“What do you mean?”

“Marty and me. We were supposed to leave for our honeymoon late tonight. Hey! There’s one for I Never.” She bent forward, and this time she didn’t even bother with the glass. “I’ve never been on an amazing vacation to Puerto Rico,” she said, and took a shot straight from the bottle, but she didn’t stop there, thrusting it in the air for emphasis. “On the beach, with sugar-white sand and aquamarine water. And mojitos with umbrellas in them instead of this crap.”

Her tone was incongruously jovial and he knew she’d reached point break. She moved to drink more of “that crap” but he stayed her hand.

“No more. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

The borderline hysteria faded from her eyes and she let him take the bottle. “I’m already sick,” she mumbled, absently mopping up a few spilled drops of whiskey with the sleeve of her shirt.

He set the bottle on the table and gave her arm a tug until she toppled into his chest. “It’s going to get better. I promise you,” he whispered into her sweet-smelling hair.

“I know it will. But right now, it blows. I’ve never been on a real trip without my parents. I was so excited. It felt so decadent and fun. I thought…”

“You thought?”

“I thought I could be someone else for a couple of weeks. And maybe Marty could be someone else, too. We could do all the fun, wild things we—well, at least, I—imagined doing. I know that sounds so stupid.”

The thought hit him like an oncoming bus, and no matter how hard he tried to squash it, his liquor-soaked brain wouldn’t let it go. He pushed her away. “Let’s play truth or dare.”

“Wait, wha?” Visibly baffled by the abrupt change in subject, she stared at him, a question in her eyes.

“Truth or dare. Let’s play,” he pressed.

She held up her hands in surrender. “Uh, okay.”

“I’ll go first. Do you want truth or dare?” He tried not to let the importance of her answer show on his face, but it was all riding on this. If he truly wanted to help her—and God help him, but for some strange reason, he did—he needed to set her free. Over the past few hours, he had realized how much she deserved that, and he wouldn’t rest easy until he’d done it. He was going to find a way to show her what she’d missed living under her parents’ thumbs. If only she’d let him…

She finally met his gaze after a long pause, fire lighting her eyes, and he knew her answer before she even spoke.

“Dare.”

Chapter Four

Sunlight streamed in through the window, like red knives piercing her closed lids. Lacey rolled to her side to escape it, wincing as her knee connected with something harder than itself.

“Oof. What the hell?” a low, male voice hissed.

She lurched into a sitting position, regretting it instantly as pain exploded in her temples and the whole room began to spin. Clutching at her aching head, she turned to see Galen stretched out on the bed next to her.

“Sorry,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s just, when you gave me that nice little wakeup kick to the Johnson, you grazed my nuts. Makes it hard to be polite.”

He sat up, sucking long breaths in through his nose and blowing them out his mouth, moving the sheet in the process. His broad shoulders came into view, and she found herself needing to do the whole breathing thing, too. Man, he was fit. His traps were thick and strong. Hard-looking, like—

Oh my God. I kneed him in the wiener. And oh my frigging God, it was like stone.

The gauzy white curtains across the room fluttered in the balmy breeze, inviting and coy. So unlike the curtains in the Thomas family cabin. Memories from the previous night battered around in her mind until she settled on the only one that mattered right now.

They’d done it. They’d really done it.

“I dare you to go on your honeymoon without him,” Galen had said last night. “I’ll even go with you to keep you company. I could use the rest. I just came off a big fight, and my organs haven’t settled back into their proper places yet. You’d be doing me a favor.”

“You’re insane!” Even as tipsy as she’d been, it had taken her almost twenty minutes to talk herself into it. She’d tossed up every roadblock she could think of at first, ticking them off on her fingers as she went, ending with, “The flight’s probably sold out by now and you don’t have a ticket.”

“Well, if Marty doesn’t show up, then they’ll obviously have an open seat for standbys,” he’d said, a challenging gleam in his eye.

They’d gone to her apartment to pick up her bags and then went straight to the airport. By the time their flight was called a couple hours later, though, she’d been as sober as a nun and had almost backed out. Galen must have seen it coming, because he had leaned in close to whisper, “Bock. Bock.”

For a long moment, she’d just gaped at him. “Seriously? You’re seriously going to make chicken noises at me? What are we, ten?”

He’d just folded his arms over his chest and grinned.

“Last call for all passengers on flight seventeen fifty-six to San Juan, Puerto Rico,” the ticket agent had squawked through the loudspeaker.

“What’s it going to be, squirt?”

Maybe it had been the bock-ing. Maybe it was that stupid nickname that he wouldn’t let die. Or maybe it was that, when she had gone through her alternatives one last time, the thought of staying home and dealing with the aftermath of the wedding just yet was too much to bear. Whatever it was, she’d gotten on that plane.

And now she was on her honeymoon with Galen Thomas.

Panic threw a splash of nausea into the pitching cauldron of noxious brew that was her stomach, and she groaned.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be fine.” His words and the awkward pat on her shoulder barely registered as she rolled off the bed and stood, scrabbling for the headboard when the room tilted.

When she thought she could stand it, she opened her eyes, made her way over to the window, and pushed the curtain aside.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” she whispered. When they’d arrived in the wee hours that morning, it had still been dark, and after having more drinks on the plane to bolster her waning courage, neither of them had been able to muster up the energy to do more than fall into the only made-up bed in the villa. She stared out at paradise for a long moment and then turned to take in the room—the wash of paint the color of ripe peaches and the sparse, cream-colored wicker furniture—as what had started out as a dare suddenly became very real.

Her partner in crime scrubbed a hand over his wickedly handsome face before grinning at her. “Welcome to Puerto Rico.”

Terror joined what was left of yesterday’s libations and sent her stomach lurching. She booked it to the adjacent bathroom and retched.

Ten endless minutes later, her aching stomach was finally empty and she stood under the warm spray in the shower. Every time her thoughts veered to the topic of Marty, Becca, or even Galen, her brain started to hurt, so she steadfastly refused to think about anything but the mundane task of lathering, rinsing, and repeating. When she stepped out a short while later, her stomach had settled, and the hot shower had downgraded her headache from ghastly to uncomfortable.

She ran a plush towel over the fogged mirror and groaned at the bloodshot eyes staring back at her. She’d done something crazy last night. Something totally out of character. And here she was, a married woman in Puerto Rico with a man who was more childhood crush than friend. A man who made her feel too much and do crazy, out of character things. So now what?

Now she had to go out and talk to Galen, and explain why they had to leave. Or, why she did, at least. He could stay if he wanted. He had bought his own ticket, and since the villa was already paid for, someone might as well enjoy it. Maybe he’d meet a sexy señorita—

Her newly settled tummy pitched at the thought. What the heck was the matter with her? From the second she’d laid eyes on him twenty years ago, she’d known one thing. He would never see her as more than his sister’s irritating friend. He was…everything. Gorgeous and funny and smart and strong. And she was still just the other slice of white bread. A flavorless afterthought. A foil for the deliciousness inside. Not remarkable enough for a boy who crackled with life like Galen Thomas.

She’d accepted that as fact early on and had relegated her feelings to the deepest corner of her heart, never sharing them. Not even with Cat or Becca. Eventually, she’d learned to live with the sting of standing by while he paraded around the latest cheerleader in his life, clueless to her pain. And eventually, she’d moved on and lived her own life, engaging in a few awkward relationships with guys more her speed, despite the floopy feeling she still got in her gut whenever he was around. And then she ended up with Marty. Surely, after all this time, her heart should have gotten the memo? It was ridiculous, given the total lack of encouragement on his end. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to discourage her attention at every turn, teasing her mercilessly, debating with her over anything and everything, baiting her into petty arguments.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, he’d been sweet, and thoughtful, and plain perfect. He’d come to her rescue like…like a knight on shining Harley. She snort-laughed at the ludicrous thought and picked up her comb. Leave it to her to romanticize a nice gesture. He’d done nothing more than help out his sister’s friend. No need to read into it more deeply than that. He was probably out there right now, mired in regret, and ready to gnaw off his own limb to escape the bear trap he’d found himself in. He’d be ecstatic when she let him off the hook.

After a few swipes with the comb, she tugged her hair into a loose knot and clipped it, then slicked on some lip gloss. She pulled on the tank top and boxers she’d slept in and turned toward the door. Time to convince him she was okay, and his duty was done. Pasting on a smile, she stepped into the bedroom, but he was nowhere to be found. Music drifted from the living room, and she followed the strains of the salsa into the suite’s main room.

“Hey there. Feel better?”

The speech she’d planned died on her lips, unspoken as she took in the scene before her. Galen sat in a lounge chair out on the terrace in board shorts and nothing else. His swarthy skin gleamed in the sunlight, the dips and valleys of his muscles so cut and defined that they could’ve been drawn on with a Sharpie.

“Lacey?”

She cleared her throat, dragging her gaze upward to meet his. “Y-yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Yep. You’re hot.” Her cheeks burned. “I mean…it’s hot. Out here. So that’s why I’m, yanno…hot.” She fanned her cheeks for good measure. Brilliant.

His dark eyes danced with mirth. “So, now that we’ve established that Puerto Rico is warm, how are you feeling?”

She looked away. “I’m better, thanks.”

“I ordered some breakfast. Just fruit, yogurt, and some toast. I didn’t think your stomach could handle much else.” He gestured to the spread in front of him. “Sit and eat, and then we can talk. You want coffee?”

She stepped through the French doors and onto the white tiled floor. The warm breeze flirted with the wisps of hair around her face, and she sighed.

“It’s so beautiful here.”

In spite of the music playing in the background, she could hear the ocean lapping at the shore only a hundred yards away. She walked the length of the patio, around a small swimming pool, until she could see it. Gorgeous. Caribbean blue, so pure it didn’t seem real. Her throat went tight with regret.

“I can’t stay, though,” she whispered, then faced Galen. “I can’t stay,” she repeated, louder this time for his benefit.