We slink around the bar as if there’s any real need to be stealthy—I mean, everything here belongs to Will, technically—and duck through a door in the back. I find myself in a cool dim room lined with shelves. I crane my neck searching for the logo from the whiskey bottle, and Will touches my bare shoulder. The feel of his firm hand sets off another flush through my body as he points to a box a few feet down, just over my head.
I step away from him and stretch to grab it. Unfortunately, I’ve underestimated the weight of a dozen liters of very good whiskey, or else overestimated my balance while severely tipsy. I heave and the box slides off the shelf—and nearly bowls me over.
Will catches the box before it and I crash on the floor. He hefts it, chuckling as I steady myself. “Let the upper arm strength go, have you? Better not let Brad find out or you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“I’ll have you know,” I say, waving my finger at him, “that hauling boxes of liquor rarely comes up in my line of work.”
He leans close enough that my pulse skips a beat. “No one likes a weakling.” His smile removes any sting the words could have had. I stick out my tongue at him like I would have in college, and he laughs again.
It’s addictive, this old dynamic. And so damned easy to fall back into, at least with the proper lubrication. Speaking of which . . .
I tug the top of the box open and snatch up one of the bottles. “This is all I need.” Then I hightail it out of there before I start considering other uses of lubrication.
Back on our stools, as the bartender pours my new whiskey sour, I feel Will’s eyes on me and decide maybe it’s time to douse a few of those flames before they burn all my good intentions down. I grope for a more serious line of conversation.
“So, this place,” I say. “You’re setting up your own business apart from your family?”
Will rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he says. “I, well—my older brother is in the process of taking over the Cassidy Resort chain. I’d only ever be secondary there. And the family properties are all about the standard holiday fare—entertainment, pampering . . .”
“The horror!” I say.
“Don’t get me wrong, I want to include those elements too,” he says. “But, it was important to me to start investigating eco-friendly options. It’s even more satisfying knowing I can offer a dream vacation while respecting the land the property is on, the country hosting it . . . With everything that’s been going on in the world, I like to know I’m doing some small part on the side of good.”
He toys with his glass as if he’s a bit embarrassed to have laid all that out there. My natural inclination to tease him softens. “I don’t remember you being focused on that sort of thing before.”
“No,” he agrees. “I wasn’t always paying enough attention. You could say it’s something I’ve grown into. No one stays the same as they were in college, right?”
“No,” I murmur, and damn if my heart isn’t thumping headily away. So much for dousing flames. Is it possible the guy in front of me has gotten more likeable than the one I thought I knew—and fell hopelessly in love with—before?
He sets his hand on the counter next to mine and draws his thumb across my knuckles in a way that seems totally natural even as it sends a hot shiver down my spine.
Will’s eyes are hot on mine, and dammit if I don’t almost melt into a pool of desire right there beside the bar.
Danger, high voltage. Heartache ahead!
I tug my hand back to grasp my glass and chug my last drink. And it definitely needs to be my last drink. “You know, I think I should call it a night.”
He gets up as I do. “May I escort you to your room?”
I cock my head at him. “Are you implying I’m too far gone to make it there on my own?” I don’t want to consider he might be implying anything else.
“Maybe I just want an excuse to enjoy your company a little longer,” he says in that usual teasing tone, which doesn’t really answer anything.
He sets his hand on the small of my back, just for second, as we’re walking out, but that’s enough to set any nerve that wasn’t already glowing alight. My whole body is humming with the awareness of him, right there, a warmth that shifts in the air as he presses the button to close the elevator door, the woodsy smell of his cologne. Maybe it’s the buzz of the alcohol, too. I’ve lost my tongue. I have the horrible feeling I’m going to say something stupid.
“This really is a beautiful resort,” I manage. There, that’s all right.
“I’m glad you think so,” Will says.
The elevator dings, and we get off. “I mean, the carpets, the baseboards, the doors . . .” Okay, now I’m getting inane. What number am I again? Oh, right. “Here. This is me. My door.”
Maybe I should just swallow my tongue. That sounds like the wisest course of action at this point.
I pull my keycard out of my purse, but then I just stand there. Will rests his hand against the doorframe. “Should I say good night, then?” he asks, too casual to be an outright proposition, but not exactly not one either.
“That is the thing normal-type people generally do, isn’t it?” I say. What are words? I wouldn’t know. Especially not when Will is tapping his finger against my sternum the way he always used to, sparking heat all the way down through the rest of my body.
“You are never going to cut me any slack, are you, Ruby Walters?” he says.
“Nope,” I say, a little breathless. “I am definitely not that kind of girl.”
I am exactly the kind of girl who wants to grab the front of his shirt, plant a kiss on those perfectly formed lips, and pull him through this doorway to the bed.
My fingers twitch. And then, thank the Lord, the image sends me careening back to another memory. Another hall, a lot narrower and dimmer than this one and smelling like beer and boys rather than tropical florals, where I crouched down to slide the most heartfelt letter I’ve ever written in my life under this guy’s door.
This is Will. Will who not just broke my heart but shredded it like confetti for his frat bros’ amusement.
I flinch to the side, my elbow jarring against the doorknob. “Good night!” I say, way too brightly, and jab my card into the slot.
“Ruby?” Will says, but for once my aim is decent. The lock clicks over, the door pops open, and I’m slamming it behind me before he can get out another word.
For a second I’m afraid he’s going to knock, and I have no clue what I’m going to do then. But he doesn’t. I throw myself onto the bed, immediately immersed in that fluffiest of fluffy duvets, and cover my face as I groan.
What is wrong with me? How could I be falling into that same old vibe with him—after just one day? Do I want my heart stomped on all over again? What has he been thinking of me this whole time—that I’ll be an easy score, because he knows he had me back then?
It’s nothing real. It’s just muscle memory. I rub my eyes. No more chats, no more drinks just the two of us. I have to ignore it. Because there’s no way in hell I’m making the same mistake twice.
Chapter Six