Carolina’s second wedding day dawned nothing like the first. Instead of breathless anticipation, she had a headache from lack of sle ep and a heightened sense of awareness that she couldn’t ditch her husband after the ceremony. Which made it really hard to get out of bed. She’d agreed to this bet. No matter how many angles she looked at the thing from, or how many times she prayed to the patron saint of stupid decisions, there was no way out of it without losing face. Backsies didn’t exist in Charlie’s world. Or hers, dang it. Truth be told, she wouldn’t have wanted out if he hadn’t been so... Charlie. She’d never been able to ke ep her brain functional around him for some reason. It wasn’t because he had a pretty face or thick dark hair that was made for a woman’s fingers. Okay, maybe it was partly that. And a lot due to the rest of him. He’d always been fit, but somewhere over the last year, he’d started a different workout routine or something, and it had bulked up his arms and legs from nice to drool-worthy. Not that she’d spent an inordinate amount of time checking out the slopes of his arms whenever he crossed them or anything. It was just a fact, same as water was wet—the man could give an angel a run for his money in the gorgeous d epartment. His looks didn’t matter. It was his personality that raked across her skin the wrong way, like that commercial for psoriasis where the lady was washing her hands with fire ants. That’s what it felt like whenever he talked. Fire ants. All over. Sometimes. Other times, it wasn’t ants, but something else entirely, more like hot fudge, and it spread with this warm, delicious heat through every inch of her body. And she’d take that to the grave. The man made her batty in more ways than one. That hadn’t changed in a year. Probably never would. It didn’t help that he was always there, underfoot. Living in her house. That was a slick addition to the terms of the bet, one she hadn’t anticipated would matter either way, or she’d never have agreed to it. Charlie sl ept less than a stone’s throw from her bedroom, and it was far more difficult than she would have ever admitted to forget that. She could get up from this bed and see him instantly if she felt like it. Or vice versa. Not that she hoped he’d invade her sanctuary. This was her bedroom, no men allowed. But still. With all the talk of romancing her and such, she had a heightened sense of his presence, as if his essence had invaded the very molecules of this condo. It did things to her. She’d never been comfortable around Charlie. Odd that she’d grown so attached to him the first time, almost as if she’d become a glutton for punishment in four short months. There was just something about him that stirred her up. She figured he did it on purpose because he liked getting a reaction out of her, and her physiology always obliged, whether she intended to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten to her or not.
He’d warned her about what would happen over the next two weeks deliberately. So she’d stew about it. Sit around and think about it, walking on eggshells wondering what he had up his sleeve. And then he’d pounce. Catch her off guard. She rolled from beneath the covers and quickly shrugged on the robe she’d dug out of the back of the closet. An unnecessary addendum to her wardrobe until a man with hot, knowing eyes had moved in. Now it was the standard uniform, which she hated. Walking around naked if she felt like it was a perk of being single and living alone. She padded to the bathroom attached to her bedroom, pulling the robe’s sash tighter because even though her door was still shut, she wouldn’t put it past Charlie to barge into her space. Taking up space that should be hers, like the hollow in her chest that had been empty her whole life. What did it say about her that he fit inside it so well? That she enjoyed the combative nature of their relationship? How messed up was that? She turned on the shower and let the bathroom fill with steam before st epping into the glass enclosure. That’s when she noticed the sample sized bottle of freesia-scented bodywash, like the kind that hotels set out for guests to use. The kind that she’d once brought home with her from a quick trip to New York with her mom to visit relatives. The same kind she’d remarked to Charlie that she wished she could buy in the store because she’d liked it so much. The hot fudge warmth sensation in her chest grew and she rubbed at it with one hand as she picked up the pale blue bottle with the other. Full. Charlie’s brand of romance defied description. When had he done this? Not just the stealth placement of it in her shower, but the procurement of said bodywash in the first place? She’d taken that trip in the fall of last year. Over a solid year ago. And he’d remembered something so minor. Not just remembered. Acted. He’d tracked it down, probably with considerable effort. More than a little touched, she squeezed some of the richly scented bodywash onto her loofah before she found a reason not to. It was a nice gift, and she’d feel petty all day if she refused to use it on principle. She wasn’t that girl. And it was her wedding day. It was a nice touch to have something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue all wrapped up in one. She didn’t think it was an accident. Considerable thought had gone into this. What was she supposed to do with that? The bodywash’s scent clung to her even after she’d exited the shower, following her into the closet where she’d intended to throw on a pair of slacks and a button-down shirt for the hopefully short, utilitarian wedding ceremony scheduled for this morning. Her fingers wound around the hanger of her sole dress instead. She never wore dresses and she only had this one in her closet because she’d needed something to wear to all the weddings that seemed to be happening around here lately. Never in a million years would she have guessed she’d be wearing this
calf-length, poppy-colored silk dress to her own wedding. Or that a small, simple thing like bodywash would have prompted her to slip it on. When she emerged from her bedroom, Charlie was hanging out on the couch, clearly waiting for her despite being head down over a screen. He looked up. The second he caught sight of her, his phone slipped from his hand and raw appreciation stole over his expression. Coupled with the crisp white shirt he wore that emphasized the soft swell of his shoulders, she couldn’t peel her gaze from him either. She should. But she didn’t, and they got all tangled up in a long-drawn-out moment that made her flush. “What?” she mumbled, struck dumb by how truly delicious the man made her feel. “It’s just a dress.” “No.” He climbed to his feet, barely avoiding an expensive phone screen r epair job without seeming to notice where his heels had landed. “What Meghan wore to marry Prince Harry was just a dress. You’re in this one. That makes it something else entirely.” It made the dress a mistake. Obviously. Charlie giving her grief she could handle. Charlie looking at her like he’d just found the last chocolate chip cookie on day three of his diet she could not. Her knees were weak, for crying out loud. “You’re wearing dress clothes.” Odds were good he knew what he’d pulled from his closet, but she had to shift the dynamic or she’d lose her mind. Her senses were already full of freesia-scented bodywash after all. “I didn’t want you to be ashamed to be seen with me,” he said with a grin that was all Charlie—charming, wicked and smug rolled into one. “Same,” she told him. It could be true. “Then we should capture the moment.” He snagged his phone from the carpet, and before she could squeak out a note of protest, he’d snuggled up next to her, one arm extended to take a picture and one arm tight around her waist, drawing her close. Gah, he smelled amazing, like pine trees and man, and she couldn’t help but take a subtle whiff as he clicked the capture button. “Maybe take one more,” she suggested before he could es cape and ruin this lovely moment. “I want to post wedding day pictures on my website to prove to everyone that I’m still playing by the rules, and you were making a weird face.” “I was not.” But he held the phone up dutifully, clicking a few more times while she basked in the feel of his solid arm rubbing up against hers without having to admit the real reason she’d goaded him into taking more pictures—she liked how it felt to be this close to him. And he liked to be challenged. She had no problem indulging him in that. Usually it was pretty easy to figure out how to push his buttons, though she’d forgotten how fun it was. It was a match made in... well, no point in going too far with that metaphor. If anything, they were like squirrels fighting over the same nuts.
That’s when she glanced up at him and realized he’d turned his nose toward her ear, breathing her in. She could hear the faint hitch of his lungs as the slight pressure on her skin transformed into a nuzzle. It was a far more intimate moment than it should have been, and the hot fudge inside her thickened, flowing faster into places it shouldn’t be. "Time to face the music, Wilson," she said or tried to. There was something wrong with her voice. "We have a wedding to get to." “In a minute,” he murmured, lifting a finger to her throat to brush away an errant lock of hair. Her skin erupted with goosebumps and she bemoaned the lack of long sleeves that would cover her in voluntary reactions to his touch. The moment practically had music bursting from its seams. This brand of romance was shockingly effective. And she’d even been pr epared for something of the kind. This was the part when he’d kiss her. She yearned to taste him again. But she’d bite off her own tongue before admitting that. In fact, if he did kiss her, she’d slug him and maybe make a snide comment about ke eping his mitts to himself. But he didn’t kiss her. Didn’t touch her again. Just st epped away more quickly than she’d expected. Or wanted. Not that she’d call him back because then he’d know she’d welcome him into her space again. Giving him that much ammunition would be a mistake. Charlie cleared his throat, refusing to look at her. “I’ll drive.” His weird reaction unsettled her. He should be spitting out a smart-aleck come back. How was she supposed to deliver piercing sarcasm when he wasn’t providing fodder for it? Silence stretched as he ushered her out the door. By the time they’d loaded up in his truck and he’d pulled out of Vivo to head downtown, the tension had grown teeth. She couldn’t stand it a second longer. “You wouldn’t know anything about the bottle of bodywash that appeared in my shower this morning. Would you?” He shrugged. “The toiletry elves must have visited. Guess you’ve been a good girl this year.” “I had a visit from some mythical creature all right,” she muttered. The Amazing Disappearing Fiancé. Huh. She hadn’t thought of him as her fiancé until this moment. But he’d asked her to get married. She’d said yes. They were on their way to a wedding. The label applied. The problem was that she wasn’t sure labels could properly describe their relationship. Even the first time. This time, no shot. And she needed some parameters, something to center her so she understood how to manage this situation before it spiraled out of control. Charlie, unchecked, was entirely too dangerous. She tried again. “Did the elves leave me any other surprises?” “Maybe.” Ugh. That cryptic response did nothing but drop a frenzied bit of curiosity into her veins, and now she wanted to fly home and tear apart her bedroom and bathroom to see what else he might have gifted her. He remembered far more about her preferences than she would have credited.
Like the tea. It had thoroughly unsettled her to see that box in his hand. She never would have guessed he’d find the tea, let alone recall that he’d given it to her, or she’d have gotten rid of it. It was a major slipup, and she’d paid for it in the currency she hated giving up most—the upper hand. Which meant she had to go on the offensive about the bodywash or he’d still think he’d won that round. “The bodywash is nice. Thank you.” That got a reaction. He glanced at her sideways as he pulled into the courthouse. “That’s it? No snide remark about how you don’t like that scent any longer?” “What kind of ungrateful jerk do you think I am?” She lifted her hands in a half-shrug, half-protest. “You went to a lot of trouble to find it, I’m sure. As a thank-you gift for letting you stay with me rent free for the next two weeks, I approve.” Charlie blinked and threw the truck into park. “That’s not why I gave it to you.” She waited until he’d come around to open her door to fix him with a cool, slightly quizzical stare. “Do tell.” “Should I start calling you Crafty Carolina?” he asked with a smile that had far too much smirk in it for her taste. “You can’t goad me into admitting anything I don’t want you to know.” “What would you like for me to know?” “That you smell divine.” He leaned in, bracing both hands on her seat. Not touching her, but close enough to brush a finger across her skin if he’d had a mind to. “I take an enormous amount of pleasure in knowing that I’m responsible for that scent.” What, like that gave him some kind of power over her? “Newsflash. You’re not. I still make all of the decisions about what affects me.” A total lie. She had zero control over the way her pulse jumped when he locked her in his sights as awareness and something far too nebulous to define burned through the air between them. “I stand corrected. You’re responsible for coating every inch of your skin with the scent I gave you.” He tipped his head in mock concession. “My mistake. I’ll ke ep it in mind that you chose to make yourself smell irresistible to me.” “I’ll own that,” she said, allowing a tiny smile to lift her mouth. Just enough to give him the idea that he wasn’t as smart as he thought he was. “I do love a good torture session.” He cocked a brow. “It’s only torture if you don’t intend to make good on it.” “Since I promised you exactly nothing, there’s nothing to make good on,” she reminded him primly, which of course put a wicked smile on his face. “We’ll see how you feel about that in a while.” And his gaze held every promise in the world, unspoken, but still just as potent. Just as blatant. Just as solid. Love is meant to be experienced. And he had every intention of drenching her with it. She jumped when he moved his hand, but he just extended his palm to her. Not to yank her into a torrid kiss. Solely to help her out of the truck.
The man made her mental. And skittish. She clasped his hand because she couldn’t not. If she didn’t, then he’d realize that she’d nearly had a meltdown over the proximity of his fingers to her thigh in the first place. There were so many sparks shooting between them that the connection of flesh heightened the burn. She ignored it. Yes, she still could. He did not get to provoke her into kissing him. Exc ept he dropped her hand the instant she cleared the truck, not even bothering to use it as an excuse to hold her hand, like they were a couple or something. Good thing he hadn’t tried it, because she would have shut that down so fast. The tension was back, clawing through her stomach the longer he didn’t speak. What had he been promising her with that meaning-laden gaze? Why hadn’t he kissed her? She’d read the intent in his expression. All those sparks hadn’t generated from nowhere, like she’d imagined them. There was supposed to be a bunch of romance happening. What was he up to? Before she could blink, she and Charlie were standing in front of a man in a suit who said a few words about the institution of marriage, had them r epeat vows, and then announced, “You may kiss the bride.” She arched a brow at Charlie when he didn’t turn toward her. “You heard the man.” He glanced down at her askance. “Are you angling for a traditional end to this ceremony?” What, like he hadn’t planned on kissing her? Because if he had even two working brain cells, he’d recall with the exact same clarity that she did how amazing their kisses had always been. They’d had a lot of chemistry the first time. Maybe some of it had fizzled. An annulment tended to do that. But there was only one way to find out. Only one way to get what she craved without cluing him in to how much she’d secretly anticipated what he had in store for her today. “You wanted a wedding,” she reminded him frostily. “This is it, pal. You don’t get to weasel out of a second of it.” “Far be it from me to deny my bride a thing on her wedding day.” Before she could blink, he’d sw ept her into his arms and laid his mouth on hers. None of the chemistry had fizzled. Like zero. Her hair caught on fire as he kissed her. Everything inside melted as a thousand degrees of Charles Wilson blazed through her body... along with the unsettling realization that she was not over him. Not even a little, tiny bit.