My breath catches.
“After the wedding.” He turns to face me fully. “I’m asking you to spend the night with me, Claire. No games. I want you in my bed.”
Heat crawls up my neck, my chest. “That’s—”
“But there’s a condition.”
I blink. “A condition?”
“Three dates when we get home.” His eyes hold mine. Steady. Sure. “Real dates. Not wedding stuff. Just you and me, seeing if this works outside of island sunsets and open bars.”
My heart hammers. “And if I say no?”
His hand is warm in mine, rough palm against my softer skin. Below us, waves crash against rocks, the sound violent and rhythmic. Spray mists my bare shoulders, cool against sun-heated skin.
“Then I walk away right now.” His jaw tightens. “I can’t do one night with you, Doc. Either we’re trying for something real, or we’re not doing this at all.”
The vulnerability in his voice cracks something open in my chest.
This man who plays the field. Who keeps things casual. Who told me himself he doesn’t do serious.
He’s asking for more.
“Why?” It comes out smaller than I mean it to.
“Because you’re not a one-night woman.” He reaches for my hand, laces our fingers together. “And I’m tired of pretending I don’t want more than one night.”
“You don’t know that about me.”
“I know you pulled yourself off my case because you couldn’t stay professional. I know you’ve been running since the moment we met.” His thumb traces my knuckles. “And I know when you kissed me today, you weren’t thinking about tomorrow. Just right now. What it would feel like to let go.”
Damn him for being right.
“Three dates,” I hear myself say. “And then what?”
“Then you decide if you want a fourth.” His eyes search mine. “But you have to show up for all three, Claire. No bailing after the first one. No hiding behind work. Three real chances.”
The smart thing is to say no.
Thank him for the kiss. The offer. Explain that I don’t date wedding party members or men who make me feel this unsteady.
But I’m tired of being smart.
“Okay.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Okay?”
“Three dates. After we get home.” My voice drops. “And tomorrow night. After the wedding.”
The smile that crosses his face is pure relief and heat and something that makes my stomach flip.
He pulls me toward him. Kisses me slow and thorough, like he’s sealing a contract.
“Tomorrow night, then,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“Tomorrow night.”
He walks me to my room, the path winding through gardens lit by solar lanterns. It’s in the far building, tucked into the hillside where every window faces the ocean, and it’s there that he kisses me once more at the door. It’s different somehow.Slower, deeper, his hand cradling the back of my head like I’m something precious. I taste the beer he drank at dinner and feel the rasp of his thumb against my jaw. He smells like night air and that ever-present pine, and when he pulls back, my knees are weak.
