Seducing the Best Man

“Talk? To me?” Her smile turned hard. “That’s a first.”

He frowned. “Talk. Not fight.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So talk.”

No point in beating around the bush. “Still have reservations about this wedding?”

She stared into the fountain, her fingers barely breaking the surface of the water. “That’s putting it mildly.”

His relief was instantaneous. “Then we need to stop it.”

That got her attention. Her gaze locked with his. “How do you propose we do that?”

He shook his head. “We’re smart. We’ll figure it out.”

“You don’t think it’s...mean?”

“Mean? No.” He shook his head. “Think of it like preventative medicine. You take steps to prevent something bad from happening.”

She was watching him carefully, weighing his words. “And this wedding is bad.”

“If it doesn’t happen, then there’s no messy divorce or permanent scars.” He shrugged. “You and I know they’re rushing into this without thinking it through.”

She sat there, staring at him. He let his gaze wander over her every feature. Her huge expressive eyes, full lips, pale skin and dramatic brows that she arched as she asked, “Even if I agree and we do try to break this off—we have another problem.”

“We do?” he asked, staring at the corner of her mouth and the sugar that demanded his attention.

“The one that makes us get naked and attack each other within thirty minutes of seeing each other?” Her attention wandered to the dancing seahorses at the top of the fountain, but he could see the rapid pulse in her neck.

“It’s been at least thirty-seven minutes.”

“And I was ready to commit a felony or misdemeanor at the table. Which was it, you tell me?”

He laughed.

She glared at him. “And now you can’t stop looking at my mouth.”

He paused, consumed by the need to touch her. “Because I like the way you taste,” he answered.

Her mouth parted but no words came out.

He reached out, his thumb dislodging the grain of sugar before sliding across the full softness of her lower lip. He felt the heat of her breath, her slight shiver. “I can’t keep my hands off you. I don’t want to. But if you tell me to stop, I will.” His words were low.

His hand fell to the inside of her knee, his fingers brushing along her leg and up the back of her thigh.

She jumped up. “We need to get back.”

He stood slowly, adjusting his pants to alleviate his discomfort.

She stared down at his clearly defined erection. “Patton—” She breathed heavily. “Dammit.”

“It’s your fault.” He stepped forward.

She scowled. “It’s not—”

His nose nudged her temple, drawing her scent deep. “You smell so damn good.”

She stared up at him. “So do you.” Her hands settled on his shirt, her fingers gripping the fabric.