Left Field (New Hope #4)

Chapter Seven

Lucy

The Malibu hillside unfolds, the arid terrain littered with haphazard mansions and winding roads. Sunlight reflects off the windows of the homes dotting the mountain, twinkling like stars with an endless blue sky above them.

I've been to Los Angeles twice before, but both times were instances where I never left the client's dwelling. Still, the views were breathtaking from his house in the Hollywood Hills. I'm looking forward to being closer to the beach during this trip.

The wedding is taking place at an elite country club located off the Pacific Coast Highway. The massive venue faces the mountains with the ocean at its back, and takes up half a mile of beachfront property.

Iron gates topped with mermaid figurines split open, allowing our car entry to a sprawling front lawn, unnaturally green given the drought in California. The country club doubles as a hotel. The rounded driveway is riddled with bellhops and event organizers scrambling to assist guests.

Blake informed me Julian and Natalie have booked every room for their upcoming nuptials, with three hundred of their closest friends and relatives attending.

Our driver inches under a portes-cochère supported by white columns, parking behind an idle Aston Martin. As we wait for our turn to exit the vehicle, my phone begins to ring. Blake is busy with his own electronics, so I pull it from my carry-on, answering without looking at the screen.

"This is a collect call from Eastern State Peniten—"

"Son of a bitch," I mutter, slamming my thumb on the 'end call' button, my breath leaving my lungs in choppy bursts.

"My mom would take offense to that comment," Blake quips, looking up at me from his tablet. He notices my panic, his brow furrowing in concern. "All good?"

I slip my phone into the side compartment of my bag, brushing my clammy hands on my knees. "Yeah, fine."

He hesitates. "You sure?"

"It's our turn, sir," the driver announces.

Thank God.

I make it a point to be the first out of the car, beating the driver and Blake to the trunk. I open the hatch, fumbling with the bags to give myself time to recuperate. Blake's hand stalls mine on the handle of his suitcase. He takes it from me, passing it to a waiting bellhop. I can feel his eyes studying my profile, but I've since schooled my face.

"This place is luxe," I comment, distracting him.

His head swivels, taking in the lush greenery and the flutter of activity. "It's something."

We leave it at that. He gives the bellhop his information, but I'm too antsy to pay attention to background noise. I need to focus; get into character. I can't let myself be derailed every time the phone rings.

Blake slips his palm against mine, intertwining our fingers. My heart slows its pace, his nearness triggering a calming effect on my nervous system.

Before I can get my bearings, Blake pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning me to face him. His mouth connects with mine. I inhale a sharp gasp, surprised by the sudden contact. His lips are malleable but firm, and as smooth as I imagined. He tastes like the spearmint gum he was chewing on the drive from LAX, and he smells better than the clean ocean air.

The kiss only lasts a few seconds, but it's long enough for me to forget who I am, where we are, and what I'm here to do.

Blake doesn't employ the use of his tongue, so I keep mine to myself. He tugs my bottom lip with a reasonable amount of suction, then pulls away, circling my nose with the tip of his. My eyes are still shut when I feel him plant a final kiss on my forehead, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. My blood is throwing a riot in my veins, and my knees are weak.