The Forever Girl (Wildstone, #6)(52)

She opened her mouth but then shut it, because what could she say? This was a mess of her own making. “So . . . I don’t owe you a day?”

“Oh, you do,” he said smoothly. “A day and a night. Twenty-four hours, Maze.”

Gulp. “When?” she whispered.

“I’ll let you know.”

She crossed her arms, nervous. Worried. “But what do you want?”

He smiled and her stomach went squishy. And if she was being honest, that wasn’t her only physical reaction.

“You’ll just have to wait and find out,” he said, and then followed the others, dripping water as he went, which didn’t seem to bother him at all. In fact, he suddenly looked downright cheerful.





Chapter 14


Walker’s man of honor to-do list:

—Work harder at staying away from the maid of honor.

Walker woke up the next morning to Maze rushing into his room, then immediately hiding behind his door, peeking out at whatever she was running from.

Normally, he needed caffeine or an early run to kick his brain into gear. But Maze and her wild bed-head hair, which was also her just-had-sex hair, did it for him. “What—”

“Shh!” she whisper-yelled at him, waving a hand behind her, which he supposed meant to shut the hell up.

He wasn’t much of a follower and rarely did as he was told, but he did indeed shut up, because she was in a T-shirt and . . . he wasn’t sure what else. It was light gray and oversized and had been washed so many times it looked soft and buttery, clinging to all her curves.

She was cold.

He was enjoying that—which, note to self, was better than any caffeine in the land—when she opened the door a little bit more and leaned out, looking left and right. The T-shirt rose up a little bit, exposing a pair of black silk bikini panties, which had also risen up some, giving her world-class ass a wedgie.

He’d had his hands and mouth on that ass. He’d bitten it. He’d squeezed it. And for one glorious night, it had belonged to him.

But far more important, he’d belonged to her.

It’d been a feeling like nothing he’d ever experienced. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d actually been someone’s. Actually, he could count the times with two fingers: Caitlin’s family, in which he included Heather, and . . . Maze.

“Who are you evading?” he asked. Please say Jace . . .

“Heather. She’s on a new get-fit kick, starting this morning apparently, and wanted me to run with her.”

Maze thought running was the devil. She clearly caught sight of something, or more likely someone, coming down the hall and quickly and quietly shut the door before pressing her hands and forehead to the wood and letting out a soft laugh.

He slid out of bed. Normally, he slept in nothing, but he’d learned that in this house it was dangerous, so he’d worn knit boxers to bed.

Maze gasped in surprise when he came up behind her, not leaving any space between them. Setting his hands over hers on the door, he pressed up against her back.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she asked, voice soft and breathless, turning him on even more.

Good question. He’d gotten out of bed for a reason, but hell if he could remember it with her ass snugged up to the only part of his body that was fully awake. “Well, I am the ruler of your universe.”

“You said not today.”

Her T-shirt had slipped off one creamy shoulder, inviting him to lower his head and nuzzle the spot.

She moaned at the touch of his mouth and the sound went straight through him, heating him up. He turned her to face him and waited until she looked at him with hunger, letting out a needy little whimper that nearly had him doing the same.

She pressed closer to him and he whispered her name.

“I know,” she murmured, and slid her hands into his hair before yanking him to her. Her mouth landed on his and for a moment he utterly and completely lost himself—which never happened. He was aware, always.

But Maze obliterated every single survival instinct he’d developed. Always had.

When they were both breathless, she pulled back and stared at him. Then they dove at each other again, and in zero-point-five seconds she was wrapped around him and he had his hands inside those silk panties. “You always smell so good,” he said, mouth on her collarbone, working his way south.

She shook her head as her hands roamed over him, setting him on fire. “Less talking. More action.”

They kissed again and his eyes crossed with lust.

“It’s just one week,” she whispered against his mouth. “We’ve almost survived it. We got this, as long as we remember that.”

He stilled and pulled back. “Remember what exactly?”

“That this isn’t real. Vacay feelings are never real.” She looked at him like she couldn’t imagine what was wrong with him that he wasn’t following what she was saying. “We’ve only got a few days left before we each go our own way. Which with us is definitely for the best. Besides, I’m a one-and-done at best anyway.”

“A one-and-done,” he echoed slowly, dropping his hands from her and stepping back. He had to. Apparently, he couldn’t touch her and think at the same time.

Her feet back on the floor, she had her hands spread out on the door on either side, like she needed the help to stay upright. “Why are you surprised?” she asked. “We talked about this on day one when we declared a truce until after the wedding.”