Just when Patrick had gotten his libido under control, Tove had to go and do that. Her blue silk pajamas were hanging on a hook on the back of the door and Patrick inhaled the scent of her that lingered in the fabric. He caught a faint whiff of her perfume and the indefinable fragrance of her skin, which he’d become intimately acquainted with overnight.
Well, that was a mistake, he realized as his dick stirred again.
Hell with it. He turned on the shower and shucked out of his lounge pants, hanging them over the pajamas on the door. Then he stepped into the shower and began to stroke himself, fast and hard, the warm water cascading over his chest as he worked himself over, racing hellbent for the finish line. The image of Tove, nearly nude in that towel, sent him over the edge and he braced himself with his free hand on the tiled wall as the water rinsed away the evidence of his orgasm. He blew out a long breath and let go of his softening dick, straightening up as he grabbed the soap and began to wash.
By the time he was out of the shower and making his own towel-clad journey back to the bedroom, Tove was seated at the little desk with her laptop, dressed in a simple tee shirt and shorts. She glanced up, her eyes going wide. “Oh. I’ll go down and grab us a table for breakfast,” she said, starting to rise to her feet, but stopping as he put his hands on her shoulders, encouraging her to stay seated.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to. I’m not uncomfortable.”
Her tongue darted out, moistening her lips. “Considering my earlier actions, that kind of makes me seem like a prude.”
“Nah,” he said, turning his back on her to rummage in his bag for a pair of running shorts with built-in briefs. “Just someone with boundaries in different places.” He dropped the towel on the bed and tugged on the shorts, grinning briefly at her audible inhalation.
“So,” he said, pulling a tee shirt over his head as he turned back to her. “Let’s go down to brunch and then see about having a floating non-argument. Deal?”
There was a startling openness in Tove’s expression that was entirely new. “Deal.”
Something in Tove had let loose when Patrick dropped that towel, showing that perfectly rounded ass to her in all its very muscular glory. She felt free somehow, almost reckless. She even took his hand when they stepped out of the elevator and held it as they walked to the resort’s restaurant, giving in to the fantasy he represented. Patrick’s fingers threaded through hers and squeezed as they stepped up to the hostess stand. They were led with some ceremony to a table, only to find that breakfast was a buffet.
“Well, then,” Tove said, taking the napkin from her lap and slapping it on the table. “I guess I’m going to get an omelet.”
“Sounds good, I’ll join you.” Crossing the busy restaurant to the omelet station, they found Anthony and Sofia waiting their turn. Sofia, a waifish brunette with light brown eyes, looked pale—maybe her headache yesterday had been real—and Anthony looked furious.
Interesting.
Behind her, Patrick gently stroked the nape of her neck with his fingertips, sending delicious sensation down her spine. The movement caught Anthony’s eye and he scowled at the taller man. “Perfect. Just what my day needed,” he muttered and stalked off, ignoring the cook who’d just asked him what he’d like.
Sofia, after watching her husband storm away with a curiously blank expression, stepped up and ordered, then glanced back, apparently not recognizing Tove. “Hello, are you here for the wedding?” she asked in lightly accented English.
Tove blinked. “Yes.”
“Ah.” She gave Tove an arch smile and held out a hand, palm down, like she was royalty. What was Tove supposed to do, kiss her five-carat ring? “I’m Sofia. Emily’s stepmother. Welcome. I hope your accommodations are good.”
“I know who you are. I’m Tove. Emily’s actual mother.” Tove took her hand, turning it into a proper handshake and holding it a little too firmly as she gave it a brisk pump, especially since Sofia’s grip was nonexistent. “And I think while ‘stepmother’ is possibly a technically correct way to explain the relationship, it seems a bit much to claim since you barely know her. Next time, you might want to just go with ‘Anthony’s current wife.’”
“I…” Sofia’s large amber eyes went even wider and she seemed unable to think of anything to say. “Excuse me.” She tugged her hand from Tove’s and quick-marched out of the restaurant, much to the consternation of the cook who had just plated her omelet and was standing with it in his hands. He looked helplessly at Tove, who felt a little guilty. She hadn’t intended to do anything but put the officious younger woman in her place. She’d never considered she’d make difficulties for the cook.
“What kind is that?” Patrick asked behind her. Informed that the omelet was a Western with whole wheat toast, he extended a hand. “I’ll take it. What would you like?” he asked Tove.
“Spinach and feta with sourdough toast,” she replied and the cook got to work immediately, ladling the eggs onto the flat-top griddle and sprinkling the filling when it had firmed up a bit. A couple of folds and a flip and Tove had her breakfast.
Patrick laid a hand on the small of her back as they moved towards their table. “Nice going, Mama Bear.” He laid his plate down and helped her with her chair before seating himself.
“That woman met Emily literally one time at her own wedding to the girl’s father and she tries to take credit for being her stepmother and for hosting this wedding? I think not.”
Patrick merely winked at her and put a bite of omelet in his mouth. A waiter circulated by to drop off a carafe of coffee and Tove appeared to be concentrating on eating her breakfast and cooling off her simmering rage.
“Hello lovely people, can I crash this party?” Vati swung her purse onto one free chair and plopped into the other without waiting for a reply.
“Help yourself,” Tove said and sipped some coffee.
“So, I saw Wife Number Six storming toward the elevators looking like a rather pissed-off stick insect. Any idea why?”
Patrick choked on his coffee and Tove said, “Oh, I have every idea why.”
Vati’s eyes went wide and she leaned forward, placing her chin on her hand. “Do. Tell.”
“She didn’t know who I was and introduced herself to me as Emily’s stepmother with all the ceremony of a queen condescending to a serf.” Patrick was surprised at how calm her voice was.
Vati snorted. “She didn’t.”
“Oh, I can assure you she did,” Patrick said. “Tove was magnificent. She introduced herself as ‘Emily’s actual mother’ and Sofia went positively gray.”
“I’ll bet she did. Wonder if she was mad at you, herself, or someone else entirely,” Vati mused, pouring a cup of coffee from the carafe. “For example, Anthony, who didn’t bother to inform her about you. Or maybe herself for not doing a bit of homework.”
“I don’t really care, I have to say,” Tove said. “She seems just as insufferable and self-important as Anthony is and I want nothing to do with her. This is Emily and Hayley’s day and those two human billboards can just sit down and be quiet.”
“Mama Bear is having her roar,” Patrick said and Vati snickered.
“Auntie Vati! I’m getting married today!” Emily yodeled as she swept in and wrapped her arms around the older woman.
“Yes, you are. Where’s your bride, love?” Vati cradled Emily’s cheeks in her palms and beamed up at her.
“Off with her folks. Secret errand of some kind or other,” Emily said as Vati pulled her bag off the extra chair and almost pushed the young woman into it.
“Are you all set for today?” Tove asked her daughter, who gave her a sunny smile.
“More than set. Ready, steady, go, that’s us. What are you all doing today?”
“Your mother and I thought we’d try out some canoes or kayaks,” Patrick said, feeling oddly self-conscious about the phrase your mother and I while at the same time not venturing near the term paddling again.
“I am going to spend some quality time on a lounge chair with a book,” Vati announced. “I never get to sit and just read and I’m doing exactly that.”
“I’ve got about a hundred silly little things to do to get ready. Like get my nails done.” Emily inspected her short, blunt fingernails and frowned. “Hayley’s totally into manicures and they look great on camera, but…ugh. Well, then. You lovebirds go on and get recreational,” Emily said, grinning at Patrick as Tove wiped her mouth and put her napkin on the table.
Tove put one finger under her daughter’s chin and pushed it up. “Enjoy your manicure, love. It’s called pampering.”
Emily made a goofy face. “You enjoy yourself, Mom. It’s called having fun.”