Kill. Me. Now. Would the parade of humiliations in front of this man never end?
“Newspapers are terrible,” I mumbled into my wine, which did nothing to soothe the heat flushing my cheeks. I reminded myself not to tell him I was a journalist, and definitely not mention who I was related to. How had I not recognized him? Probably because I rarely read my mother’s column. I didn’t need to because—like it or not—I was forced to hear all the juicy details before they hit the press.
“I take no notice,” he said.
He rubbed his jaw with his palm and I noticed the hint of shadows underneath his eyes. Despite looking like he could do with a lie-in, he had one of those textbook good-looking faces: strong nose, angular jaw, cheekbones that I tried to create with blusher on a daily basis. No wonder he was used to a lot of attention from women. Even I found myself involuntarily pressing my boobs together to try to create some kind of cleavage as I looked at him. It was an instinctive biological reaction my body was having to a face that handsome and a body that . . . big.
“So, if the tequila’s so great, why do you look like you’re sipping poison?” I asked. “You’d be on to your second shot by now if it was that amazing.”
He shifted, stretching his large hand to the back of my chair, caging me between him and the table. Lowering his voice, he seemed to purr like an oversized jungle cat. “You clearly have no idea how to enjoy the best things in life if you think chugging a glass of two-thousand-pound-a-bottle tequila is a good idea. The best things in life should be savored.” His eyes dipped down to my lips for a second and my breath hitched in my ribcage. “Unhurried,” he continued. “Pleasure should be drawn out and made to last.” It was as if someone tripped the go faster switch on my heartbeat—and this close, Nathan could surely hear the racing rhythm.
I swallowed, heat rising from my belly and spreading up my neck. “Okay,” I said, a little winded. “I’ll try it.” I reached for my drink and my arm caught his arm, igniting a thousand tiny sparks across my skin.
I glanced up at him to see if he’d felt that too. His widened eyes and slightly open mouth suggested he had, and that was before his tongue darted out to wet his full, smooth lips.
Jesus, he looked like he was about to kiss me. And I was about to let him.
Not going to happen, I scolded myself.
At least, not before the speeches.
Three
Nathan
Quirky wasn’t usually my type, but there was something about Madison Shore that made my mouth water and my fingers heat with a need to touch. Maybe this wedding wouldn’t be so bad after all. After the conversation with Gretel, I needed to distract myself from the ticking for as long as I was stuck in this country hotel in the middle of nowhere.
She looked away from me, picked up the glass of tequila, and held it to her luscious, full red lips.
“Slowly,” I said, trailing my eyes down to her chest and then back up to that mouth, which seemed to have some kind of magnetic pull. “Just coat your lips at first and taste it with the tip of your tongue.”
I had a few more ideas of what she could do with her tongue when she was done with the tequila.
I enjoyed women who presented a challenge, who didn’t giggle as soon as we were introduced. Whether I was going to sleep with a woman for a night or a week, I always preferred someone who gave as good as she got. I’d found that who a woman was fully clothed often translated to how she was naked—and I didn’t like to sleep with passive women.
Madison wasn’t going to be like that. Those luscious auburn curls would bounce as she rode me. Those red lips would look perfect wrapped around my cock as she swallowed me deep and those breasts . . . I pushed down a groan that rumbled in my chest.
Her eyebrows pulled together in suspicion. Tentatively, she took a tiny sip from the glass. She shot me a look as if she were convinced that I was playing a trick on her and snakes were about to slide from the glass.
If we weren’t in public . . . I’d press her up against the wall and kiss that suspicion right out of her.
Her eyes widened as the tequila coated her lips, and she lowered her glass. “It’s okay.”
I chuckled. It was more than okay.
“You like this better than the wine?” she asked.
The wine was fine. Noah knew his stuff and wasn’t skimping on anything today. But this tequila . . . Asombroso’s Del Porto . . . This was better than most things I put in my mouth.