Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Or maybe that’s the way he’s cupping the back of my head in one hand, holding me around my waist in the other, and dipping me so low I’m nearly on the floor.
The room is quiet and then erupts in cheers as West smoothly brings me back up in what has to be the sexiest move any man has ever pulled off. I feel the ground shake beneath me, but it isn’t the noise in the room. It’s the realization that whatever I thought kissing was before was a poor, diluted impostor to that.
“West Weston,” I say, resting my hands on his chest. “Who knew you had it in you?”
He smiles knowingly down at me. “I’m pretty sure you did.”
Fifteen
LIAM
The end of the kiss isn’t a passive closing off, an easy pulling away. It’s forced, it’s purposeful, and with the warmth of her lips on mine, it’s nearly impossible. But with all eyes still on us, I lift Anna up, making sure she’s steady on her feet, and resist the urge to go back for more.
The attendees murmur their approval, quiet calls of “adorable” and “romantic” and “dazzling” floating around us—as well as one shouted “That was hot as shit!,” thank you Blaire—but Anna and I just stare at each other in mute shock. I realize I need to appear to have done this a million times, not just this once, so I try to pull my features together even though the sensation of her full, pillow-soft lips against mine still feels like an earthquake rolling through me.
Blinking away, I focus on her shoulder, and on the strap that has slipped an inch to the side, revealing a tan line from her bikini today. I reach up, stroking the line with my thumb. I want to suck her there, bite it. I want to leave a mark.
She reaches up, touching her lips, speaking behind them. “You’re good at that.”
“At what?” I ask, distracted.
“Fake-kissing.”
I hum. Nothing about that felt fake.
“Wonder how you kiss when it’s real,” she whispers.
I’m about to open my mouth and suggest she follow me outside to find out, when a man approaches.
“Anna?”
She pauses, searching his face. After a couple seconds, recognition lights her features. “Holy sh—Jamie?”
“Yes, my God, it’s so crazy to see you here!” They hug easily and pull away, both smiling.
“No kidding! I’m—” She cuts off, looking around, and her startled eyes meet mine. “West, this is my—well, okay, a little awkward—” They both laugh, sharing some inside joke I don’t follow until she says, “My ex.”
My body temperature plummets. “Ex. Wow.”
“Jamie, please meet my husband, Liam Weston.”
We shake hands, smiling, but it’s tense. With the way she looks tonight and even if he saw that kiss just now, I’m sure he’s thinking about all the times he made love to her. And now I’m thinking of all the times I haven’t.
I manage an even “Nice to meet you.” He’s tall, but I’m taller, and God I know it’s childish, but I straighten my spine, emphasizing it. He’s also extremely good-looking, with the same kind of easygoing smile that makes it possible to imagine them together.
“You, too,” Jamie says, and turns back to her. “Married? And to a Weston! Anna, I swear I never would have called this.”
“I’m not sure I’d have called it either back then,” she says, laughing. “That and running into you on a private island.” To me, she adds, “Jamie and I met in a pottery class.”
“She was a virtuoso with her hands,” he says, and I know he means it playfully, but the innuendo lingers like a sneering echo. I imagine landing an uppercut that sends him through the ceiling.
“Meanwhile, Jamie finished his project. Pretty much all I can say about that,” Anna teases.
“Hey,” he protests, laughing. “My grandmother still uses that coffee mug.”
“She would have to,” Anna says. “That thing was so huge, I’m sure it’s still full from the first time she poured coffee into it.”
I am not here for this flirting. I step closer, sending my hand around her waist, pulling her into my side. Redirecting, I ask, “Jamie, what brings you to the island for the wedding?”
“My father is the US head of operations for Bimbo, but he’s under the weather, so I’m here in his place.”
Beside me, Anna startles, delighted. “Did you say ‘Bimbo’?”
He nods, laughing, but I cut in. Jamie has had enough screen time. “Grupo Bimbo,” I explain. “It’s a global food company. They have some American brands now, like Oroweat, Thomas’ English muffins, Entenmann’s… a few others.”
Leave it to my father to invite business contacts to his daughter’s tropical wedding and use it as a tax write-off.
“I had no idea you’d even gotten married,” he says to Anna. “And five years ago, too, wow. I must have been living in a cave.”
Some unspoken communication passes between them, some disappointment on his end that he’s run into her too late, and I can’t read in her silence whether she’s sharing his regret. I look down at her, drawing her attention to my gaze.