Nick was sprawled in the desk chair, swinging it back and forth gently. He wasn’t quite as tipsy as she was, but he looked relaxed for the first time since they’d run into Nina that afternoon. He surveyed the remaining alcohol.
“What’s Heather’s favorite drink?”
Carly thought for a moment. “White wine. And light beer. She’s not a cocktail person, and we’re not serving white wine spritzers. I’d lose my maid of honor card for that.”
Nick chuckled, then picked up the prosecco, which was sitting in a puddle of condensation. “We could do a twist on a French 75. That’s sparkling, gin, lemon juice.”
“A Freshwater 75,” Carly said triumphantly.
“Yeah, I like that,” Nick grinned up at her, and her pulse picked up at the sight. They needed to get this second drink done before she’d drunk too much to do all the things she wanted to do to him tonight. She turned her attention to the little bottles of liqueur. There was nothing lemon flavored, but she had bought some strawberry liqueur, which seemed promising.
Nick rinsed his tumbler in the bathroom sink, then opened the gin and popped the bottle of prosecco.
“Three parts sparkling, one part gin,” he said under his breath, and once again she was impressed, if a little perplexed, by his knowledge of cocktails. She was about to ask about it when he handed her the bottle of strawberry liqueur. “Why don’t you pour until the color looks right?”
She poured until the drink was a dark pink, and then they repeated the experiment in her glass, but with less liqueur.
“To a good day,” she offered, holding one glass up in a toast. He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes a deep, unreadable blue.
“To a good day, and a bad night that got better. Thanks to you,” he said, clinking their glasses gently, and desire tugged in her chest.
They sampled the paler drink, then the darker one.
“Oof, too much,” Nick said, screwing his face up and setting the drink down.
If I had a nickel, Carly thought tipsily, scribbling the proportions of the paler version on her notepad.
“I think we’re done here. I’ll text Heather so she can cross this task off her master list.” Nick nodded, looking satisfied, and started packing away the undrunk liquor. Carly padded toward the bed, drink in hand, hoping she looked sexy but feeling more sleepy than seductive. The hours in the sun had taken it out of her.
She settled herself against the pillows and sipped at the cocktail, watching him tidy up, then drained her drink.
“Nick. Let’s have a really good night.”
He looked up from the desk and let his eyes rake slowly down her body, lingering on her thighs and hips. Then he looked down at his own body and ran a hand through his hair.
“Stay right there. I’m going to take a shower, and then we’ll have a really good night.”
She pouted, and then remembered everything they’d done today.
They both probably needed a shower.
“Fine, fine,” she conceded.
“Unless you want to join me in the shower?” he raised one eyebrow, and the effect was unforgivably sexy.
Carly yawned widely despite herself. “Get the water warm, I’ll join you in a second.”
She adjusted a pillow beneath her and slipped her socks off, letting her tired feet sink into the perfectly firm mattress. Just a few minutes, and then she’d go into the bathroom and help Nick get clean, so they could both get very, very dirty. She was going, in just a second. Just … one more second …
Carly never joined Nick in the shower. He waited, letting the warm water beat some softness into his tense shoulders, enjoying the thick and luxurious lather of the B&B’s shampoo, and gently palming his cock, hungrily anticipating Carly’s hands and fingers and mouth taking over. But she never arrived. After a few more minutes of waiting, Nick realized he was wasting water and got out of the shower with a twinge of disappointment in his gut.
“Changed your mi—” he started to ask, stepping out into the bedroom wrapped in a fluffy white robe. The question died in his mouth as he took in Carly, who was curled up on one side of the bed fast asleep. She was barefoot, and as he moved closer he saw that the top button of her shorts was undone. But she was out.
As quietly as he could, he switched on the bedside lamp on the empty side of the bed, then crept across the room to turn off the overhead light. The moon and the streetlights now shone through the lace curtain, which was fluttering slightly at the open window.
Nick tiptoed to the window and carefully pulled the lace aside. The air outside was cool at last, and the lightest of breezes made the leaves in the gum trees rustle and sway on the other side of the street. The night up here belonged to the bush, to the croaking of frogs and the eerie, mournful cries of curlews. To the high-pitched chatter of ringtail possums and, somewhere not too far away, a barking that could have been a dog or an owl.
He stood there and inhaled deep breaths of eucalyptus and blooming night jasmine. It smelled like his youth, like life before his life really began.
