A few minutes later the bartender slid their glasses across the bar, and Zane paid. He draped an arm possessively around Willow, holding her tight as they moved through the crowd to a spot near the railing. Women began whispering behind their hands, with hope and flirtation lighting up their eyes as they ogled Zane. They stood up taller, arched their backs to show off their assets, and fluttered their lashes in his direction.
Willow rolled her eyes and turned to face the water. She had wondered how long it would take for people to recognize him. Zane was hard to miss with all that hotness wafting off him. Even when he wasn’t trying to be hot, he sizzled. And despite his smartassery, he was charming in his own way. Or maybe that was years of repression refusing to be held back any longer. She’d always loved his smartassery. Almost as much as his badassery. And his ass in general.
With a viselike grip on her, he put his mouth beside her ear and said, “Is this better?”
His hot breath sent shudders of lust rippling through her. She gulped a mouthful of whiskey, reveling in the burn as it slid down her throat like lava. She’d rather have frosting, but since she wasn’t in the kitchen, liquid courage would have to do. When Zane tightened his grip, mashing her body to his, she downed another gulp.
“Slow down there, sweet cheeks. You’re liable to get drunk.”
“Sweet cheeks?” She rolled her eyes.
“I thought we were done with those eye rolls. Meet me halfway, Wills.”
She was painfully aware of the women watching him, even if he was acting like he hadn’t a clue. She wasn’t used to the jealousy whipping through her, or the twisting in her gut from being on the receiving end of stink-eyes from a pack of women just a few feet away. Willow didn’t play games, and she didn’t do drama. It was one of the reasons she loved her hometown so much. She had a nice life where she could wear her jeans or shorts and not worry about measuring up to anyone. She glanced down at her belted lavender dress, feeling even more out of place among an ocean of little black dresses. Sure, she had double Ds she could flaunt with the best of them, but she hated them. She’d hated them ever since she was thirteen, when they hadn’t sprouted like cute little nubs and then blossomed into perfectly perky boobs that fit her body. They’d bloomed overnight, making her feel like a young, awkward Dolly Parton. To make matters worse, she also had rounded hips and a smallish waist that made her boobs look even bigger. She’d grown up dealing with boys talking to the girls instead of her, and while she’d thought that might change as the guys matured, she spent her life dodging men who did the same.
Zane moved in front of her, bringing her eyes up to his. He had never made her feel like other guys did. Even when she had been his for the taking, he’d focused on her—her eyes, her emotions, her hands. God, she remembered the way he’d kissed each of her fingers before intertwining them with his as she lay beneath him. It was like he hadn’t seen her boobs at all. He’d seen only her. Now he was looking at her again. Heat sizzled and popped between them.
She shifted her gaze out over the inky water. She was romanticizing their friendship again, just like she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do all those years ago. She’d failed miserably then, too.
“Hey, Wills. Look at me.”
She reluctantly met his gaze. He was smiling in a playful way that reminded her of his younger self. She liked that younger, playful guy a whole lot. He tapped his glass to hers and pressed a kiss to her cheek, leaving her skin warm and her body tingling with anticipation. Or maybe that was from the whiskey. It was hard to differentiate when Zane’s incredible body was pressed against her.
“To us.” He lifted his glass to his lips.
His Adam’s apple moved like he did, smooth as sin and alluringly tempting. She had the urge to seal her mouth over that sexy moving target. Lord have mercy. What was wrong with her? She downed the rest of her drink, wincing at the burn, feeling it pool in her belly like liquid fire and giving herself over to the blissful deadening of her nerves.
He raised his brows and finished his drink, watching her intently as he took her empty glass and set it with his on the railing.
His hands snaked around her waist, holding her impossibly closer. “Talk to me, Wills.”
“Isn’t this weird for you? Holding me like this and pretending to be engaged, when you’re surrounded by gawking, available women? I mean, your photographer doesn’t seem to be stalking us, so . . .”
His eyes narrowed and drifted around them, lingering on the women who had been giving her the stink-eye. He touched his cheek to hers again, instantly making her insides go soft. “I promised I’d make a concerted effort to ensure this works, and I never break my prom—”
When he drew back and gazed into her eyes with a serious and thoughtful expression, her pulse went a little crazy. She reminded herself this was his most important role yet.
“I try never to break my promises anymore,” he corrected himself. “And no, Wills. This isn’t weird for me. It would be weird to try to act like this with anyone other than you.”
“Zane, I’m being serious. Don’t feed me lines, okay?” She glanced down at the gaudy—and stunning—ring he’d rented. When she was a kid, she’d gone through a phase where she loved princess everything, from dresses to gems. Didn’t all young girls? But as an adult, as a baker—as Willow Dalton—she wanted nothing like this when and if she ever got engaged. The diamond would only get in the way, and it was too flashy. It wasn’t her at all. Patch picked it out. Another good reminder of why she shouldn’t romanticize their relationship.
“It wasn’t a line.” He began swaying to the music with her in his arms. “Dance with me. I need the distraction.”
“From those girls?” She ached at the idea that he wished he could be with someone else. This would be easier if being with him didn’t make her remember what it was like to be touched like she was more than a piece of ass. To be touched like she was precious and sexy and looked at like she was the only woman he ever wanted.
The muscles around his mouth twitched. “No, Willow. Jesus. I know I’ve been with a lot of women, but whose insanely sexy body is crushed against mine right now?”
The anger in his tone was underscored by hurt, and it took her by surprise. She might not approve of his current lifestyle, or the reasons behind this grand scheme they were taking part in, but she’d agreed to do this for him, and he was making an effort. She needed to get past the ghosts of their past that were sucking up half the oxygen, to kick that elephant from the room so she could make the effort he deserved—the effort that, without the ghosts, and without that damn elephant, wasn’t an effort at all.
“Do you really think anonymous women mean a damn thing to me? They’re a way to pass the time. You’re my friend. You know me better than anyone else in the world ever could. Everything’s different with you, Wills. It always has been, and I’m really trying not to screw this up.”