Without a Hitch(61)

I’ve lost all comprehension of basic manners, and I can’t even control it. I cram a giant bite of eggs Benedict into my mouth, another question forming before I even remove the fork. “What if you don’t close your deal? Will that be my fault? Is that your easy out?” A bite of waffle joins the eggs, and I start cutting into the next dish straight out of the serving tray. “Why are you spending so much energy trying to force my hand?” I swallow hard, and then a piece of cheesy omelet melts behind my lips. “You could sleep with anyone. This doesn’t seem very…”

A napkin blocks my vision, and I realize I’ve been chattering away and hovering over the plates.

Lochlan stands inches away with a bemused smirk on his face.

“I’m a nervous eater, okay? Why did you order so much food? This is…” Heaven? Amazing?

“Wasteful,” the bitter part of me desperate for control bites out.

He shrugs as if my foul mood and disgusting manners don’t faze him. “Three weeks to woo you, Tilly. Three weeks of wineries, the beach, and me. If we realize we're not compatible at the end of our time, I’ll fulfill my end of the bargain. I promise.”

I wave my fork wildly, and he carefully pulls his arm back to avoid being stabbed. My brain refuses to come up with a reason I can’t do this. A reason I shouldn’t do this.

“I…” With a frown, I take a deep breath and slow my manic chewing. Suddenly whatever medley of brunch I’m munching on feels like glue, and I’m not sure it will make it down my throat. When I swallow, the food lodges like when you take an Advil without water. It sits there, letting you know it was a stupid decision, but now that it’s there, you have no choice but to suck down your own saliva and make it work.

“Do you think you’ll ever change your mind about marriage?” I finally manage.

He shakes his head.

“Will you tell me why?”

Lochlan contemplates his answer. I can see his brain working behind shrewd eyes. “Possibly, after we spend some time together. Will you tell me why happiness hinges on a wedding for you?”

“It’s not the wedding, lover. It’s the marriage and what it means.”

He tilts his head, tugging on his earlobe with one hand and adjusting his vest with his other as he watches me. “What does it mean to you?”

“That I’m worth sticking around for. Fighting for,” I answer honestly. “I deserve at least that much.

Let me ask you this. Would you enter into a business arrangement without a contract? A safety net that protects your assets?”

“Of course not,” he huffs. He’s handsome when he’s agitated. His hands slip into the pockets of his very expensive-looking pants, and he rocks back on his heels. “So, that’s what marriage is to you?

A contract?”

“Sort of. It’s a commitment. A legal one that you choose.”

“Commitments come in all forms, Tilly. And even the best contracts have loopholes.”

I sigh sadly. He’ll never understand. How could he? He has two parents who chose him. Chose to love him. They chose to stay. How do I explain to someone like him that I need someone to choose me? To take the ultimate leap and choose me every day?

I can’t. But his offer is also too good to pass up, so I sit back in my chair and try to put my feelings on lockdown. The only way forward is to come at this like a business decision. He must stay a business decision.

“Will you put it in writing?”

“Our deal?”

“Yes. I need our terms. I want to know exactly what you’re offering. What I’ll walk away with.”

The price for my broken heart.

He nods succinctly. “You’re so sure you’ll walk away from me.”

“I am. I won’t have a choice. Choosing you would be giving up on myself. I can’t do that.” Even if it rips me in two.

He stalks toward me slowly. Awareness prickles my skin. “I’ll give you your contract, Tilly. On one condition.”

My stubborn streak flares to life, and I lift my chin. “What’s that?”

“You promise me that you won’t hide yourself from me. I want to know you. All of you. Give me your everything for the next three weeks.”

“You’re going to crush me.” My words are barely a whisper. They’re as fragile as my heart, and he knows it.

“I’m going to make you mine.”

I gasp, and he grins.

“Yours until you tire of me, you mean.”

He narrows his gaze, and his face goes hard. “I may have a reputation as an asshole, Tilly. But sometimes, reputations are curated to protect the truth. Make your own decisions about me. Don’t judge me on other people’s assumptions.”

“Get to know you,” I mutter.

“Yes. Are you in?”

Is it just me or is there a hint of fear in his words? Lifting my gaze, I glare into pools of blue, searching for answers. A slow smile creeps across his face. It troubles me that he can read me before I’m even aware that I’ve made a decision.

Three weeks. I can survive a friends-with-benefits relationship for three weeks if I keep my eye on the prize. His hotels. My business.

A partnership.

My eyes widen at the realization. Does he know he has ultimately handed me exactly what I’ve been searching for? Even if the benefits part of this ends, we’ll be tied together in business for years to come.