Country Love (A Billionaire BWWM Romance) (25 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Sanniyah

I jerk
awake. For a moment, panic grips me as my bleary eyes resolve my unfamiliar
surroundings. There is something heavy weighing me down and I fight the urge to
fling it off me before understanding finally takes hold.

I am in
Carter's bed.

His arm
is slung over me.

And he
is fast asleep.

I shift
a little, trying not to disturb him as I roll over and regard his sleeping
face. It shouldn't be possible, but he is even more beautiful in the soft light
of dawn. There is a faint golden stubble along his jaw, and it glints in the
sunlight like he has been polished to a bright sheen.

I catch
myself smiling softly at him, and for just a moment all is peace. Little
twinges and aches sound in my body as soft, subtle reminders of the incredible
night I had with him. I can feel the tenderness between my thighs and flush
slightly as I remember how he looked up at me, watching me writhe as he slowly
drove me insane.
 
Desire starts to
throb in my core, my body already craving his touch like an addict.

Carter
Easton, the reclusive billionaire, golden playboy, darling of the tabloids...I
can't believe it. Carter fucking Easton is asleep next to me. And all because I
was lucky enough to plan his sister's wedding.

The
warmth in my body freezes to ice and I stiffen. Slowly, the dawning realization
of how badly I have fucked up grips me.

He is a client. Camilla is a client. I am a
professional, who has built her reputation in the business by being level-headed
and unflappable. Reviews from happy brides point out my rational, pragmatic
nature. Not someone who is ruled by her emotions.

Definitely not someone who sleeps with the
brother of the bride.

Slow
horror roots me to the spot, and with it comes the shame. I crossed a line that
should never have been crossed. I allowed myself to succumb to private islands,
wine and a man who was far too skilled with his tongue.

The
memory of his tongue's skill sends another flood downward, but this time,
instead of heat it brings only guilt. I hurriedly untangle myself from his
limbs and stand up.

Carter
shifts a little without opening his eyes. "Good morning," he murmurs,
his voice muzzy with sleep.

I shift
on my toes, panic gripping at my throat. "I need to go," I say,
gritting my teeth.

Carter
rolls to the side and opens his eyes, smiling, a devastating dimple on his
cheek. He looks me up and down, a long, lascivious look that threatens to
reignite the heat that has fled from my body. "You don't look like you
do," he says, casually.

I look
down and blush. Hard.

I am
still completely, ridiculously naked.

"You
look like you should be back in bed with me, honestly," Carter says, lazily
sitting up and treating me to a lingering glance of his washboard abs.

No Yahya, get ahold of yourself.

I lift
my chin and cross my arms, mustering all the professional gravitas I can manage
while still being in the nude. "Could you send for the pilot please? I'd
like to go home now."

 
"But you haven't even had
breakfast," he protests lazily. "I make a mean poached egg."

The
thought of Carter Easton making me breakfast nearly breaks my resolve. My
traitorous brain leaps right to the image of cooking in his gleaming chef's
kitchen...shirtless of course...maybe serving me strawberries dipped in cream.

Stop it, Yahya.

"I'm
not hungry," I tell him loftily. Then my stomach growls loudly, immediately
making me a liar.
 

Carter
blinks at my tone, then raises his eyebrows coldly. His face shows a million
different emotions before it finally settles on vast, aching disappointment.
But before I can realize what I've seen, it is gone, replaced by the coldly
polite mask he wore on the tarmac back on the mainland. The other Carter
Easton, not the one I got to know so intimately last night.

The
light in his eyes is gone and with it, something that had just started to
awaken inside of me.

I didn't expect this to be so damn hard. I
didn't expect him to be bothered so much.
"Listen, it's no
big deal," I say hurriedly
. I can
salvage this, I swear I can.
"I had a great time last night, but this
isn't going to work." I'm spewing lies as fast as I can come up with them.
"You're a businessman right? Sometimes things just don't work out the way
you planned, you know that. It doesn’t mean anyone did anything wrong...it's
just...bad timing...." my words trail away as I watch Carter's face change.
It's like a mask is sliding over his skin, freezing it into a pompous grimace. I
clutch my arms around myself rather than reach out to snatch the words I had
just spoken out of the air and start over again. But it is too late.

"Well
then, Sanniyah," he says softly, so softly I have to strain to hear him.
"I'm sorry to hear that. I'll call Benson right now."

He
turns away from me. I am about to apologize, to beg him to rewind to five
minutes ago, but he is already walking towards the bedroom door. He never once
looks back to see me standing there watching him.

Without
his eyes on my skin, I feel suddenly cold. Swallowing down the lump in my
throat, I turn and shake out my clothes from where they lay in a heap on the
floor. "This is for the best," I tell myself firmly. "This isn't
part of the plan." I pause to look around the incredible bedroom, the
great expanse of wooden floor, gleaming and polished and warmed by the rays of
the morning sun that's only just risen over the horizon. The waves are lapping
their continuous melody outside of the opened windows and the air smells like
flowers and the sea.

I hear
Carter somewhere in the vastness of his house. His words are muffled, but his
tone is angry and cold. I think back to the switch he made last night, the two
Carters. The coldly polite and distant one seems to have returned with a
vengeance.

This is
what I need in order to be able to leave right now. I need to believe that
Carter is unstable, unsuitable, not the right man for me.

The
only way I can walk away is if I can convince myself of that.

Chapter Twenty

Carter

For the
second time in as many days, I am watching the helicopter take Sanniyah Jones
back to the mainland. Except this time I am not angry at myself. I am angry at
her.

I don't
want to be. I want to be civil, to be understanding. She got cold feet, sure,
these things happen. I realize my circumstances aren't exactly normal, and I
try to be accommodating of that fact. But my mind, the broken part of me that
tries to always build defenses around myself won't stop with the nagging,
intrusive thoughts. The conclusions my nightmare jumped to.

She works for the tabloids.

She had a secret camera.

She's going right to them. She'll tell them
everything you told her because you were stupid enough to open your heart
again. When you know better, Carter. You know better.

Fuck.

I
resist the urge to shout obscenities, and instead I strip down to my boxers and
pull on a pair of running shorts. A punishing run in the sand will soothe the
paranoia, but there's not much I can do about the ache that has settled into my
heart.

Because
I liked her. I fucking liked her a lot. I liked her body, and her laugh and her
brain. I liked her smile and her toes and the way she went from prim and proper
professional to wildcat in the bedroom. I liked the way she tasted and I liked
the way her moans sounded as she moved underneath me.

I liked
her enough that I couldn't help but wonder if I might be ready to try being
normal again.

And
then she fucking left. Again.

So much
for normalcy.

Anger
wells up in me again the minute I step back into my bedroom. I am sweaty and
dripping, and in desperate need of a shower, but there's something that needs
to be done first.

"Carter?"
Cammy sounds surprised to hear from me out of the blue on a Sunday morning. She
sounds like she has just woken up. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah
everything's fine," I say in my big brother reflex, then pause.
"Actually, no, it's not."

"Can
I help?"

I sigh
when I hear Cammy's concern. My sweet baby sister, I can picture her expression
exactly. She is leaning over the edge of her bed, cupping the phone with both
hands, ready to jump through the lines if necessary to help me however she can.
I feel a rush of love fight with the annoyance. "Actually, yeah, you
can."

"Name
it."

"Fire
Sanniyah Jones as your wedding planner."

Cammy
is silent for a long while. The longer she waits, the angrier I get. At Cammy
for hiring Sanniyah in the first place, at myself for sounding like a
vindictive asshole. And at Sanniyah for...well, I wasn't actually sure about
that. For leaving, I guess. For leaving when I really fucking wanted her to
stay. "Carter?" she finally says, her soft voice reproachful.
"Carter, what did you do?"

"I
didn't do anything."

I can
hear the ugly petulance in my voice, and so can Cammy. "Carter..."
she presses, sounding for all the world like our mother.

I sigh.
"I might have really fucked up, Cam."

She's
silent, waiting. My sister won't judge me. I'm doing enough of that myself.
"Sanniyah came over for dinner last night," I tell her.

"Really?"
I can hear the thud and know that Cammy has just jumped to her feet.
"Carter, that's huge, oh my god! How long has it been?"

"Since
I invited a woman to Annika? Never, Cammy.
 
I've never invited a woman, invited anyone to come here. Besides you and
Greg, of course."

Cammy
exhales softly. "Wow." The bulk of what she means is what she isn't
saying.
Does that mean you're getting better?

"No,"
I answer her unasked question. "Not wow. Because she left in a hurry this
morning and now I can't stop the thoughts, Cam."

"Oh
Carter, you should go see Dr. Kaplan. Call him, I'm sure he can squeeze you
in."

"It's
Sunday, Cam."

She
sounds confused. "Oh, I guess it is. Greg just came back from Australia
and he's got me thinking it's Monday already. Are you sure he wouldn't see you
on a weekend? Don't you pay him enough?"

I laugh
bitterly. "Yeah I think I probably do. But," my words feel like they
are stuck in my throat....

Cammy
understands at once. "But you can't come here."

"No."

I hear
the phone rustling, hurried conversation, and I groan inwardly. Then Cammy's
voice returns. "Send Benson. We'll be at the airport in a half an
hour."

"You
don't have to..."

"Shut
up," she says, so sweetly I have to smile. "You haven't seen Greg in
forever anyway. He was just saying how he's dying for a swim. We're coming out
to be with you. And no one is firing anyone until you look me in the eye and say
that's what you want. Got it?"

She
sounds so much like my mother that I can only nod, the naughty little boy being
disciplined. "Got it," I echo, hanging up the phone. Then I turn and
hurl it as hard as I can into the bed. But the anger isn't there anymore. The
paranoia has receded and in its wake it leaves only heavy sadness.

Chapter Twenty-One

Sanniyah

"Why
are the table cloths yellow?!" The bride is shrieking louder than her
uncle's bad band.

 
Inwardly I am dying of shame, but
outwardly I smile, poised and reassuring. "I'll take care of it right
away," I tell her, mentally chastising myself for allowing the venue to
put out the ecru table settings instead of the white ones. I am distracted, my mind
still insisting on going back to Carter's house, Carter's eyes, Carter's bed. Carter's
face as he watches me walk to the helicopter. It seemed like I was walking for
miles.

Shaking
my head, at myself, I head back to the kitchen to raise hell with the waiters.

Once
the table cloth emergency is fixed, I fade to the background. I have to force
myself to drag my mind back to where I am every three or four minutes. The
disappointment and coldness in Carter's eyes has done something strange to me.
I feel the need to talk about it bubble to my lips.

"Can
I get you anything?" The bartender is a pretty, punky looking white girl
who doesn't look old enough to be serving drinks. Her neon pink hair is caught
back in a neat, professional bun, and she is dressed in the black suit and tie
of the country club staff, but I can tell at a glance that her preferred
uniform is tattered fishnets and eyeliner.
 

"Something
weak enough that I can pretend I'm not drinking, but strong enough to feel
it?" I say, feeling sheepish.

She
nods briskly. "I make this for myself," she confides, pouring deftly.
Then her eyes go wide. "Oh shit, please don't say anything to my
boss."

I have
to laugh. "Please don't say anything to my bride," I answer, raising
the glass she hands me. "Cheers."

"What
are we toasting?" she smiles.

I think
for a moment. "Being an idiot?"

"Ha!
Yeah I will definitely drink to that." She gulps a hurried beer, then
moves over to another sloshed uncle of the bride who is taking full advantage
of the open bar.
 
I lean on a stool
and contemplate what I have just said.

Why did
I say that? I made the decision to leave Carter's because I thought it was the
smartest thing to do. Sleeping with my bride's brother was never part of the
plan, and sleeping with a man like Carter Easton was a distraction I didn't
need right now. I was poised to break into the big time. I didn't have time for
a relationship.

Fuck,
where did that come from?
A relationship?

"You
okay over here?" The punky bartender is eyeing me with some concern and I
realize I must be mumbling to myself.

Hastily,
I straighten up. "You know what, I'm not really sure what I am."

"You
want to talk about it?" She shoots me a smile. "I'm a bartender, I
listen to people's problems and then they tip me well. It's sorta how this
whole thing works."

I laugh
and extend my hand. "Sanniyah."

She
takes it like a queen receiving a commoner, then laughs at herself. "Kat,"
she replies with a huff and roll of her black-rimmed eyes.

"Kat,
well, I don't know what to say except," I think for a second, then it
comes to me.
 
"I don't know why
I called myself an idiot just now. I think I made the right decision, no,
scratch that, I know I did. But if I did, why does it feel so hard and
hollow?"

"What
did you decide?"

I
grimace. "Not to have the sexiest man I have ever laid eyes on make me
breakfast."

"Oof,"
she says sympathetically. "That's a tough one. Why didn't he?"

"Because
I left as soon as I woke up."

"Why
did you leave?"

"Because
he's the brother of a client and sleeping with him was probably the worst thing
I could have ever done."

Kat
widens her eyes even further. "Are you like, married something?"

"What?
No!

"Oh."
She looks confused.

"Why
did you ask?"

She
shrugs dramatically. "I dunno, the way you're talking, I thought you were
like, married with kids and this was some fling you had. If you're single and
so is he, what's the problem?"

I huff.
"The problem is that it's unprofessional!"

"You
like him?"

"Yeah."
Saying it out loud fills me with a desperate little thrill.

"And
I'm going to go out on a limb here and say he likes you too, right?" She
wiggles her eyebrows. "Men are usually pretty fucked up, in my opinion.
But he'd have to be blind not to like you, you're absolutely gorgeous."

"Thank
you," I smile at her.

"Did
he tell you you're gorgeous?"

I think
back, flushing down in my core. "Multiple times."

"Well
then," Kat slaps her hands together like this is a done deal. "I
honestly can't figure out why you think you have a problem, so I am using my
power as a bartender to say that you don't. I have that power, you know. It's
in the handbook or something."

"Oh
yeah?" I might be getting a little more drunk than I intended, because
she's making me giggle. "Is it a secret handbook?"

"Well
of course it is. You can't see it, they'd take away my powers and I'd be a mere
mortal again. But, I can at least do this." She lifts her hands in a
dramatic gesture of blessing. "By the power invested in me by the state of
alcoholism, I hereby absolve you of your guilt. Go forth and have breakfast
with the sexy guy.

 
I burst out laughing. "Thank
you!" I lean sloppily against the bar. "I wish it was that easy, but
it's not. It's not actually that easy."

"Sure
it is."

 
Kat claps her hands together again, but
the humor of the moment drains quickly away the more I think about it. My smile
fades as I realize, "No, it actually isn't." I'm shaking my head back
and forth like a metronome. "I didn't exactly leave him on the best
terms."

Kat
huffs dramatically, clearly annoyed with my drunken hemming and hawing. "So
call him and say you're sorry!" she explodes.
 
Gesturing to my drink, she wiggles her
eyebrows. "I could make you a few more of those, if you need some liquid
courage. "

I waver
and glance down at my now empty glass. My heart is racing.
Just call him, huh? All I have to do is swallow my pride and call
Carter. No big deal, right? Just apologize for losing my shit and hope that
he's not as angry as he looked on the helipad. Then I just have to somehow
manage to keep business and pleasure from mixing too much and also hope that
Camilla isn't thoroughly disgusted by my actions while at the same time keeping
my brand and business moving forward on the track I had been planning out for
years while also being a good daughter to my dying stepfather who I haven't visited
yet....

Shit.

Oh god.

"You
know what, yeah. I'm definitely going to need a few more."