A Chance for Us (Willow Creek Valley Book 4) Page 13

  I am the friend, the guy who’s good at offering support but is never more.

  I’ve been nothing more than that over and over. I’m the best man, but not the best man for her.

  I shove that aside because, no matter what role I play in this, I want to touch her. I’ll take the selfish part that enjoys this and let it happen.

  Maren lets out a long sigh and then smiles at me. “Thank you, Oliver.”

  “For?”

  “Being so damn amazing. I couldn’t have done any of this without you, and you are seriously the best.”

  The best is so often not good enough. “Well, I’m good at a lot of things.”

  “Like what?” she asks, the mood shifting.

  “Oh, sweetheart, if you only knew.”

  A blush covers her face, and she looks away. “Men, you’re all the same.”

  “We like to keep you women thinking that.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Absolutely,” I reply, getting to my feet. “Now, let’s get out of this shit, get comfortable, and open the rest of our cards.”

  Maren takes my extended hand. “Sounds like a plan, Mr. Parkerson.”

  “Good thing you’re so agreeable, Mrs. Fake-Parkerson.”

  She laughs and then heads over to her bags as I go to mine.

  I grab my gym shorts and T-shirt, and when I turn around, Maren is tossing things out of her bag and muttering.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  She sighs heavily and continues her search. “No.”

  “Why is that?”

  Tossing down the item in her hand, she straightens and glares at the mess. “Because someone repacked me.”

  “My sister and your maid of honor . . .”

  “Yes, well, they didn’t repack me the same stuff I packed.”

  “And that’s a problem because?”

  Maren grabs one of the items she tossed down. “Because this is what they repacked!” She holds up the very thin scrap of white silk.

  My brows shoot up, and I grin. “Well, that was nice of them.”

  “Was it? Do you remember just about a minute ago when you were talking about all the things you don’t want?” Maren’s eyes narrow just a little. “When you reminded me that we shouldn’t be doing any of the things that I really wanted to do?”

  “Sure . . .”

  “Well, good luck to the both of us then.”

  She lifts another item, and Jesus Christ, it’s another see-through nightgown—if you can even call it that.

  “You can’t wear that.”

  “Oh? And what would you like me to wear then?”

  “Anything else,” I sputter. There’s no way in hell I have enough self-control to be anywhere near her in that.

  “There is nothing else. They packed three of these to sleep in. Apparently, your sister and my best friend think I don’t need clothes.”

  Clothes. I heard that word. “Okay, what about shorts?”

  She smiles without any humor. “Oh, they took care of that too. All I have are bathing suits and dresses. I’m going to kill them.”

  “We’ll go shopping on our way to South Carolina tomorrow. For tonight, you can just wear something of mine.”

  My sister did not pack my bag, so I know I have clothes.

  “Fine,” Maren says with exasperation. “I’ll do that.”

  I pull out a pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt and hand them to her.

  “Thanks.”

  While she’s in the bathroom changing, I sink down on the chair. This is a disaster. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to endure this for five days. There is no way I’ll be able to ignore this ache for her. Not to mention, she doesn’t need me all over her. She was just dumped by the guy she was going to marry, which doesn’t exactly scream ready to jump into bed with me.

  I know from personal experience that almost marrying someone doesn’t necessarily equal love. Hell, I watched the woman I loved date someone else immediately after we broke up.

  I can’t put myself in a situation that I know is going to crash and burn.

  Been there. Done that. Own the T-shirt company.

  Rubbing my hands over my face, I take a deep breath and stand. I’m a strong man who doesn’t bend easily. I’ll just plaster a smile on my face, get through the next few days, and then come back to the life I’ve designed.

  I unbutton my shirt, and just as I’m about to remove it, the bathroom door opens to reveal Maren still in that dress.

  “I need you.”

  I need you.

  I need you to strip me down and make me scream for hours. Please, Oliver.

  That’s not what she says. No, she actually sighs and shrugs. “I can’t undo my dress. Can you help me?”

  Well, that’s kind of like stripping her down. It actually is stripping her down, but the rest of that sentence hasn’t been uttered . . . yet.

  I clear my throat and walk over. She turns, pulling her hair over her shoulder, giving me a fantastic view of her back. She’s so damn beautiful with her hair completely down so it cascades like blonde silk.

  Once I’m behind her, she turns her head, peeking at me from the side. My fingers move to the button at the top. “You know, I am kind of glad this isn’t really our wedding night,” I say as I fumble with each one.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because if you were my bride, I would’ve torn your dress off you.”

  She shivers a little. “Really?”

  “Absolutely,” I say with a deepness in my voice that I hope covers the desire flooding my system.

  I couldn’t even last two minutes after that stupid pep talk I gave myself.

  I focus on the buttons again and manage one more.

  “Why is that?” Maren whispers.

  Don’t answer her, Oliver. Don’t fucking do it.

  “I would’ve needed you naked on the bed so badly that I wouldn’t have cared that the dress was on the floor in pieces.”

  Maren’s breath jumps as she turns, facing the mirror. “I’m sorry that this isn’t your real wedding night.”

  “Me too.”

  She smiles a little as I undo the last button. “Thanks.”

  You are so not welcome.

  “Of course,” I say with an easy smile even though nothing feels easy inside me.

  She steps back into the bathroom, closing the door behind her, and I get changed before falling into the chair that I’ll be sleeping on.

  How the hell did I get myself into this?

  After what feels like an hour, Maren emerges, wearing my shorts, which are folded about four times and look like she knotted them or something. My shirt is huge on her, and while it should be completely unattractive, it’s not. She’s in my clothes. Naked under them.

  “Thanks for letting me borrow this tonight.” Her eyes dart to the floor. “It’s a bit big, but it’s better than the nightie.”

  “Yes, better than that,” I agree.

  I would’ve died.

  I still might.

  She walks to the bed and slides under the covers while I shift on the chair. Maren lets out a giggle.

  “What?”

  “You look ridiculous.”

  “Thanks. Women often tell me that.”

  “I’m sure they don’t.”

  I move again, sitting up a little because my ass keeps sliding down. This chair was not made for sleeping.

  “You should know this now,” I tell her. “You fake married a total loser when it comes to love.”

  Maren starts to braid her hair as she shrugs. “Can’t be any worse than your fake wife, who got stood up before she made it to the altar and then literally begged you to pretend to marry her only to have you turn her down. Top that.”

  “I have one failed engagement and then one almost engagement where I didn’t even get the ring on the second time. You . . .” I suck in a breath through my teeth. “You’re behind the curve, my friend.”

  “Two? Wow. You really are a loser.”r />
  “See, you’re welcome.”

  Maren shakes her head. “Come over here, Oliver. You can’t sleep in that thing, and we are both adults. I’m sure we’ll be fine in the bed.”

  I’m sure I will not, but there’s not a chance in hell I’m going to get any sleep in this chair. Plus, I don’t really want to look pathetic by refusing her.

  “Fine, but you have to promise not to take advantage of me,” I say with a brow raised.

  Maren smirks, tying off her braid. “I vow not to take your innocence this night.”

  I toss the pillow at her, causing her to squeak, and then climb in.

  We end up sitting side-by-side against the headboard, awkward and unsure of what to do next.

  “Want to watch that movie?” I ask.

  “Sure.”

  I glance around the room again, wondering why the hell there is no television in here. “Is there a damn television?” I ask as I toss my legs over the side.

  “Didn’t you design this place?”

  “Stella had this room.”

  “It is the honeymoon suite. I guess she figured they’d be doing other things?” Maren says as she searches. “Ha! I found it!”

  I glance at her, finding her holding up a remote as if it were a prize. “Okay, now we just need to find the television.”

  She climbs back into bed and pats the bed next to her. “Watch.” Pointing the remote toward the opposite wall, she presses a button, and what I thought was a beautiful piece of framed artwork becomes a television.

  “That is impressive.” I move toward it, amazed because I never would have guessed it wasn’t art. It’s flush against the wall like a photograph and there is barely any backlight.

  “I definitely need one of these,” Maren says as she turns on My Cousin Vinny, which is already halfway over. “I love this movie.”

  “It’s a classic.”

  She smiles. “Aunt Eileen can do her accent perfectly to match this movie. We used to watch it all the time and I would laugh as she’d recite it.”

  Maren sits up on her knees and says the lines word-for-word.

  We both laugh, and her cheeks turn red when her attempt at an accent fails. “That was pitiful.”

  “I’d like to hear your New York accent.” Maren smirks.

  “Forget about it!” I give it my best, which is just shy of truly pitiful, and she falls back on the bed, laughing hysterically.

  Maren fluffs the pillow and grins. “Who would’ve thought this would be how either of us would spend a wedding night?”

  “Sure as fuck not me.”

  “Me either, but honestly, this is kind of perfect. It’s like college again.”

  Except that I didn’t want to strip her naked when we were in college. “In a way. While the movie and being with you is perfect, we’re missing something.”

  “What?”

  “Food.” I grab the phone and call down to the staff to bring us up room service.

  When I hang up, Maren is clutching her chest. “My hero.”

  “I do try.” I puff out my chest.

  “I am starving. It’s so sad that we barely had five minutes to shove some food into our mouths.”

  I’d like to shove my tongue—or something else—in her mouth.

  I mentally slap myself. “I agree. I know this was supposed to be a test run, and while I can say the staff was great, I have no idea about the food.”

  She purses her lips. “Hmm, you know, no one complained about anything, really.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just the whole weekend. My family was so happy the whole time, and we ate all our meals here, so you know the food was good. If it wasn’t, you guys would have heard about it, but no one bitched.”

  That’s true. I was so caught up in all things wedding I didn’t pay attention to everything around me.

  “I feel like an ass for not doing my job.”

  Maren’s hand settles on my arm. “You did so much more than your job. You took care of everything. My point was a compliment, Oliver. Not only were you the most amazing fiancé but also you handled the resort smoothly.”

  I try not to let her words sink in. “I think my siblings did that.”

  “I think you had a much bigger role than you believe. This resort is going to be fantastic. I can feel it and see it.”

  “And what makes you so sure?” I ask.

  “Because I believe in you.”

  Those words don’t bounce off. They seep into my soul like a balm that I didn’t know I needed. It covers the wounds, starting to heal the broken shit inside.

  Damn her.

  Before I can bristle about it, she’s scooting closer. “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Just relax,” Maren says softly.

  Then she moves to her side so she’s pressed against the length of my body. Her leg hooks with mine, her arm drapes over my stomach, and her head settles on my chest. “Maren . . .”

  “It’s cuddling, Ollie. I think we both deserve it after the day we’ve had.”

  My official protest comes in the form of me wrapping my arms around her, holding her tighter, and watching the movie. Yeah, after the day we had, I guess we do deserve it.

  Eighteen

  MAREN

  Yes. Yes. Yes.

  I keep my eyes closed, wholly focused on the sensations that grip me. A hand that cups my breast, lips at my neck, and pleasure—so much pleasure everywhere.

  My fingers slide into thick hair, holding his mouth against my skin.

  A low groan fills my ears, and I grin.

  This feels so good. His warm body against mine is perfect. I moan as his hot tongue glides down toward my chest.

  “Don’t stop,” I whisper, tightening my fingers in his hair.

  This is incredible, and I never want Oliver to stop.

  Oliver. My husband.

  My God.

  My eyes fly open as I realize what the hell is happening.

  “Oliver?” I ask with a squeak.

  He lifts his head, eyes drowsy from sleep and desire. “You were saying my name,” he says. “You were begging me.”

  “I was?” I ask, trying to recall anything. There is just a slight memory of . . . oh, the dream I had.

  Oh boy.

  He leans back more, watching me. “Did you . . . Shit. I swear you were.”

  “I did that. I was dreaming, and I guess . . . I’m—” I stop because the perfect excuse evades me. Mortified. Horny. Desperate. “Sorry.”

  “I’m not,” he says quickly.

  “You’re not?”

  “Not even a little. I would’ve kept going.”

  I watch him warily. “Even though we said we shouldn’t.”

  “That was before I slept with you in my arms, and you rubbed your ass on me all night while moaning my name. I’m not that strong. I think it’s clear we both want this.”

  My heart is pounding, and all the reasons for not crossing that line are gone. He has no idea how those words curl my toes, but there are so many possibilities where this ends very badly. There are plenty of ones where this goes well. Oliver and I can choose the path that has us both hot, sweaty, sated, and then divorced. No harm, no foul, no feelings.

  I want him. He wants me. We are adults. So, let’s get naked.

  Fear of rejection keeps me from saying that aloud. I wait, each breath feeling like it takes a lifetime to leave my lungs.

  Finally, I muster the courage and speak. “I know I do.”

  His hand lifts, pushing a strand of hair back from my cheek. “I want to make you feel good.”

  Oh, I want that too. “You have given me so much.”

  “I can give you more. Let me make you feel good, Maren.”

  “And what then?”

  Oliver gives a devilish grin that I want to wipe off his face with my lips. “Then we go on our honeymoon and spend the whole time enjoying ourselves.” He leans in, his mouth getting closer. “We lose ourselves before we have to come
back to reality.”

  That sounds really fucking good and tempts me with a sense of something I haven’t had in a while—hope.

  “Reality sucks,” I say breathlessly.

  “Let’s live in the fantasy for a while.”

  My hand moves to the back of his head, and I pull him so our lips just barely touch. “I can do that.”

  “Thank fucking God.” Oliver moans the words before crushing his lips to mine.

  The kisses we’ve shared over the last few days have been tame compared to this. Oliver and I are wild, no holding back as we each volley for control. He kisses me. I kiss him. Back and forth we go until I have no idea who is leading this anymore, and I don’t care.

  We are lips, tongues, and gasps, and that works just fine for me. He pushes me onto my back, his body covering mine as I tug up his shirt, wanting to feel his skin.

  He pauses long enough to tear it off, and then my hands are back on him, needing to feel his skin. I slide my fingers along his spine, reveling in how each taut muscle pulses beneath me while he kisses my neck.

  “I like you in my clothes.”

  “I’d like me out of your clothes.”

  Oliver rubs his nose down my neck. “I bet I’ll like that too.”

  I’m wearing his shirt and shorts, and during the night, the knot I tied to hold the shorts up has loosened significantly. Just moving a little has them lowering. He sits up, removing my shirt.

  “You have no idea how stunning you are,” he says, and I blush under his gaze.

  I know I’m pretty—not in a snobby way, but that’s never been a complaint I’ve heard before. Even if I’d been totally oblivious to it before I pulled into this town, the way he had been looking at me all week would have convinced me he thought I was attractive.

  However, the way he’s staring at me now—full of heat and longing—causes my stomach to flip.

  His sculpted chest and broad shoulders are everything I love in a man. Strength radiates from him, and I want to drown in it.

  “Oliver,” I say, moving back up to his face. “You are so damn hot.”

  How any woman could let this man walk away is beyond my understanding.

  I push that thought away because he’s here. He’s mine now, and I have at least five days of fun in my future.

  I trail my fingers down his chest and bite my lower lip.