Four Weddings and a Break Up (13 page)

He broke off their kiss. “Sugar—”

Ginny loved how he said that in that low, sexy voice of his. She fastened her mouth to his, showing him in the only way she knew how in this moment, that she needed him.

“Mutter the safe word, Ginny,” he said.

Not now. Not yet. Not when they were both so . . . so close. He had gotten even harder and longer against her, and if she put her hand around him, she’d feel him.

He somehow managed to grab her hand, which had worked its way down to his bulging erection. “No.”

“No?”

“No hands. If you touch me, I’m going to fuck you, hard and senseless, like I did that night against the wall. Is that what you want?”

Oh, yes, please. Sign her up for two, in fact.

“But . . .” She bit her lip.

“But?”

She lowered her head, her mouth against his ear. “But I’m so close, Wes.”

She felt the shudder go through him and drew back until their gazes locked.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, their rushed breaths filling the fraught silence. A sliver of moonlight washed over his face. He made up his mind, but Ginny was unsure what he would say.

“Rules.”

“Rules?”

“There have to be some rules in place.” He was using what she had said to him from the day on the lighthouse. “No hands below the belt. No taking off clothes. And if you want to stop, you say ducks.”

“Okay. So no sex, but . . .”

His hands gripped her hips, bringing her up and then back down on him. “Ride me, Ginny.”

She rose up and down, finding a rhythm that suited them both. Her hands were on his shoulders, his on her hips, their gazes locked with one another. It was the ebb and flow of waves on sand. The pace quickened, and her hands left his shoulders to run through his thick black hair. It was so delicious, this feeling of satisfaction almost in her reach. Every time she made to grab that elusive brass ring, she would rise up or fall back down again, prolonging the culmination.

His hands had also traveled higher. One tangled in the strands of her hair, his grip not painful but tight, so that she was aware. The other hand was on her lower back, pressing her forward, until their lips molded together into one. A conflagration of flames.

His tongue thrust into her mouth, sweeping around hers. She tasted the faint traces of strawberries and vanilla ice cream that had topped the shortbread cake, and under all of that, she tasted him. Her dark, dangerous man who was good, kind, and always made her laugh.

Her mouth left his, and this time it was she who pressed hot, wet kisses down the strong column of his throat. She touched the tip of her tongue to his beating pulse, licking up the saltiness of his skin. His pulse raced, matching her own.

She lightly scraped her teeth against his neck then sucked, marking him.

His hand cupped the back of her neck, tightening. “Who’s the vampire now?”

His laughter warmed her, and then it died away as she moved faster on him. She kissed her way back up, capturing his mouth with hers.

“Now,” he said in the moment they came up for air. “Come for me now, Ginny.”

She ignored him with a shake of her head. No, this time the surrender would be equal between them. She rode him, harder, more relentless. His erection prodded her, through his dark denim and her cotton panties. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine him entering her. And he’d be so hard and thick inside her, filling her, and he would utter something wicked but funny that would set her over the edge.

“‘Pour some sugar on me,’” he said in a teasing sing-song voice.

She laughed. Now she’d be stuck with the damn earworm in her head.
Pour some sugar on me. Yeah
. The silliness of it struck her. She laughed harder, and then he was laughing with her. And she wished if there was any moment in her life she could freeze-frame, it would be this—with him smiling up at her, their expressions mirrors of the other, the perfect happiness.

Her giggles faded away as he lifted up, his erection hitting her just where she needed it, and the flame spread like wildfire in her, the pleasure so intense and sharp that she came with a hoarse cry of fulfillment. His own moan echoed her a few seconds later.

Her bones had dissolved into a helpless matter, and she slumped against him. He didn’t seem to mind her weight; in fact, his arms only tightened their hold around her, as he rested his chin on the top of her head. One of her hands was trapped between their bodies and rested against his pounding heart.

They didn’t move, and no words were said, both unwilling to break the contentment of togetherness.

Ginny had long ago stopped believing in perfect. But if perfect existed, it was right here, right now, with him.

T
he next morning
, Wes walked downstairs and headed into the kitchen for some breakfast. He’d dropped Ginny off at her apartment; both of them had been quiet on the way home. It hadn’t been until he pulled into her driveway that they’d said anything to the other, and only then it was to make plans to see each other in the next couple of days.

Hell, he shouldn’t have let things go as far as they did last night. Where had the damn ducks been when they both needed them? It wasn’t that he regretted what happened—he would be operating on stupid if he did. But he didn’t want last night to lead to mixed up feelings. Like her getting any ideas that this was going into the “real” territory. Because this relationship was staying purely in the pretend realm. Sure, he liked her. She was funny and pretty, and genuine, and her grounded way of looking at things was just refreshing. But that didn’t change things. He still didn’t want a serious relationship.

Maybe he wasn’t giving Ginny enough credit. She was a sensible woman. It wasn’t like she was going to start getting ideas about him. But if she started acting clingy or had ideas in her head, he’d just have to set her straight and remind her of the rules.

He needed to back away because it wasn’t just sex—there was a connection between them. And every time he was worried that Ginny would make him lose control—he needed to put his own walls up before that happened.

And that meant no more hooking up.

He could do it, right? Of course he could.

Wes opened the fridge, grabbed a few eggs, an apple, and the cream to add to his coffee. As the coffee brewed, Wes made scrambled eggs, dividing the portion into two, one for him and one for his father.

The sound of footsteps approached the kitchen from the back master bedroom. Dad yawned as he entered, his dark gray hair rumpled and his pajamas wrinkled.

“Wes?” Dad’s brow furrowed. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m making breakfast. Why don’t you sit down?”

His dad didn’t move. “No. But why are you here? Did something happen? Is your mom okay?”

“Dad.” Wes didn’t know how to answer. “Mom’s—”

“Tina was always a smart woman.” His dad stepped forward, pulling out a kitchen chair, but still stood. “She used to play the piano all the time. Teaching kids on the side. Does she still do that?”

“Not anymore,” he managed. “Dad. Don’t you—”

Wes stopped himself from continuing. It was obvious his father didn’t remember. He had Alzheimer’s. There was no cure for this. Sooner or later, his dad would be lost. And there was nothing Wes could do about that. He felt helpless and unsure of what exactly to do. Did he tell his father Tina was dead? Or did he just let this pan out?

“Why don’t you sit down?” Wes held out a chair. “And I’ll bring over some food.”

“Okay.”

When he brought over the breakfast and laid the plates on the table, the doorbell rang. He tried to stifle the relief in him. Answering the door would give Wes time to figure out what he needed to do. Hopefully.

“I’ll get it.”

Dad nodded and started eating, and Wes went to the front door. It was Jake.

“Don’t you have a house key?” Wes asked as Jake made his way in. He’d tell Jake. His brother would know what to do. After all, it had been Jake who had called him in the first place, to inform him about Dad’s Alzheimer’s.

“Lost them again.” Jake eyed Wes critically. “You’re still not dressed?”

“It’s Sunday. 7:30 in the morning. And it’s not like you’re the President of the United States.”

“Thank your lucky stars I’m not. I’d misplace an important document.”

Wes studied his younger brother, noticing the dark circles under Jake’s gray eyes. “It’s not like you to be all over the place. What’s wrong?”

“Are you trying to Dr. Phil me?” Jake shook his head. “It’s nothing. TJ and Seth are on their way over, by the way. How’s Dad?”

Wes dragged his hand through his hair, disheveling it. Here was his opportunity to tell Jake. “He didn’t know why I was here. And . . .”

“And?” Jake prodded.

“He forgot my mom had died. I didn’t tell him. I wasn’t sure what to do—whether to correct him or not. I didn’t want to upset him.”

“I don’t know either. I don’t know what to do.”

Both of them fell silent. There was no simple answer. No magic cure. No genie to grant a wish. And this had been the longest conversation he and Jake had without arguing. But with their dad’s illness and the test this coming week to determine if the mass on Dad’s lung was cancerous or not, both he and Jake had started to make a concerted effort to get along.

Jake’s brow furrowed. “I’ll go with him to the doctor’s in a few days, for his next appointment.”

“Maybe it’s just stress,” Wes said helplessly even though he knew it no longer was
just stress
.

His brother’s shoulders sagged. “I wish that’s all it was.”

So did he.

Unease prickled the base of his spine, traversing upward like ivy growing on a building and spreading. If there was no clear answer, no known cure . . . if their dad was going to only worsen, then would this summer be enough time to solve everything? Would he be able to leave his family behind? Would he feel guilty?

It wasn’t like he lived in the Dark Ages. There were planes. Phones. Emails. Wes could keep in contact. He could travel out here on holidays. It wasn’t like he had to give up his old life just because his father was sick. Plenty of people had ailing parents. And as much as family was important to Wes, so was his business. At some point he needed to focus time and energy on D&A. He had spent so much time building it up that he couldn’t abandon it now. But he also couldn’t abandon his family.

It was still early, Wes reasoned. It was only the first week of June. He had plenty of time to help his family out and make sure things were fine before he left.

“Is that you, Jake?” Dad’s voice boomed from the kitchen.

“Yeah.” Jake started to go in, but Wes stayed him.

“Maybe it’s best not to bring it up to Dad now—that he forgot something, and that you’re going with him to the doctor’s.”

“I agree. I won’t say anything—for now.” With that, both Jake and he entered the kitchen.

Dad’s plate had already been licked clean; Wes’ still had a pile of eggs on it, growing colder by the minute. But Wes wasn’t hungry any longer.

“Hey, Dad.” Jake sat down after pouring himself a cup of coffee. “How’s everything going?”

“Fine.” Dad narrowed his eyes. “Why are you over here so early—on a Sunday?”

Jake laughed and glanced at Wes.

Wes hadn’t imagined his dad’s memory slipping earlier. Although, he had searched Alzheimer’s when Jake had first told him about their father. He knew he needed to find out as much as he could to prepare himself for whatever was happening.

“This comes from the same guy who used to wake me up at five in the morning and told me that I was sleeping my life away.” Jake stirred some sugar into his coffee. “I can’t help it that I’m an early bird now because of you.”

“Too bad you keep losing things,” Wes said.

“Just like your mom in that,” Dad said. “She always forgot stuff, too.”

“Are we talking about the same woman?” Jake frowned. “Mom
never
forgets anything.”

Dad looked down. “Maybe I’m thinking of someone else.”

Jake cleared his throat. “TJ’s on his way. So is Seth.”

Just then the front door opened and closed. A few seconds later, TJ appeared in the kitchen. His blond hair was slightly tousled, his jeans scuffed and worn in, the blue shirt tight.

Dad narrowed his eyes. “Rode that Harley of yours over here?”

“Yeah.” TJ’s smile widened, unrepentant and slightly devilish. “Of course I did.”

“With or without your helmet?”

“Without.”

“What a stupid move! You better hope that you don’t hurt yourself. You don’t want to end up with your brains scrambled like those eggs.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll start wearing the helmet.” TJ straddled a chair and eyed the scrambled eggs. “Speaking of those eggs, anyone eating those?”

Wes handed TJ his breakfast. “Go ahead.”

“You guys ate without me?” Seth affected a wounded expression as he strode into the kitchen. “No fair.”

“Let’s talk about your bachelor party,” TJ said, his tone full of humor.

Seth frowned and opened the fridge, grabbing a container of orange juice. “I already told you this. I don’t want the standard bachelor party. I don’t want any strippers or anything like that. It just seems disrespectful to Liz, and besides, no woman can compare to her.”

Jake made a gagging sound. “Oh god, you might as well be like TJ, reciting some poetry at random.”

“Plebian,” TJ muttered.

“I think we’re just doing dinner at Liam’s place. Oh, Wes,”—Seth turned toward him—“I meant to tell you that the run-through and rehearsal dinner are the night before.”

Wes already knew this. “Okay.”

“The other thing is, you need a tux.” Seth smiled. “I want you in the wedding.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Why not? You’re my brother, you stupid idiot.”

“But you didn’t ask—”

“I know, I know. Chalk it up to me being the stupid idiot that time. I’d thought you wouldn’t come down . . . or you would say no.”

Well, that wasn’t exactly the most flattering portrait that Seth painted of him. Wes knew there had been some hard feelings when Dad had struggled with lung cancer, and he’d been stuck in Las Vegas and hadn’t helped out as much. But D&A had been in a tough bind then, and Wes’ mother had died a year earlier. Wes had still been pissed with Dad over some argument that seemed so ridiculous in retrospect. It was hard for Wes to recall what they’d even fought about. And it was true that Wes had put work before family and his personal life in the past, but since Mom’s death, he’d changed. He’d realized what really mattered. Family.

“Of course I’d come to your wedding. Why wouldn’t I? You’re my brother. Besides the thought of you possibly embarrassing yourself in some way at the wedding would be too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

“That’s settled then. You’ll just need to get a tux—we’re going in the next couple of days to pick ours up. I’m sure there are some that would fit you.”

Wes wasn’t too worried about that. As the owner of D&A, he’d often had to attend fancy events. “I’ve got one.”

“You’ve got one just lying about?” TJ laughed. “Only you would have a spare tux.”

“Hey, James Bond does.”

“Dude.” Jake leaned forward. “I hate to tell you this, but you are no James Bond.”

D
espite plans to
look at tuxedos with his brothers and see Ginny, things changed when Ernie Schaefer called. Ernie wanted to meet with Wes to have him go over what exactly would be involved in bringing Kismet Hotels to Atlantic City, and to have him look at the property. So Wes had driven up to Atlantic City for a couple of days. Ernie had asked some questions and Wes had done his best to answer them to Ernie’s satisfaction without bullshitting him.

When Wes had begun D&A in his early twenties, he’d made a promise to himself that besides making his company successful, he’d always deal with clients in a straightforward manner. It had served him well these last ten years or so, and his business had grown beyond his wildest imaginations. In many ways, he was still the middle-class boy whose mom had struggled to make ends meet. Dad had contributed child support, but money had always been tight.

His mom had raised him to be careful with his money, to not spend it on frivolous things he didn’t need, and to be modest. He didn’t throw his cash around; a year or so after Mom had died, he moved into a luxury apartment building. It wasn’t like he was in his place a lot, and Wes realized he wasn’t sure if he could call it home.

Home had been wherever his mom had lived, but since her passing, he’d just buried himself in work and been determined to make D&A more successful than it already was. His business was his life.

Wes told himself that he was just worried. That of course his apartment was his home. So was Las Vegas. Cape Hope was just a place to stay and help out his family.

He was actually looking forward to when he could return to his old life—to when he could lose himself in his business. But family was important; Wes was growing more and more concerned about Dad. It wasn’t like his mom had ever portrayed his father as a villain, but being around when both got into a screaming match, or hearing his mom cry after getting off the phone with him, had not exactly endeared the old man to him.

And why was he thinking about all of this? Wes shook his head to clear it.

Ernie was still debating, saying that he needed more time, which was fine by Wes. And he’d been surprised at how relieved he’d been when Ernie hadn’t wanted to sign straight away. It meant he could stay longer at Cape Hope and spend time with his family and figure things out—and spend more time with Ginny. It made him wonder if he was all talk about Las Vegas and business being more important. Was he in a serious case of self-denial?

He’d never doubted himself before, and he wasn’t going to do so now. Still, after he’d returned to Cape Hope, Wes had put off seeing Ginny for a couple of weeks. Some of it had been because he’d been so busy with his brothers and Dad. Wes had been dismayed to learn his father was getting worse by the day. That Dad’s cancer had returned.

Wes’ throat tightened. He felt horrible for Dad—losing one’s memory and dying a slow death seemed like a horrible way to go. At the same time, there were developments in medicine being made every day. Maybe something would be found to reverse the effects. Maybe Dad would beat cancer again.

Wes was probably fooling himself, but there had to be something to hope for. He didn’t want to think that things would end so dismally. The other reason Wes had stayed away from Ginny was because he’d found himself missing her when he’d been in Atlantic City. He’d missed her smile, her laugh, the way she felt in his arms.

And that spelled trouble.

Especially when it was all pretend. Especially when he wanted to keep things that way. Especially when he didn’t want to feel anything for her because love never lasted.