Runaway Groom (I Do, I Don't 2)

When it’s over, he rests his forehead briefly on my back; his lips brush tenderly over my spine and linger there, but lightly, almost as though he doesn’t want me to know that he’s doing it. As though he’s afraid of what it might betray.

I squeeze my eyes shut as he pulls out, because I’m unable to look at him. Gage isn’t the only one who’s scared about what he might betray.

I collapse onto the bed as he disappears into the bathroom.

If I had the energy, I’d crawl under the covers, but I feel boneless and give in to the urge to just lie there.

I hear the flush of the toilet, then jump a little at the sound of his voice on the phone.

“Eight o’clock works great,” he says quietly. “The most private table you have, please…Yes, thank you…I appreciate it.”

He hangs up and walks toward the bed. He pulls back the covers that we still haven’t peeled back despite having had sex twice. I squeak as he scoops me up and then deposits me on the soft sheet.

Then he taps the back of his fingers against my waist. “Move over.”

I do as he says, shifting toward the center of the bed so he can slide in beside me.

“What are we doing?”

“Sleeping,” he says, eyes already closed, as he settles onto his back.

“But who were you just talking to?”

“Hotel restaurant. Reservation is for two hours from now, so if you want to get in your damn nap before dinner, I suggest you shut up and sleep.”

I stare at him until he relents and opens his eyes. “What?”

“We’re staying? For dinner?”

“Is that okay?” He reaches out and plays with the ends of my hair, the gesture so absentminded and intimate that I almost feel my eyes water, although with a different reason than before.

“Yeah,” I whisper as I lower myself beside him, my cheek on his shoulder. “That’s okay.”

Gage turns his head, pressing his lips to my hair. “I’ll get you back to the villa tomorrow. Then first flight home. But I want tonight first. All of tonight.”

My heart squeezes in gladness—and something far more lasting and dangerous.

“Okay?” he asks when I don’t respond.

I nod, too overcome with emotion to look at him or speak.

I wait until I hear his breathing even out, wait until I know he’s asleep.

And then I let the tears come.

Gage

“This is heavenly,” Ellie sighs as she sits back in her chair and adjusts the blanket around her shoulders that the hotel staff brought out once the night breeze picked up.

“You’re sure you’re not cold?”

She smiles and sips her wine. “No. I’m happy.”

I start to argue that that might be the wine, but since I’m happy too, for reasons that have nothing to do with the sauvignon blanc we’ve been enjoying with dinner, I don’t question her statement.

I do, however, take advantage of the opening to get to know her better. Actually, scratch that—I know Ellie. And she knows me. Which is ridiculous, given the short amount of time we’ve been a part of each other’s life, but I guess it’s like that sometimes. Some people just get each other.

But it doesn’t mean I don’t want more. To understand why she won’t give us a chance.