Page 14 of One Wild Wedding Weekend

Her quiet words sent jubilation coursing through his veins. He leaned back and yawned, feeling remarkably mellow under the circumstances. “Tell me about you and Tabby,” he said. “What were you like as kids?”

Daley curled her legs beneath her. Her mussed hair made her look younger and more vulnerable than the Daley he knew before tonight. She picked at a thread on her blanket. “I’m six years older than Tabby. You probably know that. She was my baby doll—a living, breathing playmate. I adored her and still do.”

“So you’ll want a big family one day?”

Daley’s expression was odd. “No. Tabby will be a great mom, but I think I’m more the career type.”

“Women do both,” he said, caught off guard by an odd note in her voice.

“Not easily. I knew when I started my ad agency that I was making a commitment. The hours are long, and I have a lot of responsibility. I enjoy the challenge.”

“And what about men?”

Her gaze when she stared at him was bland. “What about them?”

“Do you see yourself getting married?” He had no clue why he was asking.

“Do you?” she asked sharply.

“No.” He felt foolish now. And deflated. “Sorry,” he muttered. “That was too personal a question.”

“Well, since you opened the door—why are you anti-marriage?”

“Not so much anti as realistic. Marriage requires compromise and maturity.”

“You don’t strike me as immature.” Her words were teasing. “So it must be the compromise thing. I suppose you’re stubborn and set in your ways? Is that it?”

“You could say that.” He winced. “Besides, I was engaged once. In college. When we broke up, she told me I had the emotional depth of a head of lettuce. Things like that stick with a guy.”

“Ah.” Daley grimaced. “I’m sorry, Tristan. That must have been awful. For what it’s worth, I’ve seen you with John and Tabby. You care deeply about your brother, and you’ve made Tabby feel a part of your family. Perhaps Tristan Hamilton has come a long way, longer than you know.”

“Maybe.” He rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable with the personal flavor of the conversation. He was better in bed than dissecting his psyche. “So that’s me. What’s your excuse? I think I can ask that since I’ve bared my soul.”

Daley leaned forward and set her drink can on the coffee table. She had eaten a few chips, but that was it. “If you want the truth, I’m petrified of being so vulnerable. Marriage—a good one anyway—requires letting another person get close to you. Permanently.” She shrugged. “I don’t think I’d be good at it.”

“So what you’re saying is that you and I are slated to be the doting auntie and uncle.”

“That’s about it.”

He twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. “Shouldn’t we get some shut-eye? I know the bride will be the center of attention, but those dark shadows underneath your beautiful lashes will tell people you had a sleepless night.”

Daley turned her face into his palm, nuzzling him like a kitten seeking affection. “You don’t really care about sleep, do you?”

Her husky voice turned him inside out. He tugged at her blanket, baring one breast. As he palmed the soft flesh, shuddering raw need choked him. “No. Not even a little bit.”

He moved on top of her, easing her under him. The piece of furniture was a love seat, not a sofa, but the bed was too far. Making this happen was awkward and funny and damn serious all at the same time.

When he entered her, Daley closed her eyes and arched her neck. Her legs wrapped around his waist.

“Look at me,” he demanded. He didn’t entirely understand his driving need to connect with her, but he wanted to see the expression in her eyes.

She complied slowly. A tiny smile curved her lips. “I’m looking, big guy.”

“Will you regret this?” he asked. The words tumbled out, surprising even him. He kissed her eyebrows, her nose, her soft cheeks.

When he withdrew and thrust again, Daley sank her teeth into her bottom lip. “Maybe.” She sighed. “Probably.”

“Don’t,” he begged. “Whatever happens, don’t regret tonight. Please.”

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