Wishing For Us

   As she was hurrying into the other room, she heard him say, “What do you need, Chris?”

   Chris? That was a man’s name, right? Why had he made such a point to get rid of her if he was just taking a business call or even one from his buddy? She’d had the distinct feeling it was a woman, but there had been no affection in his voice. Actually, he’d sounded cold—as if he didn’t like the person on the other end of the line.

   Lydia started the shower, and then dropped her robe onto the floor. The mirror showed marks on her body as well, but Jacob had still gotten the worst of it. Hers looked more like whisker burns. Then her nipples hardened involuntarily as pieces of her night with Jacob played in her head. She had hazy recollections of his mouth on her body—and dear God, between her legs. As her clit started to throb, she wanted nothing more than to march back into the bedroom and beg him to ravish her again, this time while she was sober. It seemed like a crime that she couldn’t recall every moment. When a knock sounded at the door, she jumped backward, narrowly avoiding a nasty fall. “Er—yes?” she called out. I sound guilty, as if I’m in here thinking of sex—and him.

   “Everything okay? I thought I heard you say something.” Geez, had she actually been in here moaning while thinking of last night? She needed to do some damage control—fast. “Mmm, no. I was just . . . singing in the shower.” Lydia cringed at her lie. Couldn’t she have come up with something better than that?

   There was silence for a moment before he came back with, “What song?”

   Are you kidding me? Who in the hell carried on a conversation about something so mundane through the bathroom door? It was almost as if he knew she was lying and was trying to make her squirm. “‘Fight Song.’” She blurted out the last thing she could remember singing. She doubted he knew the empowerment song, but hopefully, it would satisfy his curiosity enough to get him to go away.

   “Really?” he mused. “I like that one. Carry on with whatever you were doing then.”

   Lydia wasted no time getting in the shower and shutting the door behind her. Within a few minutes, she was finished and drying off with one of the hotel’s fluffy towels. She wrapped another around her hair before dressing in her robe once again.

   When she opened the door and stepped out into the room, he gave her a leisurely once-over before walking toward the bathroom. “Do you have any idea where my luggage and purse are?” she asked, looking around the room.

   “Everything should be on the other side of the bed. I found your room key and grabbed your stuff while you were showering. Let me know if I missed anything.”

   The next few hours passed in a blur. After they had both dressed, they opted for breakfast in the restaurant downstairs while waiting for the car to pick them up for the airport. Lydia stared at the passing scenery in a daze. She could barely fathom what had occurred during her girls weekend in Vegas.

   She’d assumed Jacob would be rushing her toward divorce court with embarrassing haste, but instead, he changed the subject or brushed off her concerns when she brought them up. Finally, she’d stopped trying and decided to enjoy the brief moment as a married woman. After all, in the real world, a man like Jacob Hay was about as likely to walk through her door as the Easter Bunny.

Chapter Two

   “You did what?” Crystal gaped at her. They were in one of the luxury rooms at the Oceanix–Myrtle Beach getting ready for her wedding to Mark DeSanto in just a few hours. This was the first chance Lydia had had to tell her what had happened in Vegas. She had told herself in the hours leading up to things that her friend didn’t need to be distracted by her drama on her wedding day, but the minute she started quizzing Lydia on being in Jacob’s room, she’d sung like a canary. Apparently, men really did gossip as badly as women because Mark had already told Crystal that he was certain Jacob and Lydia had spent the night together. Heck, all of their work friends from Danvers had to wonder why Lydia’s seat was vacant on the flight back to Myrtle Beach.

   “We don’t have time to discuss this now.” Lydia attempted to brush off her questions. She really didn’t want to talk about it in front of Crystal’s sister, Ella, who had gone to check on her daughter and would probably be back at any moment.

   Lydia knew that stubborn look on Crystal’s face, though, and wasn’t surprised when she retorted, “Oh no, you can’t just toss out that you got married and then clam up. I don’t care if we have to delay the wedding; I’m not leaving this room until you tell me what’s going on. I mean, I knew you were with Jacob, but I assumed it was just for some . . . boom boom.”

   Lydia couldn’t help it; she started laughing. “Boom boom? Is that code for sex?”

   “Hey, I heard it on a movie the other night.” Crystal giggled. “Apparently, it stuck with me. So . . . let me put it another way. I thought that you and Jacob were making hot love all night long and were flying home together the next day. Mark didn’t mention anything about you getting hitched, though.” She stood there with her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe he knew and didn’t tell me,” she huffed out. “Are we already keeping secrets from each other?”

   “Cool your jets, girl,” Lydia advised, trying to hide her smirk at Crystal’s tirade. “I have no idea what Jacob told Mark, but you know men have the whole bro-code thing going on. So if Jacob did tell Mark, then you shouldn’t hold it against him. After all, I don’t think you want to deprive yourselves of honeymoon nookie, right?”

   Crystal grimaced. “Yeah, I forgot about that for a minute. But I’ll totally kick his butt after we get home from Jamaica. Anyway, tell me what in the world happened?”

   Lydia gave her friend the condensed version of everything she remembered, which was mostly all of it by this point. The alcohol might have dimmed her morning-after recollections, but since returning home, the night of her wedding had been playing in her head almost nonstop. She and Jacob had flown home a couple of mornings ago on the DeSanto jet—and she hadn’t seen him since. He’d called her a few times to check in, but she hadn’t seen him in person. When she’d asked him on one of the calls about their next steps, he’d again put her off, saying they should take a little time and would talk about everything soon.