I duck my head, blushing. He has no way of knowing how much that means to me. “Thank you.”
I consider telling him the rest—that the owner is selling, and I want her to sell it to me. She’s given me until next June before she searches for another buyer, but the bank won’t give me the loan I need.
But that’s all content under the heading of Reasons I Shouldn’t Be Here with Him, so I say none of it and instead stare into my drink.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
I slip off my heels under the table and lift the broken one up for him to see. “I’m wishing I hadn’t tried to run in ten-year-old shoes. I wanted to cut loose this weekend, but dancing barefoot in a Vegas nightclub is on the other side of that line.”
He laughs. “Fair enough. Let’s run back to your room and get another pair.”
The only other shoes I brought are the canvas sneakers I wore at the airport. They’d look ridiculous with this dress, but I’m afraid I’ll sound shallow if I admit that. Savvy has Barbie feet, so anything she has will be too small. “Maybe I’ll go to the boutique down the street and treat myself to a new pair.” It’d totally blow my fun-money budget for the month, even with the cash my parents gave me for my birthday, but it is my birthday, and . . . I really do want to dance.
Marston picks up his phone, and for a jealous moment I wonder if he’s already making plans with someone else, since I’m about to leave. Would it be too clingy to make sure he knows I’m planning on coming back?
Don’t be that girl.
I grab my own phone and text Savvy that I’m going to the mall and I’ll find her when I get back.
“I already messaged Alec to let him know,” Marston says. He slides out of the booth and offers me a hand. “Let’s go.”
Maybe the vodka’s getting to me, because it takes me a beat to put it together. “You bought this table for the night, and you’re going to leave to go shoe shopping with me?”
“Getting it for the night means it’ll still be ours when we get back.” He turns his palm up and curls a finger. “Come on.”
I slip my broken heel back on and climb out of the booth. “You surprise me,” I say, taking an awkward hobble-step forward.
“I do?” He steps behind me, and I release a surprised shriek as he scoops me into his arms and strides toward the door.
I throw my arms around his neck. “You cannot carry me all the way out of this club.”
We get a few curious glances, but people turn away just as quickly. As crazy as his behavior seems—as crazy as it’d be anywhere else—apparently it’s not gawk worthy in Vegas.
“I think I’m proving that I can,” he murmurs in my ear, still weaving through the crowd like carrying me is nothing. He’s not even winded. “Maybe we shouldn’t bother with the new shoes.” His breath tickles my ear. “I like having you this close.”
Fireworks detonate in my belly, and I close my eyes and mouth, not trusting myself to answer. He smells different than he used to. The scent of detergent and whatever soap he used as a teen has been replaced with citrus and fresh water, like subtle, expensive cologne. The smell suits him. It’s bold without being overbearing, interesting while still smelling clean. I’m intoxicated by it and want to bury my nose in his neck until I can imprint the smell on my memory.
When we reach the sidewalk, he strides straight to a black limo pulled up along the curb and opens the door. “This is us,” he says, his voice a little deeper than before. My body brushes against his as he lowers me to my feet, and our eyes meet for a beat, his hands still at my waist.
Kiss me. I press my lips together to trap the wish on my tongue.
The next car in line lays on its horn and tears me out of my trance. I duck into the limo and take a seat.
Marston leans in the front and says something to the driver before sliding into the bench seat beside me.
The food and booze have me feeling loose and relaxed, and instinct has me leaning my head on his shoulder. “I remember when you were so intimidated by my parents’ money, but now you ride around in a limo and order people around like you’ve done it all your life.”
His eyes are hooded as he looks down at me. “I’m not the boy you knew in Orchid Valley.” He sweeps two knuckles gently across my cheek then tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “I worked my ass off to put as much distance between him and me as possible.”
I swallow hard. “That’s too bad.”
“I disagree,” he says, his voice tight.
I slide a hand to the back of his neck. “It’s too bad, because I really liked him.”
Marston’s dark eyes are fixed on my mouth, and there’s so much longing in his gaze that my skin heats.
I’ve spent ten years convinced any reunion would lead to heartbreak and thinking that he must hate me, that he should hate me. But he just carried me in his arms out of a nightclub and is looking down at me now like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever seen.
“Is this real?” I ask.
He searches my face and shakes his head. “I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”
“I missed you.” Then, because I need it like I need air and because I realize he’s holding himself back, I kiss him. It’s a simple brush of lips that, between any other two people, could be nothing more than friendly affection. But we aren’t just any two people. We’re Brinley and Marston, and ten years later, it feels like we were never apart. Ten years later, and it feels like he still owns my heart.
He sighs against my lips, then takes control. He turns toward me just enough to cup my face and tilt it toward him, but he doesn’t devour me. He sips, tasting me in measured sweeps of his mouth. I shift too, angling toward him and pressing closer until I’m practically in his lap. I’m lost as his gentle exploration turns searching.
Yes, I think, find me. I’ve been lost for ten years.
He guides me to straddle his hips. My skirt slides up then bunches around my waist, and I rock forward and feel the hard length of him.
He groans and pulls away. “We’re here.”
I blink and look out the window. Sure enough, the driver has brought us to the circle drive at the entrance of an upscale mall.
I straighten and start to back away, but he holds me fast, his grip on my ass firm enough to make me think of a hundred ways we could spend the next hour right here in this limo.
“I missed you too,” he says, voice gruff. “I thought leaving was the hardest thing I’d ever have to do, but it turned out staying away was so much harder.”
My heart pinches, and I draw in a sharp breath. “Marston—”
He presses a firm kiss to my mouth. “Later. We’ll talk later.” He moves me off his lap just as the driver opens the door.
Chapter Four
Brinley
October 5th, before
“Come on,” Liam says, stroking his hands down my arms. “I’ll be real sweet. I promise.”
I shrug out of his grasp and shake my head. Again. I’ve been politely declining the invitation to join him in his car for the past ten minutes, and yet we’ve somehow made it all the way from the dance floor in the middle of the gymnasium to the back door. “I said no. I’m not interested.”