St. Helena Vineyard Series: Something Borrowed (Kindle Worlds Novella)

by Brittany Holland

  A brick wall slams into my chest and I shake my head, both shocked and in awe over her admission. She's still talking, reading me the riot act, her arms flailing out by her sides, and I take it. I deserve it for being an asshole.

  "Mi—la." A tall blonde steps onto the patio and shares a look with whom I'm assuming is Mila. Mila throws her hand up to gesture for her to wait a minute, or a second—hell, I don't know, an hour? I could stand here all night watching her talk, her plump lips pressing together as she thinks about what she’s going to say next. That passion and tenacity is hot as hell, and I love the fact that she didn’t throw herself at me instantly. In fact, she seems to really dislike me. Game on.

  "Furthermore, I'm a guest here, the same as you, but I'm also working with the bride. You remember her, right? The one wearing white? So, it seems I'm actually needed here, while you are an obligatory invite. An associate of Ferris's, I assume," she snaps, hands now still and resting on her curvy hips.

  My tongue is heavy in my mouth, lost for words. Blonde girl clears her throat, and Mila and I whip our heads her way. "Um, so…we need you." My eyes snap to the camera in her hand, then back to Mila. She must be her assistant.

  "Excuse us. Have a great night." The photographer grabs Mila's arm and urges her back toward the tent, but the look they share tells me they're less like a boss and employee, and more like partners in crime.

  "What the hell was that?" the photographer whisper-shouts as they walk away.

  "Nothing," Mila hisses.

  "Didn't look like nothing. And you know you can't talk like that to the guests."

  "Just some pompous ass."

  As they get farther away, the waves and music from the party drown out the rest of their conversation, and my body, which was wired up from my interaction with her, is now disappointed by her sudden departure.

  "What the actual hell was that?" I laugh to myself. I'm not used to being caught so off-guard by a woman, at least not intellectually. She was something else. She had a contagious fire about her, a little bit like flying too close to sun. A woman like that could burn, and I’d like to find out just how hot. And that mouth on her…

  She was gorgeous, but that mouth…

  Waves crash below, drawing my attention out over the dark sea lit by the glowing moon. My phone pulses in my hand, alerting me to an incoming text.

  AJ: We can figure this out.

  Me: Nothing to figure it out.

  AJ: Sure about that?

  AJ:

  I don't need to open it to know what it is. So freaking predictable. I shove my phone in my pocket and head back to the party. There is something to figure out, but it has to do with a curvy brunette and how to get her alone again.

  Chapter 5

  Camilla

  "Pompous ass, huh?" Bea repeats just to mess with me as she pulls me aside under the cover of the tent, a shit-eating grin on her face.

  "I didn't stutter," I point out.

  She keeps smiling. Sometimes, I swear the Joker is her real dad. She has this wild-eyed smile that reeks of crazy. "I just didn't know you had it in you, Mila. I mean, I had faith deep down, but I’ve never seen you go full-blown postal on a stranger."

  "Rude stranger," I interject.

  She waves me off. "Whatever. He was rude...so you say. All I know is what I saw, and he is H-O-T—hot!"

  My cheeks heat. "Was he? I hadn't noticed," I say, trying to play it off, but she knows me better than that.

  "Bullshit," she coughs.

  "Okay, yes, I'll admit it, and I was ogling him like some creepy stalker until he caught me. Then he opened his mouth and the trance was broken. Satisfied?" I offer.

  "And?" She is relentless.

  "And...he accused me of being a wedding crasher, then brought up my parents. Mood killer," I explain.

  "Ahhh. I'm so sorry." She moves in to hug me, and I let her. When I break away, tears prick my eyes and my throat does that closing-up, tickling thing.

  "I know, I know. Okay, whew… Why were you looking for me? Does Daisy need me?"

  "Oh, yeah. She wanted to make sure you had her ceremony veil back in her dressing room. She couldn't remember," she explains.

  "Yeah. I have it put away," I tell Bea as I look back to the reception.

  "Beautiful, isn't it?" Bea follows my awestruck gaze around the candlelit room.

  My chin lifts to nod. "Are they all this lavish? All the ones you've seen so far?"

  "Mostly. Mona has very exclusive clientele. She's the best at what she does." She bumps my shoulder. "And now, you're part of that."

  "Thanks to you," I remind her.

  "Enough sappy crap. Let's hit the bar," she suggests.

  I move to follow her, the stone cool beneath my feet. How did I forget my shoes?

  Bea sees me looking down, and I lift the black chiffon, wiggling my bare feet. "Missing something, Cinderella?" she teases.

  My hair tickles my shoulder as I shrug. "Who knows. Let's get that drink."

  "Wait, is that professional?" I ask as Bea smacks into me.

  "We're officially off duty. The bride and groom have made their exit. Just a couple drinks, then I'll whisk you away before you turn into a pumpkin or make a huge fool of yourself," she goads me.

  "Oh, look who's practicing for open mic night," I joke.

  "Okay, Cindy, just for that, shots it is. I heard they have this amazing coconut infused tequila." Her wicked smile is back. This could be trouble.

  Chapter 6

  Carter

  Another drink. The amber burns as it goes down. Liquid courage. Never needed it before. I glance down at the sexy black heels on the stool next to me, and yep, I definitely need it now.

  I've been watching her across the dance floor for nearly half an hour, maybe more. Swaying to the music, dark hair escaping and falling over her bare shoulders. Standing, I adjust myself, down the rest of my drink, and grab the heels before heading toward their owner.

  Ferris and Daisy are long gone, along with most of the bridal party. It'll be winding down soon, and I'm about to lose my chance. A slow, soulful pulse starts—old school, like something my grandparents listened to.

  She's moving to the beat, her back to me. Blondie’s eyes widen as she sees me approach, and I lift my hands in a silent prayer, pleading for her not to give me away. Smiling, she winks, and I set the heels down before falling into rhythm behind her. “What do you want from me?” rings out through the speakers, as if the singer is reading my mind. Placing my hands on her hips, I grip the fabric and pull her closer. At first, she tenses, but I hold her tight. "Shhh, I've got you," I whisper into her silky hair. It tickles my nose, and the smell is incredible, like cotton candy and sex, and uniquely her.

  Between her scent surrounding me, the pulse of the music, and the way she's pressed against me, I need to get her alone. But I already know she's not that kind of girl. It would be so much easier if she were. For the first time that I can recall, it’s more than a physical attraction. Of course I’m attracted to her, but when she put me in my place earlier, it jolted me to my core. Then, when she broke about her parents, and her anger barely covered her sadness, she chipped away a little of my armor.

  The tempo picks up on the chorus, and I squeeze my eyes closed in longing. Graceful arms lift, reaching behind my neck, holding me where she wants me. Nails scrape the sensitive skin behind my ears, fingertips working their way to tangle in my hair. Her body tenses, arms falling away, and my eyes blink open.

  Pulling away, she whips around. "You!"

  I throw her my best smirk, the one reserved for panty melting. "Hey, crash."

  "You have got to be kidding me." She looks around, and her friend, who appears extremely amused, waves at us. She also seems to be filming our exchange on her iPhone.

  "Can't we finish the dance at least?" I run my hands down her arms.

  "The song ended," she informs me, looking back for her friend, who seems to have made her escape.<
br />
  "I hadn't noticed," I reply, tucking my hands in my pockets—nervous habit.

  She keeps staring like she wants to say something, or maybe slap me, I can't tell for sure. But she has to feel this pull. I can't be the only one.

  Another song starts, and I raise my eyebrows in question.

  My stomach falls when she shakes her head and turns to walk away. “Wait,” I say, reaching for her arm. She stops, and I bend to retrieve the shoes she left behind.

  "You ran off and left these." I hold them out to her.

  "Um, thanks." She blushes, looking anywhere but my eyes.

  I'm so out of my element here. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about earlier," I try to explain. "I'm not usually such a pompous ass," I add.

  "You heard that?" she gasps, her hand flying to her mouth, pink tinting her cheeks.

  "Yeah, no worries. It was warranted." Rocking back on my heels, I clear my throat before blurting, “Can I get you a drink?"

  "No thanks. I really need to go," she says as her stomach growls. "Kill me know," she mumbles.

  "Something to eat, maybe?" I quirk a brow in question.

  Her green eyes narrow, scrutinizing me. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."

  "After all those shots, I'd say it's a great idea." My smile drops when I realize what I’ve said. Oh, shit.

  Her emerald eyes widen. "You were watching me?"

  "If I'm not mistaken, you did it first," I say, trying to recover from my slipped confession. The pointed look she shoots me lets me know she's still not convinced. "Look, it's not a marriage proposal, it's just food."

  She smiles, nodding. I fight back a fist pump, shocked she didn’t make me work harder.

  "Okay?" My jaw hangs open, and I quickly close it, not wanting to give away my doubt.

  "Okay," she replies, and I take her shoes back to carry them for her.

  “My lady,” I say, offering her my arm, and she takes it as I lead her back to the alcove where I first saw her. She’s quiet as she sits on a chaise. "Wait right here."

  Turning, I rush back to the tent. Food. Food. Food. Most of it has been cleared away—what now? My eyes race around the room, scanning for options.

  "Pssst, Romeo!" I turn to my left and see her blonde friend. "Go for the chocolate groom's cake." She motions to the dessert table with her head.

  "You sure?"

  "Definitely," she replies, smiling like she's let me in on a secret.

  "Mila's a chocolate lover?" I ask.

  "Something like that. Treat her right, or I'll cut your balls off, okay?" she states.

  I swallow, the idea of losing my balls not sitting well with me. "You’ve got it. Thank you," I add, my voice a little shrill as I spin on my heel. I grab the biggest piece of chocolate cake I can find, a fork, and snatch up a couple bottles of water on my way back out to Mila.

  Chapter 7

  Camilla

  Sinking into the soft chaise, I draw my legs up and wrap my arms around myself, remembering the tingle of his arms holding me in the dance we just shared. The feel of his hands possessively holding me close, his breath on my neck…I wish he would have leaned in a little closer and pressed his full lips against my skin.

  He smelled incredible, like the ocean. Shivers run through me at the thought of being close to him again—which should freak me out, given my history with men, but the way he held me was…protective.

  Which is insane. I don't know this guy. And our first encounter left me thinking he was a major jerk, but something changed during that dance. Something I can’t pinpoint or explain. There was an energy pulsing around us, making the rest of the room disappear.

  While I am a romantic, I'm not naive enough to think there's a Prince Charming waiting to sweep me off my feet the minute our gazes collide across a crowded ballroom. No damsel in distress here. But there was…something.

  And to be cherished, held, adored…loved by someone—that, I could get used to. I lay back on the cushion and close my eyes, dreaming about the possibility.

  Something brushes my shoulders and my eyes snap open. A soft smile touches my lips. He’s back. My mystery man. Mine.

  I shake my head, clearing that insane thought before looking over at him again and suppressing a shiver.

  “Cold?” he asks, laying his jacket over me. My cheeks heat as I stifle a yawn and sit up.

  "Sorry, I must have dozed off. And…no, not anymore. Thank you," I whisper, though the shivering had nothing to do with being cold and everything to do with him. I meet his eyes again, and the look I find makes me not so tired anymore. It's a look of want, and it mirrors what I'm feeling.

  He motions to the table beside us. "I brought reinforcements." Taking a seat next to me, he grabs the plate and holds it between us.

  My eyes come to rest on the biggest piece of chocolate cake I've ever seen, and I can't help the little moan that escapes my lips. My hand flies up to cover my mouth, mortified at my outburst.

  My curves make it obvious I'm no stranger to chocolate cake, but for him to hear me is embarrassing.

  He reaches up, his strong hand pulling mine away from my face and holding it in his. "Keep moaning like that and I'll be eating more than this chocolate cake." He nips at my fingers before letting go.

  Equal parts shocked and turned on, I stare into his blue eyes, tempted to make the sound again just to see what he will do.

  I'm no prude, but I'm also not this bold, and it makes me wonder whether it's him or that coconut infused tequila that has me practically falling into his lap.

  "Plus, I usually save that kind of dessert for the second date," he adds with a wink as he digs in and lifts the fork to my mouth.

  "This isn't a date—" I start, but the rich chocolate taste silences me, and another tiny moan passes my lips. Eyes widening, I look up just in time to see him set the plate down and reach for me.

  "I warned you." His hands touch either side of my face as he leans in. I suck in a breath at the contact and prepare for the rush of his mouth onto mine, but it doesn't come. Instead, his warm tongue traces along my bottom lip from one corner to the other. He pulls away slightly, looking at me as he licks his lips. "Chocolate, my new favorite."

  Leaning back in, he repeats this process with my top lip. A thousand shockwaves crash through me as our thighs press together and his hands move to tangle in my hair. As he increases the pressure of his tongue dancing against my parted lips, I reach up and grip his shoulders, strong and solid under my touch.

  Needing more, I run my hands up his firm chest and grab his collar, pulling him closer to me, sinking my lips into his. Warm, wet, and soft, our lips part, and I sweep my tongue out in search of his.

  This seems to urge him on. Gripping my hips, he pulls me so I'm sitting on his lap. His jacket falls to the ground and my dress bunches up around my waist as I straddle him, his hard length pressing against my damp panties. I'm a little self-conscious about being so exposed, but his lips distract me from all reasonable thought. He kisses me with such passion, it's all I can focus on.

  I rest my hands on his shoulders to steady myself and rock back and forth, my need for him building.

  As if sensing this, he begins to roll his hips and our bodies find a perfect rhythm, as if we've done this a thousand times. He grows harder beneath me and our lips increase the tempo to match our bodies.

  Breaking away, he begins to lick his way down my neck, and tiny fires ignite along my skin. His hands run up and down my arms, caressing me. Pulling my dress straps away from my shoulders, he drops the fabric enough to show the black satin cups barely containing my aching breasts. Electricity follows in the wake of every single place he touches.

  Lips taste the sensitive skin at the base of my neck and teeth nip my shoulder before he licks across my collarbone. My core throbs. His hands are everywhere, a combination of slow and hurried as I continue to grind against him.

  Shifting under me, he presses himself just where I need him. My body begs for a release, qui
vering under his touch. My nails dig into his shoulders and I throw my head back, pinching my eyes shut. So close. Reaching down between us, he pulls the wet lace aside and strokes up and down my wet slit, causing my hips to buck.

  "You like that?" he rasps out, adding another finger, the pressure increasing in just the right spot, eliciting a deep moan from me. He barely touches me and an explosion of white, hot electric heat courses through me. "More," he demands. My orgasm racks through my body, and I cry out as he continues to bring me to release. My head falls forward against his chest, and my body starts to come down as he withdraws his fingers and wraps his arms around my back, holding me in place.

  "Come to my room." His lips brush against my ear, and hearing his voice brings me from my lust-filled haze. The doubt seeps in.

  What did we do? What did I do?

  "Mila, please look at me," he pleads.

  The impulse to run courses through me, but my sudden awareness of how exposed I am has me pressing my face farther into his shirt and willing the ground to open up and swallow me. Gathering my wits, I breathe him in one last time, knowing this won’t happen again. It can't. Guys like him don't pick girls like me. I have a business to worry about, and…

  "Oh shit! The reception, the people."

  "No one saw anything," he offers, and my cheeks flame, realizing I spoke that last part aloud.

  "Thank God," I blurt out.

  His chest rumbles beneath me as he laughs, which causes me to draw back and finally look him in the eye.

  "What's so funny?" I ask, but it comes out as more of a challenge.

  "There she is. The fiery girl. I wondered where you had gone." He has the nerve to smirk at me, and I narrow my eyes.

  "Seriously, we could have been seen. I have a reputation to uphold. And it's not one of slamming shots and mauling wedding guests. Stupid Bea and her coconut infused tequila," I mutter under my breath.

  He watches me cautiously. "Are you done?"