Ben woke up Friday morning and decided that whoever dreamed up the idea of bachelor parties should be shot.
He hadn’t gotten drunk. Well, maybe he’d been a bit more than buzzed, but his state was nothing next to that of the Shoulder Squad. There had been beer, yeah, and cigars—maybe that explained the state of his gut—but, thankfully, no dancing girls, clothed or not. It wasn’t that he was opposed to seeing gorgeous women in skimpy clothing. Hell, no. But after the previous afternoon’s semi-adventure with Kyrie, followed by long hours of frustrated attempts at distraction, scantily clad women were the last thing he needed to see.
Well, other than the pictures of a scantily clad Kyrie that he kept dreaming up.
Sometimes he wished that week at the lake had never happened. If they had met for the first time here and now . . . if he didn’t know she wasn’t her sister . . . if he didn’t have all those memories to fuel the dreams . . .
If wishes were horses, then none of us would need to walk, as Grandma would say.
Just two more nights. He had to get through tonight—which should be easy, because they would be busy with family and the rehearsal dinner and final preparations—and then tomorrow. By the time they finally let him out of the reception, he would be too wiped to think of his bed in anything but a platonic manner. So, really, last night was probably the worst of the bunch.
Maybe.
He hoped.
***
Ben hadn’t been part of a wedding before, but he was pretty sure that the rehearsal wasn’t supposed to leave him feeling like he’d just gone through a day at Gitmo.
Try as he might, there was no avoiding Kyrie. She wasn’t the maid of honor, so they weren’t paired up. Small mercies, and all that. But she was there in the corner of his vision when he turned around. Her muffled laughter at the minister’s joke swirled around him like stars around a cartoon character. And when she walked past and he caught a hint of her perfume, he didn’t even realize he was standing straighter and sniffing the air until he’d been doing it for a good thirty seconds. Any minute now, someone was going to call him Meerkat Man.
He had to get a grip. This weekend wasn’t about Kyrie, or him, or him and Kyrie. It was about Adam. His brother, who was getting married to an amazing woman. A bit of a pain in the ass about wedding stuff, true, but on the whole, Ben thought his almost-sister-in-law was a keeper.
So he dragged his eyes and ears and nose and any other wayward body parts away from Kyrie. He listened to the minister. He focused on standing in the proper place, memorizing his steps for the next night. Learning. Absorbing. It might not be Antarctica, but there was plenty to take in and remember. Adam wanted this wedding to go off without a hitch and by God, Ben would do everything in his power to make that happen.
As for Kyrie . . .
No. He dragged his attention back to Adam, who stood with Siobhan in front of the minister discussing the details of the service. They listened. Siobhan said something. Adam laughed and slid his arm around her waist in what was obviously a second-nature type of move. Siobhan leaned against him, her head tipping to rest against his shoulder—again, no thinking, just action. It was like watching figure skaters performing together. Like they could anticipate each other’s moves. Or like they were moving as one.
And it hit him like a skater who had missed that triple salchow and hit the ice.
Adam and Siobhan were the real thing. Seeing them together like this . . . it sunk into him in a way it hadn’t before. This was love. This understanding, this anticipation, this awareness of the other even when they were out of sight or sound. Adam’s insistence that everyone go along with Siobhan’s requests because the wedding was important to her. Her fierce defense of Adam to anyone who insinuated he was more interested in her money than in her, or who dared comment on his less-than-privileged roots.
Things his mother said and his own memories told Ben that his folks had had a good marriage. He’d seen lots of examples of real partnerships in his family. But this was the first time he’d watched a relationship grow, seen the steps forward and the jumps back. His folks, his aunts and uncles and grandparents—they had always been together in his world. Adam and Siobhan, though—this was like a tutorial in How to Fall In Love.
And damn, but he wanted to enroll in that class. With Kyrie. Not to audit, but to participate. He wanted the exams and the assignments and, oh yeah, the labs. Kyrie was the lab partner he wanted working with him.
And he wished to hell he didn’t.
They were poles apart. They wanted different things from life. He would be miserable staying in one place too long, she would hate the places he wanted to visit. She was tied to her home and wanted nothing more than to bail out her coffee shop, help her sister, and live her life in her little town. He wanted to have a home and family all around the globe. Not to mention that if they were ever to have any kind of open relationship, Siobhan would find out about the bridesmaid switcheroo and a shitload of hurt would descend on a crapload of people.
And then there was the little fact that she had run out on him the last time they were together. Except . . .
“Ben?” Adam’s voice penetrated the fog of Kyrie-want. So did the fist rapping lightly on Ben’s forehead. “Yo, Earth to Ben. You in there?”
“Sorry. Guess the party life isn’t for me.” He faked a yawn, listened to the minister talk about exiting behind the bride and groom, and practiced following in their wake. But his mind was about fourteen floors away. Back in Kyrie’s room two nights ago, when she had said that she left early because she was lousy at good-byes.
He didn’t buy it.
She had been honest and open with him the whole time they were together, so he hadn’t known what to expect from her telling a lie. Now, thanks to her need to convince everyone that she was Paige, he’d seen her in action. He knew the way her eyes went up and to the right, the way she laughed a little to cover her pauses when she was scrambling for words. She had done all of those when she was explaining her flight.
She’d been faking. And given the things she had said to him before the fountains started, given everything she had said and done at the lake, he had a feeling that she had run for a totally different reason. Like maybe she had been getting off the plane before it even took off, because she knew the only other option was to jump.
Logic told him that taking another step with Kyrie was a mistake. But when he closed his eyes, he could see them walking together. Where, he didn’t know. But he could see it. And Kyrie’s face was as clear in his imagination as it was when he opened his eyes and caught her watching him with a quizzical smile.
He was totally screwed.
And he couldn’t believe how happy that made him.
***
Kyrie was pretty sure that the minister must have been a lawyer in a previous life, and that he was still operating under the concept of billable hours. Why else would he be dragging the rehearsal out so long?
Or maybe he was psychic. That was it. He could read her mind, and he knew how badly she needed to get out of there before she said the hell with covert activities and walked over to Ben and kissed him until his eyes bugged out, right in front of Siobhan and everyone. Yep, a masochistic psychic who picked up on the angst of the most tormented soul in the room and set out to torture her as much as possible.
It didn’t help that while she was standing around in Paige’s favorite sandals (that pinched) and flirty skirt (complete with itchy netting), the rest of her was doing the hot-cold, hot-cold thing whenever she noticed Ben. Which was all the time.
She had meant every word she said yesterday while attempting to seduce him. When it came to him, she had no discipline, no resistance. She wanted him. Wanted him around her and inside her, wanted him standing beside her and listening to her and encouraging her.
It was crazy. She had known him only a week, really.
But it taken only three days for Paige to start moving heaven and earth to be with Duncan.
The rehearsal was finally declared a success. Kyrie fell into the throng of other bridesmaids, listening with half an ear as they discussed where to go for lunch and what to do with their two blessedly free hours. She heard a mention of the pool, a discussion of a quick shopping expedition—
And then came a tap on her shoulder.
“Hey Paige. You have a minute?”
For that particular questioner? Absolutely. In as many quantities of minutes as he wanted.
She slowed and let the other women pass her as she turned to face Ben. He probably needed to give her a message from Adam, or pass on some bit of essential information he’d forgotten. There was absolutely no reason for the hot-cold thing to start sliding over to the warm, warmer, warmest side of the scale.
“Hey,” she said. Brilliant. She searched her brain for other equally scintillating questions. “What’s up?” Oh geez, that was really not what she should be asking when she wanted . . . when she remembered . . .
“Funny you should ask.”
Her throat almost forgot how to breathe.
“I was wondering . . .” He did a quick survey of the crowd. “What are you doing for lunch?”
They had stopped walking. Bodies eddied past them, water around rocks in a stream, but like a stone, she stayed where she was. It would take more than a group of loud tourists in flowered shirts to make her move right now.
“We have a couple of hours,” he said.
And Kyrie knew how she wanted to spend them.
“You don’t have any commitments? No best-man duties?”
“Nothing urgent.”
He wanted to talk urgent? All he had done was say a half dozen words, ask if she was available, and she was already—holy crap—fiddling with the button at her neck. If he touched her she would probably start moaning right there in the hall.
“I was thinking about having a quiet lunch,” he said. “Maybe even room service.”
“That sounds . . . perfect.” Assuming he meant what she was pretty damned sure he meant, and if so, she was ready to burst into song like a Broadway musical. “If you’re inviting me to join you, I can guarantee great service. Though the quiet part might be out of my control.”
His eyes darkened. “I’m willing to take that chance.”
“Oh, God, me too.”
She stared stupidly at him, delight and anticipation making it almost impossible to remember such a simple action as how to walk or what should happen next. Lucky for her, someone picked that moment to bump against her shoulder. She twisted with a jolt, someone muttered “sorry,” and Ben grabbed her arm to steady her.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” she said automatically, then, “No. I feel faint. I should go to my room. Like, right now.”
“Race you to the elevator.”
He took off before she realized what he was doing, weaving through the crowd like a NASCAR driver on the track. She started, stumbled, cursed Paige’s pinchy shoes, and stopped to kick them off. Barefoot, she flew as fast as she could, dodging families and veering around wheelchairs until she caught up to him just as the elevator doors opened.
“I win,” he said.
“This time.” She waited until they were in the car, floor requests delivered and their ascent begun, before stretching up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, “But I’m pretty sure I’m going to make it to the next finish line in record time.”
He closed his eyes. Swallowed hard. Stared straight ahead at the display panel.
She tried to control her breathing while willing the numbers to go faster. If the elevator broke down now, she might end up committing her first act of public indecency.
At last they hit her floor. She edged out of the elevator, key card in hand, and started down the corridor. Past the ice machine, past the first corner, almost at the stairwell . . .
“Wait.” His hand closed over her elbow.
“Why?” She twisted to face him, terrified of what she might see in his eyes. “So help me, Ben, if you’ve changed your mind—”
“God, no. I just want a minute.”
“For what?”
He pulled her into the alcove in front of the stairwell . His hand cupped her chin, his fingers fanning out across her cheeks and slipping into her hair.
“Ben . . .” There had to be other words she could say, but they all eluded her. None of them mattered. All she needed, all she wanted, was wrapped up in that one syllable.
“Kyrie. Listen to me. Before we go to your room . . .”
Right. The talk. “Okay, well, there’s only been one guy since you, and we barely—it wasn’t really—I mean, we didn’t even get naked.” Mmmm. Naked. “Anyway, that was almost a year ago, and when I bought that notebook the other morning, I thought, Better safe than sorry and bought—”
“Yeah, me too. We’re good. But that’s not what I meant.”
This would be so much easier if he would kiss her before he said anything else. One kiss to reassure her that this was going to happen, that he still wanted her, that she hadn’t completely killed everything with her frightened flight from the lake.
“Kyrie . . . I need you to know. This is more than just a way to pass the afternoon.”
Of all the things he could have said, that was probably the last one she expected. And yet, it turned out to be the absolute right thing she wanted.
She released the sandals, letting them thud to the floor. “I missed you.” She rested her hand over his heart. “I didn’t want to and I can’t tell you how many times I told myself to stop being such an idiot, nobody should make that kind of impression in just a week—but I did. And you did. And right now, I am perfectly, completely, ridiculously happy to be with you again.”
He trapped her hands between his, raised them to his mouth, kissed her fingertips. Lightly. Teasing. Torturing.
“Ben. I’m standing here where anyone could see me, pretending to be Paige, wearing her clothes. I don’t want to be her right now. I want to take off her clothes and be me. And the best way I can do that is with—”
The word was lost as he finally kissed her, hot and hard, pressing her against the wall and crushing her to him and making her wish this was any regular hotel where her room would be just around the corner instead of a three-minute walk away, because dear God, her knees weren’t going to last that long.
He ended the kiss and lifted his head just far enough to nuzzle her nose.
“Guess what?”
“What?”
“I’m all done talking.”
“Oh, thank God,” she said, and scooped up the sandals.