Worth Any Cost: (Adam & Mia #4) (Gaming The System Book 6)

by Brenna Aubrey

  Jordan opened his mouth to defend his friend—he’d die defending Adam, I was certain. He was like Zoë Washburne to Adam’s Mal Reynolds. The perfect right-hand man.

  “It’s okay. Adam is not in the doghouse with me. I’m irked, sure. It’s our wedding. He did all of the planning and managed all the details. But here I am, alone.”

  “Well, even superhumans can’t foresee the future.”

  I sighed. “You’re right.”

  “He’ll be here in time. The wedding isn’t for five more days. If I have to fly back and drag him here, he’ll be here.”

  “Well, that’s reassuring.”

  He grinned that infuriatingly charming grin of his. “Drink up, Mia. There’s plenty more wine where that came from.”

  Me: Fabulous flight. Arrived here safely. About to enjoy four relaxing, exasperating, stressful days till the wedding. Am hoping other half of wedding party shows up soon.

  Him: I will be there. I promise you. And long before the wedding starts.

  I swallowed a lump in my throat at the realization that he was no longer joking around with me or teasing me. Things must be really hairy at home. I was worried for him.

  But as each day passed—our day out on a catamaran, snorkeling; the day we all went parasailing on the bay; the day we went to visit Diamond Falls and then had a bonfire on the beach—I was the odd one out. Almost everyone was paired up, either with a boyfriend, a flavor of the month, or a BFF (as Kat stuck close to Heath’s side most of the time).

  Every day, I got a bigger bouquet of flowers and a sweeter, longer note from my absentee fiancé. But that didn’t quell the frustration and loneliness. I wanted him here, not his goddamn flowers and notes.

  Finally, I was notified that he was on a plane and would arrive late morning…

  The day before the wedding.

  Oh, I wasn’t going to let him forget this anytime soon.

  Payback could be a bitch, and so could I.

  Chapter 19

  Adam

  Wheels down, Hewanorra Airport. St. Lucia. At last, I was in the same geographical location as my fiancée, approximately thirty-six hours before our wedding. And I was certain she was going to have my balls for this.

  I’d forgotten to bring my industrial-strength cup for protection.

  Me: Just landed. About to transfer to helicopter. Will be there in 45.

  Her: At last! We are down on the beach already. I left your swimsuit on the bed in my room. Change and then come down and meet us. I’m in Cabana #1. We have picnic and spa later, then wedding rehearsal & dinner.

  Me: Got it. See you in an hour or less. Can’t wait.

  No reply. Huh.

  With the exception of the last one, her texts had become more and more terse over the past few days. But I’d attributed that mostly to increasing stress as the wedding date approached without my arrival. I was right there with her on that stress level. In the end, I’d had to cut and run with the majority of the issue solved.

  Again, it came down to that control issue, and I mused over it during the quiet moments on that solitary plane ride, realizing what the hell I’d been doing. I’d almost missed my own wedding. Because of a server problem. Because I couldn’t back away once the main problem had been solved.

  Because I had control issues. I needed to wake the fuck up before I lost what I loved most. I thanked all the powers that be that she was patient enough to put up with me for this long.

  Sarting tomorrow, the day I became her husband, I would be making some major changes. I’d have priorities, damn it. And I’d never do anything like this to her again.

  Over a half-hour later, we touched down on the helipad of the Emerald Sky Resort and Spa, which, for the current week, was catering only to our wedding guests and the wedding party. One of the perks of being a joint owner of the establishment.

  The lush resort perched on the side of one of the jagged green mountains that St. Lucia was known for. It overlooked a beach, several stories below. Each room, referred to here as a “haven,” had its own infinity pool, and some also came equipped with hot tubs. The rooms were open on three sides to the Caribbean air.

  The hotel manager greeted me with a room key and told me the number. I let myself into our room, and true to her word, a swimsuit sat on the bed.

  Someone else’s swimsuit.

  I picked up the shiny scrap of fabric. A bright blue Speedo. A Speedo.

  Convinced it was either a mistake or—more likely, if I knew my betrothed—a practical joke, I proceeded to look through all the drawers and the closet for my stuff. Emilia had brought my suitcase along with hers on the private flight so I wouldn’t have to bother with luggage. That way, I could rush to the airport at the drop of a hat and fly out the first moment I could.

  So now…here I was with not a scrap of clothing in sight except for what I had on my back. And this goddamn Speedo.

  I was not dressed to hit the beach, either, wearing khakis and a button-down shirt with leather loafers.

  Fuck it.

  I pulled off my pants and underwear and put on the Speedo, taking time to inspect the result in the mirror. The swimsuit left nothing to the imagination. Nylon lined my crotch, emphasizing the lines of my dick and sac. Looked like Emilia had found a way to have my balls after all, no athletic cup needed.

  Oh, I was so demanding payback for this one. Everything I owned was on display for all to see.

  Not being able to fathom being seen in public like this, I slipped the pants back on and tossed my underwear onto her pillow as a calling card. Something for you to cuddle tonight, my love.

  Maybe I should let her have her laugh. No, Emilia. Not this time.

  She probably had my proper swim trunks in her beach bag. I’d change into them once I hit the cabana.

  Me: Here. On my way down. Interesting choice of swimsuit.

  Again, no reply.

  I made my way down to the beach, choosing to use the steep, winding stairs over the elevator cut into the side of the cliff.

  It took me no time to find our sand-colored cabana with a big white 1 painted on it. I lifted the flap and entered. It was completely empty but for a couple of beach bags, an ice bucket with a chilled bottle of unopened champagne, a cooler full of water bottles, and a tray of snacks.

  I popped a piece of cheese in my mouth—as I was starving—and dropped my pants, digging around in the beach bag for the swim trunks I was certain were there.

  I rifled through towels, bottles of sunblock and lotion, and pairs of sunglasses—grabbing out mine, I tucked them into my shirt pocket. That was a good sign. If my sunglasses were in here, my shorts had to be.

  Still bent over, I heard someone enter the tent. I resisted the urge to turn around. Let her get a nice, long view of my ass in a prone position. It was what she’d wanted, right? I kept digging, trying to ignore the fact that she was probably getting her laugh anyway.

  She moved up behind me and grabbed my ass. And not lightly, either. She squeezed the hell out of it.

  “Well, these are new. Nice ass, Beast.”

  I stiffened, standing. That wasn’t Emilia’s voice. I turned, my gaze meeting April’s shocked blue eyes. My best friend’s girlfriend had grabbed my Speedo-bedecked ass.

  “Holy shit!” Her hands went to her mouth, which was O-shaped. Her eyes were like saucers in her face. All I could do was laugh at her hilarious reaction. She took a step back. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were—”

  “Obviously.”

  She rubbed her forehead, flush with embarrassment. “Crap, I can’t even believe I just fondled you.”

  I laughed even harder. “I’ll keep it secret if you do.”

  “Keep what secret?” Emilia burst through the tent flap and took in April’s stunned expression and my laughter. Her eyes dropped to my Speedo. “Nice ass.”

  I only laughed harder, and April retreated again. “Oh shit. I gotta go. I thought this cabana was ours— Oh, uh—bye, Mia.” She paled. And for April,
also known as Snow White, that was a feat. “Sorry, Adam.” She apologized, bursting out of the tent.

  “Tell Beast I said hello,” I called after her.

  Emilia stared at me expectantly, her arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing a bikini I’d never seen before—pale pink and white checks. Delectable.

  But not happy.

  Before I could say anything, she scoffed. “You look familiar. I think I know you from somewhere.”

  I grimaced at her, indicating the insufferable Speedo. “Is this my punishment? People can see everything I own in this thing.” I tugged at the crotch self-consciously.

  She twitched her brows suggestively. “It’s a fantastic example of a banana hammock. Maybe I wanted to show off to the world all the goodies I’m about to get.”

  “Very funny.” I raised one brow at her. “Where’s your wet t-shirt, then? So I can show off all the goodies I’m going to get?”

  She stuck her tongue out at me in reply.

  “How many more mischievous jokes do you have in store for me?”

  She grinned, delighted. “This was the main one. I was going to try and substitute it for your tux tomorrow, but Jordan talked me out of that.”

  Someone should inform Jordan of how much his girlfriend appreciated a Speedo-bedecked ass.

  Emilia let her arms fall from her chest, and she took my breath away in that bikini. This Speedo was about to become a problem as my eyes slid down from the curve of her breasts, across her smooth stomach and hips, and down those long, delicious legs of hers.

  “Come here,” I ordered.

  “Why should I?”

  “Because you look good enough to eat, and I’m starved.”

  She laughed, stepping forward. “Still not suave, Drake.” Once she was close enough, my arms were around her, my hands on the soft, soft skin of her lower back. I pulled her up against me and kissed her neck. God, she smelled so good.

  She drew away to scan my face. “What was April’s problem?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe she got freaked out because she saw me in the Speedo and was turned on. But I had to remind her that these goodies belong to you.”

  Emilia laughed. “Officially. As of tomorrow at sunset.”

  I kissed her again “These goodies haven’t been used in a while. I think we need to test them out before then.”

  She was already unbuttoning my shirt, kissing her way down from my collarbone across my chest. “I completely agree. Don’t want to accept faulty goods.”

  She licked my nipple, and it zapped me like an electric shock. I moaned, putting my hands in her hair. “I need to fuck you. ASAP.”

  “I could get on board with that plan.” She led me over to the outdoor couch in the rear of the tent. With a flick of her wrist, it unfolded into a double lounge. Slowly, she spread her towel on it and lay down, stretching herself out like a banquet, all ready for me to consume.

  I laid down my towel just as she had and landed beside her, pulling her into my arms immediately. “I’ve only seen you in this bikini for five minutes, and it’s already driving me insane.” With my index finger, I stroked the velvet skin on the inside of her breasts. Like heaven.

  Her eyes snapped shut, and she pressed the whole length of her body against mine. Our mouths found each other, fastening together. I tasted her lips, her mouth, her tongue.

  Kissing her was amazing, but after all this time, I was beyond desperate to get into her bikini. My mouth traveled down the column of her neck, down her breastbone, between the two pink-checkered-covered mounds.

  “You taste like suntan lotion,” I groaned as her fingers glided through my hair, teasing my scalp.

  “I didn’t put lotion everywhere.” She smiled lazily. “Certain parts have nothing at all.”

  “Yeah…my favorite parts,” I murmured as I untied the string to her bikini top. She lounged with a long, contented sigh, happy to let me devour her. And I was happy to do the devouring.

  When I touched her nipples, they tightened immediately, firing me up more. Her husky moans were music to my ears. My cock swelled inside that ridiculous Speedo, and I pulled away, taking two minutes to tear it off while also making sure to remove her bikini bottoms.

  I settled on top of her. “I’m cutting to the chase, here. I figured you don’t mind.” At last, she was naked and underneath me. Finally. And everywhere our skin touched, it burned. She leaned up and, with a delicious moan, took my mouth again, opening her legs for me.

  And I was in such a trance that I almost—almost—entered her right there and then.

  Rocking against her, I breathed heavily, suddenly snapping into reality with an urgent thought. “Please tell me there are condoms in the bag.”

  Moving her hips again in such a way as to demand I enter her, she let out a long breath. God, it was so tempting. But these days, we strictly observed the adage No glove, no love.

  Her reply came in a gruff whisper. “Um, what? Why would there be condoms in the beach bag?” I let out a long sigh of frustration, resting my forehead against hers. She smoothed her hands down my back. “Use the one in your wallet.”

  I raised my head and looked her in the eye. “I never carry a condom in my wallet. That’s something only frat boys—and Jordan—would do.”

  She leaned up and kissed me again, her tongue tempting me with every fluttery movement inside my mouth. She was so goddamn irresistible. “Why don’t you pull out this time?”

  Shifting my hips a fraction, I was all ready to take the plunge before actually considering that insanity. I shivered against her. “There’s no way in hell that I’m trusting myself to pull out. Besides, that is the least effective method ever.”

  “But what about your legendary self-control?”

  “Today, I’ve got none. Damn it.”

  “Shit.” Her head flopped on the headrest, and we held each other’s gaze for long minutes.

  “Let’s go up to our room. I have condoms in the luggage,” I said.

  “We’re not in the same room tonight.” She sighed. “It’s the night before our wedding. Your luggage is in the honeymoon suite.”

  “Then let’s go there.”

  “We’ve got the picnic and bay tour in a half-hour.” She rolled her eyes. “After that, we have our spa appointments. Today’s agenda is packed.”

  I chewed on my bottom lip. “Tonight after dinner?”

  “Our rehearsal dinner?”

  I hesitated. “Sure…we’ll have time. We’ll meet in the bathroom of the restaurant. A last sexcapade while we’re still unmarried people.” She laughed and shifted under me, and I had to suppress a groan at how good it felt. I kissed her nose. “We better get dressed before I consider doing something very foolish.”

  Her eyes closed. “I don’t wanna. I want to be ravished.”

  “Oh, you will. You will be ravished…but not right now.” I pushed off her. “Now I have to figure out how the hell I’m going to stuff all this back into that fucking Speedo.”

  She cackled with laughter before pushing herself off the lounge and moving over to the beach bag, unzipping a side pocket—a secret compartment!—pulling out my trusty swim trunks and flinging them at me. “No way is that banana going back in the hammock. At this point, it would be indecent to walk around like that.”

  “Not liking the marble bag look anymore?” I gave her a goofy grin before pulling on the trunks.

  “You mean the weenie bikini?” She winked. “You’ve got the goods, sure. But I think you forgot how to use them.”

  I jutted my chin out at her. “Tonight. Wear easy-access underwear.” She flung the Speedo right at my head, and I dodged. “Or better yet, go commando.”

  “So full of talk.”

  “Oh, I’m making it happen. Just you wait.”

  But for the moment, we had an agenda to follow, and I would have protested the goddamn agenda were I not the person who had created the shitty thing in the first place.

  Chapter 20

  Mia

/>   “Making it happen” was easier said than done. What I’d realized hours ago, after the sailboat tour of the bay—and what Adam was coming to realize only now, in the middle of the rehearsal dinner—was that the day before a destination wedding, the bride and groom are never left alone. It was like some secret, unwritten rule.

  For all that they’d be bending over backward to give us our privacy on our wedding night and during our honeymoon, our friends and family were having none of it right now.

  The girls wanted to get together for appetizers before the rehearsal. The guys had made it to the bar for beers and dude talk—which apparently included a surprise dunk of the groom in a hotel swimming pool.

  Fortunately, he’d been able to change into dry clothes quickly, so that he wasn’t dripping all over the wedding rehearsal. Afterward came the quiet, intimate rehearsal dinner with our tiny wedding party: Heath, Jordan, my mom, Peter, and the two of us.

  The good part? Dinner was intimate and quiet and really rather nice.

  The bad part? Dinner was intimate and quiet and nearly impossible to slip away from long enough to go have a quickie in the bathroom.

  While we awaited dessert, Adam nudged me hard under the table and began to excuse himself for a restroom break. I folded my napkin, planning to follow suit when Peter stopped Adam, saying he was about to make a toast to us.

  Well, shit. How could we miss that?

  With a stony face, Adam raced off to the bathroom and returned in a few minutes. His dark eyes found mine, and I shrugged at him. Despite his grumpiness, he looked good tonight, even with the last-minute clothing change. His dark, damp hair had been slicked back, and he was freshly shaved. He wore a light blue, exquisitely tailored button-down shirt, chinos, and deck shoes.

  I smoothed my cute floral cotton frock across my lap, all too aware of the barely there, “easily accessible” panties I’d worn underneath. All he had to do was stared at me, like he was doing now, and they grew damp. I squirmed in my seat as Peter cleared his throat and took up the fresh flute of champagne the server had placed before him—as he had done with all of us.