A bachelorette party without the bride was just…odd.
Georgia Westwood, younger sister of Ariana Westwood, slated to marry much-coveted investment banker Jackson O’Connell in just under twenty-four hours, hung on to the upside-down Ashtanga position as long as she could before the blood rushing to her head almost blinded her. She collapsed on the mat with a defiant finality. If the other twelve girls attending this party wanted to put themselves through this torture, they could knock themselves out.
Not her.
She wiped the perspiration from her forehead. The late-afternoon sun slanting across Felicity’s parents’ boat-house roof was still blindingly strong, making it all that much worse. No one even knew if there was going to be a wedding. Ariana was still missing, apparently vacillating between the two stunning men she had on a string.
Georgia grimaced. Her heart was bleeding for her. It really was.
The instructor finally took pity on them and wrapped the class. Georgia hung back as Fearless Felicity, chosen over Georgia for maid-of-honour duties because she had been deemed “too irresponsible” for the job, started popping thousand-dollar bottles of champagne. With her exotic dark eyes and silky, straight hair, Felicity was just as stunning as Ariana. Not that she was jealous. They could continue their “I am beautiful” pursuit of perfection for eternity for all she cared.
Be my guest.
“Does anyone have any idea where Ariana is?” Sarah asked, curling up on one of the deck sofas with her champagne.
“I’d be dragging her butt back to face the music if I did,” Felicity growled. “She isn’t usually this much of a coward.”
“She doesn’t usually feel like her head is going to blow off.”
All heads turned at the sound of the familiar voice. Ariana stood behind them, her short, dark bob framing violet eyes.
“Ari,” Felicity yelled, launching herself at her best friend with a force that nearly knocked her over. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Thinking. “Ariana gave them all a hug, then sank into one of the chairs with a glass of champagne. “I’m afraid I’m still in love with Hunter.”
“And that’s supposed to be a news bulletin?” Tracey scoffed. “He beat your heart up and left it for dead. I’m sorry, but you can’t.”
“You don’t choose who you love,” Beth reprimanded. “It just is.”
Ariana turned grey.
“How about we make a list?” Dani, the lawyer, suggested. “Give us Jackson’s and Hunter’s best qualities.”
Ariana frowned. “Well, Jackson is kind, handsome, super-smart and we’re very… compatible.”
“And Hunter?”
Ariana’s face crumpled.
“Oh, Lord.” Felicity held her glass up. “Let’s make this simple. Jackson would like you to make him dinner. Hunter would like to have you for dinner. Hunter is also filthy rich now. Which would you choose, ladies?”
“He broke her heart,” Tracey protested. “Can we please remember that?”
Ariana’s lips trembled. “How can I ever trust him again?”
“You won’t know until you talk to him.”
All eyes turned to Sarah as she stated the obvious. Ariana nodded. “You’re right.”
Georgia pursed her lips. “You know they’re both going crazy?”
“This is my life,” her sister said sharply. “And you’d better keep your mouth shut, Georgia. Not a word.”
As if. Stung by her sister’s assumption that she would let the cat out of the bag, Georgia slunk off downstairs with a muttered excuse she would wait for the pizza. The massive amount of hot air in her brain fighting to get out sent her walking along the shore instead. Screw the pizza. Screw them all.
Before she knew it she was in town, rife with cottagers loading up their boats with beer at the liquor store. About to turn around and head back, her gaze locked on him. Colton Smith. Tall, dark and dangerous, he was the boy she’d been told not to talk to and forbidden to date.
Colton Smith had a bad-boy reputation and the criminal record to back it up. But none of that ever seemed to dissuade the ladies.
Her gaze cut to the case of beer he was loading into his boat and she wondered if he had a date with a woman or with the beer.
A forbidden thrill rocketed through her. Only one way to find out.
She hustled down to the edge of the dock and caught his attention just as he gunned the motor. “Hey, Colton.”
He turned one of those deadly smiles on her. “Georgia Goody Two-shoes. Shouldn’t you be home under lock and key?”
“Very funny. I’m nineteen, Colton. Only a year younger than you.”
He slanted her a look that said it might as well have been light-years. “Need a ride somewhere?”
Any other night she would have said no, she was good. But tonight, she just didn’t care.
“Depends on where you’re going.”
He burst out laughing. Not the effect she’d been going for. “Georgia Westwood you are not allowed to fraternize with my kind and you know it.”
She lifted her chin. “Is that a yes or a no?”
He looked at her for a long moment. Georgia held her breath. Then he shrugged and jerked his head toward the case of beer. “I’m headed up to the point to drink that. I won’t be driving afterward.”
Georgia flicked a glance in the direction of the cottage. She’d left her phone there, which meant she’d be doing a disappearing act of her own if she went. Her mouth tightened and she climbed into the boat. It was time Georgia Goodie Two-Shoes lost her nickname.
She’d never felt so alive, whipping across the water with Colton, her hair in her face. He docked the boat in a tiny, hidden cove and built a fire. She knew she should be nervous out there alone with him, with a guy who had a reputation as long as his arm. But the funny thing was, she’d always felt as though she’d known Colton Smith.
“How come,” she asked, sitting beside him and taking the beer he offered, “you never talked to me at school when I tried to talk to you?”
“Maybe I wasn’t interested.”
The verbal knife dug in about an inch deep, but her gut told her it was a defence mechanism. “I saw the way you looked at me, Colton.”
He shrugged and poked at the fire. “I’m not a fan of your father’s slick-suited security contingent. I can do without a continuous law-enforcement presence.”
She frowned. “Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Steal the stuff from MacGregors.”
He threw another log on the fire. “Something to do.”
“I think you stole it so you could sell it and take care of your family.”
His mouth twisted. “Don’t try and paint me the hero, Georgia. I’m sure as hell not.”
She didn’t say any more. Just watched as the logs turned orange and gold and fiery sparks shot up into the darkness.
His barriers against the world were about a mile wide.
When the fire had charged itself into an almighty force of nature and her second beer had warmed Georgia’s insides to the point where she didn’t have the caution she should, she put herself out there, something she never, ever did.
“I like you, Colton. I think you’re smart and funny, and I don’t give a damn what everyone thinks.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Well, I don’t.”
He threw her a sideways look. “I’m not a novelty to be played with for a night, Georgia. A kiss you can go back and tell your girlfriends about.”
“I don’t think about you like that.” She took a deep breath and turned to face him. “But I do want one though.”
She saw the exact moment the rebel in him kicked in. His eyes darkened and flashed with a wildness she’d never experienced before. Then his head blocked out the glow of the fire as he bent to kiss her, a kiss that bore little resemblance to the fumbling attempts she’d been on the receiving end of in the past.
Oh, yes, Colton Smith deserved his bad-boy status.
And then some.
***
Both Westwood sisters were now missing. The storm Claire Westwood had unleashed over Ruby Lake had arrived. And who knew where it was all going to end?