by Ella Miles
“He hasn’t let go,” a woman says.
I glance away from Sebastian to the other side of my hospital room, where a nurse is pressing on the monitor next to my bed.
I’m surprised these are the first words she says after I woke up. She didn’t ask me how I’m feeling or tell me a doctor will be in to check on me soon. No—she needed to tell me about Sebastian.
“I’m Rebecca, one of your nurses.”
I smile weakly.
“You have a good hubby there. He hasn’t left your side. Hasn’t let go of your hand. I had to force him to get a quick cast put on his ankle. And the only reason I’ve been able to get food or coffee in him is if he can eat it one-handed.”
I look away from her and back at Sebastian. He’s too good. He shouldn’t have stayed, at least, not like that. He should have gone back to the hotel to sleep and checked in on me during normal visitation hours.
I study him closer, looking at the bee stings that speckle his arms, neck, and cheeks. They’re now covered in a lotion to reduce swelling and itching. I try to glance over the bed to see his ankle, but I can’t with the way the bed is situated.
“I’m sorry your honeymoon was ruined, but if I can give you a piece of advice, don’t let this ruin your relationship. He’s a keeper.” She winks at me and then leaves without checking on any of my vitals or asking me any questions. Does that make her a terrible nurse or just skilled at sensing what people need? Because right now, I just want a moment alone with Sebastian.
I run my hand through his fluffy hair that still is coated with saltwater and sand from our dip in the pool.
“This didn’t ruin anything. If anything, it stopped me from doing something stupid that I’ll end up regretting.” A kiss is intense enough. If I let this go any further, there is no way I’d survive it; no way I wouldn’t fall for him. And me falling for handsome men like Sebastian King would ruin me.
Sebastian’s eyes open. I don’t know if he heard my confession or not, but when he looks at me, really looks at me, with all the emotion in the world, my confession doesn’t matter.
I want to jump his bones.
“Mills, you’re awake.”
I nod, realizing that I still haven’t spoken out loud to him.
“Thank God.” If my heart wasn’t a crumbled mess before, it is now. He climbs up into the bed next to me, cradling me against his chest as we both exhale a deep breath. For a split second, this feels real. Like it would have really mattered if I had died, and wouldn’t just be an inconvenience he had to deal with.
The way he presses my head against his heart, I know that he’d mourn me far longer than any other acquaintance.
What does that mean? Does he have feelings?
He can’t. He’s already said he doesn’t feel things like that. And we haven’t known each other long enough to catch feelings. Being in a hospital like this just does something to people. No matter what, it would have been traumatic watching me swell up like a balloon, about to die at any second.
But the reality hits me, and I feel tears in my eyes. Our life may only stay connected for six months, but I will forever owe my life to him. He saved me. He ran on an injured ankle to save me.
“My superman,” I whisper, blinking back my tears.
He pulls away; his expression falls into one of twisted agony.
“I’m not your superman. I’m the arrogant playboy who just wants to get into your pants. Just ask the nurse, I hit on her earlier.”
I take a deep breath. “Jerk.” Even though he’s the farthest thing from it.
“That’s me, sweetheart.” His knuckles brush over my cheek. “I can’t wait to get you back to the hotel to play doctor and nurse.” The twinkle returns to his eyes.
This is who he thinks he is. Or maybe this is what he thinks I need per our arrangement.
But something changed here in Hawaii. I saw a portal to a different side of him. I saw the man willing to go through hell to save me. No man has ever done that for me before.
Sebastian tries to pull away, to climb off the bed. I know once he does, that he’ll go back to pretending. That’s all we do with each other—pretend. I just don’t know when we are pretending and when we are being real.
He doesn’t fight me as I pull him back. He doesn’t touch me either, though. I don’t need him to touch me. I need to look at him. I need to thank him.
I try to stare into his eyes when I say the words, but my eyes fall to his lips, the part of him I need connected to me.
“Thank you.” I don’t say what for. I don’t think he would accept me getting mushy on him right now. We are both in too vulnerable a state to go expressing anything genuine right now.
I think he’s going to pull away again. I think the moment is over.
Then he gives me another shock. He fills the gap between us, his lips carefully sweeping against mine. I could almost not even classify it as a kiss, that’s how gentle he’s being.
For a second, our lips are just brushing as we both breathe in each other’s souls. Somehow this is more intimate than either of our previous kisses. We aren’t touching anywhere except our lips.
And then like lightning, we both strike at the same time. We each deepen the kiss, turning it into more than just a thank you, more than just a sweet moment of understanding that we can brush off.
This kiss hints at feelings that both of us promised we would never have. It breaks all the rules we set. This kiss isn’t about remembering what lead us to be married. It isn’t a gut reaction after a near-death experience.
This kiss is the realest thing in our fake marriage.
We separate, at least our lips do. But I stole a part of him with that kiss, and he stole a part of me. Which part, I’m not sure, but I’ll never be fully alone again.
“Don’t scare me like that again,” he whispers so softly before kissing my forehead, a kiss that transfers even more of himself to me.
Then he turns and walks out the door for the first time since I arrived. The moment was too much for either of us to handle. I’m not sure what it means, but I know that whatever that was, it wasn’t pretend.
And that scares the hell out me.
21
Sebastian
I spin my wedding ring around on my finger. It’s a type of ring I never thought I’d be wearing, and don’t even remember purchasing.
It’s still strange being married. And yet each time I’ve spoken to someone else—the nurse at the hospital, the waiter at dinner, the butler at the hotel—calling Millie my wife falls off my tongue easier and easier.
She isn’t my wife, in any sense of the word. We haven’t fucked. We’ve barely kissed. We know nothing about each other’s history. And for the past week, we’ve hardly talked to each other except when necessary. We know a line was crossed that day.
Our first kiss toed the line.
Our second pushed us over.
Our third sent us tumbling over a cliff.
Not to mention our experiences rescuing each other from death. There is no going back. No pretending that I can just be her asshole and her my wild plaything.
Something was stirred in both of us that day, some emotion that neither of us thought we could feel. And yet, we did.
But over the last few days, we’ve squashed any feelings we’ve had. The day Millie was released from the hospital, we went to different sides of the hotel suite and stayed there. I didn’t take care of her, and she didn’t pamper me. It was an unspoken agreement. We didn’t share a bed. We rarely ate dinner together. We both spent our days watching TV alone.
And it worked.
Now we can be in the same room and there are no longer any feelings, just sexual tension, exactly what I wanted.
“It’s still raining. Doesn’t look like we will get to enjoy the beach or go on any other adventures before we have to leave tomorrow,” Millie says.
I stand from the couch on my good leg and hobble over without the help of my crutches. After Millie woke
up, I eventually got my ankle x-rayed. As the nurse told me, it was broken. Several weeks in the cast and then physical therapy after is my future.
I stare, getting lost in the beautiful woman with the strawberry streaks in her hair, the freckles, and a single bee sting on her neck. I’d break my ankle all over again if it meant saving her. I’d break every bone in my body for her.
That doesn’t mean I have feelings for her. It just means I don’t want to see a woman like her get hurt when I can do something to fix it.
“I don’t think we should go on any more adventures. The last one about killed us both,” I joke.
She laughs. Apparently, no joke is too soon with her, which makes her even more intriguing to me.
“Probably not. I think Mother Nature is trying to tell us we shouldn’t be together.”
“Nah, it’s just probably monsoon season or something.”
She shakes her head slowly. “That’s in the fall. It’s spring. I talked with the concierge, and he said that before we came, they hadn’t gotten more than a sprinkle in over a month. I think we are bad luck or something.”
I take a deep breath, and all I get is Millie. I haven’t been this close to her in days. I haven’t gotten the honor of smelling her. Her scent is always a little different each day. Some days she smells like lavender, other days peppermint, sometimes like the ocean, and then sometimes it’s sugar and spice. Today, she smells like fire, like spice, like want.
Millie is wearing jean shorts and a T-shirt, and I bet if I slipped a finger in her panties, she’d be wet. Maybe not because of me, but because sex is already on her brain.
“Actually, I think we should have one last adventure,” I say.
She folds her arms in front of her chest and looks at me. “You can’t be serious. It’s raining. Your cast can’t get wet. And I’m not taking any more chances that one of us gets hurt.”
“We won’t go outside. In fact, we won’t leave this hotel. How much trouble can we get into if we don’t even go outside?”
She raises her eyebrows as a glint of a smirk touches her lips. “This is us we are talking about. Somehow we ended up married, broke your ankle, and almost killed me. Anything is possible.”
“True, but this will be worth it. We have one last night before we get back to reality. One night before we learn the truth about each other. Before we leave paradise. Before we start pretending that we’re already over so people aren’t shocked when we finally are. The small risk is worth one last awesome night.” My chest tightens when I talk about us one day being over. We were never something to begin with, I remind myself.
“What do you have in mind?”
“We get dressed up in our finest clothes. Have a romantic dinner. See where things take us. Pretend for one day that we are a real married couple; that we are really on our honeymoon.”
She opens her mouth to talk, but I press further.
“Pretend I’m not in this cast and that you didn’t almost die. Pretend that we love each other because we both know love isn’t actually in the cards for us. We are in the most beautiful place in the world, in one of the most expensive hotel rooms, and we are two of the hottest people in the world.”
She blushes at that. “One night?” Her eyes light up, telling me she knows exactly what this means. We are using our one night, our one redo—tonight. This is it, there won’t be a repeat. If we are going to live together, we need to get this out of our systems. Tonight should be the night. We won’t get a better setting.
“One night,” I answer her.
Her eyes rake up and down my body in heated waves, even though I’m only wearing boxers and a ratty T-shirt. Even though I smell and haven’t showered in two days, I can tell she’d let me fuck her right here right now if I just said the word.
But I want tonight to be perfect. If we only get one night together, I want it to be the best fucking night. A night that we will never forget, unlike last time. And if we are really lucky, it will trigger the memories of that night too.
I flick a piece of her hair back off her shoulder, the only touch I allow myself for now. “Go shower, do your hair and makeup, wear your nicest dress and your sexiest lingerie.” I wink at her when she’s about to protest the lingerie part.
“Go,” I push her in the direction of the shower. Luckily, there are two bathrooms, so we can both get ready at the same time. I hope she gets dressed slowly because I have an unforgettable night planned.
22
Millie
My hand shakes as I try to run my eyeliner over my upper lid, resulting in a wavy line.
Fuck.
I put the eyeliner tube down and pick up some Kleenex to wipe it off, but all I do is smear the black liner everywhere. I toss the Kleenex in the sink. I’m going to have to use remover to get it off.
Instead, I grip the sink, knowing the problem isn’t with my makeup, it’s with me. I’m so nervous.
My hair is curled, and I’m wearing a simple black dress that dips down, showing off plenty of cleavage, while also hugging the curves of my stomach, waist, and hips. I feel sexy as hell in this dress, but only a man who likes plenty of curves will find me attractive. I’m not a stick-thin model. I have breasts, a waist, an ass.
Some men think that’s what they want until they see me naked, and then they change their minds. Or they talk to me after about losing some weight, going on a diet, exercising more.
Sebastian has already seen me naked, though, and his eyes told me he had no complaints. It only strengthened his resolve to fuck me more.
He did mention me exercising more, but it had nothing to do with my weight, rather my stamina—that I can get behind.
I take a deep breath. This is about one night. He’s not going to want to fuck me again after tonight. Those are his rules. He isn’t trying to date me; he isn’t trying to trap me permanently. It’s just about one night of sex. One night where we are anything but ourselves.
One night to remember forever.
I stare at myself in the mirror. I’m a wild child. I don’t do makeup or dresses. I don’t usually curl my hair or wear heels. In fact, I had to call down to the gift shop to see if they had any. Luckily for me, they had one nice pair of black strappy heels.
This isn’t me, I say to myself as I look at half of the makeup and curls in my hair.
Tonight it is. It only makes me want to dress up and wear more makeup. I want to impress Sebastian. I want his jaw to drop, his eyes to bulge, his heart to race frantically when he sees me. I want him to not be able to keep his hands off me. I want him to fuck me against the door because he can’t wait until after dinner.
I take the makeup remover wipes and clean my face from the black smudges. Then I start again with a renewed sense of purpose. My hands don’t shake this time. I’m in control. I’m going to look like a freaking goddess that he can’t resist.
There is a gentle knock at the bathroom door twenty minutes later.
“There’s no rush, just want to make sure you’re okay,” Sebastian says through the door.
I smile. It’s been two hours since we decided on this plan. I’ve never spent this long getting ready before. I’ve also never looked hotter. Every inch of me has been shaved or waxed. My hair has never been this curled. My makeup is flawless. The dress is one of Oaklee’s she slipped into my suitcase somehow. It fits too tightly, but that only makes it more perfect. I stand in the heels full of confidence. Tonight I won’t stumble, I won’t fall, I won’t make a fool of myself. Tonight is going to be perfect.
I take my time walking to the door, for one to ensure that I don’t stumble, and two because Sebastian’s voice sounded just a little nervous, a little needy, and a little greedy. I like Sebastian King a little off-kilter.
I open the bathroom door. Sebastian is standing in the opening with a bouquet of exotic flowers in his hands. I don’t notice his reaction right away because I’m too busy drooling at how well he wears a suit. I remember back to the wedding, how well his tux fit
him then.
But this is one of his own suits, and it looks like it’s been glued to his biceps, his stomach, his thick thighs. His hair is styled but not overly so. His beard has been shaved into perfect stubble. The only part of him that isn’t completely perfect is the cast around his ankle and the crutches leaning against the wall behind him.
Finally, I notice his reaction, and it’s nothing like I expected. I can’t read him. It’s like he’s gone into shock or something. His expression is blank. His eyes are blank. His mouth doesn’t drop open like I expected. He doesn’t even move to hand me the flowers.
“Sebastian? Are you okay?” I try to hide my worry, but I can’t. Not after everything we’ve gone through together. He could be having a heart attack or something for all I know.
He exhales and comes to life in a split second. “No, I’m not okay, but it has nothing to do with a stroke or whatever you must be thinking. It has to do with how incredibly beautiful you are, Mrs. King. How hard it’s going to be to sit through an entire meal with you and not be able to touch you like I want.”
I grin, pulling my bottom lip into my mouth. I don’t think he could have said more perfect words to me.
“We don’t have to go to dinner,” I say.
He steps forward, not at all hobbling on his ankle that must throb every time he puts any weight on it. But the way his eyes shine as he watches me tells me he doesn’t feel any pain. The only pain he feels is in having to wait to have me.
He holds out the flowers to me, and I take them, inhaling a deep floral breath.
“Yes, we do have to go to dinner.” He reaches out and strokes the side of my face with his knuckles. “You’re going to need your strength for what I have planned for you.”
My eyes darken, and I have an insatiable ache between my legs. “I thought you only fucked women once?”
He shakes his head. “I said one night, not one fuck.”
I suck in a shaky breath. No, I will not let him affect me. I will not let him make me nervous.
