Page 94 of Strictly Pretend

“Something like that.” Her lips curl. “I guess I like that you can still surprise me.”

“You know how else I want to surprise you?” I ask her, sliding my hand down her back and cupping her ass.

“That’s better,” she says. “Now there’s the Brooks I know.”

We dance for another couple of songs, and I keep her tight against me, our bodies moving in time to the slow rhythm of the quartet. Then they take a break and I lean down to kiss her jaw. The soft skin where it meets her ear is fast becoming one of my favorite parts of her. Along with all the others. “Want to go grab a bottle of whiskey and howl at the moon?” I ask her.

“I thought you’d never ask.” She lets me take her hand and lead her to the bar. Even though the drinks are free I insist on buying the bottle because I might be an asshole but I’m also a rich one.

“How many glasses would you like?” the bartender asks.

I look at Emma as I answer. “No glasses, just the bottle.” I feel the urge to repeat that first night we met. I want to share the bottle with her. “It’s kind of a tradition,” I say.

There are a few people dotted around outside. A couple are making out against a tree, a mother and her daughter are arguing about a rip in a dress a little further along, but by the time we get to the edge of the lake we’re alone.

“Water is our thing,” Emma murmurs.

“We have a thing,” I say, trying not to grin. Damn, I like that.

I take my jacket off and lay it on the grass so she doesn’t stain her dress. Then I sit down next to her and open the whiskey, holding it out to her.

“You first,” she says. “It’s tradition.”

“It’s also tradition that I drink it as you howl at the moon,” I point out.

“I don’t feel like howling now,” she tells me. I lift a brow. “Stop it,” she giggles.

“I can’t. I want you.” I take a long sip of whiskey then I pass it to Emma. She takes a mouthful, wincing as the fiery liquid slides down her throat. The two of us lay back on the grass, our fingers laced together, and stare up at the moon.

“I don’t want to go home tomorrow,” Emma murmurs.

A smile pulls at my lips. “Then don’t. Come with me.” I mean it. I want her with me. All she has to do is say the word.

“That’s not what I meant. I just want time to stop. For a minute. Enough that I can repeat this moment over and over again.”

“I know. But I want you with me anyway,” I tell her.

I’ve already made arrangements for tomorrow. We leave after breakfast – there’ll be a massive exodus around ten, because nearly every guest will be vacating their yurts at that point. Then we fly back to Long Island where Emma will be picked up by a driver and taken home to see her granddad. I won’t even exit the plane, since we’ll be taking off again and heading to Virginia immediately, to my family’s estate.

Emma lets out a long sigh, her thumb brushing her ring finger where I slid the engagement ring a few days ago.

“Stop overthinking,” I murmur. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I wish I had your certainty.”

I turn to look at her, taking in her wide eyes, her red hair, her creamy skin. “I wish I could give it to you.”

“It’s a rich person thing.”

“You used to be rich,” I point out.

“There’s nobody more uncertain than a person who had everything and lost it,” she tells me. And I know she’s thinking about her family. About her parents and her grandmother, and even her granddad.

As soon as I can persuade her to leave the shop and come to Manhattan or Virginia, I’m introducing her to my brothers. Hell, I’ll bring them and their families to her if I need to. I hate that she’s always felt so alone. I have more than my fair share of family. I want to share them with her.

I reach for her, leaning over to brush my lips against her soft mouth. “Is it too early to head back to the yurt?” I ask her.

She pretends to look at her watch. “No, not too early at all.”

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