“WHAT THE HELL is this?”
I look up from the penis wine charms I’m fastening around the stems of eight wine glasses—one for the bride and each of her seven bridesmaids—to see Jake holding a box like it’s about to bite him. I suck in a giggle when I see the picture on it. Two women whacking each other with inflatable dicks strapped around their waists.
“That’s one of the party games. Dueling Dickies.”
He shudders. “Please tell me I don’t have to blow them up.”
“So you’re okay with being serenaded by drag queens, but putting your lips on a plastic penis is where you draw the line?”
“I am not giving a blow job to a four-foot phallus.”
This time I can’t fight the laughter, and it bubbles out. “No worries. If it threatens your precious manhood, I’ll do it. You can fill Willy Whack-It.”
“Willy what?”
“The party pecker piñata.”
I hand him a bag of individually wrapped penis gummies and point him toward the fully stocked bar, where the piñata lies face up, its taunting, cheeky smile on full display. He approaches it cautiously, like it might jump up and attack him if he moves too fast.
“You weren’t kidding when you said the maid of honor is penis obsessed. This thing’s creepy. What kind of dick has a face? It’s looking at me like it wants to stab me in my sleep.”
I put a charm on the last wine glass, open a bag of brightly colored confetti shaped like tiny, adorable, nonmurderous penises, and start scattering them across the dining table.
“Don’t be such a wimp. It’s all in good fun.” I should stop there, but I can’t help baiting him. It’s too easy, and I like getting a rise out of him. In more ways than one. But for now, I’ll settle for the one. “You know what fun is, right?”
He fixes me with those piercing, brandy-brown eyes. “You mean like our shaving session? That was fun. Or how about when you rode my leg like a bucking bronco? I really enjoyed that. And based on your screams and moans, so did you.”
My face goes instantly hot and tingly. My girly parts, too. I decide to ignore it for the time being and focus on the task at hand. We have to get this place decorated before the bride and her entourage show up. Then I can get Jake home, where I can jump his bones. And this time, there’s no stopping until we both get off.
“You got that thing filled yet?” I gesture to the piñata.
“So that’s how you want to play it.” He finds the sticker marked Fill Here and peels it off. “Fine. I’ll let you off the hook for now. But don’t think the subject is closed.”
“What subject?” I ask, feigning innocence.
“You. Me. Trust me, Nightingale. This—” he waves a hand between us “—is happening, whether you want to admit it or not.”
Admit it? I’m counting on it.
“Just finish stuffing the piñata so we can hang it up.”
I scatter the last of the penis confetti, crumple up the empty package, and toss it into the heavy-duty garbage bag I mooched off housekeeping. Normally I’d bring one with me. We’ve got a no-mess-left-behind rule at Odds & Errands. Another way we try to stand out from the competition. But since I’m pinch hitting today, I’m not as prepared as I usually am.
Jake rips the bag of gummies open with his teeth, dumps them into the papier-mâché penis, then puts the sticker back on to seal it up. “There. All done. Where do you want it?”
“Hmm...” I scan the large, open loft, looking for a safe place to hang a piñata. Somewhere the ladies can swing away at it without fear of damaging any of the Soho Grand’s pricey decor. “How about over there?”
I point to the archway that separates the dining area from the living space. He nods and starts to pull a chair over.
I stand in his path, blocking him, hands balled on my hips. He may be bigger and stronger than me, but there’s no way he’s more determined. “Not. Gonna. Happen. Remember our deal. No heavy lifting. No climbing.”
He steps aside with an elaborate bow. “As you wish.”
“The Princess Bride. Impressive.”
“You can thank my sister for that, too. She made me watch it a least a hundred times. Even tried to get me to dress as the Dread Pirate Roberts one Halloween, but that’s where I drew the line.”
“Too bad,” I say, dragging the chair beneath the archway. “You would have made a cute Dread Pirate Roberts.”
“The Dread Pirate Roberts is not cute,” Jake huffs. “He’s feared across the seven seas for his ruthlessness and skill with a sword.”
“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you’d seen the movie a hundred times.” My eyes dart around the room until they spot what I’m looking for. “Can you bring me that box of tools on the couch?”
I’d had them delivered directly to the hotel along with the decorations. A tad more expensive, sure. But also way more efficient. And it’s not like my clients can’t afford to pay a little bit extra. They’re clearly not hurting for money. From the looks of this place, it’s costing them a pretty penny.
Jake crosses to the couch, picks up the box, and looks inside, but he doesn’t bring it to me. Instead, he just stands there and stares at me like I’m about to take a sledgehammer to the Venus de Milo. “The Soho Grand isn’t going to be too thrilled with you making holes in their ceiling.”
“Hole,” I correct him. “Singular. And I’ve already cleared it with the management. I’ve got someone coming in to patch it up after the bridal party checks out on Sunday.”
This isn’t my first rodeo. Or my first bachelorette party. I know how to grease the wheels and smooth things over to get my clients what they want, within reason. Just another perk of our personalized service.
He lets out a low whistle and crosses back to me with the box. “Now I’m the one who’s impressed.”
“I may not be a workaholic like some people—” I give him a pointed look over my shoulder as I climb up on the chair “—but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about doing my job and doing it well.”
“I can see that.”
I glance down at him, and I’m shook. Where’s the sarcastic smirk? Or disdainful frown? I mean, he’s got to be messing with me, right? I’m totally cool with how I run my business, but there’s no way it’s up to Mr. I-Live-At-The-Office’s impossibly high standards.
But he’s not messing with me. He’s standing there holding the stupid box to his stupid side with his stupid, uninjured arm, gazing up at me with an earnest expression and nothing but sincerity in his eyes.
My heart and stomach do a simultaneous flip-flop, like synchronized swimmers executing a perfectly choreographed routine. It’s ridiculous, I know, but this seems like a big moment somehow. Significant. Meaningful. It dawns on me that it’s because Jake’s opinion matters to me, and I’m shook all over again. I’m not used to giving a rat’s ass what anyone thinks about how I live my life, especially not a guy I met only a few weeks ago.
It must show, because his earnest expression turns to concern.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his brows knotting together.
“Uh, sure.” I gesture to the box, which he’s set down on the floor next to him. Now is not the time for introspection. It’s the time for hanging this piñata and getting the heck out of here. I can sort out my jumbled emotions later. “There’s a pack of nails in there. Can you hand me one?”
For the next few minutes we work together in silence like a well-oiled machine, Jake anticipating my needs without me having to say a word. He gives me a nail. I position it in the center of the beam. He hands me the hammer. I use one end to tap the nail in and the other to pull it out so I can screw in the eye bolt he puts in my palm. He hands me a length of rope. I run it through the bolt.
I give the bolt one last turn to make sure it’s in there good and tight, then bend down to grab the piñata Jake’s already retrieved from the bar. The chair wobbles, and I feel myself losing my balance. One second I’m upright, the next I’m in a nose dive that lands me sprawled on top of Jake, the piñata tossed aside and fluorescent neon penis gummies scattered all around us on the floor.
“I’m so sorry. Your arm...” I try to scramble off his chest, but the arm I’m not freaking out about locks me to him like a vice. At least I didn’t break that one, too. That’s some small consolation for knocking him down like a bowling pin.
“My arm is fine,” he assures me, his breath warm on my cheek, stirring the hair that’s come free from my sad mess of a ponytail. He chuckles, and the low rumble reverberates through me, making my nerve endings tingle. “Well, technically it’s not fine. But it’s not any worse than it was before you fell on me. My left side took the brunt of the impact.”
I try to wriggle out of his grasp, but he’s too strong, even with only one arm. “Um, we should probably get up.”
“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head, and unruly dark hair flops over his forehead. My fingers itch to push it back, to feel the slip and slide of the thick locks as I smooth them away from his face. “Not so fast.”
“But I’m squashing you.” I’m not a heavyweight, but I’m not petite, either. He can’t be comfortable with me spread-eagled over him.
“Right. I’ve got you exactly where I want you.” His hand drifts from the middle of my back down to the curve of my ass and squeezes.
I let out a thin, breathy exhale. “You want me crushing you like a grape?”
He rolls us so I’m beneath him. He looms above me like some wild pagan god, propped up on his good arm, his chest heaving and a thin sheen of sweat dampening his brow. “There. Now you can stop worrying about squashing me and start concentrating on more important things.”
“Like what?”
Please, please, please let him mean what I think he means.
“Like this.”
His lips come crashing down on mine, and my heart wants to sing. He does mean what I think he means, and then some. I like to kiss as much as the next gal, but this is more than kissing. It’s kissing on steroids. Jake’s mouth is moving against mine like the world is seconds from ending, like this is the last time we’ll get to do this and he doesn’t want to hold anything back.
He coaxes my lips apart with his tongue, and my eyes flutter closed. I wrap my legs around his and reach up to rake my fingers through his hair. I’m drowning in him, being dragged under by his touch, his taste, his smell.
But what a way to go.
I forget where we are. I forget that we’ve got a job to finish. I forget that at any minute a bride-to-be and her seven bridesmaids could waltz in here and discover us on the floor, making out like a couple of horny teenagers.
Until the click of a lock shatters the silence and I freeze.
“Ainsley? You here? The front desk gave me a key. I know I’m super late, but I thought you might still need some help getting everything set up for the party.”
I roll off Jake, but it’s too late. Erin’s startled gasp tells me she’s already seen us, and what she’s seen is more than enough for her to know we weren’t playing tiddlywinks.
“Sorry,” she says, but she sounds more amused than contrite. “I guess I should have knocked. I didn’t realize you had company.”
I scramble to my feet, hastily and futilely trying to tame my flyaway hair and smooth my rumpled T-shirt. Jake, in contrast, takes his bloody sweet time getting up. When he does, he ambles over to my assistant and sticks out his left hand.
“You must be Erin. I’m Jake.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Jake.” Erin shakes his hand and immediately launches into the Spanish inquisition. “How do you and Ainsley know each other?”
I try to interrupt their little heart-to-heart before Jake can spill the beans about how we met, but he’s too quick.
“She’s helping me take care of my parents’ dog while they’re on vacation.”
“So you’re the guy who got Ainsley to break her no pets policy.” Erin shoots me a knowing glance.
“You have a no pets policy?” Jake asks.
“Had,” Erin clarifies. “Past tense.”
“I made an exception for a friend,” I insist. “That’s it. No big deal.”
“A friend.” Erin puts air quotes around the last word. “Right. Now I understand why she’s been hiding you.”
“I have not been hiding him.” I haven’t. Not really. Although right now that sounds like a freaking fantastic idea.
“Really?” Erin says, echoing my thoughts. “Then how come you’ve never asked me or Aaron to walk Roscoe?”
Jake cocks his head and squints at me. He’s enjoying this way too much. “That’s a good question.”
One I don’t have a good answer to. So I do what any rational person in my situation would do.
Punt.
I pick up the piñata and start shoving packs of gummies back inside. “We’re almost done here. We just have to finish hanging Willy Whack-It and get rid of the garbage.”
Erin takes the piñata from my hands. “I can handle that. You and Jake should get out of here.”
I glance at the clock above the trendy white stone fireplace. “The bridal party will be arriving soon. I should stay and meet the maid of honor. Make sure everything gets her stamp of approval.”
“What’s not to approve? This is gonna be a kickass penis party.”
Jake waves a hand around the room, and my eyes follow it, landing on penis straws, penis balloons, penis headbands. Yep. These crazy broads are actually going to wear tiny dicks on their heads. And around their necks, too. I know for a fact there’s a package of necklaces with little pink plastic peckers around here somewhere. The place is packed with penises. I don’t think there’s a schlong-shaped favor in the tristate area we haven’t got.
“Jake’s right. You guys have done a great job. I doubt anyone will have any complaints, especially once they’ve had a drink or two or three, but if they do, I’ll deal with them.” Erin sets the box down on a chair and shoos us toward the door. “Go have some fun. You know what fun is, right?”
My eyes practically roll to the back of my head. There’s nothing more infuriating than having your own words used against you, even if the person using them doesn’t know you said the same thing not ten minutes ago.
I sneak a glance at Jake to see if he’s picked up on it. Yep. He’s eating this up, the smug bastard. He winks at Erin and snakes his good arm around my waist, steering me to the door.
“Fun?” His hand sneaks lower, daring to cop a not-so-discrete feel of my left butt cheek. “That’s my middle name. Right, Nightingale?”