Page 81 of I Saw Her First
I suppress an impatient groan. “Fine,” I reluctantly agree. The sooner we get that out of the way, the sooner I can get his clothes off. “What do they have in the way of takeout around here?”
He shakes his head, eyes shimmering. “We’re not eating in. I want to take you out.”
“Out?”
He nods, reaching a hand for me, then letting it fall away, taking another step back. “If we don’t, we’ll just spend the entire weekend in bed.”
A laugh escapes me. “So what if we do?”
He chuckles too. “I want to take you out, babygirl. You deserve to be spoiled.”
My reluctance softens. That’s so sweet. I’ve spent the past few days worried he would cancel our trip, that he’d come to hissenses about us and call it off. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for him to hide this from Jess, especially since they’ve finally reconnected. I’ve found it hard to fathom how he could think it’s worth the risk—thatI’mworth the risk.
“What if we run into someone you know?” I ask.
He scrubs a hand over his beard. “I think we’ll be okay. I hardly know anyone around here, and we’ll go to the next town. I just… I want to go on a date with you, Daisy. A proper date. All we’ve done is eat takeout in my kitchen and have sex. Don’t get me wrong”—his lips tilt into a wicked smile—“it’s fucking awesome. But you deserve more. I want more with you.”
Warmth radiates through my chest. I want that too, and I was beginning to wonder if it would ever be possible.
“That sounds really lovely,” I whisper, wishing he were closer so I could kiss him, but he’s being very intentional about keeping physical distance between us right now, and I want to respect that.
A grin breaks over his face. “Good. I’ve made reservations at a restaurant in Mattituck, so we’d better get ready.”
He reaches for our bags again, turning to pass through the kitchen, and I follow him, feeling weird at not heading to the room I stayed in last time, which makes no sense. Why would I stay anywhere other than in his bed?
And what a glorious bed it is; huge king mattress, frame and headboard upholstered in a cream, bouclé fabric, draped in a soft, seafoam-colored linen comforter, adorned with throw pillows. The room itself is an off-white, with simple wooden nightstands, intentionally distressed to give them a rustic look.
Weston sets our bags in front of a pair of matching dressers, topped with various photo frames. My gaze drifts across them—pictures of the beach, of Jess as a kid, playing in the sand—and comes to rest on one of a beautiful blond woman. She’s around late thirties, with hazel eyes, and the kind of smile that lights upan entire room. There are more pictures, too. One of her with Wes and Jess on the beach, one of her with Weston, laughing. They’re a lot younger in that one, and I don’t have to ask to know it’s his late wife, Lydia. She’s beautiful, and even though I never got to meet her, my heart snags a little, thinking of what Weston and Jess lost.
I glance at Wes, but he’s too busy looking through the closet to notice, and I force myself to rummage through my bag for something to wear.
“You can shower in here if you like.” He motions to the ensuite I hadn’t noticed, and pulls a dress shirt from the closet. “I’ll get ready in the main bathroom.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, watching him leave.
I head into the bathroom and turn on the shower, letting the hot water flow over me. My mind wanders to the pictures of Lydia again, and it occurs to me, as I scrub the day of work from my body, that I’ve never seen a picture of her before. Weston has a huge house in the city, but there’s not a single picture—or item that appears to belong to a woman—anywhere. Not in the living room, not in the entertainment room in the basement, not in the ensuite bathroom—not even in his bedroom.
And that makes my heart break a little for him.
I step from the shower and towel off, wiping the fog from the mirror. When I pull on my new dress, I take a moment to admire my reflection. I splurged a little and went shopping, knowing we were going away for a couple days. Tonight I’m wearing a mustard-yellow dress, printed with large, white daisies and green leaves. It’s got buttons from the sweetheart neckline to the hem, which falls to just below my knees, and thin spaghetti straps. It’s probably more suited to the beach than a fancy restaurant, but it’s all I’ve got, so it will have to do.
I pin my long hair back in a low bun, letting a few loose strands fall around my face, and paint my lips with a soft, blush-colored lipstick. Then I slide my feet into my navy peep-toe sling-back wedges, hoping I look okay for wherever Weston is taking me.
“You ready, baby?” Wes calls from the entry hall, and there’s an anxious ripple through my belly. I grab my purse and head out, smiling shyly.
I don’t know why I feel nervous all of a sudden. He’s seen me completely naked, seen me with no inhibitions, with nothing to hide behind, but somehow, walking into the foyer to meet Weston for a proper date, I feel more exposed than ever.
I needn’t have worried, though, because the minute I meet him at the front door, his jaw falls open.
“Holy shit, Daisy. You look…” He finishes the sentence with an audibly rough exhale instead of actual words, and I take that to mean I look alright.
“Thanks,” I say, smoothing a hand down my dress. “I didn’t know we were going out, so I only had this, but—”
Weston strides across the foyer and slides his hand around the back of my neck, crushing his mouth to mine.
“You are so beautiful,” he rasps, walking me backward until I hit the door. “Fuck, babygirl, you’re killing me.”
His mouth lands on mine again, hot and urgent, and I hook a leg over his hip. He responds by sliding his hand under my dress and up my thigh to grip my ass, palm warm on my skin. When I feel his hardness dig into my belly, I moan into his mouth.
