Page 29 of The Best Men
But I can’t stop. He smells like rainwater and a summer breeze and all my fantasies, and I want to touch him so badly. My runaway brain rattles down the tracks as I picture dropping my mouth to his neck, licking his throat, sucking on his earlobe.
My breath catches on that image.
He freezes.
He noticed the hitch in my breath.
He totally fucking noticed.
Please don’t say anything. Don’t tease me over that. I don’t think I can handle it.
But the squeal of the gate saves my ass as Asher settles back into his seat without a mention—just a casual, “There we go.”
I pray I’m not going to sport wood when I get out of the car.
With a loud, final wrench, the gate stops rolling, and I drive past it. A few seconds later, it rattles closed, sealing us in.
When I cut the engine, I have no choice but to gawk.
It’s apalace, sprawling at the top of a short hill. And it does take my mind off matters south of the border. “Wow,” I say, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Hannah will be ecstatic, which is all that matters. I grab my phone, send her a quick text.
Mark:You’re gonna love it. This place is stunning!
She replies right away.
Hannah:Eep. Show me pics!
Mark:Stand by.
Once I switch back to my regular glasses, we leave the car in the driveway, and Asher types his code into another lock box on the mansion’s spacious front porch.
Then we’re heading inside the air-conditioned home worthy of Madonna or a Super Bowl-winning quarterback, and I snap some shots for Hannah. The marble floors. The vaulted white ceilings. The entire glass wall in the living room overlooking the glistening bay, with boats bobbing in the distance on the placid water.
And a pool in between that’s bigger than my New York apartment.
I’m itching to jump in the water that practically glitters under the sun. I head for the sliding glass door and step onto the mosaic tiles that surround the pool. Beyond that, I catalogue the terrace?where the air-conditioned wedding tent will go?and the emerald-green lawn that stretches into the distance.
Then my eyes stray to something I didn’t notice before. At the edge of the pool sits a little cottage. “Oh. Nice pool house,” I say, turning to Asher.
He’s watching me. No, he’sstaringat me. Yet he doesn’t seem to have heard. “St. James? Hello? Did the zombies get you?”
Asher blinks. “Sorry, what?”
I point outside. “Is that a pool house?”
“Not exactly. It’s a guest house. That’s where we’re staying.”
My gaze snaps back to the guest house. Suddenly, my brain is a computer server that just overheated. Warning signs flash on my personal dashboard.
He didnotjust say that. There is no way he said that. That cottage is maybe ten square feet. Not literally, but it might as well be. There’s no way my desire for him can fit inside it.With him.
Best to double check. “We are?” I croak out.
With his thumbs hooked into his shorts pockets, he rocks back on his heels, and just nods. “We are.”
Newsflash: Getting through the next few days is going to betoo hard.
