Page 57 of Buckled in Barbwire

A lazy smirk spanks his lips. “You might save my soul yet, Twinkles.”

Emotion catches in my throat. Brody is an open book right now. I find myself wanting more before he closes himself off again.

“So, why are you drinking by yourself in the hot tub?”

Brody sends me a blank stare. “It’s my wedding night. I’m celebrating.”

“Our,” I correct on a whisper.

He leans forward slightly. “What was that?”

“It’s our wedding night.”

“Does that mean you’ll celebrate with me?”

I roll my lips between my teeth and consider the options. “Maybe I should… go to bed.”

But running away doesn’t sit right in my gut.

Brody must agree, choosing that second to splash me. “Get in here. I’m lonely.”

That stops me short. I’ve never heard Brody claim a weakness other than needing a wife to own his company. This is… vastly different.

He’s being somewhat vulnerable, especially for him. It makes me want to toss caution to the wind.

“I don’t have a suit.”

He scoffs. “Bra and panties will do.”

“You’re not seeing me in my underwear.”

His palm glides along the stone pavers, inches from my leg. “Find something else to wear.”

“How about a compromise?” I kick off my sandals and sit on the ledge, slowly easing my feet beneath the surface. Warmth instantly shoots through me and I sag into the comforting embrace. “Ohhh, the temperature is just right.”

“See? Not so bad.”

I nudge him with my elbow. “Boozy Brody is nice.”

“That’s the effect of the whirlpool talking. It’s very persuasive.”

“Really? I was thinking we were headed to a truce.” Which is a huge leniency on my part.

Brody scratches at his jaw. “Oh, we’re back to that?”

“We don’t have to fight,” I reiterate.

“Couldn’t agree more, wife for life. This calls for a toast.” He pulls out a fresh bottle of champagne from behind him.

“Where are you getting this stuff?”

“In the cooler.” He hitches a thumb at the hidden compartment carved into the deck.

“Fancy ass lodging,” I mumble.

“Hmm?”

“Not important. We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

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