It’s something I will fight hard to make sure happens again, as soon as possible, for much longer—and definitely without clothing on.
I’m ready for the weekend of a lifetime so I can stop hiding my feelings for Jillian from her. I’m ready to be able to touch her and kiss her as much as I want. Bonus, since I have to, she can’t push me away.
If she only gives me the weekend to show her how much I care about her and want her, then I’ve got my work cut out for me. In addition, there’s another urge I have to show Roman exactly what he’s missing out on, exactly what he stupidly threw away. That means I’m going to need to kiss Jillian a hell of a lot more and get her to the point where she can kiss me back without tensing and freezing first.
Yeah. I’ve got my work cut out for me.
I pull up to her house, completely unsurprised Becca’s car is parked in Jillian’s driveway. Jillian probably has at least three pages of typed notes for Becca to follow to take care of her gardens while we’re gone even if it’s only for two-and-a-half days. Why we have to be here on Thursday, the night before the rehearsal dinner is beyond me, but as far as I’m concerned, I’m more than ready to spend a weekend with Jillian curled up in my arms in her childhood bed.
The very thought of it forces me to make a quick adjustment as I climb out of my Ferrari. It’s flashy as hell, but I love the damn thing.
More, I know it’ll piss Roman off. Jillian used to talk all the time about how obsessed Roman was with making money, always wanting more, always wanting to prove to his father and grandfather he was better and smarter than them.
It’ll piss him the hell off to know Jillian’s with someone who makes millions more in a year than he’ll see in a decade.
Sauntering up to Jillian’s, I prepare myself to see her. Every time I get that first glimpse of her, it’s a shock to my system. It’s a wonder I’m able to hang out with her at all some days without having a constant hard-on. Being in the closed quarters in my car for so long will be pure torture.
Her door opens as I hit the front step and Becca is there, giving me a knowing grin and wink.
She’s on my side and figured out a long time ago how much I like Jillian despite me insisting she didn’t see a damn thing.
“Hey there, handsome. Ready to steal away our princess to the ball?”
“Not a princess!” Jillian’s shout comes from her kitchen and I enter as Becca steps back, giving me space.
“Jesus. Does she think we’re going on a month-long vacation?”
Not that I’d complain about that. Becca laughs. In front of me are two suitcases along with a garment bag. I have all my shit shoved in a small weekend bag.
“Sometimes I wonder how well you know our girl,” Becca teases as Jillian appears in the doorway to her kitchen.
“I heard that.” Her hand is propped on her hip, jutted out. Her dress is short, showing off how long and tan her legs are, toned from all her running. The heels she’s wearing look like spikes they’re so high and I lose all my words.
That familiar jolt of heat shoots straight to my chest, my dick, and my brain at the same time threatening to short-circuit my insides.
My hands curl into fists, resisting the urge to pull her into my arms and slam my mouth to hers.
Her dress is blue, with a tiny collar wrapped tight around her throat. Small buttons go down the length of it and her yellow belt pulls in at her waist, showing off her hips, her tits.
“You look incredible,” I say without thinking, without remorse.
She’s always beautiful.
I’ll fantasize about her wearing nothing else but those shoes and a smile and her curled, chocolaty brown hair that falls past her shoulders. She doesn’t look ready to see a family she doesn’t particularly like, she looks ready to seduce the hell out of me.
And I. Am. Willing.
“Thank you.” A pale hue heats her cheeks and she wobbles, giving me the only indication she’s affected by me.
“You kids should get on the road,” Becca says and when I glance at her, that knowing smirk of hers is lighting her face. “It’s going to take you a half-hour to Tetris all of these bags into your trunk.”
Right. Pack the car. Charleston. Pretend to be in love with Jillian.
Piece of fucking cake.
“On it,” I say and grab the first two bags. “Shit, Jilly-Bean. Did you throw cement blocks in here?”
“Figured you could use the extra workout.”
“Thanks for thinking of me.”
“Always.” She grins and brushes her hair off her shoulder.
“Smartass,” I mumble and head out to my trunk. Once there, I realize Becca wasn’t entirely wrong. My trunk space is practically non-existent, so I toss my weekend bag into the back seat of my Portofino. I’m able to get her largest bag in the back and by the time I’m done shoving it in, Becca and Jillian are both heading outside, the rest of her bags in tow.
“Those will have to go in the back seat,” I say, stopping them from coming to the back of the car.
“I can repack,” Jillian says. “I didn’t realize…”
“That you were going to be gone for seventy-two hours and not seventy-two days?”
She sticks her tongue out at me. “Well, there’s a dinner and tea and the rehearsal and the wedding and then the reception plus my running clothes and swimsuit and—”
“Say no more.” Thinking of her in a swimsuit right now will throw me over the edge.
I grab the suitcases, toss them in the back, and lay her garment bag over the top of everything. “This should do it.”
Grabbing my key fob from my pocket, I turn on the car and raise the convertible top. Jillian hates the top down anyway. She says the noise makes her ears hurt and the wind tangles her hair.
“I thought you’d bring your truck,” she admits, and she sounds almost wounded. “I should repack.”
“Hey. It’s fine.” I wrap my hands around her forearms to stop her from reaching for the car door, pushing through the electric jolt that sears my flesh every time I touch her. “Nothing to be worried about, and besides, the Ferrari will piss off Roman.”
“Right.” Her face twists into something sour and she steps back, brushing her arms where I’ve just touched. “Can’t forget this is all about sticking it to Roman.”
Before I can ask what that’s all about, she turns to Becca and gives her a quick hug. “Don’t kill my vegetables.”
“Three days, honey. It’s three days.”
Jillian frowns. Her nerves are turning her into a mess and it’s so unlike her, it’s just one more reason to punch Roman in the face if I have a chance.
She’s still so screwed up over what he did to her, some days I wonder if she’ll ever be able to leave him behind. Which is why I’ve played this friend game for so long. I figured at some point, she’d see me. See that there are men out there who won’t treat her like a sidepiece when she should be treated like the queen she is.
Three days. I have three days to show her exactly how incredible she is and how much of a loser Roman is.
I can do it.
I didn’t make it to the NHL by giving up when shit gets hard.