in that cove.”
Felicity breathed in sharply, pulling back to search his face. “You mean it? We can go ahead with the reception on the beach?”
The words didn’t want to come, choked up behind the knot of emotion in his throat, so he nodded instead. It was all worth it, the pain of reliving the past and the vulnerability of being here with Felicity, for the way her face lit up with happiness and excitement.
As she burst into explanations and plans for what she envisioned the reception to be like, Zane let his eyes drift to half-mast and listened with only half an ear while he kept one arm around her shoulders and concentrated on the feel of her at his side. She fit there so perfectly, as if there had been an invisible space carved out of the universe just for her, and he’d been carrying it around with him all his life.
Breaking off in the middle of an estimate for how long it would take to build a temporary wooden walkway across the cord grass marsh to help guests get from the yacht club to the reception site, Felicity met Zane’s gaze. “Thank you. I know this isn’t your first choice, and that it’s not completely comfortable for you, but it means a lot to me. And I know it will mean a lot to Miles and Greta.”
Zane shrugged it off, uncomfortable with her gratitude. “No big deal. It’s not like we’d found another alternative for the reception location anyway. And this will be convenient to the ceremony, no transporting the guests someplace else. It’s the practical solution.”
“I agree, but I know…” Felicity paused, worry shadowing her gaze. “I know it costs you something to be here, and to plan to spend even more time here. I just want you to know that I appreciate it, and I think we’re doing the right thing. For several reasons.”
Zane wasn’t sure what those reasons were, but as Felicity went back to lamenting the fact that she’d left her binder in the car and she couldn’t make notes on all her ideas, Zane hugged her in close to his side once more. And even as he pressed a kiss to the honey brown hair crowning her head, he realized he’d do a lot more than stand on a beach to keep from losing this.
Chapter Seven
Felicity wasn’t a child. She understood that the fact that she and Zane were now sleeping together—sneaking down the hallway at Harrington House, avoiding the creaky floorboard and laughing breathlessly when they slipped into each other’s beds—did not mean they’d never fight again.
Of course, the fact that both of them were guests at the Harringtons’ huge, rambling Victorian house on Island Road eliminated several of the major obstacles to continuing their affair. For the last few days, they’d taken shameless advantage of their proximity, and every time they came together, Felicity felt herself unbend a little more. Under Zane’s tender hands and h
ungry gaze, her heart opened like a flower. No matter how often she reminded herself that this was only a fling, Felicity’s stubbornly hopeful heart never quite got the message.
But amazing compatibility in the bedroom—and in the back of her car, against a tree, and once, memorably, in the bathroom at the Firefly Café—did not necessarily equal compatibility anywhere else. Once they’d agreed to hold the reception on the beach, she’d sort of assumed the party planning would be relatively simple from there on.
Not so much.
“I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t you want me to fly in Dash and the Danger Boys? They’re the top music act on my label. They sell out stadium concerts. Women throw their panties on the stage and men rock out to their badass sound.” Zane kicked his booted feet up on the porch railing and slouched down in his cushioned wicker chair. “What I’m saying is, they’re the new hotness. And I can get them here, on zero notice, to play a freaking hundred-person wedding. That’s the coolest thing I can think of.”
“It’s the flashiest thing you can think of,” Felicity corrected, snapping her binder closed. She ran a hand through her hair, grimacing at the tangles, and wished she had a rubber band to tie it back the way she did for her kickboxing classes at the gym. This conversation was every bit as much of a fight.
Zane shrugged. “So? People like a spectacle.”
“At a wedding, people like romance,” she argued. “And a hard-drinking, hard-living hard rock band doesn’t scream romance.”
“Romance.” Zane’s upper lip curled. “The best thing we could do for Miles is help his wedding transcend the usual tired clichés. Let’s give them all something to remember! A unique wedding experience they’ll never forget.”
Felicity kicked her bare toes against the white-painted floorboards to set the porch swing into furious motion. “I don’t know how to explain this to you, but Miles and Greta don’t care about unique. They don’t want to make a spectacle of themselves. They just want to dedicate their lives to each other, and to share that precious occasion with their friends and family in one intimate, special, romantic evening.”
“And you think some jazz quartet is going to be special enough.”
“It would allow people to dance, at least,” Felicity pointed out.
“No one can dance to that boring, dusty old music.” Pulling out his phone, Zane quickly thumbed through it and turned it to face Felicity. “This is what gets people to dance. Trust me. I didn’t make as much money as I have by playing Sinatra in my clubs.”
Felicity leaned over to take the phone, her gaze drawn to the splashy homepage for the most popular and exclusive of Zane’s nightclubs, Mystique. Live music, hot bands, good cocktails, and a throng of scantily clad, model-beautiful people heaved and writhed across the screen. And yes, they certainly did all look as if they were having a wonderful time.
“But we’re not talking about one of your clubs, Zane.” Impatient, she tossed the phone back to him and crossed her arms over her chest. “This is a wedding, and weddings are supposed to reflect the personalities of the couple tying the knot. Not the personality of an overgrown teenager who’s made a fortune by catering to people’s desire to forget their troubles on the dance floor.”
Zane’s boots hit the porch floor with a thud as he sat up straight. “In other words, you think I’m making this all about me.”
“A little bit?” Felicity bit her lip, torn between pushing the argument further and doing whatever it took to erase the flat, hurt look from Zane’s eyes. “Look, I know your intentions are good. I get that you want to give Miles the most amazing wedding reception in the history of the world, because he reminds you of your brother and this is a milestone you’ll never get to share with Michael. I understand.”
“You understand nothing.” Zane threw himself out of his seat and paced the length of the wraparound porch.
Studying the V of his broad-shouldered, lean-hipped back in his tight gray sweater, Felicity’s heart ached for him. She understood more than he wanted to admit. She knew this man, deep down, in a way that scared her because it shouldn’t be possible between two people who’d only met a little over three weeks ago.
But Felicity was used to facing facts. And the fact here was that she was in big trouble with Zane Bishop. Because the temptation to bring a smile back to his face almost outweighed her longstanding need to present perfection on the professional level.
Almost.
“Okay.” She blew out a breath that stirred her bangs on her forehead. “Let’s table the entertainment question for now and go back to the décor. We agreed on enclosed, heated structures to protect guests from the ocean breeze. The clear roof and sides will allow guests to enjoy the sunset over the water during cocktail hour, then they can dance under the stars! The company I work with will deal with setup, floor leveling, additional heaters if we want them, and of course, lighting.”
Resting his hands on the porch railing, Zane slanted her a look. “Let me guess. No disco ball and colored lights.”
“Not at all.” Felicity smiled encouragingly. “I’m happy to talk color. I’m thinking a wash of pink or coral, something warm and flattering. And of course we’ll want luminarias like tea candles in paper bags or hurricane lamps along the boardwalk and any other walkways between venues. We could carry that theme through into the tents, with strands of paper lanterns.”
“Sounds lame.”
“It sounds romantic,” Felicity gritted out. “Honestly, have you ever even been to a wedding before?”
“Romantic, romantic, romantic.” Zane shifted his weight, thrusting his hips back and dropping his head between his bent arms. He groaned. “I hate that stupid word.”
A pang shot through Felicity’s chest, but she tipped up her chin. “Intimate, then.”
“Even worse.” Zane straightened abruptly, casting a smoldering look in Felicity’s direction. “Unless you mean it in the sexy fun times way. Because I’m always up for that.”
Liquid heat pooled in Felicity’s belly, temptation thick and tangible in the very air between them. Reading the desire in her face, Zane strode toward her and curled his big hands around her back. He set one knee on the porch swing bench to steady it, looming over her like some ancient god come to life to seduce a poor mortal woman into giving up everything for the joy of his touch.
When he kissed her, Felicity’s well-trained body responded instantly. A shiver lifted the hairs at the back of her neck and tightened her nipples to taut, hard knots. As if he were attuned to every pulse of her heart, every inch of her sensitized skin, Zane slid one palm around to cup her breast. Her nipple nestled into the hot center of his hand, which assuaged the ache there while stoking the fire in her center even higher.
It was the middle of the day, and they were in full view of anyone who happened to walk down Island Road, or anyone who looked out the front window of Harrington House. But none of that was enough to pierce the cloud of sensual desire that surrounded Felicity along with Zane’s strong arms and huge, overwhelming body. Her brain shuddered to a stop, her thoughts drowned out by the pleasure flooding her system.
Until Zane nipped at her bottom lip and nuzzled down her jaw to her neck, whispering, “This is the kind of intimacy I can get behind.”
It was as if he’d dashed a bucket of cold water into her face.
Spluttering, Felicity hauled herself upright and hitched her shirt back into place. The sudden move rocked the swing, knocking Zane off balance and sending him back a step. Concern darkened his face. “What’s wrong?”
Heart stuttering, Felicity was terrified she’d never be okay again. “Sex is all you’re ever going to be able to give a woman, isn’t it?”
Zane’s expression shut down so fast, Felicity wondered if she’d imagined the stark flash of fear. “I haven’t heard any complaints.”
“That’s why you veto everything I suggest for the wedding reception, anything that hints at something deeper than the surface, where you like to live…”
<
br /> “Hey.” His jaw jutted aggressively even as he retreated a pace. “I live my life to the fullest. That’s what I’m all about.”
Shaking her head in despair, Felicity said, “No. You wade through the shallows and avoid the depths. You want spectacle, excitement … fun.”
“Well, yeah.” Zane shrugged one shoulder. “I thought you were on board with that now. Didn’t we prove you can have fun and not lose everything?”
The genuine bewilderment in his voice tore at Felicity’s heart. “Moderation, right? That was your word. The same way I needed to remember not to be all business and control all the time, you need to know that life can’t be nothing but fun. At least, not for me. I need more.”
Zane turned on her like a cornered animal, face lined with anger. “Then you’re a fool. Asking for more is asking for pain. Yeah, I live on the surface—that’s where all the air is. Why would I want to get sucked down below the water? So I can drown?”
He choked off his words when Felicity reached for him, unable to help herself. “Zane, no. Don’t you see, I can’t keep going like this with you. I can’t pretend I can be with you every night, fight and laugh with you every day, and keep from…”
“From what? Enjoying yourself?” Zane sneered, painfully handsome in the fading afternoon light.
Felicity took a long look, filling her heart to the brim with the image of this damaged, vibrant, exciting, totally unavailable man. “Sure. Let’s call it that,” she said quietly as she let the truth crash over her.
Zane Bishop was never going to fall in love with her. He wouldn’t allow himself to feel anything that real, that permanent, that deep. And Felicity?
She had to get out while she still had a hope of halting her headlong plummet into a lonely, unrequited forever.
Bending down, she gathered up the binders, papers, and colored pens and sticky notes that had slid off the swing in all the commotion. “You win, Zane. The reception is all yours.”
