The Last Plus One Read online

  Working by the pool this morning had seemed a great idea, and Cruz had jumped on the opportunity to get out of the house with her, though he was pretty distracting in his board shorts and six-pack. She almost snapped at him to put on a damn T-shirt, but they weren’t the only ones who’d had the pool idea.

  Except they were the only ones trying to get any work done. Didn’t these people have jobs? Things to take care of even though they weren’t in office? And why weren’t they at the beach instead? Lame to be at a heated pool when the whole wide Atlantic beckoned.

  But Maggie couldn’t blame all of the interruptions on daydreams and six-packs. There’d been splashes from cannonballs that zinged precariously close to their satellite office setup. People stopping by to visit, commenting on the fine weather, chiding Cruz for keeping Maggie so busy with work that she couldn’t have any fun. And now Wedding Planner Barbie.

  She was practically sitting on Cruz’s lap. Maybe Claire thought she could steal her man—which she probably could, since he wasn’t really her man, though everybody thought he was, and ugh! He’d been looking at her all weird since yesterday morning when she’d fallen on him in bed.

  So they’d gotten a little carried away. They had to pull themselves back together. And she thought she had. Except last night, the clambake hadn’t been any picnic, either, when he kept smiling and winking at her and standing too close and smelling too good and—

  “And you’ll know where the emergency supplies are stashed, won’t you?”

  “Yes, Claire. I’ve got your six.” Though she wanted to stick the pearl-handled cheese knife through her six, since Claire kept asking questions about the Cove. Questions she should’ve known the answers to if she’d done her job properly. Or had she been any kind of friend at all of Laurel’s, because Laurel loved this place above all others. And that was what Maggie needed to focus on.

  Oh, sweet Laurel. Her face had rivaled the actual bonfire in terms of sheer candlepower. The woman was luminous, so ecstatic to share her home with the people closest to her. Which was why it was impossible for them to sneak off or leave early. That would break Laurel’s heart—or give her the wrong idea. There were just so many nooks and crannies for lovers to sneak away to. And Maggie didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. Because she and Cruz weren’t. Lovers.

  Technically.

  Oh, but you could be, so easily, a little voice sang.

  No, sharing a blanket with a man on a chilly northern beach didn’t mean you were lovers. It meant it was wicked cold after the sun went down. Ditto to talking late into that same chilly night, until the caterers had cleaned up, and the last of the smoldering ashes of the bonfire had been extinguished and smothered. It meant you had the good fortune to find your friend an interesting conversationalist. Who didn’t enjoy long talks with friends? Walking home hand in hand certainly didn’t mean anything romantic was going on. The walking paths around the Cove were exquisitely maintained but rather dimly lit.

  I like being with you like this, he’d said.

  “Oh, and one more thing, Maggie.” Claire leaned into Cruz’s side. “I’m sorry to steal her away from you so much this week, Cruz, and whatever you two are working on.”

  From anyone else, it would’ve been an innocuous statement. From Claire, it was a thinly veiled indictment that Maggie had somehow managed to snare one of the most handsome, eligible bajillionaires on the planet and was impeding him from doing his Very Important Work. And that, that was what Maggie disliked the most! It was like everybody totally seemed to forget that she, herself, had had a huge hand in building that fortune, that status, that man standing beside her.

  “Don’t worry about it, Claire. I’m more than happy to help out, since you’re running behind this week.” She sat forward and smiled at the other woman, as though they were sharing the juiciest confidence. “I don’t normally tackle these kinds of little-detail projects—my assistant usually delegates to other members of my staff before they ever reach the C-suite—but I can assure you I’ll manage to make it all happen. Cruz won’t collapse without me, though SD9 might without my strict eye on the bottom line.”

  Maggie refused to make eye contact with Cruz. He might be a wiz in the boardroom, but he’d never understand the complex nuances of female negotiations. But Claire knew, oh, Claire knew the message here: don’t punch above your weight, cookie.

  “Just text if you need me to take care of anything else for you today.” Maggie really shouldn’t enjoy winding up for the knockout, but it was so, so sweet. “Oh, before you leave, have you seen Tom today? I didn’t get a chance to catch up with him last night.”

  Which was true; he’d been super distracted by something and barely said three words to Maggie. It had stung. But it wasn’t like they could (or should) talk about the Hannah Kline situation at the wedding clambake.

  “Tom?” Claire’s hand flew to her hairline before fluttering back down to the lap of her five-hundred-dollar dress. Maggie noticed the moment the other woman decided she was going to play dumb. Which was ridiculous because everybody had heard about what happened last night.

  “Tom Harrington, pet vet to Virtue Cove? Reluctant groomsman. Tom?”

  “Oh, him? I couldn’t say. I’m too busy for locals today.” She blinked up at Maggie before starting to scroll through her no-doubt super-important inbox.

  Forget stabbing her in the back. Maggie was going to poke Claire’s eyes out.

  “Sorry, Ms. Portelli,” Cruz interrupted, gathering up their electronics as if he knew feathers were about to fly. “Maggie and I do have some business to take care of. I’m sure Mrs. Kennedy would be more than happy to—”

  “Oh sure, no, that’s totally okay. I just didn’t expect members of the wedding party to be off site today,” Claire said, looking for all the world like the only thing holding her together was her handy-dandy smartphone. For a moment, Maggie almost felt sorry for her.

  “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you to be at the dock thirty minutes before departure?”

  Nope. That was short-lived.

  “Don’t worry; we’ll be the first ones on board,” Cruz assured Claire with a wink, then guided Maggie out of the pool area with a hand low on her back.

  They’d taken care of all the PR stuff related to the magazine yesterday, so Maggie didn’t have a clue what Cruz was talking about. But if he was offering to whisk her away from wedding central, she wouldn’t put up a fight.

  Instead of walking her back home, though, he steered them in the direction of the west yard, the makeshift valet lot where their rental waited at the head of the line. A young guy in khakis and a uniform polo shirt tossed Cruz the keys—how had he even gotten them?

  “Ready to roll?”

  She should have put up a fight.

  “Cruz, I need to change.” She was in a swimsuit cover-up, though it was a beautiful vintage caftan with a hint of metallic silver shot through the turquoise linen that would hold up in any social situation on the coast… “And you need a shirt. We can’t just—”

  “No more work. I have a surprise.” He wheeled out of the lot like he’d been coming to social events at the Cove all his life, and it wasn’t long before they were heading for the main exit. Oh, no. This wasn’t a good idea. Even the Ramseys didn’t have the power to clear the surrounds of all interlopers; there were bound to be cameras. Thank goodness she was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and the sunglasses he’d once called “rich-widow-at-a-funeral sunglasses.”

  “No more work?” A surprise? Who was this man? “Cruz, I’ve got to take care of that bullshit wedding stuff quick because I need to call MacAullife about—”

  “Nope. Your rules. No work. No talking to any other human about SD9. Isn’t that what you said?”

  Yes, but she’d meant other people, and speaking of, at the head of the road, they ran into her dad and Auggie on a cart. Maggie had meant that person, in particular, when she started the rules. So she readily agreed with him—especially since he’d been s
o good last night and hadn’t said one word other than cheerful-guest kind of words to the senator. “Yes, those are the rules.”

  Though why she was still insisting on them now that everything was getting all crisscrossed and confused…

  No, no. It was a very good thing they were getting out today. A few hours out of the spotlight would do her a world of good. And tonight, she’d be back with armor firmly in place. The strong, powerful entrepreneur who stood on her own two feet.

  Cruz hailed them with a wave, and Maggie tipped up her sunglasses.

  “Where are you two off to in that snazzy little coupe?” Auggie asked while her dad whistled low, no doubt in appreciation of the red paint job.

  “Playing hooky.”

  “Taking a conference call.” They spoke at the same time. And of course, her blush burned bright enough to make both her father and Auggie get a little pink in the cheek, too.

  Auggie seemed to rally before her father and cleared his throat. “Yes, well, enjoy the Stolen Virtue this evening.”

  She pinched Cruz’s thigh as they drove off. “Not one word.”

  Chapter 6

  He’d heard Maggie at four in the morning, busting her ass working on a deal for the second night in a row, shouting in triumph when she’d made a breakthrough. He’d heard her laughing with DeShaun’s kids in a little bitty kiddie pool in her backyard. And he’d heard her soft cries of delight yesterday in her childhood bedroom.

  That last had been pretty damn amazing, but he’d never heard a sound sweeter than Maggie slamming down her shot glass and demanding another.

  “This is the most fun I’ve had in…ugh, I don’t want to think about how long.” She beamed up at him, her smile rivaling the neon signs for sheer brilliance. Who knew kidnapping her for a little R&R could yield such positive results?

  He should’ve tried it years ago.

  She shifted on the barstool, the dress covering her long legs brushing his bare ones as she leaned in closer. “Do we have to go back?”

  His breath stopped, and it wasn’t just the nearness of her body.

  Did they have to go back? To the Cove. To real life back in Austin. Could they go back? He didn’t know.

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, loving the feel of her beneath his fingertips and the way she leaned into that little touch. A marvel. “We can do whatever you want, Maggie.”

  Today had unlocked something in her—something in him, too, if he was honest. It was real, and still a little bit raw, but being with her had never felt more right. Tonight, after the cruise—or maybe during—he’d pitch her. Uh, that wasn’t quite right. This wasn’t strictly business. Although they did have a merger to negotiate. He wanted far more than just a work wife.

  He wanted her, all of her, but they had to talk it through.

  Cruz wasn’t naïve enough to think a transition from business partners to romantic partners would be simple. Relationships took a metric ton of work. And add in actually working together to that? Yeah, it was going to be tough to be in the office all day and then go home together at night, but they’d work it out. They always did.

  That was half of the fun.

  He signaled the bartender—in case he hadn’t heard her—but waved off a refill of his own. He was driving, after all, and if he messed up and didn’t get her back to the Cove in time to get ready for tonight’s couples’ party, he’d be swimming in it.

  Back to reality.

  “Think this is our last round, Maggie. Gotta head back before long.”

  He had to smile at her exaggerated pout. “You’re a terrible kidnapper.”

  “What? Me?” he said, mock-seriously. “After all the lobster rolls, gross blueberry fudge, decent blueberry pie, and”—he held up a hand tinged with blue—“melty blueberry ice cream cones you forced me to share with you today? You’re right. I am a terrible abductor. But I’m fun. You said it—I have witnesses.”

  “Then take another shot with me.”

  He patted his stomach. “Somebody’s got to steer the ship tonight.”

  “Please, have you ever even stepped one non-marking sole on a yacht before, cowboy?”

  He loved this side of Maggie. Had been too long since he’d seen it. Even in the very first days of grad school, she’d been so serious, so driven. Focused. It was one of the reasons he’d wanted to pair up with her in class. That drive had been magnetic. But as the years went on, and they became more and more successful, these little glimpses of the real Maggie were rare.

  The bartender pushed the tequila over, and Cruz stood to peel off a bill and settle up. “Pretty sure I know port from my aft.”

  She snorted at his lame joke, and he grinned like a fool. Until she picked up his arm and licked it.

  He jerked back, a reflex, but she only tut-tutted him and grabbed for the salt shaker. “No, you’ve got to hold still. Sit down. I don’t want to look like I’m trying to one-up Wedding Planner Barbie with a broken nose days before the ceremony.”

  He was sure she meant to steady his arm with her hand, but she only succeeded in petting him. Drawing hypnotic curlicues over his flesh with her fingertip. And it didn’t take an enormous leap of imagination to envision what it would be like if she used her tongue to trace the ragged edge of his pulse up his forearm.

  “Just take the shot already, Maggie.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re a prude, Cruz Griffin.”

  “If you could read my mind, you’d know the answer to that.”

  She drew her nail over him again, leaving behind a pale strip of cursive he couldn’t quite read before it melted back into his summer tan. “But I don’t need to read your mind to know the answer.”

  “Oh, you don’t?” He angled his body on the stool, their legs getting twisted up in each other’s again.

  “Nope. Because we’re the same, you know? We want the same things.” Maybe it was the whiff of tequila sitting in front of him, or maybe he was drunk off the bushel of blueberries they’d consumed earlier, but the way she said want made him want to say to hell with the yacht party and every other personal and professional obligation they ever needed to meet and just carry her off to some cabin in the inland woods where they could spend days—weeks, maybe—listing all those wants.

  “Don’t move.”

  Like he could.

  With the tip of one finger, she started at the stubble on his jaw and traced a line down his neck until she drew the neck of his T-shirt down, murmuring her approval when she uncovered some spot. He watched as she, almost in slow motion, leaned toward him—a sexy smile on her face—and licked a trail of hot fire up his neck.

  And then she was moving quickly, tipping the salt shaker over him, insubstantial grains sticking to and falling beneath his collar indiscriminately, as she laughed that million-dollar laugh before bending to suck at his skin.

  “You’re supposed to suck the lime, not the salt.”

  That earned him a little nip on the shoulder, and just as soon as the sting registered, Maggie moved to pick up her shot glass and nudge the saucer of limes in his direction.

  He didn’t think. Just picked up a wedge and rubbed the fragrant pulp over his lips.

  It was bold, but so was she today. He held it out to her just in case she—

  Slammed her shot glass down and all but climbed on his lap to get at his lips.

  Holy hell. That kiss went wild. The promise of yesterday morning coming to an immediate and ravenous peak.

  No, it wasn’t the blueberries, or the watered-down tequila for the Bar Harbor tourists who’d wandered into the diviest bar in Maine. It was Maggie.

  It was Maggie who pulsed through his veins. Maggie, the sharp sting and sweet, soothing caress. Maggie. Only Maggie.

  Always Maggie.

  Last month when Mom had said something about a sunset cruise being on the list of Wedding Weekend activities, Maggie had wanted to surrender right then and there. The thought of being captive on a boat—though, to be honest, the Stolen Virtue wa
s a superyacht worthy of a Russian oligarch—with the wedding party, a DJ, and most of the guests under forty-five made her break out in hives.

  But tonight? Oh, tonight, she could find nothing but enchantment in the idea of a sunset cruise. In watching the stars peek out from their velvety blanket as they floated along. In spending it all with Cruz Griffin by her side.

  Today had changed everything. Everything.

  “You ready for this?” His voice was pitched low, meant for her ears only. And especially the right one as he finished off his question with a quick kiss on the cheek.

  Maggie shivered, and didn’t care who saw them. Didn’t care who whispered about what that man was doing with her. Didn’t care about anything but the feel of his fingers lacing with hers and the click clack of her heels as they walked down the dock.

  “Right on time,” Claire greeted them with a smile that lost something in translation. It wasn’t like they were in a competition to see who loved Laurel the most, but ever since she’d met Claire Portelli, it had felt like a race to that particular finish.

  But nothing would bring her down tonight. Especially since there was a whole spread of fancy ballet flats for the women to change into. An array of neutrals, metallics, and a pretty pink she saw Ashton, the groom’s little sister, reaching for with a look of pure delight.

  Cruz selected a gold pair and offered them up to her with a roguish wink. “You should take two, since that jackass ruined your other pair on the beach.”

  That he’d noticed astounded her. Though, after today, she could safely say the man was full of surprises. Good ones. Tingly ones. Ones that made her wonder what the heck they’d been ignoring for the past seven years.

  Once they were onboard—properly shod so as to keep the luxury deck pristine—and had made it through the receiving line, everyone beelined to the champers and the spread of tasties.