Trouble

The song ends, and he gives me a little squeeze before releasing me. I miss the warmth of his body, but he slips my hand into the crook of his arm and leads me to the balcony.

Guests shriek and funnel past us as the DJ launches into another banger. Their laughter and the noise of the music fade to a low roar as we step outside.

It’s a warm, breezy night, and the scent of brine and salt air surrounds us.

The lights of the beach houses and mansions lining the shore reflect off the water, and I remember how much I miss this when I’m in Columbia. Maybe Daisy’s right, and I need to ditch the idiot and move home.

“How does a pinup like you get involved in flowers?” Spencer’s deep voice breaks my reverie.

Lowering my chin, I exhale a smile. “Disney?” His brow furrows, and I continue. “I always loved watching those old parades, the Rose Bowl and Mardi Gras. Then my mom took me to Epcot once, and when I saw all the gardens, I realized people actually did this for a living. I couldn’t believe it.”

The slightest grin lifts the corner of his mouth, and my bottom lip slides between my teeth. Spencer Carrollton is not a nice man. He’s an asshole my cousin also playfully refers to as Lucifer, which is a more fitting description from what I can tell at this point.

Naturally, I’m wildly attracted to him.

“Well, I can’t speak to your work as a waitress,” He leans against the balcony railing, crossing his arms. “But your skill as a florist is quite masterful.”

I blink a few times, fighting a grin.

His brows lower, and his frown returns so fast. Mercurial. “What?”

“The way you talk.”

“What about it?”

“Do you always speak like you’re reading from an encyclopedia?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He straightens as if I’ve offended him.

“Your skill as an artist is quite masterful.” I imitate his voice in an affect

ed, snooty-nasally way.

“I sound nothing like that.”

I can’t resist. “I sound nothing like that.”

“Stop it.”

“Stop it.”

His eyes flash with fire, and I wonder if I make him hostile and horny too. I press my lips together hard, but a laugh snorts through my nose anyway.

Yep, I’m definitely a little drunk.

He places both hands on the balcony rail on either side of me, caging me against his chest. “Don’t mock me, Joselyn.” His nostrils flare and his voice is low with a bit of a snarl.

He might be Lucifer, but I’m a witch. “Or what?”

The salt air stills around us. Everything stills, as if our chemistry has created a bubble just for us. The party noise is gone, and it’s him and me and electricity and this moment. His eyes darken and flicker to my lips as if he’s trying to decide.

I’m not.

I reach out and thread my fingers in the dark waves touching the back of his collar. His hair is soft, but his lips are softer. As soon as I press mine to his, he takes charge, pushing my mouth open and sliding his tongue inside.

My knees melt. One large hand moves to my lower back, palm flat, radiating heat through the thin silk of my dress as he pulls me closer. His other hand grasps my face, two fingers against my cheek, his thumb under my chin, tilting my head so he can kiss me deeper.

The way he kisses me… It’s like being devoured, yet savored. He slides his tongue along mine like he’s tasting delicious fruit. He’s minty and luscious, parting my lips with his and guiding them. My eyes roll back, and my panties drench when I feel his erection against my stomach.