Licked (L.A. Liaisons Book 1) (6 page)

“About four weeks. I’d given them a deadline of less than six weeks from now, but, uh”—I sidestepped tools scattered on the ground—“I’m thinking that won’t happen.”

When Hunter had walked around the entire interior, he came back to where I was standing at the missing bar space. His lips were pursed and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Won’t happen,” he confirmed.

My heart sank. I needed this expansion to go through because the
Wake Up America
special would be filmed here, and a huge part of whether I could spin Licked off into a chain hinged on how it went. I’d been trying not to let myself think my timeline had been unreasonable and they wouldn’t get it done. Big fucking mistake.
 

“Oh God,” I said with a groan, rubbing my forehead. “What do I do? How do I make them go faster?”

“Who’s the contractor?”

“Scott Lewiston.”
 

“I could’ve guessed that. Where are they now?”

“Um…extended lunch break, if I had to guess.”

He shook his head. “Tell me what you’ve got going on here.”

I led him back around the room, showing him where the bar would be, how I envisioned the high-top tables, the booths, and the private room and gaming area in the back. It would be the same vibe as Licked, but catered toward the night crowd.

Licked…After Dark.
 

“All right,” Hunter said when I’d finished giving him the tour. “I’ll do it.”

“What?” I sputtered. “I can’t let you do that.”

“That would be a stupid move on your part.”

“We have a contract—”

“I’ll get you out of it. And then my team will take over.” His voice brooked no argument, but I did anyway. Because I can be a persistent pain in the ass.
 

“But…how…why would you do that? I’ve never even seen your work before.”

“My guys are all on break right now, but they get antsy when I make them take a forced vacation. We can have this done by your deadline. And you’ve been to our place, so you
have
seen my work.”

I stared at him in shock. “That all sounds great, but why would you do this for me? You don’t even know me.”

Hunter’s head cocked to the side as he studied my face, and when his eyes were on my mouth, I shivered. Must’ve been a draft from the open tarp.
 

“You need help, right?” he asked, his arms still crossed, his biceps bulging against the material of his grey shirt. That answered the question,
Do you work out? Damn.
 

Swallowing, I said, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I do.”

He gave a curt nod and started to back away. “I’ll draft up the contract and bring it by tomorrow. I’ll get the blueprints from Scotty boy.”

“Wait. What should I do about them—”

Hunter’s eyes were intense on mine. “I’ll take care of it. They’ll be out by the end of the day.”

And then he was gone.
 

THURSDAY EVENING HAD arrived, and I’d begged Paige to help me find something fabulous to wear. And by fabulous, I also mean
fuckable.

“I’m thinking the black pencil dress. Definitely.” Paige’s appraising eye ran down the length of one of the outfits I held in my hands. “And those candy-apple heels. Bam. Done.”
 

“You’re the best,” I said, tossing the other outfit on the bed and shimmying into the winning number.

“Wait. Are you wearing those?” she asked, indicating my matching satin bra and panties.
 

“What’s wrong with these?”

Paige rolled her eyes and pushed off the bed before strolling over to my dresser. She pulled open the top drawer and rummaged around before holding up a thong. “This. Wear this.”

“That’s not gonna hold anything in,” I protested.

“You don’t have anything to
hold
in, so will you please just put it on.” Tossing the underwear to me, she went and flopped back on the bed. “Where’s he taking you?”

“No idea.”

“Oooh, surprises. Maybe he’ll take you to Shellan’s. I’ve been dying to go there.”

“Yeah, and the wait list is about three months long.” Pulling on the thong I’d never worn, I felt naked. “I think I’m gonna pass on these. With any luck, he won’t even notice what I’m wearing under my skirt because he’ll be too busy ripping it off.”

“With his teeth, and trust me, thongs are the better option. Hipster panties are not gonna get you hitched. You don’t bust those out until after marriage. Trust me on this.”

Leave it to the wedding coordinator to be thinking that far ahead.
Fine.
The damn thong would stay. “Have I ever mentioned how weird it is that you of all people plan weddings for a living? You’re the most anti-commitment person I’ve ever met.”

“Hey, that’s not true. I commit for a whole week sometimes.”

I snorted as I pulled the SJP heels off the rack and slid them on. Admiring my reflection, I said, “That’s a rarity and you know it. What I don’t understand is how you manage to spout all the ooey-gooey love stuff all day long.”

“My gag reflex is amazing,” Paige replied, waggling her eyebrows before dodging the clutch I threw at her. She laughed. “Well, it’s true.”
 

“When are you just gonna admit you’re madly in love with Dawson and settle down and pop out a soccer team already?”

Now it was her turn to throw the clutch.
 

“Double Dick? He’s an imbecile. I wouldn’t fuck him if he changed his name to Prince Harry and bought out Tiffany’s.”

Sure she wouldn’t. Richard Dawson and Paige had been playing the love-hate game for years now, and each was determined that the other was the lowest, most disgusting human they’d ever come across in their entire existence. We humored her because it was entertaining as all hell to watch, but it would surprise no one if we learned they were hate-fucking behind the scenes. We’d already placed bets.

My cell rang then—Cameron letting me know he was waiting at the front. When I ended the call, I took a deep breath and faced Paige. “So? What do you think?”

“Entirely fuckable. Go get ’em, tiger.”

IT HAD BEEN a nice night. Emphasis on
nice.
 

Cameron had taken me to The Oyster House overlooking the Pacific, and we’d talked about what we’d been up to since we graduated, about our families, our interests. It was all just so…nice.

I know, I keep saying that word, but…well, maybe I expected more. Like passion and sparks and heavy sexual tension. Our conversation hadn’t screamed
I can’t wait to get you tangled in my sheets
, but there was still time.
 

After dinner, we’d walked down to the beach, and he’d grabbed my hand as I held my shoes in my other. The breeze was chillier than I expected, and, gentleman that he was, he gave me his coat. It was warm and smelled like him—fresh, clean…like spring rain. And it was long, considering his height, which I was grateful for. It stopped my teeth from chattering, at least.

“I’m glad you said yes to tonight,” Cameron said, squeezing my hand. “After my last impression, I wouldn’t have blamed you for turning me down.”

“It’s not your fault you’re narcoleptic.” I looked up and gave him a half-smile. “Although if you pull that act while we’re on this beach, I’ll be tempted to leave you here.”

He laughed and nodded. “Fair enough.”
 

When he stopped and pulled on my hand, I backtracked to face him. His hands went to my waist, his gorgeous eyes on mine, and I saw it. The I’m-gonna-kiss-you-now-so-you’d-better-buckle-up look.
 

My heart thumped loudly in my chest, and suddenly, I was aware of every little thing: how cold I was, how much I wished I’d worn pants and a sweater, how much I needed to actually go
buy
pants and a sweater, the loud roar of the ocean, the other couples that passed us that were out for a romantic stroll, that I wished I’d worn a clear gloss instead of my signature pink because it was going to smear if he kissed me…
 

Kissed me.

My stomach twisted in knots, and my head swam.
 

Oh no.
This was not how this was supposed to go. I wasn’t supposed to be nervous with dread. I was supposed to be nervous from excitement.
 

Ryleigh, this is what you’ve wanted. Look at that face. Who wouldn’t want to kiss those perfect lips?
I begged myself to get it together so I could enjoy this. I
was
going to enjoy this, dammit. Because I couldn’t forever be known as the girl who passed out when Cameron Mathis kissed her.
 

His eyes searched mine, and he must’ve seen something there, because he asked, “Are you okay?”

“I’m more than okay.” Liar.
I’m such a liar.
I rested my hands on his chest as his brow furrowed.
 

“Are you sure? Because your teeth are chattering.”

They were?
Shit. Pull it together, teeth. Cameron’s about to warm your mouth up in three…two…one…

As I inclined my head and leaned forward, fat raindrops landed on my face.
 

What the hell?

My eyes blinked open, and I saw drops smacking Cameron in the face too. And not just any raindrops. Cold-as-a-toilet-seat-in-an-igloo drops.
 

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, the skies opened up, and in seconds we were drenched.
Drenched.
In Southern California. Where rain is obsolete, and a heavy downpour is a smattering of sprinkles. Until tonight.

Cameron’s hold on my waist left as he grabbed my hand, both of us running through the dunes of sand back to his car. My shivering wasn’t just limited to my teeth anymore, as my body was racked with shaking.
 

Hello, Mother Nature. It’s me, Ryleigh. Thanks for giving me a break with the panic attack, but next time, could you at least let him kiss me first?
I just needed to get the first one out of the way, and then I’d be okay.

At least that was what I hoped.

He put the heater on blast once we got inside the car and then began the drive back to my place. Even the seats began to warm up, and for that, I was grateful. Once my body stopped convulsing,
and God, isn’t that sexy,
I relaxed into the seat, letting the warmth envelop me.
 

Cameron glanced over and smiled. “Better?”

“Much better.”

“Good.”
 

I wondered if he’d reach across the console and grab my hand. Did I want him to?
What the hell, Ryleigh?
Of course I did. Or I could just grab his. No, I’m not that bold. I’d probably reach for it and grab his crotch instead. Um, again.
 

“Hunter mentioned he’ll be taking over the renovations for your place,” Cameron said. He ran his hand over his wet face and hair. It was still styled perfectly in place, just glistening from the rain now. His chiseled face was picture perfect, even soaking wet.
 

How the hell was it fair he looked like he’d just shot an Abercrombie ad under rain hoses and I looked like a drowned rat? Okay, so I hadn’t looked at myself yet, but I knew it was true. When I’d run my hand over my hair, the elaborate updo I’d spent an hour on had sagged like a deflated party balloon.
 

I swiped my fingers under my eyes to get rid of my non-waterproof and probably now dripping mascara. “Yeah, he starts tomorrow. He moves quick. I can’t believe he was able to take over from Scott.”

“You don’t know Hunter. When he puts his mind to something, he’s tenacious.”

“Well, he’s saving my ass, so thank you. Free ice cream for life any time you come in.”

“I’m not even going to pretend to turn that down.” Cameron pulled into an open space in front of my shop/apartment, and shut off the car. The rain was pelting the vehicle, the streams running down the windows becoming a shield from the outside. With Cameron shifting to face me, it was suddenly too dark, too warm, too enclosed. The guy couldn’t win for trying. The nervousness I’d felt on the beach returned.
 

Damn nerves. Go away.
 

It wasn’t like I hadn’t kissed guys. I had. A million guys. Or at least twenty. Just call me a kiss-o-holic. I was damn good, and I could blow Cameron’s mind. If only I could make myself move the ten inches closer and attack his mouth.