From Ex to Eternity(13)

No matter. Meredith would pick up on the lie. Oh, the alterations were definitely behind, but Cara’s current black mood had more to do with the unsettling realization that she hadn’t slapped Keith because she’d wanted him to kiss her. The mock wedding had been fun to organize, and she’d gotten caught up in the moment. Who could resist a wedding and Keith and the ocean breeze, all wrapped up in one romantic package?

Except it wasn’t her wedding and she wasn’t marrying Keith. Just like the last time.

Cara stabbed a needle through the dress in front of her but couldn’t get into the right spirit for alterations to wedding dresses. Once again, she’d wear one and still be single when she took it off.

But in stark contrast to last time, she would have a thriving business. These alterations represented something greater than the required steps before a model wore the dress down a runway—Cara had a real and lasting place to belong, which this expo was an integral part of promoting.

That was better than a wedding of her own any day. Mostly.

When Meredith exited the bathroom after the longest shower on record, she had her phone in hand. “Paolo just texted me that everyone’s in the Caribbean Lounge blowing off steam. Hans threw together a buffet and Keith unlocked the liquor cabinet. Get dressed and come on.”

“I’m busy.” It was a little too soon to be in Keith’s orbit again, especially while in the same galaxy as the rest of the staff, who’d witnessed the scorching kiss their boss had laid on her. The embarrassment over falling so heavily into the playacting hadn’t quite faded yet.

“No, you’re in sore need of fun, alcohol and sex. All three are within your reach, honey.” Meredith slipped into a skin-colored dress that hit her midthigh and made her look as if she should be on the arm of a Grammy-nominee as he walked the red carpet. “Or you can just come eat. You can sulk later. Don’t make me go by myself.”

“There’s zero danger of you being by yourself in that dress.”

Her sister shot a treacherous smile over her shoulder. “I brought that Balenciaga dress that you like. I’ll let you wear it, even though you were so mean about the shoes earlier.”

Cara’s heart twisted. Meredith was a good sister and all Cara had done was snipe at her. Besides, Meredith had been oh so correct—it wasn’t her fault Keith and Cara weren’t a good mix. “Thanks. I’ll come with you. And wear the dress.”

The smirk on Meredith’s face didn’t faze her. Cara was used to letting her sister get her way. In their relationship, that’s what love looked like.

The rain hadn’t let up and it took a while to get across the resort while sharing a very small umbrella. By the time the sisters arrived, the party was in full swing.

As promised, it did indeed seem as if everyone had come. Mary sat at a four-top laughing with a few of the maids, and Holly, who still looked like a runway model even when off the clock, chatted with the services manager at a mahogany bar near the far wall.

Paolo bounded over, muscles rippling underneath a skintight shirt, with two drinks in hand. He handed one to Meredith with an apologetic glance at Cara’s empty hand. No big deal. Cara didn’t need a pool boy to bring her a drink.

Her sister sipped the frothy pink concoction and smiled the smile she used to humor people. “Thanks, I adore Cosmopolitans.”

Martinis, the drier the better, were Meredith’s vice of choice. She hadn’t touched a drink with an umbrella since a weekend in Vegas that Meredith still refused to talk about.

“For you.”

Cara whirled to face the speaker and there was he-who-must-not-be-named himself, holding a wineglass full of deep red liquid. She accepted the goblet from Keith with a nod of thanks, because her stupid heart had just tangled up her tongue too much to talk, and sipped.

God, it was an exquisite cab that swirled through her mouth like a taste of heaven.

“You’re serving this to guests?” she asked when she’d stopped worshipping the wine long enough to speak. This was high-quality, exorbitantly expensive stuff, which he no doubt knew that she’d recognize.

“Only the ones in the honeymoon suite.” He clinked his glass to hers. “I tried to tell you you’d appreciate checking it out with me, but your mind went straight to the gutter. Shame.”

“Yeah, but I still got a glass, so...” She swallowed some more to see if it cooled her suddenly hot throat.

She hadn’t really been jealous of Meredith’s uncomplicated fling with Paolo. Not a whole lot anyway. But all at once, it seemed as though Cara might have the better deal. There was something to be said for having the attention of a man who noticed details, and Keith rarely missed one.

Maybe she should thank Meredith for goading her into joining the party instead of sulking in her room—as her sister put it—which hadn’t been too far off. And sulking for what? Because a yummy man kissed her? It was time to relax and stop worrying so much about Keith messing up her plans.

The entertainment director clapped his hands and drew everyone’s attention. As he was unfortunately named Mark, someone had apparently thought it appropriate to make him a paper crown with the word Hurricane written on it and then crossed out with a large X.

“What’s that about?” Cara whispered to Keith. “Is the tropical storm the reason it’s raining?”

She hadn’t seen a weather report lately, but foreboding gripped her all at once. The expo couldn’t go on if the storm hit the island. Could it?

Keith leaned in and his breath teased her hair, sending a quick tug through her middle. She squashed it flat. She’d gone a long time without male companionship—why was she all of a sudden having heated flashes just because a man pressed up against her?

“Why don’t you let me worry about the storm?” he suggested, his voice low and sexy in her ear. “I would tell you if there was a problem.”

Mark lifted the microphone from its stand. “I need some volunteers to play the resort’s version of the Newlywed Game. Two couples. Come on down. You don’t have to be a real couple, just willing to play.”

Cara shot Keith a don’t-you-dare look, which he intercepted with a grin. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Let some of the others have a chance to pretend to be married.”

Keith sank into a chair and patted the one next to him. Since he’d agreed to keep his volunteering mouth shut—and then sweetened the deal by holding up the half-empty bottle of wine—Cara settled into the front-row seat he’d designated for her.

He inclined his head, nose nearly buried in Cara’s hair again. “That dress looks amazing on you, by the way.”

Cara’s cheeks sparked with heat and she wished she could claim it was the only hot spot on her body. “Go on. You say that to all the girls.”

“You’re the only one I’m talking to. Which is not an accident.”

He slung an arm across the back of her chair as if this was a date or something and she thought long and hard about staring at him with disapproval until he removed it. But the borrowed dress had a low back, and Keith’s sleeve brushed her skin pleasantly. It would probably draw a lot of attention if she made a big deal out of it. So she leaned against his arm and ignored all the heat being generated by his close proximity.

To the surprise of no one, Meredith and Paolo lined up on the small stage at the front of the lounge and took the seats Mark had set up on the left-hand side. Cecelia, one of the maids, and the baby-faced kid who had set up chairs for Cara on the beach hopped up on stage to take the other set of chairs.

Mark handed out dry erase tablets and markers to all the “newlyweds” and asked the wives to answer the first question about their new husbands. “Boxers or briefs?”

The contestants scrawled their answers and when Mark said “Reveal!” the wives flipped their tablets. Cara rolled her eyes at Meredith’s board, which read “Neither” in flowery script with a heart over the i.

Paolo’s dimples popped out as he flipped his board. It read “Nada.”

The crowd clapped and laughed simultaneously. Cecelia and her baby-faced fake husband, who apparently weren’t on intimate terms, had opposite answers, so Meredith and Paolo got a point.

“I’m surprised you allowed everyone a break,” Cara murmured to Keith, tilting her head close, mostly so he could hear her over the crowd noise, but it wasn’t a chore to inhale his masculine scent at the same time.

“It’s hard to crack the whip twenty-four/seven when everyone’s worked like dogs for days and days,” Keith allowed. “We can get back to the grind tomorrow, assuming we can find enough indoor tasks to keep us busy.”

It was an unexpected admission from someone like Keith, who thought the sun rose and set over the bottom line, but she covered her shock. “That’s very humane of you.”

Her sister and the pool boy continued to dominate and won handily, high-fiving each other as Mark pronounced them the champions. Meredith and Paolo strutted across the stage, lording their victory over the poor fake couple who clearly knew each other only in passing.

Cara, meanwhile, had drained her wineglass and for God knew what insane reason, yelled out, “Bet you couldn’t beat a real couple.”