I raise my arms to steady myself, until I regain my footing. Self-consciously, I slap Keats’ hands away from my sides before I slowly turn around. Like the first two, I chose this third dress to hide my problem areas—an illusion that doesn’t quite work if he’s got his fingers right on my flab.
My jaw drops and I almost fall off the chair again when I see what Keats is wearing. Or rather, not wearing. He’s bare footed with one of my pink towels wrapped low around his narrow hips.
“You okay?” He offers me a hand as I step down.
“Yep.” I am unable to look below his neck or else I’d ogle where his hard body meets my pink towel. Or worse yet, lower down. “Why are you naked?”
“I hand-washed my pants, and I thought it’d be weird to walk around in a towel with socks and shoes on,” he explains, looking down at his attire.
My eyes dip to his pebbled nipples. He crosses his arms in front of them. “It’s cold in here.”
I walk over to the kitchen window and close it.
“What are we doing now for dinner?” he asks, sitting at my little table. He has an elbow resting on the back of his chair, unknowingly giving me a great view of his side muscles.
“You still hungry?” I’m surprised he hasn’t left yet.
“We haven’t eaten. We seem to have skipped the meal and got down to the nudity first—interestingly, not unlike how my Friday nights used to be.”
I roll my eyes at him, shaking my head. He just laughs off my exaggerated show of disdain.
“Well, you got to choose the first dinner. You trust me to choose the next one?”
He shrugs a sexy shoulder, the light freckles on it distracting. “Sure. But I reserve the right to throw it at you.”
As long as he stays in just that towel, he can do whatever he wants.
Chapter 15
Mid-July
I’m going cross-eyed with envy. I can’t take my eyes away from Isabella and Byron so touchy feely with him sitting in an armchair, and her perched on the arm, leaning against him. It’s like they need to be physically touching at all times. She plays with a strand of his hair near his temple while he talks to Isabella’s cousin who works in Hollywood. And instead of telling her to stop, Byron actually turns to his fiancée with a lovesick smile that puts an ache to my chest.
“You’re staring.”
I jump a little but keep my expression passive as Keats stands right next to me by the doorway to the Harpers’ kitchen. Around us, the happy couple’s engagement party is in full swing.
“Just looking for chinks in their love armour,” I tell Keats. I’m so glad he hasn’t gone with his initial idea of bringing a date to make Isabella jealous. The only one the ploy would’ve worked on is me.
“Any luck?”
I shake my head. “They’re so sweet, I want to vomit.” Totally true. Though part of me wants to have exactly the same thing with the guy standing next to me.
Keats chuckles without humour.
“How are you handling having her back in the country?” I don’t need to say who. We’ve been talking about the same “her” for the last three months. The “her” who breezed back into town last night with a platinum “engagement” band for her fiancé that he’s now proudly wearing on his left hand.
“Not as tough as I thought, especially since she’s staying here with her parents while she’s in Brisbane. I don’t think I could handle…it’d suck more if she and Byron were down the hall the whole time. I’m sure you know they spent the night here last night.”
I nod. It’s not a good sign that seeing his ex with his brother still bothers Keats this much.
“She’s looking good, huh?” he comments, eyes still on his ex-girlfriend.
Ouch. I cringe internally, my expertise at keeping my feelings to myself coming in handy.
Keats is surreptitiously watching Isabella who’s gazing at Byron who only seems to have eyes for Isabella. No one is looking at Keats, except me, and he’s not paying attention to me at all. This is totally fucked up.
“She’s getting ready for their wedding, which is in four months,” I remind him because he seems to need it.
It’s his turn to cringe, the comment breaking the Isabella-induced trance he seems to have been under.
“That’s still a lot of time,” he says, mouth harsh as he takes another swig of his beer. “I can work with four months.”
“Yeah? How?” What’s he planning? I narrow my eyes at him but he just winks at me. “You coming to Moreton Island for the bridal party bonding next weekend?” I ask instead.
“Guess so. The more time I can spend with Isabella, the better,” he says, taking another quick slug of his drink.
The clink of metal on glass interrupts our plotting.
“Speech! Speech!” some arsehole yells, obviously not considering the fact I have nothing upbeat to say about the happy couple. Shit. I hate public speaking. I’ve always been somewhat of a loner for a reason.
Guests stop their chatter and look around till they spot Keats and me standing together. Even the guests of honour turn to us.
“Ladies first,” Keats says, behind another sip of his beer. He gives me the slightest of shoves when I don’t budge.
“Um, hi. I’m Jess—the maid of honour.” I look over my shoulder at Keats who unhelpfully returns my gaze with an amused grin. I thought preparing one for the wedding reception was tough enough. “I, um, just want to congratulate Isabella and Byron, and…wish them all the best with their long-distance relationship. It’s, um, great they found each other, and um, it must be tough not seeing each other, and being surrounded by temptation. But they look like they’re doing okay. Probably because Byron’s not a cheating bastard like Isabella’s first fiancé. So that’s, um, great…Um,
