Page 35 of Get A Fix

He growled. “You’re making me crazy.”

“I don’t hate that,” I teased him. “But I very much want to have you under me.”

His smile lit up his eyes, made them glow green fire. “And I believe you,” he whispered, taking my mouth, bumping me back into the wall of the elevator just as it dinged and stopped.

Breaking the kiss as people got on, I loved seeing the flush on his cheeks.

“I like you so much,” he said under his breath.

“I’m a bit enamored myself,” I replied with a waggle of eyebrows.

“Ohmygod! You’re Ashford Lennox,” one of the women said, and that was the end of us talking until we reached the lobby.

There was a line, of course there was, and I saw that the entire restaurant, the only one at the inn, was reserved for the welcome-to-the-wedding dinner.

“I have never been to a wedding like this in my life,” he told me. “Have you?”

“Can’t say that I have.” I took hold of his hand, stepping in close to him. “My sisters all had more traditional weddings, with just the rehearsal dinner and the wedding the next day. It wasn’t this big summer blockbuster you’re paying for.”

He turned to me slowly. “You know about that?”

I nodded. “Your agent told my boss.”

“Levi,” he grumbled. “Certain things the man will take to his grave, others—forget it.”

“So why?”

“Bitsy’s parents weren’t going to foot the bill as they don’t want her marrying Orson.”

“Why? What’s wrong with Orson?”

“Money.”

“As in, he doesn’t have any, or he has no prospects?”

“He’s just starting out, they both are. She’s twenty-two, he’s twenty-three. They both need some time.”

“So because you believe in love, you’re paying for the wedding.”

He bumped me with his shoulder. “I’m paying for the wedding because her folks backed out at the last minute. Bitsy was getting calls from everyone saying that deposits were nonrefundable no matter what her mother wanted.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Yeah. Imagine thinking everything is set for your big day, and your parents pull the rug out from under you and demand you give them their money back.”

“So you did what?”

“I sent her folks what they were out, had Bitsy call all her vendors—the bakery, the florist, this inn, etc.—and put my billing information on everything.”

“If someone trashes their room, that’s on you, then.”

“It is not,” he informed me. “All this big-ticket stuff, like the open bar at the wedding, that’s on me. Rooms, things like the eight a.m. bridal boat ride around the bay the morning after the bachelorette party…that’s on other people’s credit cards.”

I had to take a moment. “Someone planned a boat ride at eight in the morning after the bachelorette party?”

He cackled.

“All that’s gonna be is barfing.”