The Last Plus One Page 11

  Maggie took stock of the waitstaff circulating. Calculated the risk. The high, high return on investment. And leaned in to whisper in Cruz’s ear. “Have you ever made out on a yacht? It’s a time-honored Cove tradition.”

  Rocking back on her heels so she could take in the look on his face, she felt a sultry grin creep across her face in answer. Ooh, he looked edible in a suit and tie.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle if it’s your first time, Tex.”

  He somehow managed to back her into the railing without making her feel like she was going to die. Maybe it had something to do with the way her hands had crept up to rest on his flat stomach then dip under his suit coat to the wide expanse of his back.

  When one of his thighs began to slide between hers, she didn’t care if she went overboard—as long as he went with her.

  “There’s a first time for everything, Margaret Kennedy. Don’t hurt me.”

  Oh boy. She still wasn’t entirely convinced that she wasn’t the one going to be standing alone, hurt, with wounded pride and a battered heart after this was all said and done. But she’d come this far…

  She was tired of calculating the risks. She leapt.

  “Let’s go.”

  They exchanged their pair of champagne flutes, circulated to minimize the threat of discovery, then made their move to find a way below deck.

  “So, how do the bases translate when you’re not on land?” he asked. “Is there a naval equivalent? I’m not exactly up to date on my seaman’s vocabulary.”

  The giggle-snort caught her off guard. She should probably lay off the bubbles since she was still a little tipsy from their afternoon together. But the stars would soon be out, the salt in the air was a delicious tang, and it was like something inside of her was coming to life again. Or for the first time. And it was good.

  Really good.

  It felt so right to be with him like this.

  “Have you ever been here before?” he asked as they navigated through the maze that led to the staterooms until finally finding a door that opened easily.

  “No, but they’re all the same in the dark.”

  And it was dark. They’d chosen one of the smaller inward cabins. Probably meant for a member of the crew. She hoped they weren’t in someone’s actual room, but then Maggie didn’t seem to care much at all about propriety because Cruz was backing her across the threshold and closing the door behind him.

  With a quick twist, he crowded her up against it, and even in the darkness illuminated by a thin strip of safety lights, she could see him looming over her. Stealing all the air and giving it back to her between lots of delicious little kisses.

  “Have you ever made love on a yacht, Maggie?”

  “Wh-who said anything about making love?” Somehow, she’d lost control of her little game, and oh, the way he was pressing into her, they definitely weren’t playing.

  He found her face with his hands, tipping up her chin, as if he could actually see into her eyes and all the way to her heart. “I’m pretty sure anything we do together is that. Love. Every touch. Every kiss. Everything. After all these years? Couldn’t be anything else.”

  Her breath whooshed out, a mixture of panic and pure joy. Who knew Cruz was so romantic?

  There was little time to ponder this change in dynamic. Soon, he kissed the thoughts right out of her brain. They were all floating up there, on the ceiling, just waiting for her to gather them back up again. But they could wait. Because she wasn’t going to wait one more minute to take everything he was giving.

  Even if he had said something about, uh, love. Deep breath. Ooh, mistake; he smelled like a dream she wanted to wrap up in.

  “How have I gone my whole life without your legs? Without easy access to these?”

  “I’ve always had legs,” she murmured, rendered a little incoherent by the way his big hands were sliding up the hem of the short, flirty cocktail dress DeShaun had assured her would be perfect for tonight, and his mouth was snaking a line down her neck.

  “Unh-uh. I would have noticed these. Why have you been hiding them? I can’t think of a damn thing but your legs.”

  “Cruz, stop.”

  When he did, immediately, she clarified, “No, I meant stop joking about my legs, not stop touching them. Please, don’t stop that.”

  There was nothing funny in the way he ran his hand up and up and up the inside of her thigh—nor the way she heard a noise behind them. She instinctively squeezed her thighs tight, and apparently she didn’t have to worry about missing a leg day either, because he made a noise of torment.

  “You’re killing me.”

  “Oh sorry, am I hurting you?”

  He laughed and she rushed to muffle the sound with her lips until the noise outside went away.

  “It’s more an existential pain,” he confessed.

  Oh. Maybe she should worry about missing leg days.

  “This probably isn’t a good idea.” She’d thought to turn, to open the door and head back up to the party, but he anchored her to the spot with his body.

  “This is the best idea we’ve ever had.”

  She had to agree. The path his hands and lips were taking was a stroke of genius, yet somehow Maggie had to slow them down before she went under.

  “Better than our first deal that netted twenty-eight million dollars in second-quarter profits?”

  “That your brain can recall that at this particular moment is frightening.” He eased the sting of his words with another flick of his tongue against her lower lip, which tightened some coil inside of her. “But no. Nothing is this good.”

  “What about the Teague Unlimited deal?”

  “Unh-uh.”

  She should be proud of the way he went all incoherent, especially since she was the one with a hand precariously close to her panties. Not that he would be wearing panties if her hand were to also dive below layers of clothes, and hot, it was so hot, why didn’t the Ramseys maintain their vessel better? Why was there no air conditioning in this stateroom? Why was—

  Oh. My. God.

  He scattered soft kisses over her brow, her cheeks, down her neck until she thought she’d never stand up on her own again. Until the door behind her vibrated from someone jiggling the handle and she suddenly had legs of steel.

  She fumbled for the light switch and practically ran over to the washroom. Could barely meet her reflection in the mirror. She was flushed and splotchy, her eyes shining.

  But her examination didn’t last long. The door to the stateroom burst open while she was pretending to wash her hands.

  “Oopsie.” A tipsy Laurel and a wildly grinning Ty stood there. “Hope we aren’t interrupting anything.”

  “Laurel,” Maggie exclaimed a bit too brightly. “I was just looking for you.”

  “Oh, I just bet you were.”

  “Seriously. Wedding Planner Bar—um, Claire sent us on an errand and it got a little messy.”

  Cruz, the traitor, took that opportunity to excuse himself with a courtly bow, a wink, and a lowly murmured, “Ladies.”

  Maggie wasn’t sure who sighed louder when watching the two men leave through the tiny door, Laurel or her.

  “Oh, friend, you’ve got it bad.”

  Maggie tugged at the hem of her dress to make sure it was in place—then realized what that revealed. “I do not.”

  Laurel stared her down like a poodle eyeing a filet mignon. What, just because she was gloriously in love didn’t mean everyone was.

  At all. Totally. No love.

  Right?

  “Fine. Whatever. So the man is hot. And smart. Wicked funny. And insanely romantic. Also hot. Have I mentioned that?” She knew her cheeks were burning, and it had nothing to do with the curse of a redhead. Cruz Griffin had completely done a number on her, and she felt a bit jumbly inside. Like all her parts were there but just slightly to the left of where they should be. Still functioning, but different. As if that scant millimeter to the left made her more aware of the
m. “But I’d rather talk about what you two were doing skulking about down here at your own party.”

  “Why looking for you, of course,” Laurel deadpanned. “Come on. I need to splash some water on my wrists—can’t wreck this camera-ready makeup job—then let’s head up to get some fresh air.”

  Arm in arm, they teetered their way up a tiny spiral staircase Maggie would have never found—nor used—on her own. When Laurel grabbed another of the infinite champagne flutes, Maggie shook her head.

  “I think I’ve had enough for now.”

  “Mm-hmm. Sounded to me like you’re gonna want a little more of that.”

  “Laurel!”

  “What? A lot more? Oh please, I’m getting married in two days. It’s not like you need to play the protective big sister with me anymore. I know all about S-E-X.”

  “We’re not…doing that.”

  Laurel caught her up in a twirl. “Someone’s in love with her plus one.”

  They’d been down longer than she’d thought. The sun was fast approaching its bedtime, and the last sharp rays of the day hit Maggie in the face as sure as Laurel’s teasing had.

  The ting ting of metal on crystal, signaling something important, saved Maggie from having to respond. “Sounds like it’s toast time. You’d better get back up there, Future Mrs. James.”

  “You’re not coming?”

  “Hurry. You’ll be late!”

  But Maggie didn’t follow. She listened for the crowd to appreciate Laurel’s grand entrance—the oohs and ahhs proclaiming she must’ve snagged Ty on the way and made an adorable prenuptial picture as the sun set behind them.

  Voices were muffled before the predictable feedback from the microphone and a collective groan. Someone, probably the best man, began to speak. Maggie should really go find Cruz and make an appearance; she was, after all, in the wedding party. But she found herself drifting to the stern for some time to put herself together, because holy cow she and Cruz had almost had yacht-sex during Wedding Weekend.

  The aftermath of the almost-yacht-sex had her feeling a little vulnerable. Clearly, it had been her idea, and she was fully on board with it (ha, on board), but she couldn’t help but be terrified by what this meant for the future.

  “You look like you’ve just lost a friend.”

  Ah, Tom. Maggie joined him at the railing, watching the foam and churn of the yacht disappear into the middle distance. That way, they could both ignore the haunted looks in the other’s eyes.

  “I could say the same to you. Although, in my case, I think it’s more along the lines of completely losing my mind.”

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  “Nope,” she said, though she knew he wouldn’t take that as an answer.

  “In my professional medical opinion,” he teased, and nudged her shoulder. God, having him back, joking with her, was a blade in the ribs. That they could fall back into their old rhythm and routine after all the years—after all the terrible drama the summer she left Virtue Cove and never came back—was almost more than she could bear. “It’s more like you’ve lost your heart, not your mind.”

  Where were the omnipresent waitstaff and infinite champagne refills when you needed them?

  “Gosh, it’s good to see you, too,” she grumbled. His assessment—professional or otherwise—had hit pretty close to the heart of the matter. “Wanna tell me why you’re hiding out here with sad, brooding eyes instead of making Wedding Planner Barbie sit up and take notice?”

  “Oh, she notices, all right. Notices that I’m completely beneath her notice.”

  “Well, that’s just ridiculous.” She knew there’d been nothing between those two way back in college—Laurel had been her sole lifeline to keeping tabs on Tom after she’d left the Cove—but this week, she’d thought…

  “It’s life, Maggie.”

  “It’s infuriating, Tom. And so help me, if I see her go overboard tonight, I will look the other direction and raise my glass.”

  Tom turned, and his sea-blue eyes were warm and soft and when had he turned into a man? In that moment, she felt ashamed at having thrown away their friendship because she couldn’t wait to get out of this place.

  “No. You’d jump in after her, with a flare and a donut in hand, and join forces to figure out a way to save yourselves.” He was so good. So kind and generous to believe the best in her, always.

  “You’re a good man, Tom. Worth thirty of her. But by God, if you want her, don’t let another day go by without her.”

  His hug was like wrapping herself in her grandmother’s quilt. Familiar, soft, and a little like being twelve again. “You gonna take your own advice?”

  Was she so obvious?

  More mic feedback blasted over the open water. They both recoiled and cringed once Cinco’s voice oozed over the speaker. Of all the people on this floating pleasure palace, Maggie and Tom certainly knew a monster had taken the mic firmly in hand.

  “This won’t be pretty,” Tom muttered. “Maybe we should head back. Figure out a way to signal Hawk to wrest back control of the microphone. That’s a job for the best man, right?”

  Every step brought Cinco’s voice into clearer concentration. He was blabbering on about his little sister and family; so far it sounded like the typical brother-of-the-bride spiel.

  “If only the old folks were here tonight,” Maggie wished aloud. “Surely Mrs. R’s presence would keep him from saying anything truly obscene.”

  “Which is why I’m delighted to let you in on a little secret.” Cinco paused for dramatic effect. “The Ramsey International family might be growing by one more in the next few weeks. Though we’ve thought of Mags as one of ours for years now.”

  Maggie stopped dead in her tracks and Tom uttered a low oath.

  “That true?”

  Ten thousand thoughts zinged through her mind, none of them making sense, all of them ending in midair collisions. “Oh no. No. God, no. Tom, I can’t believe you’d think that of me. I couldn’t leave SD9. Not like that.” She clutched his lapels, searching his eyes for a solution. Only this time, it wasn’t Hannah Kline on the rocks dealing with the aftermath of August Ramsey V, it was Maggie herself. “How are we going to make it go away this time?”

  His arms tightened imperceptibly around her—a warning?—then dropped. “Looks like you’re cleaning up this mess by yourself. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Five stood there, smug and triumphant, while the crowd of peacocks and party guests looked around in confusion. A few of the better connected amongst them zeroed in on the meaning—and on Cruz—almost immediately. But most just clapped politely when he raised a glass “to family.”

  Cruz drank. Considering he had eyes on him, he drank his damned glass down and smiled and cheered when Ty gave Laurel a boring peck. Counted twenty Mississippis before knocking back some kind of tiny cheese pastry a passing server offered and, once eyes were elsewhere, made his way back below deck.

  Maybe she was still there. Maybe it was all a mistake.

  And maybe MacAullife had been right all along and she was already gone. In the clutches of a corporate monster, lost to SD9 forever.

  But he didn’t find her in the arms of a corporate monster—Cinco was still on the deck accepting back slaps and good-ole-boy shit-eating grins—rather in the arms of the very unexpected good doctor.

  While Maggie extricated herself from the embrace, Cruz flashed back to that moment when she’d confessed only Tommy had been in her room back in the day. He was over this teenage-drama bullshit.

  And he was over the way his guts churned when Dr. Tom winked at Maggie after acknowledging Cruz with a nod, excusing himself.

  There was music and laughter dancing over the air, at odds with the deep rumble of the boat. And the maniacal kathump of his heart.

  “Sorry to interrupt.”

  “You’re not interrupting anything.” The way she brushed her hair back over her shoulders and turned to him with a shaky smile set him off even more.

&nbs
p; Conscious of the party twenty feet from them, Cruz fought to keep his voice from carrying. “I knew this was going to happen. I knew this was happening.”

  Oh, and she pretended to look confused.

  “Why didn’t you just tell me?” He needed to stop. They shouldn’t be having this discussion here. Now. Jesus, no wonder she’d been worried about optics of him being here.

  But his big, dumb heart had gotten involved and he couldn’t ignore it. Especially when he feared nothing could stop the bleeding. “You could have told me you were looking for another job.”

  “Cruz, I—”

  “Of course, why would you tell me something like that when for years you never told the truth about where you grew up or who you grew up with?”

  “Wait. Wait a minute.” Her face leeched of all color, and so bright it could be one of the bloody stars over their heads. But just as false. Old light that burned away thousands of years ago. Only the clueless dipshits on earth thinking it winked just for them.

  “What do you even mean? You know everything about me, Cruz. Everything that’s important.” She took a step forward and the railing pressed up against his side. “And I’m not leaving you. That’s just some asshole, jerkish thing Cinco said to stir the pot. Because that is what he does. He breaks everybody else’s shiny toys if he can’t have them.”

  “You can’t have it both ways. I know we’ve been playing it both ways this week. Jesus, and tonight.” Hot lips and cool lies dished out simultaneously on what Cruz had been beginning to think of as the day his life really began. And to think he’d said something about making love. Love!

  He was such a fool. He’d had relationships go south before—who hadn’t? It had stung; he’d moved on.

  But Maggie? Maggie was half of him. Together, they could build empires.

  It was ludicrous, but an image of that magazine feature flashed through his mind. Their desks, the couches, everything in SD9 would never be the same. She’d ruined it for him, just as she’d ruined him.

  “You can’t have it both ways anymore. If you’re leaving, you’re gone. We’re done.”

  “Cruz—”