Something Reckless(55)

I rush to the bedroom, and Sam follows me. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Yesterday, that message would have turned me on, and I would have replied with something equally risqué, but Sam couldn’t have typed that message, and that makes me sick to my stomach.

Oh my God. What have I done?





Chapter Thirteen





Sam



“She’s cute,” Ryann says to me between sips of coffee. “She’s got a certain goodness about her that’s a little incongruous with your typical conquests. I’m not sure what she sees in you.”

Liz is gone. She scrambled out the door in her bridesmaid dress minutes after Ryann caught me feeling her up on the couch. Not that my sister walking in on us like that didn’t also horrify me, but I was surprised how Liz reacted. She couldn’t get out the door fast enough. Or maybe the problem is that I wasn’t surprised. I knew this would happen if we slept together again. She always runs.

I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Why are you here?”

“Della had the baby last night,” Ryann says. “A girl. She’s beautiful.”

I grin, happy to hear the news. I was beginning to worry that Della was going to do something drastic if that baby didn’t come soon. “And you came out here to tell me that?”

She shakes her head. “No, I sent you a text to tell you. I came out here to check on the house. The neighbors called Mom and said there was a flower delivery here yesterday. They got the flowers from the porch but thought that was odd since no one was here. Apparently they didn’t realize you were setting the stage for seduction.”

“I didn’t order any flowers.”

Ryann snorts. “Right. I kind of already saw what’s up between you two. No need to hide it.”

“Shut up. You’re a child. Scrub what you saw from your brain.”

“Trust me, I intend to order a case of Brillo pads the second I get home. But I’m not a child.” She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms. “You really didn’t order the flowers?”

“I wasn’t even planning to stay here. I had reservations at the inn.” I rub the back of my neck and try to get my mind straight.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this last night. I intended to have her be my date, to have any pictures that were leaked to the press show me with Liz on my arm. I left the wedding because I knew I’d take her home with me if we danced anymore. And I knew it would be déjà vu. We’d touch. Kiss. Fuck. And nothing we did would change what happened last summer. Nothing would change my reasons for asking her to be my date.

But then she followed me here. I hadn’t expected that.

I ran from temptation, and temptation followed me right to my door. I’m weak—at least when it comes to Liz. “Let me get dressed and we’ll go to the hospital.”

In the master, I close the door behind me, and my gaze catches on the tangle of sheets on the bed and I miss her already. Damn.

She got away too soon. Again.

I grab clothes from my duffle and head into the bathroom to take a quick shower and dress. The second I step under the hot spray, I’m struck with the image of Liz in her shower our first night together, her arms stretched above her head, tied to the showerhead, her pussy against my face. My dick goes so hard it aches, and I have to turn the water cold and force myself to think about something else.



* * *





Liz


“Liz?” Hanna cocks her head at me and approaches slowly, much the way one might approach a feral animal.

Maybe that’s because she can see the horror and guilt all over my face. Or maybe it’s because I’m sitting in my bridesmaid dress in the corner of her bakery with a bowl of her famous Everything But the Kitchen Sink cookie dough in my lap, and a nine-inch spatula in my hand.

My twin sister is a goddess in the kitchen. Give her flour, sugar, and an oven, and she’ll create something that will make you forget there are pleasures other than food.

And that’s why I’m sitting here. I’m trying to forget.

“What happened, sweetie?”

I look up at her and swallow a mouthful of dough filled with homemade peanut butter cup pieces, toffee, chopped walnut, a generous dash of skinny-is-overrated, and a sprinkle of bring-on-the-heart-attack. I’ve eaten enough that my stomach hurts, and yet it hasn’t begun to numb the horror of this morning’s discovery.

“You’re supposed to be doing the newlywed thing,” I say. “Shouldn’t Nate be bringing you breakfast in bed or something?”

She sinks onto the floor next to me and steals my spatula. “Already did.”