Page 23 of Catch and Release Groom

Wavy lines distorted the idyllic scene as she envisioned Easton snapping a metal bracelet around her wrist. There was that perfect notch in the headboard of her rented cabin where the other cuff could go, too.

Her internal temperature shot up, and she expelled a breath to hide the fact that she was practically panting as loudly as his dog.

Already at a vertical disadvantage, the added height of the dock left Easton looming over her, absorbing every ray of sunlight as he crossed his arms.

She refused to cower but, since shewasrequesting a favor, propped the corners of her mouth into her friendliest, most winning smile.

Then did her best not to be offended that it soured Easton’s expression further.

Hurt radiated from the vulnerable organ in her chest, and she almost took it all back. Calling him over to her this morning, last night’s disastrous dinner and accepting his offer to accompany her on the return to the cabin, basking in the feel of his firm muscles against her cheek and the corresponding zing in her core as he’d curled her close.

Did she stop there? Or should she go back more, to that first glimmer of a moment at the river, before she’d accidentally embedded a hook in his ear? Or how about to getting out of bed at such a revoltingly early hour to answer the door, because she wanted those lost hours of sleep back.

Yep, just delete, delete, delete, every single, solitary memory they’d shared.

But, in the words of the incomparable Elton John, “then again no.” Hadn’t she learned her lesson about biting her tongue? While it’d kept the peace in those little moments, it’d also chipped away at her confidence.

“What are you doing right now?” There. She’d hurled the question into the pine-and-moss-scented air, refusing to back down, no matter how infuriating and deliciously dirty his frown.

If Easton wasn’t there to bear witness, she’d give herself anatta-girlpat.

“Answering the call of some peculiar lady’s swan song,” he replied, unruffled in the most infuriating way.

Oh, two could play at that game. Imogen smoothed her features and widened her stance so she wouldn’t teeter along with each knock of plastic wing against the dock. “And here I thought I was being dramatic when I swore this bird was going to be the death of me.”

There, in the corner of Easton’s mouth, she spotted an honest-to-God quiver. Rather than interpret it as glee over her possible demise, she decided to attribute it to her comedic prowess.

“Let me guess…” She raised an eyebrow—anyway, she meant to, although she never had quite mastered lifting one without the other. “You were hoping the bird’d do your dirty work and get you some revenge for yesterday.”

“Nothing quite that diabolical.” The extra-stubborn corner of his faint, quasi-smile leaped into the ring. Seconds piled up and blocked the passage of time itself, until that sexy mouth of his stretched into a full grin.

Er, his decently shaped mouth.

Strike that. Easton’s mouth was decadently indecent, and the curve of it affected her more than it should. Before she could so much as deliberate stamping out the embers igniting low in her core, his fleeting gesture of goodwill faded and fell.

“Anyway,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, “I should get back to it.”

Worse, he retreated a step, and panic welled and doused the flames she’d deliberated letting burn. Gator looked to her todo something already, a plea Imogen instantly recognized, as she’d been about to request the same of the dog.

“Back to answering the call of that woman you mentioned? I agree.” Acutely aware this was going to be a hard sell, she plowed through the tiny opening, disregarding her worries of impropriety. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I’ve found my single self on a trip meant for couples. On account of that bottle of wine I drank alongside my two-steak dinner, you also know why.

“Loose lips sink ships, as they say. Extra ironic, considering I’m aboard one.” As her ex frequently pointed out, superstitions were irrational and, therefore, shouldn’t bear weight on her decisions. But try telling that to her nervous bubble of laughter and lickety-split scanning for holes in the floor. No matter how sound the logic, it didn’t always prevent paranoia from rearing its head. “Except I’m not a spy, and this is hardly World War II.”

Shoot, now she was getting distracted by the history of phrases instead of asking for what she wanted. Maybe even kind of, sort of needed. “What I’m trying to say is that this is the first vacation I’ve taken in years, and I don’t want to go through six more yesterdays, where the fact that I didn’t get married is rubbed in my face at every turn.”

Sob stories weren’t her norm, but she’d bottled her feelings for so long, and she didn’t mean just in the weeks since calling off the wedding. “I’ve so been looking forward to this excursion and, as much as it pains me to admit, I can’t pedal this big-ass bird by myself.”

Imogen wound a strand of hair round and round her finger. “I don’t want to have to miss out because I’m alone, and it’s not like I’m asking you along with any sort of romantic notions or expectations—”

Okay, was that sarcastic snort really necessary?

“You follow?” she finished, her eye twitching the tiniest bit.

“Not in the slightest,” Easton replied in an amused tone, and she felt remarkably less warm and fuzzy about the smile spreading across his face now.

“Then I’ll spell it out for you: thanks to that golf cart ride straight out of Cupid’s twisted wet dream, people have been referring to you as my ‘strapping young man.’” Flustered heat bloomed in her cheeks, and thanks to her pale skin, the man opposite her undoubtedly noticed. “In other words…”

Walking that tricky tightrope between too many details and not enough, she forged ahead. “Many of the guests at the resort think we’re a couple.” She paused, wishing in vain he’d fill in the rest of the blanks himself and freaking agree already.

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