The remainder of the walk to her room passed in silence. Maybe because there was nothing left to say, at least not with words. Maybe because she was walking so briskly that there was no air left to move and talk and fantasize, all at the same time. And right now, moving and anticipating were definitely higher on the priority list.
About three millennia later, they were in her room. The door closed behind them with a soft snick that echoed like an unseen exclamation point. She tossed Paige’s sandals into the closet. They landed smack beside her own running shoes.
“Nice throw,” he said. “I never knew you had athletic abilities.”
“I don’t.” She slid her hands up his chest, twining them behind his neck. “But I’m ready to learn.”
“I’ve been told I’m a lousy teacher.” His lips brushed the corner of her mouth, trailed across her cheek, and stopped beside her ear. “I sometimes have to repeat lessons over . . . and over . . . and over again.”
The words were punctuated by kisses along her jaw and the slow slip of blouse buttons.
“The good news is, my students never seem to complain.”
“I just bet they don’t,” she said, right before gripping his shirt and pulling him to her, kissing him while backing up to the bed and tugging him down. Not that he resisted. She needed every bit of him and she needed him now.
“Here’s the thing,” she said when she came up for air. They had landed sideways but somehow she was on top of him again, just like yesterday, but with a whole lot more promise. “I’m all for extended, in-depth, intensive learning. But right now . . .” She grabbed Paige’s shirt, popped the last button, slid it off her shoulders. “Right this minute, I think the final exam is about ready to start. So what I need is the—”
“CliffsNotes version?”
“That’s right.” Good-bye, bra. “Straight to the important stuff.”
“What if I told you it was all important?”
She slid a little farther south and tugged on his buckle. No easy task, what with the extra strain, but she was more than up for the challenge. And so, thank God, was he.
“There’s important,” she said. “And then there’s imperative.”
“Impera—”
Funny that he should be the one rendered incapable of speech when she was the one putting her mouth to better uses.
“Kyrie.”
The tension in his voice . . . How many times had she heard that in her dreams over the past two years? That moment when she knew he needed her as desperately as she needed him. When only she could give him what he wanted. That moment when the whole world was condensed to them, just them, together and getting ready to fly.
She stretched over him to grab the drawer pull. He caught her breast as she reached, his lips hot and urgent over all that need, and the drawer slipped out of her reach as she sagged onto him. His tongue teased and he reached down, sliding the length of her abdomen, pushing her underwear aside and hunting, probing, pushing while she tried to stay upright, but the air was flying from her lungs and all she could do was move and feel and arch and want—
She lunged forward. Scrabbled for the drawer pull and yanked it open as she skimmed back, dragging every needy inch of her that she could manage over as much of him as she dared. She fumbled for the box while he pulled back-of-the-throat sounds from her, some mix of whimpers and gasps that she had only ever found with him. That she only ever wanted to find with him.
And she wanted to find more. Now.
With a mighty reminder that it would be worth it, she pulled herself away from him, dropping the box on his abdomen as she moved backward, depositing one more kiss for luck where he would never forget it.
“Remember that race I promised you?” she said as she stood and stepped out of the skirt.
“Right now, I can’t remember my name.”
“Ben,” she said, kicking off everything else and climbing back onto the bed. “Your name is Ben.”
“Say it again.”
“Ben,” she repeated as she hovered over him, nibbling at his lips, dipping and swirling and teasing with her hips.
“Ben,” she breathed against his heart, bracing herself against his shoulders, desperate to hold on a moment longer but feeling her control being pushed aside by the heat and the want, and then by him, his hands on her hips as he pushed inside and the wait was over, they rocked and gripped and heaved and clung and then—then—he pulled his name from her again, long and shuddering and pulsing. Everything she had ever wanted. Everything she had ever needed.
Ben.
***
Ben had traveled a good chunk of the world and wanted to explore a lot more, but he didn’t think he would ever see a sight as captivating as Kyrie asleep beside him when he woke up the morning of the wedding. Except, possibly, Kyrie above him as she had teased him to the brink and back, all through the previous afternoon. Or Kyrie by the fountains, head tipped back and laughing as he took her picture after the rehearsal dinner. Or Kyrie snuggled against him as they drifted off to sleep, her face bathed in the muted lights from the Strip and her barely awake smile zinging through him.
He couldn’t let this be their last time together. There was something happening here, something he’d never felt before with any other woman, and he needed to discover what could come next. But when he tried to discuss it over breakfast—thank God for room service—she clamped those gorgeous lips tight and shook her head.
“Don’t,” she said, swallowing hard. “Please.”
“Why not?”
She kept her gaze fixed on her slice of cantaloupe. “Nothing has changed, Ben. You’re still Adventure Science Man, and I’m still . . . well, now that I have Brews and Blues, I’m even more tied to home. I need permanence. Security. All those things that were ripped away from me once, thanks to my father.”
“That all happened a long time ago.”
“You’re right. It did. But then it kept happening.” She gripped her coffee. “It seemed like every time we adjusted to the latest development, there’d be some new twist that opened it all up again. He was arrested. Then he disappeared and we thought he was dead. Then we moved to Calypso Falls and started over, and just when life was good again, he turned up in Costa Rica and was brought home. Then came the trial, and jail, and now he’s in a transitional place and e-mailing my mother and—”
“Hey.” He rested a hand on her shoulder, stemming the flood of steadily higher-pitched words. “Breathe.”
She did. Deep and slow, ending with the slightest shudder.
“Sorry. It’s just . . . after all that, I need to feel like my life is mine. That what happens is up to me, not . . . whatever. Some whim of fate.”
“You know I don’t believe in fate.”
Her nod was small and sad.
“Kyr . . . think. You keep saying you’re all about security, but Jesus, look at what you’re doing here. Is there any place less about permanence than Vegas? Or anything you could possibly do that’s wilder than imitating your sister at a wedding?”
“I . . . Okay, but this is just a few days. Anybody can fake anything for a few days.”
“See, that’s the thing. I don’t believe you’re faking.” Before she could give voice to the words he could almost see forming in her head, he leveled one finger in her direction. “Yeah, I know. You’re not really Paige. But you’re not faking when you’re with me, and I’m not talking about sex.” He scooted his chair closer to hers, pulled her hand to him and wrapped it within his own. “Remember what you said the other day, about not being able to think about anything but me? Remember what you said at the lake, about everything being different with me? Did you ever wonder why?”
“Because it was only temporary.”
He wanted to cry Bullshit, but there were enough tears slipping down her cheeks already. He settled for resting his forehead against hers and whispering, “I think there’s another reason. And I think you know it as well as I do.”
Her soft hiccup made him pull back. He wanted nothing more than to lock them both in the room until he convinced her that they deserved a shot at a future, but there were other people who needed him this day. No one would benefit if either of them ended up a wreck.
He let it go for the moment. But tomorrow, once the wedding was behind them, before they flew their separate ways . . . tomorrow, they would talk.
***
After she took off for her hair-and-nail thing, he set out for his main duty: keeping Adam from going stir-crazy. From what Ben could tell, that meant lots of activity but no booze. Not the easiest combination in Vegas.
They decided to visit some of the other hotels and wander around, take in the sights. Not a bad plan. Between the shark reef at Mandalay Bay, the lions at the MGM, and the sphinx outside the Luxor, there went most of the morning. They rambled around, talking about everything and nothing in a way they hadn’t in years. Ben had worried about the day, certain it would drag and feel like nothing but anticipation, but it turned out to be his only chance to really have Adam to himself. For that, he was grateful.
And he intended to take full advantage of it.
“Question,” he said as casually as he could muster while they downed hot dogs at the Nathan’s stand in New York-New York. “How long did it take you to know Siobhan was the one?”
Adam set down his hot dog. “Is this going to go into your toast?”
“Uh . . .”
Shit. That would have been a great cover. Someday he would learn to be as skilled at subtle deception as he was at pranking.
“Because I’m not answering if you’re gonna make it public knowledge.” Adam wiped mustard from his mouth. “But if you’re asking because of whoever might have kept you from sleeping in your room last night, you might convince me to talk.”
“How’d you know I wasn’t in my room?”
“I didn’t, for sure.” Adam grinned. “But I do now.”
Ben stopped chewing. It made his glare more effective—or at least he thought so, until Adam started laughing. So what was there to do but join in?
“You know, you’re pretty smart for a dumb jock.”
“And you’re pretty smooth for a science geek. I never woulda thought you and Kyrie . . . but more power to you.”
“Yeah, well don’t say anything to anybody, okay? It’s complicated. I don’t know what might happen.”
“Because of her pretending to be Paige?” Adam shrugged and resumed inhaling his hot dog. “Look. I agree, it’s messy. But I say, keep things quiet for a few months, let me get Siobhan though the wedding and the thank-you letters and the photo albums and all that other crap . . .” He frowned. “Okay. Give us till Christmas. She loves Christmas. By then, the wedding will be in the past, she’ll be making a New Year’s resolution to get pregnant—”
Ben coughed and choked. “Seriously?”
“Knowing her? Yeah. Not right away, but she’ll be making plans.” Adam’s grin was pure mischief. “If I play my cards right, she’ll think she has to convince me to go along with it.”
“I could have lived a long time without hearing that.”
“It’s all part of the game, little brother. And you know how I love to play. ’Course, it sounds like you might be learning the rules on your own.”
“But what if you weren’t on the same page?”
Adam’s chewing slowed. “What do you mean?”
“What if you didn’t want kids, or didn’t want to start down that road already? What would you do?”
“You know, this isn’t something you should bring up on a guy’s wedding day.”
“Sorry. I forgot for a minute.”
“Glad one of us can.” Adam blew out a long breath. “Not that I don’t want to be getting married. You know that, right?”
“Never a doubt in my mind.” Ben poked at the pickle on the side of his plate. “What do you do when you’re talking about something more important than whether to have the wedding in Vegas or home? How do you handle things when it’s stuff like kids, how to live your life, dreams?”
“You know I’m in no shape to make any sense today, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” He dragged a fry through a pile of ketchup. “I also know that this is the only chance I’ll have to talk to you for God knows how long. And even on a day when you’re jumping out of your skin . . . you’re still my brother. I know you’ll do right by me.”
“Wow. I don’t know whether to be flattered or feel like you just put me into a pressure cooker.” Adam’s grin made it clear which way his emotions were really leaning.
“Well, I figure someone has to remind you that there’s a whole other world out there today.”
“Yeah. Hard to remember that, I have to admit.” Adam stared off into the distance before returning his focus to Ben. “Don’t suppose you could make this easier by giving me some specifics.”
“Nope.”
“Am I right in guessing you’re talking about Kyrie?”
“No comment.”
A slight snicker broke through the grin. “I never did buy your line that the reason you came home from the lake so snarly was because you messed up your research.”
“Suddenly, I’m reconsidering the wisdom of asking you for advice.”
Adam waved off the half-hearted protest even as he stopped goofing. “Here’s the thing, Ben. I’m lucky. Siobhan and I—people say we’re so different, and they make a big deal about her money, but when it comes to the important stuff, we’re solid. We have the same hopes and we want the same things. But yeah, we have different ideas about some stuff, and let me tell you, you’d be floored at how fast something little can turn into something major league. One minute you think you’re fine, and the next minute you’re standing there going, Wait, are we really ready to break up because I thought she was in a joking mood when I squirted her with the whipped cream, but it turns out she was upset about something? Not that that ever happened, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But no matter what’s causing the trouble, it all comes down to this.” Adam rested his arms on the table and leaned forward. “No matter how bad the problem might be, I would still rather fight my way through it with her than have smooth sailing without her. Because nothing makes sense if she’s not with me. You know what I mean?”
A week ago, Ben might not have understood. Now, he did. Not completely. More like seeing the first hint of light in the early morning, as opposed to seeing the sun full on later in the day. But it was enough to give him hope.
“Yeah.” He dipped another fry in ketchup, nodded, and flashed a grin. “Yeah. I have an idea.”
“Well, thank God for that, because I don’t know if I could have pulled any more wisdom out of my ass today.”
Ben gathered their trash, piled it on their trays, and stood. “To show my gratitude, I’ll clean up.”
“Mom taught you well.”
“She wasn’t the only one.” Ben hesitated just a second before bestowing a hearty slap on Adam’s back. As he expected, his hand smarted from hitting all that muscle, but it was worth it.
“Now, come on, big guy. Let’s get you back to the hotel and get you married.”
***
Kyrie was already in her dusky pink bridesmaid dress—contrary to what Paige had said, it really was something she could wear again, which made her ridiculously encouraged that she could pull off this final leg of the test—and was next in line for makeup. Her hair was styled, her nails sparkled, and her skin had been so thoroughly cleaned and buffed that she almost felt like a new car ready to be driven off the lot. Siobhan’s bridal suite overflowed with the sound of the other attendants laughing and chattering. Kyrie pulled up a smile whenever she was addressed, but mostly she kept to herself. And for the first time since she walked into the hotel, it wasn’t because of a fear of being discovered.
Siobhan was—understandably—focused elsewhere. She wasn’t going to figure out the truth at this point. Kyrie was as close as she would ever get to being home free. But rather than counting the hours until she would be back on the plane, mission accomplished, now all she could think was that by the time they hit their cruising altitude, she would have lost the best thing that had ever happened to her.
She watched the photographer fussing with Siobhan’s veil, ensuring the proper positioning of her flowers and hands in these so-called candid shots, and was slammed by a wall of jealousy. No matter that she herself would walk out of this weekend free and clear, having earned the second chance for the shop that had brought her here. The future that had looked so possible and shiny when Paige first proposed this switch still called to her, but not as loudly as it had.
No. That wasn’t right. She still wanted all those things she had worked for, but something had shifted. Now, instead of sounding rich and enticing and rewarding, there was a hollowness to their tone.
She loved her funky little coffeehouse. She loved her home. She loved living in the town where she had spent the bulk of her life, where she knew everyone and everyone knew her. But for the first time ever, she wondered if she had chosen them because they were everything she wanted, or if she had let her need for comfort and familiarity make her close the door on other, equally valid hopes and dreams. Newer dreams.
Did a dream have to brew for years to be worth chasing?
Not that it mattered. After this weekend, her future was set. She would go home and fall into the cushion of the known, the familiar, the lifelong. And maybe in time, she would feel it was enough again.
Damn it, she never should have done this.
She stared down at her cheery coral nails, willing her vision to stay clear. Would it be wrong to wish for a sudden thunderstorm, or even a broken heel, just to give her something else to think about?
Wendy the Wedding Planner bustled into the suite. Good. Maybe she would need to line them up or move them or—
Uh-oh. Wendy’s usual professional, I-can-handle-anything smile was nowhere in evidence as she skirted her way around the hair people, makeup people, picture people, and people whose sole purpose seemed to be to stand around looking interesting. She dipped and dodged and worked her way to Siobhan, practically pushing the photographer out of the way in order to bend low and whisper something.
Siobhan let out a low, “Noooooooooo,” that was so loaded with angst, the entire room went silent.
Wendy murmured something else. Siobhan sniffled and nodded. Wendy backed away and hurried out to the hall
Kyrie had never seen an entire roomful of people hold their breath before. While everyone watched, Siobhan said something to the photographer, stood unsteadily, glanced blankly around the room, and then—oh, shit—headed for Kyrie.
She must have found out. Somehow, she knew Kyrie wasn’t Paige, and the news had come at the worst possible time, and crap in a basket, now the wedding would be ruined, and shit shit shit, she stopped in front of Kyrie, gorgeous and poised despite the trembling lips and eyes ready to overflow.
“Can I talk to you for a minute? In the bedroom?”
Time to face the music.
They walked silently into the other room, Siobhan’s train trailing behind her in a poignant reminder of the walk she should have been able to make with a light heart, but now wouldn’t, thanks to Paige and Kyrie and their ridiculous belief that they could do this.
What if Siobhan demanded that Kyrie leave right away?
Ben.
Kyrie stumbled and had to steady herself against the wall. She wouldn’t leave Ben without a good-bye this time. No matter that it was well within Siobhan’s right to demand that Kyrie disappear immediately. It wasn’t happening. Not without first seeing Ben.
She had already put him through the worst thing that had ever been done to her. She would not do it again. Siobhan could demand to be repaid for the room and the meals and the dress and everything else, but Kyrie was not leaving without kissing Ben good-bye. Not after yesterday. Not after everything he’d said this morning. Not when she had spent the last two years seeing him in every inch of the shop and hearing him in every song she sang.
And why the hell was she just now figuring out that, in truth, she had never said good-bye to him? Not just in her stupid shortsighted flight, but in her memory? In her heart?
Siobhan paused at the door to the bedroom, turning to survey the staring crowd. “Could someone please find my mother and send her in?”
She needed her mom? Oh, God.
The moment the door closed, sealing them in a bedroom three times the size of Kyrie’s with—oh wow, was that a fireplace?—Kyrie spoke up.
“Siobhan. Listen, I know—”
But Siobhan silenced her with the totally unanticipated act of throwing her arms around Kyrie and burying her face in her shoulder.
“Oh, Paige,” she wailed. “I can’t cry, because I’ll look all blotchy in the pictures, but it’s so unfair . . .”
Two things hit Kyrie at once. The first was that Siobhan had called her Paige. The second was that she was acting more heartbroken than furious.
“What’s wrong?” She rubbed Siobhan’s lace-trimmed back. “What is it, sweetie? Has something happened to Adam?”
“What? No. No, it’s nothing like that. Thank God, right?” Siobhan sniffed and pulled back the slightest bit. “Damn it. I think I smeared my makeup. This isn’t good.”
“We can fix it.” Kyrie crossed her fingers and hoped she was telling the truth. “But what’s wrong?”
“Maralee. She can’t . . .” Siobhan’s face crumpled again. “She can’t do the so-o-ong.”
Her words were no less poignant for the hiccup punctuation marks.
“What happened?” The hand sanitizer must have failed her. “Did she get sick?”
“Yes. No. Sort of.” Siobhan inhaled long and steady through her nose, waving her hands in front of her face as if to dry her tears before they could spill. “Wendy only told me a little, but I guess Maralee felt a cold coming on, so she took something for it, which was great, but it wasn’t what she usually took and she had a reaction and she’s going to be okay, but they’re taking her to the ER right now because she’s kind of out of it.”
“Oh, Siobhan. I’m so sorry.”
“It’ll be okay.” Brave smile, brave face. “It’s not like anyone knew about it except me, right? And you, and I’m so glad I slipped up and told you, because it would totally suck if I couldn’t sob all over somebody about it.”
“Absolutely. Whatever you need.”
Siobhan bit on her lip. “Okay. So, I guess now I just go back out there and we keep going, right? I mean, the important part is that we’re getting married, and it’s Adam, and I love him. And . . . and maybe I can still have the song for him some other time. Maybe for our first anniversary or something . . .”
“That’s a good plan.” Yes. An excellent plan. Kyrie needed to encourage this line of thinking. Because the other suggestion taking shape in her own head was just too ridiculous.
“I know.” Siobhan sniffled again, scanned the room, made helpless motions. “Where the hell are the tissues? They always hide them in these places and I can never find one . . .” Her mouth crumpled. “I had this beautiful little handkerchief hidden in my bouquet. Because I knew I would cry when she sang the song, and I would be up there blubbering, and so I had it made to match my dress, with the same lace and everything . . . and now I won’t need it, and that’s a good thing. Right? Paige?”
Kyrie patted Siobhan’s hand and thumbed the tears from her cheeks. “Hang on. I’ll find you something, okay?” She hurried into the bathroom with Siobhan’s sad little nod pushing her on.
Once in the bathroom, she found the tissues, yanked the box from the holder, and looked at her reflection in the—holy crap—full-wall mirror.
I don’t believe you’re faking.
She could do the song. Paige couldn’t, but Kyrie could do it. She could walk into the bedroom and tell Siobhan that there was still a way. Siobhan would know she wasn’t Paige—everyone knew that Paige sounded like a cat giving birth when she tried to sing—and Siobhan would probably be pissed, but saving the wedding would probably ease that sting.
Except Siobhan would know.
And Paige would be exposed.
And having violated the conditions of the deal, Kyrie would lose the shop.
No. She mouthed the word at herself. It came back to her reversed, as with any other mirror image.
But if she did this . . . if she took this chance . . . it would be one less obstacle to discovering what could happen with Ben.
If only she could talk to him. Everything would be clearer if she could hear his voice as he encouraged her to do what she knew she had to do. Just like she had heard him in her memory the whole time she was making Brews and Blues—
Oh.
She was hit with a flash of truth so strong that she was surprised it didn’t bounce back off the mirror. She had found the guts to finally follow her dream because of Ben. So what else might she be able to do if she were doing it with him?
I don’t believe you’re faking.
There was more than one way to run from things that scared her. And it looked like this time around, staying the course would be the worst one of all.
“Siobhan,” she said softly as she returned to the bedroom, “what would you say if I told you there’s a really easy way for you to still have the song at your wedding?”