Page 45 of The Wrong Fiancée

"Of course. And you, Mr. Archer?"

"Just a Scotch, whatever you have."

"We have a Johnny Walker Blue, a Macallan 12, and a Lagavulin 16," I listed out. "If you want something else, I can get it from one of the bars."

"The Macallan is fine. Neat."

"Yes, sir."

I grabbed some rum and juice for the cocktail. My fingers worked quickly, mixing the drinks with practiced ease I didn't have to think about. I poured Dean a finger of Scotch. Felicity ignored me, which I appreciated. Dean didn't. He looked at me for just a second too long as he took his whiskey.

"Thanks, Elika." His eyes lingered on mine.

"You're welcome, sir."

Felicity tugged him away toward a group of people by the fire pit. I watched as they disappeared into the crowd, her laughter carrying on the breeze.

The night picked up as hula dancers in grass skirts and tribal tattoos moved to the beat of the pounding drums, their movements synchronized, fluid, and hypnotic. The fire dancers came next, their torches spinning through the air, lighting up the dark sky with trails of flame.

Guests clapped and cheered, drinks sloshing in their hands as they swayed to the music.

Dean looked happy with Felicity. He really did. And who was I to question that? Who was I to feel jealous, to wonder if things could have been different? I wasn't in his world. I had never been. I was just the girl who served drinks, who mixed colorful cocktails, who got caught up in something fleeting, a moment that was never meant to last.

"Need another drink here," someone called from the other end of the bar, pulling me back into the present.

By the time the last guests left, it was nearly two in the morning. I was glad that someone else was going to be responsible for cleaning up because I was exhausted and desperately needed some sleep.

I walked back to my cottage, counting my blessings. This afternoon, I'd been worried I wouldn't have a job, and now I'd get a raise and two days off every week. I was blessed. I should focus on the positive and not on how Dean looked when he hugged Felicity or how they both looked when they kissed.

I was so lost in thought that I didn't see Dean sitting on the stairs on my small lanai until I all but stepped on him.

"What on God's green earth are you doing here?" I blurted out.

Dean stood up slowly, his long frame unfurling from where he'd been sitting, and I couldn't help but notice how tired he looked, even in the moonlight. He ran a hand through his hair, a habit I remembered all too well. The evening had been overwhelming enough; I didn't need or want this.

"I couldn't sleep," he said quietly, his voice calm but with a strain underneath it. "I didn't know where else to go."

I crossed my arms, feeling elated that he had come to me and also deflated that he had no right to come to me. "Felicity, isn't enough company for you tonight?"

He flinched just slightly, and it was enough to soften my edge. I let out a slow breath, trying to reset my thoughts. I shouldn't care why he was here. This wasn't my problem anymore.

I stepped around him to get to my door. "I don't know whatthis is, but it's late. You should go back to your fiancée. Back to your life."

I didn't wait for him to respond as I pushed my front door open, but I wasn't fast enough to escape his words. "I don't know what my life is anymore."

I paused, my hand resting on the doorknob. I wasn't sure if I wanted to laugh or scream. Was this some kind of apology? Or was it Dean thinking I'd spread my legs for him?

Humiliation filled me at the thought he saw me as easy and available. A whore?

I turned back to him, leaning against the doorframe. "I can't help you figure out what your life is. I barely know what mine is. Also,youare none of my business."

He took a step closer, his face barely illuminated by the soft glow of the lanai light. "If that's the case, then why do I keep thinking about you?"

A thrill ran up my spine. But this man belonged to someone else, and I didn't play those kinds of games. I was a decent-looking woman in the hotel business—I had more than enough sleazy married and engaged men make passes at me. That Dean was doing the same hurt in a visceral way.

"That sounds like ayouproblem." I walked into the cottage, and he followed, closing the door behind him. But it wasn't justhisproblem. I felt it, too, the connection—not just from the past but in the present. There was something between us that tugged at me just as it did him.

The past bubbled up between us, a secret neither of us was brave enough to speak aloud. The unfinished parts of us. The present. I clenched my jaw, forcing down the flicker of emotion rising in my chest.

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