Page 29 of Catch and Release Groom

That was the decision Imogen had made to avoid making an actual decision, something she’d always hated doing under pressure. The delay tactic was twofold—it prevented Easton from sailing away and leaving her no choice but to crash another couple’s romantic date, while also giving her time to evaluate his skills as a pretend partner.

Not that the burning muscles in her thighs and lungs cared about the differentiation, both of them joining forces to form Team Make It Stop. If it’d been just her and Easton on the strenuous trek up a significant incline, she’d plant her feet and loudly proclaim she didn’t give a rip what he thought about her needing a break.

But the man who insisted everyone call him Captain Johnson had split the honeymooners into three destination-based groups. He appointed Easton as the leader of the expedition to the top of Noccalula Falls and buddied him and Imogen up with four other couples.

No, notother. Four couples in total, plus her and Easton. And Gator, who’d served as the perfect, adorable distraction to skimp on their introductions.

Margot and Constance had joined their group, and in addition to being highly entertaining, Imogen figured chaperones—even handsy ones—would help keep her in line. There’d be no more kissing and confounding things, not until she’d determined whether pretending to be on her honeymoon with Easton would be worth staying an extra day in a place with spotty wifi and cell service, and their misguided assumption that coffee and espresso were basically the same thing.

Day two without a three-shot cappuccino from Caffe Umbria meant she was only now starting to feel awake. And okay, maybe those reasons were on the trivial side, but most of day-to-day life was…until it wasn’t.

Until one day you wake up and realize you hadn’t putsexual compatibilityhigh enough on the list of priorities when selecting a life partner, and suddenly, that “one little issue” has becomethereason you’re walking away.

I love you, but I’m afraid this is something I don’t think I can get over—the wedding’s off.Just the memory of forcing herself to say those words caused her throat to tighten and ache, and she’d gladly take all the pain they’d caused if it would erase Brett’s heart-stricken expression for good.

The guilt she’d expected earlier rushed forward now, like lemon juice on a cut.You broke him with those words. Youshouldbe hurting.

Surely hiking up an incline in the middle of the forest in ninety-degree weather, a bead of sweat rolling between her shoulder blades, counted as a type of penance. With her heart doing its best impression of a jackhammer and her knees threatening to give out, it did intensify her sorrows, regrets, and general lack of air.

Once she returned to Chicago, she’d also have to finish dealing with the repercussions of her decision. She’d put off a lot for after her trip, since by then she’d be all reacquainted with herself and magically stronger for it and shit.

“We’re almost there.” Easton projected his voice to include their entire party, but his sidelong glance and crooked grin teased Imogen about her loud huffing and puffing, and suggested his assurance was for her benefit. “Up and over this ridge and we’ll find ourselves atop the gorge, with the perfect view of Noccalula Falls, which cascades for over ninety feet.”

“That’s a lot of gushing,” Margot mused, a little too innocently. “As a recent convert, I agree there’s nothing better at relieving the pressure—I’d brag, too.”

“Sounds like that’s what you’re doing now,” Imogen snarked over her shoulder.

The glance cost her, as the toe of her shoe failed to clear a jutted rut in the trail. Rather than bracing to catch her unbalanced weight, her fatigued limbs turned into molasses, sticky and slow, and then the ground was rushing up to kiss her.

Luckily, Easton’s reflexes were as sharp as Margot’s wit. He caught hold of her upper arm, right above the elbow, and hauled her upright. His overzealous yank caused her to twirl into his chest, as though they were in the middle of a dance and not a hike, and as effortless as his breaths appeared, this position allowed her to feel the rapid rise and fall.

Seriously, what was with her balance lately? Was there such a thing as inhaling too much fresh air? Not that she was complaining, exactly, but why couldn’t she stop finding herself in a compromising position in this man’s firm, very capable arms?

If it were merely her honor and reputation at stake—neither of which she had in abundance right now anyway—she’d be tempted to disregard her reservations, squeeze her eyes closed, and dive on in.

Her raging libido voted for that option, arguing in favor of more mesmerizing kisses that left her clinging to him as tightly as he’d held to her. Common sense trickled in, and as much as she wished for the ability to ignore it for a while, the twinge in her still-battered heart warned that’d be like diving into gator-infested waters, only to act shocked when she’d somehow been bitten.

Maybe if Easton’s the one doing the biting, the pleasure will outweigh the pain.Her gaze dipped to his mouth involuntarily, and then she was reliving the rasp of his whiskers and the possessive way he’d stroked his tongue over hers.

A low growl emanated from his throat, as suggestive as her memory, and her shaky self-control thrashed in the deluge of desire. None of her arguments held any weight anymore, not with his stare piercing her very soul.

They remained locked like that, far past the polite range, and for long enough people shuffled around in their periphery. Adjusting bags and tightening shoelaces, noticeably antsy to move on.

Yet the storm refused to dissipate, demanding appeasement instead. Crackling energy nipped at Imogen’s skin, goading her to ignore the imminent danger and sway closer to it—to him—instead.

Realization of what that meant struck in a flash, illuminating the conclusion she needed to come to—absolutely no good could come of pretending to be in love with this man.

…

The instant Imogen went from melting against him to stiffening, Easton released her. Save the hand he left hovering near her hip, just in case she wasn’t as steady as she obviously wanted to be.

“Dios mío!” Constance fanned her face with her hand. “With all that heat building between our guide and his new bride, I’d say it’s a good thing there’s plenty of water nearby.”

“If I didn’t know any better,” Margot said, draping an arm around her partner’s shoulders, “I’d say I’m rubbing off on you.”

“You can rub off on me later.” The woman slapped a hand over her mouth, and several members of their party laughed and snuggled closer to their significant others.

Not Imogen, though.

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