Page 9 of One Wild Wedding Weekend

She finally summoned the energy to undress and take a shower. As she removed the necklace and laid it carefully on the dresser, she told herself she was imagining the lingering warmth from Tristan’s fingers on the back of her neck.

Avoiding him tonight had been impossible. His smile, whether aimed at someone else or at her, had the power to make her insides get wobbly. She hated that. It made her feel weak and stupid and immature, but she was none of those things.

She had worked hard and pushed harder until she created the life she wanted. Tabby’s marital bliss was convincing, but Daley had plans to go it alone. Men only complicated things. Being a mature woman was hard enough without that.

As she dried off, she realized how thirsty she was. At home, she made it a point to drink water all day. This evening, there had been wine, but now she needed something more basic...and cold. Had there been an ice machine in this hallway? She couldn’t remember.

The hotel provided lush, soft robes. But she didn’t fancy wandering in a strange place where she might run into anybody.

Grimacing, she slipped into the frothy dress again. But only that. No bra. No undies. No shoes. She picked up the ice bucket, tucked the hotel key card deep in her cleavage, opened the door and peeked out. The hallway was dimly lit with safety lights every twelve feet or so. No sign of life anywhere.

Her room was near the end of the corridor. She checked that way first. Nothing. As she turned and passed her room once again, a familiar figure appeared around the corner. It was Tristan carrying an ice bucket.

One masculine eyebrow lifted in surprise. “I thought you’d be long asleep by now.”

“I’m thirsty,” she said. “Where did you find ice?”

“Unfortunately, all the way back in the main hotel. I don’t need all of mine. You want me to pour some in yours?”

It was a very ordinary question. The way he looked at her was anything but...

When she didn’t answer immediately, he cleared his throat and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. He had ditched his jacket and tie. His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows and, like her, he was barefoot.

“I don’t think I told you,” he said. “But your dress—and you in it—are beautiful.”

“Oh. Well, thanks.”

They stood there staring at each other for long seconds. Something shimmered in the air between them. Awareness. Interest. It was after eleven. Not all that late. But clearly, they were the only ones awake and wandering.

He reached for her ice bucket. “I’ll give you half,” he said.

She clutched the bronze container to her chest. “We don’t want to spill anything in the hall. Or make noise. Maybe we should do it in my room over the sink.”

His entire body froze. “Your room?” The two words were croaky.

Daley stared at him. The problem was, she wanted to dislike him, but he made it impossible. His easygoing charm was seductive, even when he wasn’t trying to get a woman out of her panties.

That wouldn’t be a problem tonight.

She tugged the key card from its hiding place, grinning when his eyes bugged out. “Come on in.”

Tristan followed her, but his posture was uneasy, his expression guarded.

She pointed to the wet bar. “Your room is probably a mirror of mine.” She handed him the ice bucket. “Thanks for sharing. I can offer you a fifteen-dollar jar of macadamia nuts. If you’re still hungry.”

He shook his head. “I’m good.” Quickly, he poured half his ice into her bucket. Then he unwrapped a plastic tumbler, filled it with ice and water, and handed the cup to Daley. “There you go,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Daley took a long swig and nodded. “Good night.”

Tristan had to pass her to get to the door and thus the hall. When he was in touching distance, he stopped. He set his now half-full ice bucket on an end table and stared at her. “Random question,” he said, his tone light.

“Yeah?”

“If I were to kiss you, what are the odds I’d end up with a bloody nose or a black eye? I’m only asking because the best man should look presentable at a wedding.”

Her heart began to pound. She set the cup aside. Here it was. The moment of truth. Daley could deceive herself under certain circumstances, but she was the one who’d invited Tristan into her room. He was only responding to her overture.

There was something between them. Maybe a connection as simple as healthy lust. They were two adults in their early thirties surrounded by the trappings of an unabashedly romantic weekend. Weddings, no matter how nicely disguised, were about sex...in the end...

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