Page 72 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

And then I press my lips to her skin and follow the path of sticky sweetness all the way to the cone. Our eyes locked the whole time. My heart a pounding drum. A single bead of sweat racing down the center of my back.

Amelia watches with heavy eyelids and parted lips. I pull back, keeping my fingers wrapped around her arm, clearly a sucker for punishment.

“Thank you,” she says, just as I say, “I’m sorry.”

“No apologies. Remember?” Her voice sounds strained but soft, like she’s worked hard to get this whisper out.

“Those are your rules,” I tell her.

“Maybe we should make some for you, hotshot.”

We probably should. And my rules would start with:Stop falling for a woman who was supposed to marry someone else yesterday.

Followed by:Keep your hands—and mouth—to yourself.

But I’ve always been horrible at following the rules.

CHAPTER 14

Van

By the endof this little vacation, my chiropractor is going to have to use a croquet mallet to knock my spine back into alignment. I vow never to sleep on a couch again. I’ve already booked an appointment for next week. As well as a massage. I might need to soak in an ice bath for an hour. Or two.

As for what’s going to help knock my heart back into alignment, well … I don’t know who to call about that. And I don’t want it set back to where it was.

“Morning, hotshot.”

The words, soft and slow and sleepy, are punctuated with the sound of a coffee mug being set down on the coffee table. I grumble, but I’m smiling as I lift my head to look at Amelia.

Or, Itryto lift my head.

I drop it back onto my pillow with a groan. This is definitely the worst it’s been. I think I pinched something. It makes me feel a hundred years old.

“Awww,” Amelia says, and I hear her shifting around before she settles on the couch next to me. “Your neck?”

I mumble something like a yes just as her hand finds my neck and begins to knead my muscles. I hiss when she reaches a sensitive place. Her fingers gentle but don’t stop.

“I told you not to sleep on the couch,” she scolds. “Why are you so stubborn?”

No sense answering that one.

Her fingers locate a knot in my neck, and I groan. “Right there,” I mumble through the pillow. My speech sounds thick and slow like I’ve been drinking.

But the only chemical hitting my bloodstream isher.

“I’ve got you,” she says.

She absolutelyhasgot me. More than she probably realizes.

“Just relax. It’s raining anyway, so we’re in for a lazy day.”

Now that she mentions it, I hear the soft patter of rain on the balcony, the low growl of thunder. It’s soothing, and as Amelia rhythmically rubs my neck, I fall in and out of consciousness, finally waking sometime later to find Amelia stretched out beside me, practically hanging off the side of the couch, her arm across my back anchoring her in place.

Coach’s daughter, I try to remind myself. But that’s not working anymore. Coach isn’t here. And I’m done worrying about what he’d do if he were.

I shift, rolling over and gently tugging Amelia until she’s curled into me, her face in the crook of my neck and my nose in her hair. She smells like fresh laundry and citrus. I thought she smelled like lemon before, but it’s more complex, tart and fruity. Maybe grapefruit?

I stifle a groan. Because I am now a man who smells a woman’s hair and overanalyzes scent profiles. If that’s even the right term.

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