CHAPTER 1
BASIL
I thinkit was the third kiss that woke me—and not just from sleep. I’m catapulted back to reality. What in the hell am I still doing in this bed? With this woman? A total stranger.
The weight of the person whoisn’tOlivia rests on top of me. Warm, naked skin. Strong hands. Her taste on my lips. Murmured words brush along my spine and tiny moans escape my throat as a path of kisses reaches my earlobe. My mind is more calm than it should be right now thanks to her body heat. My shoulders relax and the agony from the last forty-eight hours—the disastrous wedding, the business deal, the bass from the music pounding my eardrums last night—melts away. Distant sounds of honking cars yanks my attention back to reality once more. I need to get out of here.Look alive, Basil.
“Morning,” I mumble, fueled both with a desire to go another round and to leave this hotel immediately.Stupid. The rooftop party was a terrible idea, especially in downtown Seattle. What if someone from the office saw us acting like a couple of horny college kids?
My thoughts redirect as tingles travel south from the weight of her breasts pressing firmly against my back in the same manner her lips sank into my neck on the dance floor. And now I crave her touch again. Fuck. Why does my body keep betraying me? When she lifts herself and hovers over me, I roll between her long arms to face her. My heart jumps at the warmth of her smile.
She’s even more beautiful in the natural light. I smile at the voluminous dark coils of her hair. The morning sun peeking through the sheer curtains forces me to shift my focus from her grin to the light illuminating the smoothness of her copper brown complexion. She leans closer and says “Good morning.” Her whispered words compel my body to respond, and next thing I know, my lips are pressed against the hollow near her forearm. Her warm leg nestles between my thighs, and she flashes me a look. I recall the exact moment last night I knew I wanted her.Her…What’s her name again? I can’t remember, and hell no, I’m not going to ask. I don’t do this type of thing. Hooking up.
I clear my throat, interrupting my thoughts before I lose myself completely. “What time is it? My flight—” I pause and think better of opening myself up for questions. It might not be wise to confess you were just left at the altar and decided to go on your honeymoon alone while a naked woman is on top of you. Instead, I do what I shouldn’t and run my hands down her toned sides, letting everything about her pull me back in. The urge to stay here forever, to forget the shitshow that is my life, is overwhelming, but—no, I can’t. No giving in to this conflicting ache in my chest for something I know will never happen between us. Jones women don't get the luxury of sustaining impulse decisions unless they produce money. Our eyes hold, and she dips down and kisses me—not where I want, but gently on my forehead—then glances toward the nightstand.
“Ten till 7 a.m.” Her voice is soothing yet commanding. She maneuvers toward the edge of the bed and sits up. “Have somewhere to be?”
I should already be at the airport. Myinternationalflight leaves in less than three hours. Hell, I haven’t even checked in yet. The sinking sensation in my stomach plummets to my core. The satisfaction of last night has faded. This woman has no clue who I am. A distraction from a day gone horribly wrong. And I was probably just another notch in her bedpost. I’m single—aftersevenyears, but it feels like I’m married, making this situation much worse.
As she slides her sports bra over her head and adjusts it into place, I point my gaze toward the wall for a faux sense of privacy, then wrap the sheets over my chest and rest on my elbows. I take a deep breath and wait to retrieve my scrambled clothes littering the room.
Before I realize I didn’t answer the question, she breaks the silence. “You know, if you want to leave, that’s fine.”
“No. It’s not that. I, um—” I peer around and scan my mind for an excuse. “With all our dancing…in and out of the bedroom…I’m all out of fuel. Know of any good breakfast spots around here? I’m thinking perhaps a pastry, maybe some coffee.” Then I lie. “I’m not from the area.”
She squints and tilts her head with a quizzical expression, like she wants to say something, but she hesitates. “There’s a bakery next door. I’m told they have great coffee too.”
I’m told?My sight dances up and down her tall, fit frame. With a body like that, she probably takes all her one-night stands there. I force a smile. “Perfect. I’ll have a vanilla chai latte with a shot of espresso. Smallest they have is fine. Thanks.” A silent moment passes, and I catch her raised brow pointing in my direction through the mirror. “What?”
“So, a dirty vanilla chai?” The corner of her mouth curls.
I chuckle, not bothering to hide the hint of sarcasm and cross my arms over my chest. “Not the same thing.”
“It absolutely is.”
“I know coffee.” Mine gets delivered to my desk every day at 8 a.m. “It’s not.”
“Yes, it—” She pauses and blinks twice. “I actually meant for us to go together.” Then she points a finger up. “Also, last night you mentioned you got your clothes from the local boutique downtown.”
I can see my black lace panties on the chair arm through the mirror, but I don’t draw attention to them. “They were a gift.” Technically, that’s not a lie. An early wedding present, intended to be a surprise for Olivia.
Thankfully, she turns to search for her jeans, but just when I think the topic is dropped, she continues, “And that youloveshopping there. Wait. Was last night not good for you?”
This woman asks too many questions. Our eyes meet, and my face heats up when I remember all the dirty little promises she made good on. “Did I seem like I didn’t enjoy last night?”
No response, but her devious smirk tells me we’re probably thinking the same thing. Great. It’s official: I don't care if I’m only thirty, I refuse to have a one-night stand again. I wouldn’t survive modern-day dating. There’s no point in trying.
“So, a dirty vanilla chai then?” Her smile widens, and she disappears into the bathroom.
“I liked it better when we weren’t talking,” I mutter a little too loud. I need her gone to gather my thoughts and my belongings. The clock is ticking. I’ve never missed a flight before and don’t intend to start now.
From the other room, she yells over the running faucet, “I’m sorry, I missed what you said.”
I roll my eyes, impatience getting the best of me. Instead of responding right away, I fling the sheets off and scramble for my clothes. As I stand, words to shout back strike my mind. “I said, I'd rather stay here and wait for you—” The water stops, and she darts her head through the doorway, those big brown eyes staring and a toothbrush dangling from her teasing grin at my stark nakedness. I’m hot all over and speechless when she gives me a once-over.
“Just like that?” She raises a brow, then disappears again. “In that case, maybe we should skip the bakery.”
Is she toying with me? I can’t tell. I’m only stuck wondering how a woman could be so damn attractive while brushing her teeth.
