Summer Escape with the Tycoon

“I can’t understand how this happened. You just don’t seem like the type, you know?”

“I know. I truly think it goes back to my brother. I felt the weight of all that expectation. It made me feel responsible. As if maybe, if I could fulfill the dreams they had for him, it would somehow take away the pain of his death.” She deliberated for a moment, then confessed, “He was the one who saved me in the water that day. Two months later, he was gone. He saved my life only to lose his. Tell me that isn’t cruel and unfair.”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. She knew how it sounded.

She defiantly ate another bite of dessert, and then Eric said quietly, “So you have a good case of survivor’s guilt. But you can’t always live your life for him, Molly.”

“I know. And my parents are good people. Privileged, yeah. But when he died, I remember the horrible weight of grief around the house. How my mom hugged me a little too tight at night, and Dad walked around looking as if he’d been kicked. I tried to make it better however I could. To make it up to them somehow.” She was abashed to find tears on her lashes. She dotted them away with her napkin and took a steadying breath.

“Then maybe they’ll be proud of you for being you, too.”

“Maybe. I think, though, they’ll see it as a betrayal. And I’m not sure how to get around that. I’d like their support.”

“You’ll have it.”

“How do you know?”

He leaned forward. “Because anyone who really knows you can’t resist you.”

Heat rushed up her cheeks. “Oh, go on.”

He laughed. “I said it and I meant it.”

They finished their dessert and then it was time for the bill. Eric signed off on it, reminding her that he’d been the one to ask her to dinner, and then put his hand solicitously along her back as they left the dining room. She leaned into the feeling of his warm palm, protective and only a little bit possessive, not shying away from the fact that they were together. And then they ambled back to the guest rooms.

“I have a bottle of red in the room. Care for a nightcap?” he asked.

They both knew he was asking her to his room for more than a glass of wine, and Molly considered the clothes she was wearing. She still wasn’t confident, but if Eric were going to see her undressed tonight, she didn’t want his first image to be that of her supportive undergarment that “smoothed out her lumps.”

“I have one in my room as well,” she replied. “Compliments of the tour company. There’s no way I can drink it all myself.”

He tugged on her hand and she turned around so they were facing. He leaned in and put his lips to hers, the touch warm and firm and surprisingly gentle.

“What was that for?” she asked, when he’d pulled away.

“Something to keep me going until we get there.” He kissed her again, until her knees felt like jelly and she found herself melting into his arms. If he kissed her like that again, they’d never make it back to her room.

Somehow they did, and she got out her key with trembling fingers. With one foot in front of the other she made it inside the room, while he shut the door with a firm click behind her.

Wine. Wine would buy her some time to get herself together.

She went to the table and opened the bottle, putting it down to let it breathe a bit. Eric stood in the middle of the room, in his jeans and shirt, looking good enough to eat. Her throat tightened. Where had all this nervousness come from? It wasn’t like this was her first time, after all. And yet the way his dark eyes settled upon her had her unnerved.

“Moll,” he said softly, and she crossed to him, slipping into his arms as he kissed her fully this time, a bit wildly, and very differently from any of the times before. This kiss was openmouthed and hot, with very little in the way of restraint. Her body shook as she kissed him back, then moved away when he reached for the tie on the side of her dress.

“Wait a minute,” she said, more breathless than she cared to admit. She stepped back and put her hands to her cheeks. “Just...give me a few minutes. Why d-don’t you—you p-pour the wine, okay?” She was stammering but couldn’t seem to stop, even when she took a reassuring breath. “O-okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” And with that she darted away, grabbing a slip of silk from a drawer as she rushed to the bathroom.

Inside, she braced her hands on the edge of the sink while she tried to control her breathing. A glance in the mirror showed bright eyes and dots of color in her cheeks, as well as a few strands of hair loosened from her messy topknot. She left her hair as it was, then pressed a cool washcloth to her cheeks. This was it. When she went back out there they were going to go to bed together. He was going to see her...but she remembered how he said he liked curves and she hoped to God he wasn’t lying. With trembling fingers she untied the bow at her waist and the dress gaped open. Beneath it was her body shaper, and she peeled it off, then examined herself in the mirror. She had curves—so what? And a little paunch, but then, who didn’t? Why did she need to be perfect?

She left her panties on and then shimmied into the nightgown she’d snagged from her drawer, a peach silk-and-lace one that was held up by spaghetti straps and fell to just above her knee—it was pretty and feminine and made her feel indulgent. For once she was grateful for her love of expensive underwear. It wasn’t the raciest outfit, but it wasn’t exactly her grandmother’s flannel nightie, either.

She could do this. She wanted to do this.

And so, with one last deep breath, she opened the bathroom door and stepped out. Eric was waiting with two glasses of wine in his hands, and his eyes widened when he saw her.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, stepping forward. “You’re beautiful, Molly. Maybe the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

He handed her a glass of wine, and for once, she truly believed him.