“I’m fine,” Stella replied. “Well, you know, as fine as can be expected.”
“You need a drink,” Florence said. “Or maybe you don’t,” she added as Stella stumbled on a completely flat surface. It wasn’t even eight yet. At this rate she’d be throwing up within the hour.
“That was my shoes, but I have to admit, this isn’t my first glass. At this rate, Beck will have to carry me upstairs.”
“And that’s not part of the package,” I replied, and Stella blushed and put her finger to her lips.
I hadn’t meant part of our deal—it was an offhand comment that was just meant to be a joke, but I could feel the heat in her cheeks in the tips of my fingers even though I hadn’t touched them. She needed to stop being so fixated on what was fake between us and focus on what was real.
I really knew her—more than any woman.
I really liked her.
And I really wanted to get to know her more.
Right on cue at just before ten, Stella clutched her stomach and said, “I’m not feeling great. I might head back up to the room.”
I hadn’t spotted Henry and felt sure he wasn’t about to arrive just as everyone was leaving. I’d have to be patient. It was just that all of my patience had been used up getting to this point. I needed his signature on the contract. I had exactly a week after the ceremony to get his signature. Then I could call the bank to tell them to call off the dogs and I could start on redevelopment. I was done waiting.
“I’ll come up with you,” I said, taking Stella’s glass from her before she could down the last half a glass of champagne that we’d likely both see on the way back up. Luckily, Stella was a harmless, funny drunk. Cute really. I’d had a couple of girlfriends who turned into two-headed, fire-breathing monsters after a couple of glasses of wine. I’d not dated one of those for a while. The last one had been Joan. She’d been cool and sexy, and it was all going so well until one Friday night we went for dinner after she’d been drinking—it was as if she’d been possessed by an evil spirit. She’d started telling me how no one was going to fall in love with me because I was such a cold-hearted bastard who used women for sex. Her cool-girl act had been exactly that—an act.
Stella just got more relaxed. Her shoulders fell by several inches each drink and then her head had tilted to one side as she kept telling Florence and Gordy how much she loved them.
Stella grabbed Florence and they hugged each
other as if they were expecting to never see each other again.
“It’ll be about nine hours until you see her at breakfast,” I said.
“Yes, and Bea and Jo will arrive soon. It will be so great to see them.” Stella launched her hand in the air and cocked out one hip. She was going to take somebody’s eye out. “To see all the girls from St. Catherine’s.”
Hopefully, Henry would arrive tomorrow. Joshua better have been right when he’d said Henry would be here all week, or we were going to fall out.
“Right. Bed,” she said.
I placed my hand at the small of her back, gently encouraging her forward.
“Beck, you’re a very nice guy,” she said, pointing her finger at my cheekbone as we started up the old, oak staircase, her toned thigh slipping out from under the fabric with every step she took. The dress was perfect for her—sweet and sexy. If the dress had downed at least a bottle of wine, I’d say they were related. “You’ve been the perfect gentleman tonight.”
“Were you expecting something else?” I asked as we reached the landing, and I pulled out the key to our room.
I turned when I realized she wasn’t by my side—she was frozen in the middle of the hallway.
“Am I attractive?” she asked.
The ground beneath my legs suddenly felt less stable—was she about to turn into a Joan? Was this a trick question where any answer I gave provoked rage? If I said yes, I would be objectifying her, and if I said no, I’d be some kind of mean bastard. “Of course. Let’s go inside.” I gestured to our room, holding the door open.
“Do you mean that?” she asked as she slid past me. “Or are you just saying that?”
I took a deep breath as I got a great view of her bottom as she bent from the waist to unclasp her shoes. There was no doubt she was attractive. From the moment I’d laid eyes on her, I’d been struck by her openness. And her high cheekbones and her eyes that watched me so intently. “I rarely say things just for the sake of it,” I replied, shrugging off my jacket and placing it on a hanger.
“But am I marriage material?”
Oh God, were we really going to do this? I wasn’t her therapist. I wasn’t her sister or best friend. I didn’t do girl talk. “I have no idea what marriage material is.”
“Karen’s marriage material.” She struggled with the zip on the back of her dress, and I stepped forward to help her. “Well, clearly. We’re at her wedding. But I obviously wasn’t. Not for Matt anyway. And not for anyone, according to my left ring finger.” Before I could turn away, she let her unzipped dress fall to the floor. For a half-second, I expected her to proposition me, but she seemed to have moved on from worrying about sharing a bed and a bathroom and now seemed perfectly happy to walk around in her underwear. I wasn’t about to discourage her. Not with a body like that. Her skin was flawless, and her curves were in all the right places. Some men liked big boobs, but I liked a woman whose breasts were in proportion with everything else. Like Stella’s.
She bent over and reached under her pillow and began to put on her PJs. “I bet the women you normally go to bed with wear super-sexy negligees, right?” She stumbled on the word negligee, and I had to bite back a grin. She was verging dangerously close to adorable.