CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The sounds of waves crashing and the tapping of a keyboard wake me the next morning. I roll over and open my eyes with a scowl. I don’t want to face the real world after such a delicious night with Britta, of being inside her over and over. We made love in bed, on the lanai, against the wall… I couldn’t let her get two steps away from me without tangling myself up with her again.
About midnight, I crept down the hall to make sure Harlow and Jamie made it back. They were both curled up in the queen-size bed, Jamie in a pair of Spiderman pajamas we had in his diaper bag, sacked out. I don’t hear noise now, so I’ll bet they’re sleeping in. We all should be.
So why is Britta sitting across the room, typing and clicking on her laptop?
“Angel?” My voice cracks from lack of sleep. “If I didn’t wear you out enough, come over here so I can try again.”
She gives me a nervous giggle, then shoves her laptop away. “Just taking care of a few last-minute things… But if you want to muss me up, I should shower first and give you the chance to do it right.”
When she rises, she’s wearing a clinging white silk robe. Through it, I see the beads of her nipples, the cinch of her waist, the curves of her hips, the delta outlined between her thighs.
I already had morning wood, but now it’s not a reflex; it’s for real and ready. This woman does something to me every time I see her.
“Come here…” I coax, crooking my finger and looking at her like I want to eat her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Actually, it’s not a bad idea.
She flushes sweetly but shakes her head. “What if I play hard to get?”
“What if I pin you down and fuck you again?”
“What a bad man, always saying things to tempt me…” She shakes her head, tsking. It’s all playful, flirtatious as she walks past me, casting a come-hither glance over her shoulder.
“I always will.” I rise from bed to follow her. I don’t care that I’m stark-ass naked. My raging erection is like a divining rod following her wherever she goes.
I should be sated. Hell, I should be sore. Nope. I just want Britta again.
“After my shower,” she insists, batting her long lashes. “You want me to smell good, don’t you?”
She knows putting me off only makes me harder. We used to play this game. I called it one more thing… She would invent a task she needed to complete before we could make love. Then another and another—until I held her down, tore at her clothes, and fucked her breathless. I’ve missed this. I’ve ached to play with her.
“You smell fine now. Like sex. Like a woman. Like I’ve been all over you. I told you to come here.”
She reaches into the walk-in shower and flips on the water, then doubles back with a ghost of a smile. “You did. Oops.”
Oh, she’s going to pay for that. The too-innocent expression she’s wearing tells me she knows it—and is looking forward to it.
But as I saunter toward her, I see something else I couldn’t at a distance. The set of her eyes is taut. So is her mouth. She’s nervous. Worried.
The games can wait. I close the distance between us and take her hand. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
The lie is too fast. Something is definitely troubling her. After the night we just shared, how could she possibly be upset?
I rack my mental checklist. She knows I love her. We’re great together. I gloved up every time. Jamie is fine, and if Britta was awake before me, I’m sure she checked on him. In my head, that only leaves our past…or our future. The former feels as if we’ve put so much of it to rest. How could it be a problem anymore? She finally believes I’m sincere about wanting only her for the rest of my life. And she has a functioning understanding about the reasons I’ve had trouble trusting.
“I’m fine,” she offers and drops her robe.
As it pools on the tile floor, I gape at her body. I don’t mean to. It’s just unavoidable. I see the girl who became a woman in my arms. I also see the changes in her body pregnancy wrought. Most of all, I see perfection.
She scrambles my brain even more by leaning in and kissing me. It’s not a simple peck. Her kiss is a long press filled with something I don’t understand. Anxiety pours off her. Now I’m really worried.
I pull back and take her shoulders. “Britta?”
The smile she gives me is totally false. She’s hiding tears as she cups my cheek. “I love you, Griff.”
I stop, stunned utterly silent. Is that what’s unnerved her, telling me? I’ve waited nearly two months to hear her say that to me again. “Oh, angel…”
She wriggles gently from my grasp, gives me one last smile that isn’t happy at all, then disappears into the shower.
And she leaves me standing there, so confused. I want to be thrilled right now. Fuck that, I should be exultant. But I can’t feel anything except gnawing worry until I know what’s troubling her. If it’s not our past, it must be our future. Does she think that, after last night, there’s any way I’m not putting that ring on her finger?
I stride out of the bathroom and head straight toward my sock drawer. I can fix this. And I’m going to. The last thing I ever want is for her to worry again about the two of us. We’re solid. I’m hers. And I’m beyond eager to make it legal.
As I round the bed, I see the bright screen of her laptop shining in the shadowed corner. Did something she read upset her?
What’s on her screen is a hotel reservation. The Four Seasons. One phrase in big, bright text snags my attention: HONEYMOON PACKAGE.
What the hell is she up to?
I walk past it, turning the conundrum over in my head, and reach for the knob of the sock drawer. But those words keep poking my brain. Whose honeymoon? Maxon and Keeley have decided they would rather spend a few days alone in their new house than leave the island to enjoy their newly married bliss. Britta has no idea I’ve been planning a surprise wedding for us in six days, unless…
I march across the room and snatch up my phone. Yes, I know Keeley and my brother just tied the knot yesterday. I’ll make my intrusion short. And I’ll do something deeply apologetic later.
I dial Keeley. After a few rings, my bestie answers, sounding a little hoarse and breathless. “Griff?”
Guilt hits me. I’m being selfish. I’m being an ass. Sometimes, it’s a reflex. “Sorry. One question. Did you tell Britta what I have planned next week?”
“No.” Her answer is quick and emphatic. “I swear.”
I believe her. Keeley is a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. “Nothing slipped out? There’s no way she might have guessed?”
“Impossible. We mostly talked about the frogs we kissed before we met our princes. Hey… Maxon!”
I hear rustling, laughter, a growl. That’s my cue. I have what I need anyway. “I’ll let you go. Thanks.”