Chapter Eight
Wes had no trouble finding someone to keep an eye on Laura for a few minutes, since all four of her rotating babysitters were present at the wedding reception. As soon as his niece disappeared into a flurry of floral perfume and chiffon, he stalked off into the darkness where he’d seen Bethany disappear.
He was going to give her hell.
What in God’s name was she thinking signing them up to be guinea pigs for a new reality show? They had two senior-citizen crew members, no blueprints, and a decaying shell of a house to make presentable. They were looking at months of work and a shit ton of setbacks. He’d been prepared to tackle all of it head-on, but not with a camera in his face.
Or her face.
That’s what annoyed him the most—the thought of a film crew following Bethany around and catching all her little idiosyncrasies like fireflies in a jar. Sending out her image to thousands upon thousands of televisions. His back teeth ground together at the idea of her being consumed by anyone but him.
Wes stopped short and ran a hand through his hair, realizing he’d left his hat on Laura’s head. Before he confronted Bethany and asked her if she’d lost her ever-loving mind, he needed to get his shit together and stop thinking like a jealous boyfriend.
Sure, he was protective of her. Possessive, too. He put it down to a combination of respecting Bethany and being attracted to her, more than he’d ever been attracted to anyone. But his heart was not involved. It couldn’t be. If she chose to broadcast herself to households all across the country, there was nothing he could do about it—and furthermore, he didn’t have a say in that decision.
So rein it the fuck in, man.
Wes started toward the back of the house again, toward where he’d watched Bethany vanish. All right, he wouldn’t bitch at her about the cameras and make her believe him an even bigger chauvinist than she already did, but she was sure as hell going to hear about entering the contest, period. They weren’t prepared and—
Was that wheezing?
Wes spurred into a jog and turned the corner into mostly darkness, but there was just enough light from the festivities to see Bethany’s doubled-over form leaning against the house. His next step crunched some leaves and she straightened with a gasp, her hands immediately fluttering up to smooth her hair.
“Sorry.” Her voice was hoarse. “Sorry, is someone looking for me?”
She tried to breeze past Wes, but he caught her around the waist, bringing her close so he could study her face. No sign of tears, but her skin was flushed, eyes bright. Too bright. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.” She blew out a breath. “I’m going to head back.”
She rested a hesitant hand on his shoulder, contradicting her words.
Wes’s throat tightened. Just what exactly had he stumbled upon here? Bethany Castle was supposed to be cool as a cucumber, in charge, infallible. Not hyperventilating in private. “See, I was thinking of collecting that dance.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
Disbelief tackled him when Bethany seemed almost relieved, her other hand sliding up onto his other shoulder, meeting its mate behind Wes’s neck. If he breathed the wrong way, the moment was going to blow away like pieces of a dandelion, so Wes oh-so-carefully placed his hands on Bethany’s hips and eased her closer. She let him, her still-shallow breaths bathing his throat. “I know it looked like I was upset, but I wasn’t. I was just . . .”
He grazed the top of her head with his cheek. “You don’t have to say anything. Not unless you want to.”
“You’re learning, cowboy.”
“I’m learning how to say the right thing. Not necessarily think it.”
“Baby steps.”
Oh Jesus, did he love holding her like this. All of her weight leaned on him, her mouth near his neck, belly cushioning his lap. He was getting a hard-on and knew she could feel it, but she seemed inclined to excuse what his body couldn’t help. Not with her so close, so pliant. Watching her walk down the aisle earlier in her short green silk dress, Wes hadn’t taken so much as a breath. Never mind what the whole getup did for her body, cupping and draping in places he shouldn’t be thinking about during a religious ceremony. With light shining down on her smiling face, she’d been . . . angelic.
For a split second, just a split second, he’d pictured her walking that same aisle in a wedding gown, and, hours later, he was still confused by the pressure around his windpipe. He couldn’t account for it. Marriage wasn’t for him. His life was a series of temporary situations and had been since he could remember. This—his life in Port Jefferson—was definitely temporary. Bethany’s life here was permanent, however, which meant she might very well walk down the aisle in white one day. And that thought kept replaying in his head like an aggravating pop song on repeat.
Wes brushed his thumb across her bare shoulder and she sighed, drawing his brows together. More than anything, he wanted to continue dancing with her like this, in the quiet privacy, savoring their truce, but something was bothering her. Enough to send her running from the wedding into hiding. He couldn’t force her to tell him what exactly was wrong, but maybe he could make her feel better.
Yeah, he wanted that more than anything.
“You know, we can still turn down this whole reality-show nonsense.”
Bethany laughed into his shoulder and he closed his eyes, tugging her just a little closer and praying he got away with it. “Thank you for toning down what you actually want to say.” She looked up at him. “You were coming back here to yell at me for being an impulsive idiot, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
Her low laugh wreaked havoc in his chest. “Go ahead. No one’s stopping you.”
“I’d rather know why you accepted the offer if it stresses you out.”
“I . . .” She seemed to be searching for an answer while staring at his throat. “I’m not sure there is one thing that doesn’t stress me out.”
He continued to turn them in a slow circle. “Grocery shopping?”
“Sure. A good hostess always has the right items on hand at all times. The Just Us League meetings are held at my house, and dairy allergies, gluten-free diets, vegan regimes . . . all of them have to be accounted for.”
“All right. How about baths? Those can’t stress you out.”
“Not if I add the right amount of essential oil.”
“Christ. Sex?”
“Sex? Are you kidding me?” She wet her lips. “How is my lighting, is the man present, can he tell I’m not present, am I really as cold as men say because I can’t lose myself in these moments, is this creating an expectation, how does my butt look, where is his dog? I could go on.” A beat passed. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. You’re just going to use it against me.”
Damn. How did she make everyone think she had the world on a string when, in actuality, the world was holding her by one? Wes put his surprise aside and tipped her chin up. “I hereby solemnly swear to use nothing you said tonight against you.” His fingers spread out to span her jaw, his thumb sliding across her bottom lip. “I’ll just say this. If you’ve had time to think of all that bullshit during sex in the past, I completely understand the man hiatus you’re on.”
One of her hands smoothed down Wes’s chest and he held in a groan. “Are you implying you’d wipe my mind clean”—she lifted on her toes and brought her lips within a breath of his—“of all those distracting thoughts?”
“I’m flat-out telling you, Bethany . . .” He ghosted his mouth over hers, tasting her uneven exhale on his tongue. “I’d keep you too busy to think.”
She pressed her belly more securely to his lap. “Too bad sex is off the table.”
“Weddings don’t count.” He tilted his hips to let her feel his arousal, grazing her bottom lip with his teeth at the same time. “Everyone knows that.”
Her head fell back and he dragged his lips slowly up the smooth column of her neck, letting go of her chin in favor of drawing her tight against his body. Fuck, he was hard. Distantly, he heard some microphone feedback, the band hitting a bad note, and just assumed he was so horny, the whole damn party was being affected. No one was coming back here. God willing no one would come looking for them. Who knew if he’d ever get another chance like this with Bethany?
“Wes . . .”
He was already walking them further into the shadows. “I know, darlin’.”
“Wes, I need you.”
“Goddamn. Been dying to hear you say that.” Still in motion, his hands found the hem of her dress and lifted it to her waist, leaving it bunched there so he could greedily palm her backside. “Hard and quick, baby? That what you need?”
“Hard and—what?” She shoved him away. “Jesus, Wes. I didn’t mean I needed you for sex. Pull your life together.”
A full five counts passed before he realized Bethany wasn’t finally giving him the green light. Frustration and a whole lot of throbbing below the belt made his tone snappier than was warranted. “What the hell else do you need me for?”
His words were still hanging in the air when Bethany grabbed his elbow and started dragging him back toward the party. “Kristin. I knew she’d try and pull something like this. You have to help me stop her.”
“Stop . . . Stephen’s wife? Do what? Bethany, you bring me down there right now, I’m going to take someone’s eye out with this erection.”
She wasn’t hearing him. “My sister-in-law is nuts. And pregnant. She’s been pregnant for months and hasn’t told Stephen.” She pointed toward where the band was gathered and, sure enough, there was Kristin trying to pry the microphone out of the band leader’s hand. “She’s going to announce the pregnancy right here and now, the wacko.”
“At someone else’s wedding?” The urgency of the situation finally punctured his need for the woman beside him. Kind of. Okay, barely. “That’s pretty messed up.”
“Yes, it is. Thank you.” She looked down at the swell behind his fly and chewed her lip. “Can you get that thing under control?”
“It’s not a puppy, Bethany,” he said through his teeth.
“Sorry.” The only saving grace of this situation was the fact that she seemed impressed, her gaze continually returning to the scene of the crime. “Can I help?”
“I thought that’s what you were doing.” He dragged a hand down his face. “You putting our reputations in the hands of reality-show editors who can manipulate whatever they film to make us look like jackasses. I’ll think of that. It should take care of the problem in no time.”
“As if you need any help looking like a jackass,” she shot back. “And I knew you were coming to yell at me!”
The pretty blush he’d put on her cheeks was replaced by an irritated red and he wished he’d just kept his mouth shut. Blame the boner. More microphone feedback made its way to where they stood and Wes sighed. “You want my help or not?”
“I’m not exactly flush with choices.” She tapped her chin. “I’ll take Kristin. You cause a diversion.” She pointed to his—finally—subsiding hard-on. “A diversion without the use of that, please. I’d rather Kristin announce she’s having quadruplets.”
Wes winked at her while adjusting himself. “Now who’s possessive of who?”
Pink climbed her neck, her eyes following his movements. “Oh, shut up.”
He laughed and they started walking side by side toward the dance floor. “Is she really having quadruplets?”
“Probably. Just to show off.” She squared her shoulders. “Don’t let me down, Wes. I’m counting on you.”
Just before they parted ways at the edge of the dance floor, Wes snagged her hand and leaned down to speak beside her ear. “You look fucking beautiful tonight, in case no one told you.”
He left her standing with her jaw on the floor and slid seamlessly into a huddled group of women, who just happened to be Let’s Color, Faded Calf Tattoo, Green Bean Casserole, and Outlander Ringtone.
“What did you ladies do with my niece?” They stepped aside to give him a view of Laura dancing with Georgie. His laugh turned her head and she waved at him enthusiastically, creating a suspicious tug in his throat. “Well, ladies. Are we going to give them a run for their money or not?”
Wes spun Faded Calf Tattoo around, much to her delight, and then took the opportunity to check on Bethany’s progress across the dance floor. Lord. She looked ready to strangle her sister-in-law with the microphone cord, but Rosie had gotten involved, too, and appeared to be talking some sense into the pissed-off pregnant woman. Trying to hold up his end of the bargain, Wes twirled Faded Calf Tattoo one more time, then multitasked while she turned, dropping Outlander Ringtone back into a dip. Their antics, as expected, were drawing a lot of attention, even Bethany’s—and she sent him a small, secret, grateful smile that, dammit . . . had him thinking about her walking down the aisle in a wedding dress again.
Wes was just about to bring a third lady into the dance and really ratchet up the diversion when Travis, obviously oblivious to the drama, saved the day by casually plucking the microphone out of the band leader’s hand. “Excuse me, everyone. I have an announcement.” He smiled at the guests, seeming to notice for the first time that Kristin was two feet away, scowling at him. “Er . . . did I . . .”
“Nope!” Bethany said brightly. “Go ahead. Make your announcement.”
Bethany wrapped an arm around Kristin, who tried to dig in her heels, and escorted her out of sight.
“Okay.” Confidence restored, Travis lifted a pint of beer. “I just want to make a toast to my wife.” He stopped, his composure slipping again, his eyes developing a sheen. “Wow. First time I’ve gotten to say that. My wife, Georgette Castle.” There wasn’t a sound to be heard, save the wind rustling the trees in the backyard. “You made me the happiest man alive today. And I know you don’t need a single thing. I don’t, either, now that I’ve got you. But I can’t help wanting to give you everything in the world, so bear with me. Okay? Buckle up, baby girl, because we’re going to Italy. Tonight. Your bags are already packed.”
A gasp went up, followed by a loud cheer.
Somewhere outside the limelight, Kristin wailed miserably.
Wes laughed. A few minutes later, Bethany locked eyes with him across the dance floor. Slowly, some might say grudgingly on her end, they made their way back to each other, meeting in the center of the celebrants. They were the only ones who weren’t dancing, but there were almost enough sparks leaping in her eyes to qualify. After dancing with her behind the house, feeling her let go and breathe up against his chest, it was nearly impossible not to reach for her now. How could touching her be wrong when his hands felt empty without her?
“Thank you for the diversion,” she started.
He winked and it seemed to momentarily distract her. “Any time.”
“It occurred to me”—she crossed her arms at a very precise angle—“that I never asked if you were comfortable being involved in the reality show. If you want out, I’ll totally understand—”
“I don’t scare that easy.”
She inclined her head, her body sagging ever so slightly. With relief? “Then I guess I’ll see you on Wednesday.”
“I guess so.” She started to turn away, but he stopped her. “Hey, Bethany?”
“Yes?”
The words seemed to come from the dead center of his stomach. “Maybe I could be the one thing you don’t overthink, all right?”
The music faded a little around them. Wes could see the pulse at the base of her neck going a thousand miles an hour, despite her collected expression. For a few moments, they were back behind the house and she was baring her vulnerabilities to him, but just as quickly, she snatched them back up with a sly smile. “Who says I think about you at all?”
Wes’s low laugh followed her back to the other side of the dance floor. Goddamn, she was something else. He couldn’t wait for Wednesday when he’d get the honor of matching wits with her again. Hell, just being around her. Seeing her, this time with the added knowledge of how she ticked. They were going to be on the same team. It would be an understood fact, if only for the time it took to renovate the house.
Although, for the first time, the finish line at the end of his stay in Port Jefferson was obscured by a fine layer of mist. A someday as opposed to a soon. With an alarmed shake of his head, he cleared the mist and went to find his niece, calling himself ten times a fool.