He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not E-Book

Iris Morland

• Herausgeber: IRIS MORLAND
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Flower Shop Sisters
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Seitenzahl: 315

Beschreibung

I’m a good girl—until I got drunk in Vegas and married a panties-flaming-hot Irishman.
Oops.
I’ve always lived my life by the rules. Unlike my two sisters, I’m the good one. The responsible one. Going outside my comfort zone is when I wear red lipstick before five PM.
That comfort zone of mine? It’s smashed to smithereens on a wild night in Las Vegas when I met—and married—Liam Gallagher.
After one shot of tequila, then two, then too many to count, a good girl’s rules tend to disappear. And so do her panties, and her bra, and various other articles of clothing when she’s with an Irishman who knows his way around a woman’s body.
Now my husband wants us to stay married. For six months. He says it’ll be worth my while. Considering our chemistry underneath the sheets, I can’t say that he’s wrong.
Liam isn’t safe, though. Liam definitely isn’t comfortable. He’s like the male equivalent of wearing red lipstick in the daytime all wrapped up in an irresistible, dangerous package.
Yet this stubborn Irishman isn’t about to let me go, drunken Princess Bride-themed Vegas wedding or no.
Now I have to decide if I’m brave enough to break the rules for love.

Leseprobe

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

The Flower Shop Sisters

Iris Morland

Blue Violet Press LLC

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

Enjoy this exclusive excerpt

Also by Iris Morland

About the Author

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not (The Flower Shop Sisters Book 2)

Published by Blue Violet Press LLC

Seattle, Washington

Copyright © 2019 by Iris Morland

Cover design by Qamber Designs

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Chapter One

Mari

The moment I woke up after my best friend’s raucous bachelorette party in Las Vegas, I realized two things in quick succession:

I was spooning with a man who was very, very naked.And I had no idea who he was.

To my horror, the man had his arm slung across me, and it weighed at least a thousand pounds, I was sure. My bladder yelled profanities at me as I pushed at the ridiculously heavy arm trapping me against the bed.

Finally, he turned over, taking his arm with him. I shuffled to the bathroom and didn’t feel the panic hit me until after I’d peed and saw the ring on my left hand.

Ring. Left hand. I didn’t wear a ring there anymore since I’d caught my ex-fiancé cheating on me. I’d thrown the ring David had bought me in his face.

This ring wasn’t that diamond David had gotten me. I peered more closely at it. It was—plastic? Was it from a ring pop?

Did I call the police? No, that was stupid. 911, I got married last night to a stranger. Yeah, that’d go over well. I was sure the Vegas police would just laugh and tell us to get a lawyer.

I heard movement in the room. I froze. Glancing in the mirror, I saw a wild-eyed woman with bedhead, smeared lipstick, raccoon eyes from melted mascara, and a whole bunch of hickeys across my collarbone.

I very rarely swore, but at that moment I wanted to swear until I was blue in the face.

What had I done last night? And who was in my bed with me?

I wasn’t that kind of girl—you know, the wild girl. The girl who had one-night stands in Vegas. The girl who threw caution to the wind.

I’d been about to get married to a man who drove a Prius and was an accountant. I always got the perfect attendance certificate in elementary school. I’d been one of the valedictorians at my high school; I’d gotten an A- once because my teacher had dared to think my essay on fashion in The Great Gatsby was “insipid, at best.” (She’d been wrong, by the way.)

I was Marigold Wright, and I was a good girl.

I prided myself on my good girl-ness. Where my sisters were either oddballs or outright deviants (at least in my mind), I never crossed lines. I liked lines. Lines were comforting. They existed for a reason; otherwise the world would be in utter chaos.

My one real indulgence in life was my makeup obsession. My collection was scattered across the bathroom counter—an excessive amount of products for one person on a brief trip—and strangely enough, having this man see it all seemed like a violation of my privacy. Even more than being in bed with me and him being naked. I began to put my makeup away, knowing in my haste I’d have to go through it and reorganize it when I got home.

“Are you done in there?” a growling male voice said through the bathroom door. “I’m fuckin’ dying out here.” An accent tinged his speech, but I was too tired to try to place it.

I tossed the last products into my makeup bag and scrubbed at my face. Realizing it didn’t matter, I opened the door with a frigid expression.

The man—who wore only a sheet draped around his hips—smiled down at me. No, he didn’t smile; he smirked. I’d never been the recipient of a true smirk before, but this man clearly had perfected the look.

He was tall, so tall I had to tilt my head back. He had to be at least six-five; I was five-ten, so it was rare that men were tall enough that I felt short in comparison. But what arrested me most was how dark his eyes were. Oh, and the fact that he was jacked. Muscles for days, his chest covered in dark hair that matched the beard shadowing his cheeks and jaw.

“Are you done or can I take a piss now?” he said.

I blushed to the roots of my hair. Being a redhead, my blushes tended to be bright and extremely obvious, and this man in front of me seemed very amused with my red cheeks. I wanted to ask him if he remembered what had happened last night, but it was as if the words had dried up in my throat.

Or maybe it was because I had a large male glaring down at me because I wouldn’t let him pee.

“Be my guest,” I said, ducking under his arm. I tried to look as prim as I could, but it was difficult when I looked like a total wreck and didn’t even know this man’s name.

He shut the door with an ironic bow, giving me some time to collect my thoughts. Actually, I didn’t need to collect my thoughts: I needed to run. But as I got dressed and began to toss things into my suitcase, I realized he was the one who needed to leave. This was my room.

I stopped packing when memories started to surface, like images from a movie. I remembered stumbling down the Las Vegas strip, and I could remember this man’s voice beside me. Then the bachelorette party where the bride-to-be, Jenna, kept shoving tequila shots in front of me. Or had that happened before we’d stumbled down the strip?

Worst of all, I remembered the touch of a man—this man—who made heat lick through my veins.

But he wasn’t just any man. He had a name. I remembered that now, because we’d met the day prior to the bachelorette party.

Liam. His name was Liam, but his last name eluded me at the moment. He’d sat next to me at the rehearsal dinner, and then at the hotel pool after that—

Oh God, had I slept with him last night? Based on the hickeys, it certainly seemed plausible. But I couldn’t remember, and that made my stomach curdle.

I needed a bottle of water, ibuprofen, and some explanations. I scrambled around in my suitcase, only to find a gift bag from the bachelorette party the night before. Right as I pulled out a pink dildo that said Pleasure for your pink on the base, Liam emerged from the bathroom.

“I’m flattered, love, but pink isn’t really my color,” he said over my shoulder. “Besides the fact that I’m always the one who does the penetrating,” he added with a wry chuckle.

I tried to stuff the dildo back into the bag, but I only proceeded to empty the rest of its contents, which included: a handful of condoms—ribbed for her pleasure, so obviously there was a theme here; a butt plug with a diamond handle; and a bullet vibe that started buzzing way too enthusiastically for my pounding head.

I could’ve cheerfully strangled Jenna for giving us these party favors last night. Whatever happened to a piece of jewelry or a gift certificate from Starbucks? Something benign, something that didn’t involve things that went up your butt. Although anything could become a butt plug if you really tried, I reasoned.

“Oh my God,” I groaned. “This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening—”

I turned to face Liam, only to see that he was naked.

And no, the dildo was no match for him. Jesus Christ on a stick, how could a man look that good naked? He didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. He was built like a linebacker, although, admittedly, I didn’t know exactly how any football player should look. I’d always been more into slender guys.

Then again, my slender in all things ex-fiancé had cheated on me so my taste in men was clearly suspect.

Liam just waited for me to speak. He wasn’t at all embarrassed by his nudity, and based on how perfectly built he was he had no reason to be modest. To my utter shock, he was soon half-hard.

I watched in fascination as his cock grew before my very eyes. He had a delicious V that cut past his hips and pointed straight to his package. I wanted to lick both of those lines until I reached his cock—

I finally found my voice, because I did not have time to stare at a semi-stranger’s erection. “Put some clothes on!” I screeched. “And get out of my room!”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest, that dumb smirk on his handsome face. “Last night wasn’t that bad.”

Last night? I scowled. “I’m not having this discussion until you put some pants on.”

“Funny, considering how much you wanted them off last night.”

I ignored that remark, even though butterflies exploded inside my stomach. That was probably from the alcohol still digesting, I thought. Or maybe I was still drunk. I touched my forehead, as if being drunk were the same as having a fever and thus diagnosable.

I suddenly felt perilously close to tears, but I knew it would only make my headache worse. I pulled my hair back into a tight ponytail, ignoring Liam behind me getting dressed. My heart pounded so hard that I felt light-headed.

“You can look now. I’m decent,” he said.

I turned, noting that, despite the fact that he was dressed, he did not look decent. At all. His collared shirt stretched across his chest, accentuating the width of his shoulders, while he’d rolled the sleeves up his arms to showcase his muscular forearms. He radiated a combination of masculinity and blatant confidence that edged into arrogance.

I didn’t know what to do with men like him. David had never radiated anything but safety. Consistency.

Boredom, my mind whispered.

“What happened last night?” I whispered.

Liam lifted a dark eyebrow and sat down on the edge of the still disheveled bed. “You really don’t remember?” Once again, his accent made my toes curl into the plush hotel room carpet. He’d told me where he was from—hadn’t he?

God, how much tequila had I drunk? I didn’t do things like this for a reason. I was the friend who drove drunk friends home.

“I really don’t remember,” I said in exasperation. “I mean, it’s coming back, but…” I was too afraid to ask if we’d slept together.

“You look like you’re about to vomit. Is it me or is it the hangover?”

I held up my left hand. “Do you know what this is?”

“Is this a trick question?”

I pointed to the plastic ring. “What. Is. This?”

“A ring, clearly.”

He was toying with me, the jerk.

“Why am I wearing it?” I tried again.

“Why the bloody hell would I know that?”

Once again I tried to place his accent—it sounded American at times, but then he’d roll his r’s, as if he were savoring the consonants with his tongue.

Based on his exasperation, he didn’t know what had happened last night any more than I did.

“Well, I’m wearing a ring on my left hand. That leads me to think…”

Liam turned pale right as the jangled pieces of memories in my brain began to assemble themselves.

Oh God. Oh God, no, no, we couldn’t have done that.

Memories once again flashed across my eyes. Hands gripping me as I was pressed against a brick wall outside. The sound of slot machines, and Liam yelling when he won a round of blackjack.

White flowers that had been abandoned somewhere between the chapel and the hotel after our wedding ceremony.

Wedding. Ceremony. The ring on my finger. Wedding night.

No, no, no, no.

I trembled. I wondered if I was going to swoon at Liam’s feet, and I’d never fainted in my entire life.

“Did we—?” My voice croaked. I couldn’t say the words, because then it would make them real.

Liam looked like he might faint, too, which would’ve been funny if not for the circumstances. He then swore in a language I didn’t recognize. And then he went to my bag—the one filled with various sex toys—and pulled out a piece of paper. He swore again.

“What? What is that?” I said.

He handed it to me. It was a marriage license, and the two signatures at the bottom?

Marigold Wright and Liam Gallagher.

“Oh my God. We’re married?” The marriage license fluttered to the floor.

“Seems so. Christ.” Liam began to pace.

Right then, my foot hit the bag of sex toys, setting off the vibrator. Its buzzing sound filled the room like an alarm. Danger, danger, you married a man you don’t even know!

I rubbed my temples. Despite the ibuprofen I’d taken, my headache threatened to return in full force after this revelation.

“Can you just tell me what happened last night? After we got married? Because I can’t remember if we slept together or not. That’s the one piece that’s a blur.”

“Now I’m offended,” said Liam, stopping to stare at me. “That my brand-new wife can’t even remember if she slept with me last night.”

“So we didn’t have sex?”

Liam snorted. “You’d remember. I’d make sure of it. Women never forget when I’ve fucked them.”

I would’ve laughed at that outlandish statement, except Liam seemed completely serious. And I had a feeling he wasn’t boasting, either.

All of these revelations felt like someone launching a dead, smelly fish at my face. Kind of like the fish they throw at Pike Place Market in Seattle, except the fish were slimy, old, and smelled like garbage and intense regret.

Liam was my fish. He was my stinky, disgusting, rotting fish who also happened to be sinfully handsome and had a huge, delightful cock.

Now my mind was imagining actual fish with actual dicks, and my gorge rose. Penises and fish just did not mix.

Liam’s face creased. “You okay?”

I was going to—I didn’t know. Puke, cry, laugh. Could you do all three at once? Was there a word for that?

Under the dictionary, there should be a word for what I’d done last night. Synonyms would include: idiot, moron, and imbecile. Antonyms would include: Mari Wright up until she got drunk last night and married a stranger.

Liam glanced at his watch, sighing. “Whatever the fuck happened last night, we can’t talk about it now. We need to get going.”

At my obvious confusion, he said almost blithely, “Isn’t there a wedding we’re supposed to attend? If I do recall, you’re the maid of honor.”

Now I was really going to vomit. Jenna and Sam’s wedding was today. And if I didn’t leave this room now, I’d be late to get my hair done for their evening ceremony.

Oh, and now I remembered: Liam was Sam’s best man, and I was walking with him down the aisle.

Great, just great.

I pointed a finger in Liam’s direction. “Don’t say a word about this to anyone. You got that? Because if you do, I’ll murder you. After the wedding is over, we’ll figure out how to make this right. Okay?”

“You think I wanted this any more than you?” He helped me off the floor, and his touch on my arm was electric. “That I marry random women in Vegas just for fun?”

“I don’t know you, so maybe you do it all the time.”

His grip was firm, his hands warm, and gazing into his eyes, the spark I’d felt two days ago returned. Liam seemed to sense it, too, because he caressed my cheek with surprisingly gentle fingers. He then touched the hickeys dotting my neck.

“Now I do remember making these,” he said ruefully.

I couldn’t do this. I pushed his arm away, which was pointless because he was made of either bricks or marble and it did a grand total of nothing.

My stomach lurched right then. I ran to the bathroom, slammed the door closed, and puked my guts up until I was pretty sure I’d vomited up at least one internal organ in the process.

It was just too bad I couldn’t puke Liam Gallagher—my husband—from my stomach.

Chapter Two

Mari

Two days earlier…

I cocked my head, squinting at the ice sculpture that sat in the middle of the expansive table.

“Is that an ice penis?” I said.

Laura, one of Jenna’s bridesmaids, moved more closely to the statue. It was so dim in the private room at the restaurant that neither of us could tell if the statue was actually endowed or not.

“I think so, but it’s pretty small. It could also just be its balls,” said Laura.

“Why would they sculpt a pair of balls but no penis?”

Laura shrugged. “It’s Vegas. Don’t ask questions.” She flashed a smile. “If it has a dick, it’s currently melting off.”

“Too bad that can’t happen to men in real life,” I muttered.

Laura shot me a look, but soon we were overtaken by the rest of the wedding party. Jenna and Sam hadn’t skimped one bit on this wedding: each had ten attendants, and apparently there were close to three hundred guests.

Sam’s family came from money—something to do with creating the first mechanical litter box—and this was the most extravagant wedding I’d ever attended. The thought that a box that scooped cat poop had financed this Vegas wedding never failed to make me giggle.

Soon we were seated for dinner, the groomsmen and bridesmaids sitting next to each other. I was next to Jenna, who sat at one end of the table; across from me was Sam’s college roommate, Mac. Mac was charming and, according to him, “gayer than rainbow sherbet with rainbow sprinkles on top.”

To my left was an empty chair—apparently the best man had yet to show up. I’d never met him, but according to Jenna he’d been Sam’s best friend since they’d been kids.

It didn’t matter, though. I wasn’t here to sleep with a groomsman. I mostly wanted to forget that I was supposed to already be married by now. I’d almost thought about telling Jenna I didn’t want to come, but she’d asked me to be her maid of honor for a reason. I couldn’t flake just because David had broken my heart, stomped on it, and then ground it up in the food processor he’d bought on sale at Kohl’s last Christmas.

Mac and Jenna chatted while I popped olives into my mouth, watching water drip from the naked ice sculpture. Currently, the statue’s butt was dripping water, as if his cheeks were sweating from the desert heat.

“Is that statue’s arse melting?” said a voice over my shoulder.

“Liam! You’re here!” Jenna launched from her chair, a little unsteady already from her wine consumption, and waved to Sam. “Look who finally showed up!”

To my annoyance, Liam wasn’t some troll like I’d hoped: he was handsome. His features included a sharp jaw, dark hair, and wide shoulders.

I was glad, in a shallow way, that I’d worn my favorite dress—a black number that showed off my legs and shoulders—and had done my sultry, violet makeup look that made my green eyes pop.

Makeup had always been a creative outlet for me since I was a teenager, and I wasn’t above using it to my advantage. In this case, I wanted to feel like I was on the same playing field as this godlike, male specimen. Makeup was like a suit of armor: it could cover up my flaws and vulnerability and transform me into a different, stronger person. Or at least a more attractive one.

Once upon a time, I’d wanted to become a makeup artist, but I’d put that dream aside. I preferred practicality over dreams. It was always the safer bet.

“Liam, you’ll be right here. Mari, this is Liam. She’s the maid of honor,” said Sam after he and Liam had hugged.

“Pleasure,” Liam drawled as he took my hand. His grip was firm, his hand much bigger than mine. He was so big, yet somehow managed to move with surprising grace as he pulled out his chair and sat next to me.

“I know you probably would’ve liked to sit by Sam, but we wanted everyone to talk to someone they didn’t know,” said Jenna in a rush.

Liam slanted me a glance. “It’s not a problem.”

Not only was he handsome, but his voice was tinged with an accent that I wish didn’t make me melt. But I was human, female, and American. God knows we love a good accent.

And now I was supposed to talk to Liam? I was supposed to chat with Mac. Not this man who was clearly not married and not gay, based on the way his gaze raked me. Although I wore a dress that hardly showed any cleavage, he looked at me like I had my breasts out on the table for everyone to see.

I wished I was still engaged. That always made men leave me alone. It was like I’d had a sign on that said “property of another man.” It was archaic and vaguely insulting, yet I wished for that protection right now. I was exposed. I was in a place of limbo in my life. And I was very, very unattached.

You want Liam to see you as attractive, but not too attractive? I thought. Yes, I’d admit that sometimes the most confusing person I knew was myself.

But I also couldn’t be blatantly rude, so I said, “Do you live in Seattle, too?”

“For the moment,” was his bland answer.

“I grew up there. I’ve never lived anywhere else. It’s a great place to raise a family.” I was chattering. Blushing, I forced myself to stop talking.

I was grateful when the first course arrived. I could focus on the scallops, not on the man to my left.

Liam’s elbow brushed mine as he began to eat, which was the usual hazard when you were left-handed like me. Yet instead of feeling annoyed at the contact, I felt…excited. Get it together, Mari. Are you seriously getting turned on brushing elbows with a guy?

“You’re left-handed?” said Liam.

“What?”

He looked at me holding my fork. “Switch seats with me.”

“Oh, it’s fine—”

“Switch.” He pulled out my chair, and I could’ve sworn his fingers brushed my shoulder. On purpose? Or an accident?

“Oh, Mari, I forgot. I’m sorry,” said Jenna.

“It’s fine.” Liam handed me my wineglass, our fingers definitely brushing. His smile was slow and knowing, like he knew how easily he could get a woman to toss her panties in his direction. Like I needed to throw my underwear at any man’s head right now.

“So, Mari was it? Tell me about yourself,” said Liam.

He rolled the r in my name, making it sound more exotic than it was.

I considered the question. “Like I said, I’m from Seattle. I work as a technical writer. That’s about it.”

“That’s it? You don’t do anything for fun?”

“I’m too busy to have fun these days.”

He looked me up and down. “That’s a damn shame, then.”

“Thanks.” I rolled my eyes. “Do you always insult people you’ve just met?”

He smiled, his teeth flashing. “Are you always so uptight?”

“Now you’re just being rude.”

“I prefer to say I’m honest. Besides, I doubt you’re telling the truth. I’m sure you do fun things sometimes. You just won’t tell me.”

“No, I never have fun. Ever. I’m normal and boring and not worth talking to.”

He chuckled, the sound dry and raspy. “I doubt that. I’ve never met a redhead who was any of those things.”

I snorted. I’d always resisted the idea that since my hair was red, then I should be feisty and fiery and all number of things that didn’t describe me at all. I was serene, capable. Level-headed. I sorted my books by genre and then by author. I always made my bed in the morning. I never left dirty dishes in the sink. An orderly life was a happy life.

“How about you, then? You’re obviously not from around here,” I said after our plates had been removed for the next course.

“How about you guess where you think I’m from.”

“The sixth level of hell,” I deadpanned.

“My Catholic grandmama would agree, but I prefer the second level.”

I remembered enough Dante from college to know which level that one was for: lust. The sixth was for heresy. I rolled my eyes. “Of course you would.”

“I didn’t grow up in hell, but close enough,” said Liam, his accent lengthening. “I grew up in Ireland. Near Dublin, but I moved to the States when I was twenty.”

So that was where his accent was from—no wonder I hadn’t been able to place it. Sometimes it sounded pure Irish like right now, while other times it sounded almost American. I wondered if he tried to suppress his Irish accent just to avoid the inevitable where are you from questions. Which I’d just asked, I thought in dismay.

“I’d love to go to Ireland,” I said. “I’ve never been out of the country. I was going to go to Paris this spring, but—” I could’ve bitten my tongue in half right then. I’d been planning a trip to Paris with David.

“But?” Liam prompted.

“Does it matter? It’s not happening now.”

“Don’t get your feathers ruffled. It was only a simple question.”

“My feathers have nothing to do with you.”

Liam tipped his beer back, and I couldn’t help but watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. He even managed to drink beer suavely. Why couldn’t he have the manners of a chimpanzee on a bender?

“So uptight,” he said. His eyes sparkled. “I wonder what would happen if somebody could get you to unwind for once.”

“Liam,” interrupted Jenna, “we’re so glad you were able to be Sam’s best man. He didn’t think you’d agree, but I knew that once I talked to you, you couldn’t say no.” Jenna looked toward me. “Liam hates weddings.” Her eyes widened, like he’d told her he ran over puppies for fun.

“What do you have against weddings?” I said.

“What’s the point of spending money on something that’ll end within five years? Sounds like a waste of time to me.”

“Wow, what a chip you have on your shoulder. How do you manage to walk around when it probably weighs five hundred pounds?”

Jenna clucked her tongue. “Mari, you won’t convince him. He thinks love and romance and weddings are stupid. He’s only here because Sam and I made him.”

Strangely enough, despite David’s betrayal, I still believed in love and romance and weddings. I still wanted all three. I didn’t know if I’d ever get them now, though. I didn’t know if I could let myself be vulnerable like that again. Maybe twenty years in the future. I’d enjoy the spinster life for now. I could get a cat or ten to keep me company. Really put in effort to be a true spinster.

I shot Liam a look, assessing him now that I knew one of his hang-ups. “So do you think love is just a fantasy?”

“Fantasy, hormones, load of bullshit. Whatever you want to call it.”

“You don’t love anyone, then?”

He just shrugged.

“No one. Not even Sam?”

“I’m not in love with the groom, no.”

“That’s not what I mean. You can love someone platonically. You mean you don’t love your parents, or your friends, or—”

“What’s with the inquisition? You’re upset about something that has nothing to do with you.”

Liam’s cold, dead heart had nothing to do with me—he was right about that.

I was about to say as much when the ice sculpture began to collapse from the heat of the chandelier right above it.

The statue’s butt had been melting and dripping onto a metal pan, sounding like faint rain, when suddenly, one of the statue’s ankles gave way.

“Man down!” Mac hollered.

Liam jumped up only a second before the statue would’ve crashed into Laura’s plate of mushroom risotto on the other side of me. Bridesmaids screamed; groomsmen swore. Liam caught the statue like it was a baby just in the nick of time, his jacket and shirt getting instantly soaked.

In the melee, a few glasses had been knocked over, and Jenna’s mom had swooned at the end of the table. Waitstaff and employees hurried around us and apologized profusely.

“Will you take this damned thing?” growled Liam, still cradling the dripping statue.

“Of course, sir, so sorry, sir, this has never happened before, sir.” A harried waiter took the statue, glanced in two different directions, and apparently decided to go into the kitchen with it.

In Liam’s hand, though, was a piece of ice. A rather cylindrical piece that looked almost like—

“Oh my God.” I said.

Liam held it up. “I’m holding a fucking cock, aren’t I?”

“Looks like it.” I was wheezing now.

Mac had come around to our side of the table. He slapped Liam on the shoulder as he passed us by. “Welcome to the club, my man.”

Chapter Three

Liam

I hadn’t planned to sleep with any women at Sam’s wedding. Bridesmaids weren’t my kink. They usually had their minds on marriage and had a bit of a chip on their shoulder because of the whole always a bridesmaid, never a bride bullshite.

The last time I’d fucked a bridesmaid she’d got drunk afterward and had cried over how her eight-year relationship with her boyfriend had ended and she’d die an old maid.

Nah, that wasn’t my speed. Besides, it was the twenty-first century. Who gave a shite if they were married or not? You didn’t need to put a ring on someone’s finger to get awesome, sweaty sex with a willing partner.

I hadn’t had awesome, sweaty sex in… I winced inwardly as I began to swim the next lap in the hotel pool. Way too fucking long. Three months, if I were being honest. My photography business had blown up. Which was great for my bank account, but not great for picking up chicks.

Right now I lived in Seattle, but I was dying to get the hell out of Dodge. I’d lived in so many places—Dublin, Los Angeles, Atlanta, London, and now Seattle—that it felt strange to live in one place for more than one, maybe two, years.

Cities got stale. People got stale. Nothing about being tied down appealed to my wanderlust soul. The only reason I hadn’t left Seattle sooner was that my little sister, Niamh, lived with our aunt and uncle in Olympia, two hours west of Seattle.

My sister was the one person who could get me to stick around. Once she turned eighteen and received her inheritance from our judgmental, conservative arse of a grandfather and started college, I wouldn’t have to stick around. She’d be an adult on her own.

I’d always taken care of Niamh, even after she’d gone to live with our aunt and uncle.

I kicked off the wall, letting the warm water flow around me. I’d loved to swim ever since I was a kid living outside Dublin. I’d go to the community pool with Niamh every day during the summer, our mom always busy or not around. She always had to wear those bright orange floaties at the pool. She’d scream and cry when she’d first get into the pool, but she’d quickly ended up loving it.

Da had still been alive then. That first summer Niamh ever swam was the last one Da would be around for.

It was also only back in Ireland that people knew how to pronounce Niamh’s name. Here in the States? Apparently that was too much to ask. I could hear Niamh in my mind saying to some stranger, “It’s pronounced Neev,” and then rolling her eyes when that person still mispronounced her name five minutes later.

I came up for air, slicking my hair back. It was late—close to midnight. After the dinner tonight, I’d needed a breather from the wedding talk.

Then again, maybe I needed a second to cool off from meeting the one bridesmaid I’d be willing to fuck senseless.

Mari. It was too plain a name for someone as vibrant as her. Red hair, red lips. That dress she’d been wearing had been smoking hot. When she’d stood up after that statue fiasco, I’d also realized how tall she was. Slender legs that just begged to be wrapped around my waist.

As if I conjured her from my thoughts, Mari appeared. She came toward the pool, wearing a blue cover-up that failed to hide the string bikini underneath. Damn, she’d been hiding a body that was made for wet dreams under her dress tonight.

She stopped in surprise when she spotted me.

“You,” she said accusingly. She crossed her arms across her chest. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you Americans say? ‘It’s a free country?'” I waved an arm. “Unless you’re going to tell me the Irish have been banned from swimming in the hotel pool.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I meant. It’s late, so I didn’t think anyone would be here.” She turned to leave, but for some stupid reason I didn’t want her to. I lifted myself out of the pool, water streaming off of me. I couldn’t help but grin when she eye-fucked me as I walked toward her.

Yeah, sue me. I wasn’t against using this body of mine to get women to notice me. Women might act like looks didn’t matter, but their own bodies betrayed them. Based on the way Mari’s pupils had expanded, she wasn’t immune to me.

Game, set, match.

If I didn’t have Mari under me tonight, then I’d completely lost my touch.

So much for not sleeping with one of the bridesmaids, I thought.

“Why should you leave? You came here to swim. Or to get in the hot tub,” I said.

She swallowed. “It’s late,” she repeated.

“Not that late. Besides, you’re in Vegas. Time doesn’t matter.”

“How existential of you.”

“You have no idea.”

I raked my gaze down her body until I reached her toenails that were painted purple. I couldn’t help but imagine what she’d look like behind the lens of my camera. Her skin peachy pink, her hair that deep red. Would she look at me like she was now, with a combination of wariness and lust? My body stirred at the thought, but I tamped it down.

As if something turned on inside her, Mari stepped back and walked around me. “I’m going for a swim,” she said, so primly that I had the ridiculous desire to pull on her ponytail just to get a rise out of her.

“I’ll race you.”

She snorted. “Seriously?”

I waited for her to put on her swim cap and goggles. The combination of her bug eyes and bald head was almost enough to kill my horniness. Until she pulled off her swim cover-up to reveal that tiny bikini she was wearing.

I let out a whistle.

“Did you just wolf whistle?” she accused as she got into the pool next to me.

“Just appreciating what I see. Although the cap and goggles ain’t too sexy, babe.”

She gasped. “I’m no longer sexy to you? How shall I ever recover?”

I wanted to spank her for being such a smart-ass, but soon I was too caught up in winning this impromptu race with her. We soon agreed on ten laps.

The race began. She could swim, that was for sure. I hadn’t expected her to be so fast. Her body was long and lean, and she gave as good as she got. By midway, she was ahead of me by one lap. When she turned, she flashed me a sassy grin and then dove below the surface again.

I pushed myself harder. Soon I’d caught up with her. By the last lap, we were neck and neck. My muscles screamed at me. My heart pounded.

And I touched the pool wall just a second before she did.

“Fuck yeah!” I burst through the water and slapped the pool ledge.

Mari wrinkled her nose and swiped the water from her face. She then lifted herself out of the water.

It was like something out of a magazine: the water streaming from her body, her swimsuit clinging to every curve, every dip. Her bikini bottom had ridden up, exposing the curves of her ass cheeks.

Hello, cockstand, nice to see you, but this was the worst fucking timing.