The Virgin Replay by Lauren Blakely
Sierra
His hands pretty much stay on me for the next few hours.
My waist, my hip, my arm.
Chance barely disconnects from me during the pre-wedding party, as waiters and waitresses serve tapas and appetizers to guests in the garden area. He keeps me close, going into full-on you’re my date mode as we chat with friends like Trish and Clementine, and family too, like TJ and Chance’s dad.
That seems to be evidence enough that he’s tipping into fuck-the-code territory.
I savor every second of his touch, but I also want to speed up time.
To find out what happens when the door to the Luau Suite closes behind us in a few hours.
If this spark will combust into a fire.
Because that’s all we’re doing—sparking.
After we nibble on watermelon cubes topped with feta, he brushes my hair from my shoulder. “So, is your weekend getaway living up to your expectations?”
“It’s exceeding them,” I say.
And you’re exceeding them too.
“Does this mean you’re convinced?”
“Oh, was this part of your Cougars campaign?” I toss out.
“Maybe it was.” He wiggles a brow and drops a kiss to my cheek. A tingle spreads down my chest, and my eyes flutter closed.
When I open them, I meet his fiery gaze. I lower my voice to a bare whisper. “You’re awfully good at this pretend date thing,” I murmur.
His lips curve into a sexy grin. “So are you.”
It’s not pretend for me.
It’s not for him either.
In my head, I practice the words I’ll say to him when we reach the room.
* * *
A little later, waiters circulate with trays of chocolate-covered strawberries and mini coconut cakes.
Chance darts out a hand, grabs a couple strawberries. “My favorite,” he says sheepishly.
“Want me to grab some extras just for you? I’ll pretend they’re for me,” I tease.
“Would you?”
Laughing, I oblige, setting the treats on a small plate I’m holding. “You have a chocolate-covered strawberry fetish?”
He bites into one, moans lasciviously. When he’s done with the fruit, he nods. “Yes. And I need you to snag as many as possible so I can have them tomorrow for breakfast.”
“I’m on it. Just call me a strawberry thief.”
“You’re a goddess,” he says, then devours another one.
I laugh as he moans around the food.
“You’re mocking me,” he says.
I shrug. “Well, you’re kind of making love to a strawberry.”
“Mmm. I am shameless. Here. Try one.” He holds it out, and I nibble on the end. The juices spread on my tongue, joined by sinfully rich chocolate.
“Fine. It’s thievery-worthy,” I say.
Chance raises a hand, gently moves it toward my face, then swipes his thumb across my lower lip.
I shiver.
His eyes glitter with lust. “You had a little chocolate,” he says, raspy.
“Thanks. I guess they’re my downfall too, it seems,” I say, but truly, this man might be mine.
Blake clinks his glass. The moment shatters. He’s standing at the edge of the garden area, and when he clears his throat, all eyes turn to him.
“Thank you everyone. I just want to say—” The groom stops. Chokes up.
Chance dips his face near my ear, his stubbly jaw coasting along my cheek. “He’s a big old teddy bear.”
“I figured that out,” I say, then Chance slides his arm around my shoulder, his fingertips tracing the cherries on my ink.
I tremble. Don’t even try to hide it anymore.
He’s got to notice it.
He’s got to be feeling the same thing. Still, I want to know what changed for him since the night he asked me to be his fake date.
Why he seems willing to tango suddenly.
The bro code doesn’t seem to matter to this man tonight, and I couldn’t be happier. But I do want to know why. I don’t want him to have regrets if we sleep together.
Blake draws a deep breath, then tries again. “Thank you so much for coming. Nothing makes me happier than to celebrate the love of my life with all of my friends.”
The groom lifts his glass to toast, and the guests give a cheers, then a big bear of a man wobbles next to Blake, clasps his shoulder, then shouts happily, “And nothing could make me happier than to be by my brother’s side. Except a new hot tub! Hot tubs make me happy! A hot tub for everyone!”
Chance groans.
I wince.
My date dips his mouth near my ear. “And he’s probably only had one or two drinks. Jordy gets sloshed after one glass.”
Several minutes later as the guests finish with dessert, Jordy weaves across the grass, laughing loudly, spilling a pineapple daiquiri. Chance shoots me an apologetic frown. “I should get him back to his room.”
“Of course,” I say with false cheer.
Sure, I’m happy that Jordy is getting an escort.
But I was hoping Chance and I would be heading back together.
Instead, after I say goodbye to Clementine, Trish, Penny, and TJ, I head through the hotel alone, down the hall to our suite.
I slide the key in, open the door, close it.
Sigh.
All the flirting on the terrace and the moments at the party had me hoping we’d stumble in together and Chance would push me against the wall.
Slam his body to mine.
Take me hard.
Then I’d tell him I want him to take my V-card, rip it the fuck up, and throw me down on the bed.
I shake my head, trying to shake off this disappointment.
He’s helping a family member. I need to stop thinking of only my libido.
I set down my purse and phone on the nightstand, kick off my shoes, and head to the bathroom to get ready for bed.
When I’ve changed my panties and pulled on a white cotton camisole, he’s still not here.
I slide into bed and turn off the light.
* * *
The door jolts open.
I flip to my side, blink, yawn. The clock reads eleven. I’ve been asleep for . . . twenty minutes.
Chance takes off his shoes, then pads quietly to the bathroom, clearly trying not to wake me.
When he exits a minute later, he’s unbuttoning his shirt. I sit up in bed, wide awake now, eager to see him. Ready to tell him. “Hey.”
He jerks his gaze to me as he reaches the last button. Damn, the man looks handsome in the dark with the moonlight casting shadows across his face. “I didn’t realize you were awake.”
“I am. Is Jordy okay?”
Chance seesaws his hand. “He will be. TJ helped me get him to his room, and then he collapsed while singing ‘Rolling in the Deep.’”
I tilt my head. “He doesn’t strike me as an Adele fan.”
“She’s mega popular, Sierra,” he says.
“I love her,” I say, then I draw a deep breath, take an imaginary shot of liquid courage, and say, “But I don’t want to talk about music.”
Worry etches his brow. “What do you want to talk about?”
There’s no time like the present. I’m ready. He’s eager. Time to jump. Even as nerves wing through me, so does excitement. “Chance?”
“Yes?”
I push the covers down a little bit, an invitation. “I don’t think you should sleep on the couch.”
Chance says nothing for the longest time. Just stares at me with desire in his gaze.
“I don’t think I should either.” He closes the distance, takes off his shirt, strips out of his shorts, and gets into bed with me.
