And if I’m having a hard time resisting her now, if she starts crying, I’ll definitely be in over my head.
Fuck it.
I put my seatbelt back on and shift my car into gear. “Where to?”
“Literally anywhere.” She grabs for her own seatbelt.
“I don’t know that we’re going to get very far in this rain. I think we’re in for one of Dallas’s torrential downpours.” I pull out of the parking lot and head in the direction of my hotel. Might as well. It’s close enough and she can always get herself a room. Although, I wouldn’t mind her staying in mine.
“I’m Summer,” she says.
“Cade.” I want to look at her some more, but I can’t afford to take my eyes off the road. I’m dying to see what color her hair is when it’s dry. My guess is a coppery-red. She’s stunning, this soaking wet bridesmaid I rescued.
The rain is so heavy now that my wipers are on full-blast and it’s mostly just moving the water around. This is the kind of storm that inspired Stevie Ray Vaughn songs. The kind that hits out of the blue after months of drought, when the ground is baked into an impervious shell so that the sudden torrential downpour floods the streets and grinds the city to a halt. It’s the kind of rain that sweeps away trucks and bridges and anything else too stubborn to get out of its path.
Since I can barely see ten feet in front of the car, I stay on the feeder of the interstate. The traffic is packed and slow, because even arrogant Texans are too smart to drive highway speeds in this weather. A couple of miles later, I pull into the parking lot of the hotel. It’s one of those that caters to families where you get a mini suite and a continental breakfast without breaking the bank. Nice enough for the time I was intending to stay for Aaron’s wedding.
And he was fucking the maid of honor. I would slap him upside his head if I saw him. I don’t know anything about his fiancée, but no woman deserves that on her wedding day.
The hotel parking lot is much fuller than when I left earlier. I swing into the first available spot I see then turn to my passenger.
“We’re going to have to make a run for it.” Now I’m wishing I was wearing my blade instead of this goddamn dress shoe. I won’t fall, but I won’t be as fast. “Ready?”
She glances out the window, then back at me. Her face is flushed and her eyes are lit with excitement. “Yep.” She reaches down and slips off the heels she’s wearing, cups them to her chest. “Let’s do it.”
I open my door and she does the same and we meet at the back of my car as we run towards the sliding glass doors of the hotel entryway. Once we hit the lobby we’re met with a crowd of people waiting in line to check in. My suit is completely soaked to my body and her dress is nearly indecent the way it’s molding to her every curve.
I put my hand at the small of her back and lean forward to whisper. “Do you want to wait here in this line for a room or you can come up to mine and wait until later?”
She looks over her shoulder at me, those big green eyes searching my face. “Would you mind if I went up with you?”
“Not even a little bit.”
Chapter 2
Summer
* * *
Cade is a beast of a man. Tall and impossibly broad with thick muscles that are obviously not accustomed to wearing suits. His short cropped dark hair matches the trimmed dark beard. Then there are those heavily lashed hazel eyes of his that I swear can see into my very soul.
He’s still got his large and warm hand at my back as we take the elevator and I hate this damn dress. I hate how self-conscious I feel in it. Hate how it shows off the curves I usually dress to downplay. Hate the reminder of everything this day was supposed to be.
Of all the things I can’t let myself think about right now, that’s the big one. If I let myself swim around in those thoughts, I’ll drown.
So instead of thinking about those things, I glance at the man beside me and ask the first inane question that pops in my head. “So why aren’t you staying at the wedding hotel?”
As if it’s any of my business.
I don’t recognize him, which could mean he’s from Aaron’s side or that he’s one of the many people my mom invited whom I don’t know. My own damn wedding and I had fewer people on the guest list than my mother. I didn’t even pick anything out, not my bridesmaids, not my wedding dress, frankly not even the groom. Which just about sums up my day, my engagement, and my whole damn life.
Get it together, Summer.
Do not start crying in the elevator. Do not do it, or this stranger will do what he’s been trying to do since the moment you climbed in his car.
He’ll ditch you faster than a busted carburetor, and then where would you be? Soaking wet in a stolen bridesmaid’s dress, in a hotel you can’t afford a room at because your purse and wallet are back at the church, that’s where.
I sniffle loudly.
His gaze shifts toward me, like he’s afraid to look directly at me. I don’t blame him, since no one loves a hysterical woman. How many times has my mother told me that?
Stop being so emotional, Summer. We are Whitmore’s, not delicate crybabies.
“Allergies,” I lie baldly.
He clears his throat. “I wasn’t sure if I could make it or not.”
‘’What?”
“To the wedding. I wasn’t sure I’d make it so I missed the deadline to reserve a room at the wedding hotel.” His voice is so deep and kinda scratchy and I just want to swim around in it.
“Oh.” I say stupidly, because I’d almost forgotten I’d asked him a question. “Where do you live?”
“Corpus Christi.”
The elevator dings and the doors open on the third floor.
Thank God, because I thought the elevator ride would never end.
I follow his lead and we go into his room. It’s a standard King mini-suite with a living area partitioned off by a pony wall, and there’s a small fridge, sink and microwave making up the kitchenette.
He scrapes his fingers through his hair and rain drops fall onto his shoulders. He removes the suit jacket and tosses it in the corner onto the desk chair.
“The bathroom is right there if you want to get out of that dress and warm up in the shower. I can loan you something to put on.” He moves to a suitcase that’s open and so neatly organized it’s kinda shocking. Each item of clothing is so tightly rolled I can’t tell what anything is. It’s just a row of methodically rolled tubes of fabric.
Somehow, the neatness of the suitcase makes me even more aware of how I must look to him—like a drippy, disheveled mess—and I want out of this dress even more. Which hardly seems possible, but there it is.
“You can just put whatever on the counter. I desperately want to get out of this dress. It’s hideous.”
He faces me and his eyes travel the length of my body.
I’m not a small woman. I’ve got curves on my curves and I am nearly busting out of this dress. Especially considering it’s not even mine and was made for a woman much smaller.
Ironically, it was made for the bridesmaid Aaron was fucking.
Or maybe it’s not ironic. Maybe it’s just pathetic.