“Gotta eat it now. Hurry, before Doc comes over here and accuses you of ruining her perfect wedding.”
With my hand over my mouth, I lick my lips, savoring the sweet, sugary taste of the cake frosting. “You’re an asshole,” I say, dropping my hand away.
“Got a little more here,” he replies with a grin, holding up his finger.
Ready to beat him at his own game, I lean forward, sucking the tip of his frosted finger into my mouth. Now he’s the one gasping in surprise, his body jolting. I suck the frosting off his fingertip with a sexy little moan, giving him a little flick with my tongue before I let him go.
“Holy fuck,” he says, breathless.
I smirk. He’s almost too easy. We’re ignoring the fact that it’s working on me too. “Your turn,” I say, dipping my finger into the cake to flick off a little frosted rosette. He’s right, no one will even notice they’re gone. I hold my finger up between us, waiting to see what he’ll do.
Surprising me, he ducks his head down closer and sucks the tip of my finger into his mouth, tasting the frosting. His mouth is warm, his tongue teasing. I hold my breath, all senses firing, as his teeth give me a little nip. The sensation races down my arm, across my chest, and zaps me right in the clit.
Oh fuck.
He lets me go, his gaze molten.
I want to kiss him again. I want to feel those soft lips. I want to taste the frosting on his tongue. I inch closer, tipping up my chin. “I thought you said you wanted to dance,” I say, my lips parting, inviting him in. “That’s good for one song, I think.”
A charged moment stretches between us as he leans a little closer, his hand brushing my hip. Those pretty green eyes are locked on me, reading me, asking me an unspoken question.
He’s going to do it. He’s going to kiss me. I want him to.
But then he lets out a breath and leans away. “Dancing…right.” Ever the gentleman, he holds out his hand to me. “Tess, will you do me the honor?”
Reeling from the almost-kiss, I put my hand in his and let him steer me across the room towards the dance floor.
6
I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. This woman is so far out of my league. She’s smart and funny and so damn sexy. Women like Tess Owens don’t pick guys like me. So why is her hand in mine? Why am I leading her onto the dance floor?
I’ve been watching her all night. I can’t help it. I feel drawn to her. It’s her laugh. So bright and full-bodied, just like her. The sound pierced straight through me, rooting me to the floor as I stood there like an asshole, pretending to listen to Sully and J-Lo’s jokes.
I didn’t want to stand in the corner with my teammates. I wanted to be at Tess’s side as she laughed, my hand placed casually on her curvy hip. I’d offer her a fresh glass of wine, my lips brushing gently against her temple. It would be quick, like a habit. Then I’d stand there, quietly watching her work the room, just soaking in her essence like a fucking coral sponge.
The music transitions into a slow song, and I thank my lucky stars. It’s like God knows I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of this woman.
She didn’t let me touch her in Compton’s kitchen. She let me kiss her, yes, and it was fucking amazing. I felt her naked body press against my bare chest, so warm and soft. But she made me keep my hands to myself the whole time. In the moment, I didn’t mind. But as soon as she was gone, I felt oddly bereft that I didn’t get to hold her.
I’m changing that right fucking now.
I turn on my heel at the edge of the dance floor, reeling her in against me. She steps in willingly, her full breasts brushing against my chest as I lace our fingers together. Her other hand goes to my shoulder. My fingers glide over the silky fabric of her emerald dress, my palm splaying possessively at the small of her back. She fits snug against me, our toes tapping as we find our footing and start to sway.
“Do you like to dance?” she says after a minute.
I glance down. “With you, yes.”
She smiles without teeth. It lifts the rosy apples of her cheeks, making soft creases at the outside corners of her eyes. She’s wearing makeup tonight. She’s all but concealed the freckles that dot her nose and cheeks. I see them on her collarbones though, peachy and perfect, charting sun-kissed constellations across her skin. Diamonds sparkle at her ears, just simple studs. I imagine she picked her most neutral pair, thinking only of Doc and how it’s her night to shine.
But Tess Owens would be radiant in anything. She can’t help herself. God, this woman is under my skin. What the hell am I going to do about it?