Page 5 of Messy Match

I nearly swerve into the next lane. “Come again?”

“For the weekend,” she clarifies as if she hasn’t just knocked my world off its axis. “A truce of sorts.”

I eye her suspiciously, wondering what angle she’s working. Charlotte Harris doesn’t wave white flags.

“A truce,” I repeat slowly, testing the word. This earns me an eye roll that somehow manages to be both annoyed and amused.

“Three days of sniping at each other isn’t fair to Brock and Libby,” she continues. “And frankly, I could use a break from coming up with new ways to call you on your shit all the time.”

“I’m touched. Here, I was thinking you had an endless supply of creative insults.”

“Oh, I do.” Her lips curve up. “I’ll just save them for after the wedding weekend.”

Something warm unfurls in my chest at the playful lilt in her voice. It’s new. Dangerous. “So this truce of yours, what are the terms?”

“It starts when we reach Serenity Slopes.”

“Why not now?”

“Because I still have…” She glances at the GPS. “Forty-seven minutes to be annoyed about being stuck in this car with you.” But there’s no real heat in her words. “And it only applies when we’re around other people,” she adds.

I arch a brow. “Afraid you might actually start to like me if we’re nice to each other when we’re alone?”

“I think we both know that’s not the problem.” The words, which tumble out of her mouth unfiltered, hang in the air between us, heavy with the unspoken conversation about that first night. About the way we looked at each other before it all went wrong. About the electricity that still crackles whenever we’re close.

My grip tightens on the wheel. “Right. So truce starts at the resort, only around others. Any other conditions I should know about?”

“No heroics,” she says firmly. “Even if you think I need saving.”

That’s not happening. Not in a million years.But instead of challenging the term outright, I try a different angle. “Even if you’re drowning in the infinity pool?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m an excellent swimmer.”

“Good to know.” I drum my fingers on the wheel, trying not to picture Charlotte in a bikini. And trying to ignore how much I like this version of us. One where we can almost joke about the thing that drove a wedge between us years ago. “Anything else?”

“Yeah.” She settles back, propping her bare feet on the dashboard. “Stop staring at me when you think I’m not looking.”

My laugh comes out rougher than intended. “Only if you do the same.”

A flush creeps up her neck, but she doesn’t deny it. Instead, she rests her arm on the window and watches the rolling green hills fly by. But this time, the atmosphere feels different. Lighter. Easier.

Which is exactly what has me worried. Charlotte Harris doesn’t offer truces without a reason. And the fact I can’t figure out her angle is making me twitchy. That, and the way her fire-engine red toenails are wiggling, which is infinitely more distracting now that I’m not supposed to be looking.

I blow out a breath, debating my options. This truce might be more threatening than our fighting ever was. Because without the arguing to distract me over the next three days at the resort, there’s nothing to stop me from remembering exactly how much I wanted to kiss her that first night. Or how much more I want to now.

Chapter four

Charlotte

Themomenttheuniformedvalet opens my car door and welcomes me to Serenity Slopes, my shoulders drop, relaxing from the coiled tension of the last four hours. I also shiver from head to toe. It might be summer, but the temperature here is lower than I expected, and my tank top doesn’t have nearly enough coverage to keep me warm.

Leaving the keys in the ignition, Jake circles the car. His gaze drops to my chest where my nipples jut out as if they’re auditioning for a starring role. But even as my lips press into a thin line, his attention snaps back to my face. Probably, thanks to our truce.

The barest twitch of a muscle in his stubbled jaw reveals his effort. I’m unsure whether from refraining from enjoying the view or biting back a scathing remark, but either way, I can’t help the tiny thrill of satisfaction that ripples down my spine at breaking his composure. Our truce doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate making the unflappable Jake Maddingly work for it.

“Cold?” he asks, voice gruff as he circles back to pop the trunk.

I wave off the jacket he holds it out to me a moment later. “I’m fine. The lobby’s right there.”

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