Four Weddings and a Break Up (12 page)

“Likewise.”

Her mom caught sight of the bright pink roses. “Are those for me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Wes handed over the bouquet, and her mom inhaled deeply, as if she’d never smelled roses before.

“You’re just the nicest thing.” Mom smiled, bright and wide. “Now come inside so I can put these in water as we wait for the food. Wes, you can tell me all about yourself and how you met Ginny and all that good stuff.”

Her mom led them to the kitchen, quickly filling a vase and arranging the pink roses. Julie was getting ready, and Ginny quickly made the introductions.

“Has this place always been an inn?”

“No,” her mom answered. “The bed and breakfast was added a year after Julie was born. But in our first year, The Gray Lady won the best bed and breakfast of Cape Hope, and it is still highly recommended.”

Ginny shared a look with her sister. This always happened when anyone new came in—her mom would immediately go into the history and awards of the bed and breakfast.

Her mom peered over Ginny’s shoulder and her smile widened. “But enough about that for now. Dinner’s almost ready, with thanks to Julie. Ever since my husband died a year ago, Julie and Ginny have really helped out with the inn.”

“I didn’t know your father died,” Wes said.

No, she hadn’t told him that. It wasn’t a subject she was comfortable discussing—losing her dad a month after she’d been shot. No matter what was said to her, she had this lingering sense of guilt that her father had died because of what had happened to her.

“We never got around to it,” she said quietly. “It’s not exactly what I wanted to tell you the first few dates.”

“It was a month after Ginny got shot. Chris died suddenly, of a massive heart attack. He was only fifty-five.” Her mother’s eyes misted.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Ginny fiddled with her napkin while Wes drank some water and Julie patted her mom’s arm.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Julie suggested. “Like how Wes and Ginny met.”

Wes smiled, and how dangerously seductive that smile was—it made Ginny shiver in anticipation. “It was raining. We had both ducked into an alleyway, under an awning. She was wet and cold. I offered to keep her warm—”

Oh, he’d kept her warm all right.

“—with my jacket. And then the rain stopped as suddenly as it appeared. She left with my coat and wallet.”

Her mom went all soft, like melted wax. Her mom had always loved a good first meet, and Ginny felt guilty for this lie. “And what next?”

She couldn’t let her mom believe in this. There had to be some semblance of truth to this web of lies. “Actually, Wes has it wrong.”

“How so?” her mom asked.

Wes merely looked at her and waited for her to continue.

“He has most of it right. Except for one thing.” Even though she knew she should have told the real story as to how she’d met Wes, she couldn’t. She was scared her mom would be disappointed in her. “I walked off with his jacket on purpose. That way, I had a reason to contact him.”

“Ginny!” The way her mom said her name might as well have been as tantamount to her mom uttering,
You shameless hussy
.

“Hey, can you blame me?”

“So you returned his wallet. What happened next?”

“He asked me out. He couldn’t resist me,” Ginny said with a playful smile and then ate a scallop.

“She’s right,” Wes said. “As soon as I saw her, I wanted her.”

I want you. Here. Now.
Ginny shivered again, recalling his words to her that night. “And I wanted him, too.”

He swallowed, and Ginny would bet her bottom dollar that he was remembering her words to him.
Now, Wes. Now.

“So, how’s the sex?” her mom asked.

Ginny and Wes both choked on their drinks. Julie sputtered.

“W-what?”

“Oh, don’t give me that. This isn’t the 1950s. Thank God for that. When your dad and I dated, we were at it like bunnies, and there was this one—”

Oh, great. Like Wes had wanted to know that. Like Ginny did!

“Mom,” Julie cut in. “Please, stop.”

“There’s nothing wrong with sex, Julie!” her mom protested. “In fact, when you do it right, it’s really, really good. I miss sex. A lot.”

“Mom,” Ginny groaned.

Wes laughed and leaned toward her mom. “Faith, can I tell you something in complete confidentiality?”

Her mom blushed, the tips of her ears turning a fiery red. “Of course. I’m the soul of discretion.”

Ginny and Julie both snorted at that.

Wes shot Ginny a meaningful glance. “It’s really, really,
really
good.”

If Wes and her mom started talking about sex positions, Ginny was going to kill one of them, or both. She hadn’t quite decided.

“So now that we have that covered . . .” Ginny stabbed another scallop. “What else do you want to know about?”

“Grandkids. I want to know when you’re going to have them.”

Oh god. That did it. She was going to kill her mom.

W
es loved Ginny’s mom
. He loved how she said things . . . how forward she was. How she asked inappropriate questions, and how she was just so much fun.

“Ginny has a thing about names. She doesn’t like her real name,” her mom confided.

“Her real name? You didn’t tell me.” He wagged a finger at Ginny in a mock show of indignation. Oh, he was enjoying the look of outrage on Ginny’s face. “What is it? Something embarrassing?”

“Not surprising she wouldn’t tell you that.” Her mom sniffed, although her eyes twinkled with merriment. “It’s Ginger.”

“After the movie star?”

“No,” Ginny grumbled. “After the spice. Mom craved and ate ginger throughout the pregnancy.”

“And her middle name is Belle. So it’s Ginger Belle Michaels.”

“Looks like I found a Belle after all.”

“I’m not into sparkles,” she muttered.

“That’s what they all say.” Wes ate a few scallops. “This is delicious.”

“Thank you, Wes. You’re so much nicer than Trey.”

Wes turned his head to look at Faith. “Who’s Trey?”

“Mom,” Ginny said in a warning tone.

Her mom didn’t listen. Typical. “Trey was Ginny’s last boyfriend, but I never liked him. He dumped Ginny a few weeks after she’d been shot.”

“That so?” Wes’ attention focused on Ginny. “Sounds like a jerk.”

“It surprised me when she started dating him in the first place. Ginny doesn’t really date that much—she’s always been my single girl, like those
Sex and the City
girls.”

“Except without the city and sex,” Ginny said.

Julie smiled. “Or the designer fashions or Manolo Blahniks.”

“There was one time though that you painted the bottom of your shoes fire-engine red to masquerade as Christian Louboutins.”

“That was for Halloween!” Julie leaned forward. “I was Carrie because I have the curly blonde hair. But I’m a lot taller and heavier.”

Her sister was a skinny bitch. Ginny snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

“The reason why Ginny is still single,” her mom suddenly said, “is because she’s afraid of commitment. And because no guy has been worthy of her.”

Ginny sighed. This old argument again.

“And she’s sensitive. Perhaps a little too emotional.” Her mom was talking fast, almost babbling, and kept sipping her wine. How many glasses had her mom had since they’d started dinner? Two? Three?

Ginny checked Wes to see if there were any warnings of bolting and found none. Luckily, her mom got distracted by some other tangent in the conversation and started talking to Wes about The Gray Lady. In the dim lighting of the room, Ginny studied Wes as he ate dinner and participated in the conversation. Every so often, Wes would share a smile, a look, a moment with her.

Wes was a good man.

A
fter dinner and dessert
, he and Ginny said their good-byes and took off for the night. Ginny was quieter than usual in the car. She was obviously thinking about something—she kept letting out little sighs, and her pouty lips were forming the cutest little frown.

“So, is your mom like that all the time?” he asked.

Ginny nodded her head. “At least she didn’t bring out the baby book or embarrassing dance recitals. Next time you might not be so lucky.”

“Are you telling me you used to dance?”

“Not for long. I took dance lessons for five years but stopped when I was in fifth grade because I didn’t like it anymore.” Ginny rested her head against the seat. “Please tell me you don’t have some fantasy about a black unitard and high heels.”

“Okay. I won’t tell you that.”

“You do!”

Of course he did. He was a man, and that Beyoncé video was still hot. “Well, I would make some modifications of course. No unitard is necessary.”

Sometimes he forgot himself—hadn’t they agreed earlier tonight that there would be no sexual jokes between them?

“Yeah, I know, ducks,” he said before she got the chance. “Sorry about that. I guess I just always go there when I have the opportunity to go there.”

Ginny shrugged and looked out the window as they passed the beach. After a few minutes, she blurted out, “Just so you know, I’m not a hopeless case.”

“Huh?”

She turned in her seat to look at him, chewing on her lower lip. “Just because I’m single doesn’t mean I’m a loser.”

“I’ve never thought that.”

“Oh.” She settled back down, like a bird smoothing its ruffled feathers. “Well, just so we’re on the same page, but if this is too much for you . . . Hey, why are we stopping?”

He pulled over on the side of the road and let his SUV run idle, the reverberation of the engine and the roar of the waves mingling together. He unbuckled his seatbelt, turned in his seat, and reached for her. Maybe he had stunned her with the suddenness of his move because she offered no resistance—she was pliant and supple, her curves soft and lush. He drank in the feel of her, the light lemon scent that was summer and rain to him. It felt like years since he’d held her last—that centuries had passed from the time they’d kissed at the lighthouse.

He shook his head, shook away the fanciful hyperboles, and focused on her. She still hadn’t said ducks. He certainly wasn’t going to, not when he had her where he wanted her. He’d set her off-balance—he could see that in her expression and those dark brown eyes of hers.

She needed to be off balance more, until her world was centered where it should be. She was too hard on herself and expected the worst. It had angered him that she thought a dinner would scare him off . . . that she’d erected these barriers to keep them from getting close. But whose fault was that?

His.

Stupid, stupid him. With his whole speech to her that stormy night after they had sex. It wasn’t like he wanted a real relationship, but he wanted something real with her. He just wanted her. And for now, that was enough.

“It’s not too much for me, Ginny.”

Then he did what he wanted to do.

He kissed her.

O
h
, how he kissed her.

His lips took and took again, his mouth making clear the demands—he wanted complete surrender. Nothing less would do. The kiss became longer, more lingering, a complete assault on her senses.

Her world had been knocked off its axis. She gripped his shoulders, trying to center herself, her mind going hazy with all the reasons why this should not be happening.
Ducks, ducks, ducks
.

But the ducks disappeared when he angled his head, taking the kiss deeper and darker, hotter and wetter. He was sweeping her away, and she was willingly becoming his captive. With a little sigh of surrender, she gave in.

At her capitulation, he pressed hot kisses down the side of her throat, his teeth lightly scraping against her tender skin. His tongue touched the base of her pulse, and she felt him nip there.

“You’re really taking this vampire thing too far,” she managed in between short pants of breaths.

His response was only to suckle deeper at the spot. And oh, she had never gotten into the whole vampire craze, but damn, she could see why it was so popular.

He made his way back up to her mouth, and she blinked, realizing that sometime during their kissing, she had been pulled over the console and was now straddling his lap. Her hands were still braced on his shoulders, and he looked up at her with desire in his gray eyes. They darkened, like silver being melted.

She was melting, too.

“Kiss me,” he commanded.

She pulled back. “Excuse me?”

His tone softened, but his hunger for her didn’t diminish. “Kiss me, Ginger.”

She never had liked her name. But coming from him, she didn’t mind it so much.

She lowered herself onto his lap, settling there, and gasped with his erection pressing against her.
Oh
.
My
.

“Oh, Jesus, you’re killing me.” He gritted his teeth, a dull flush of red along his harsh cheekbones. His eyes were no longer melted silver but dark polished flint. One strike and the flame would burst into life. “Ginny. Please. Kiss me.”

She suddenly remembered how powerful she’d felt that night in the rain, knowing that he wanted her. That she could drive him wild and crazy. And right now, how he looked at her with that fire in his gray eyes made her feel like a goddess.

She rocked against him, this time deliberately. His groan was music to her ears.

She
was
powerful.

She could make this man want her and had shifted the balance between them. She was no more a captive of desire than he was the conqueror who’d breached past her defenses. At any given time, they traded roles, sometimes sharing, and mostly they shed those labels and found a realness that couldn’t be faked, no matter how they tried or pretended otherwise.

She leaned into him, loving how her breasts pressed against his hard chest, how his hands tightened their hold on her hips.

This time when she brought her mouth to his, there was no surrender. It was just them coming together.

She lost herself with him; she had no idea how much time had passed, but she was kissing him, or he was kissing her, and she just wanted to get closer to him. When she rocked herself against him, pleasure shot straight to her core, so fast and intense, that she gasped into his mouth.
Oh, yes. Like that. Just like that.
And she did it again.