“Are you enjoying the party?” I ask into the silence.
“Yeah, it’s great. I’m glad Alex is having a good time.”
“Me too,” I say. “I’m Ben, by the way. His business partner and his best man.”
I offer her my hand, struggling not to let it clench into a fist. The tightness in my body is almost too much to handle, every nerve buzzing, every instinct roaring at me to make something happen.
After a moment, she takes it.
Her palm is warm, tempting as fuck. A deranged urge touches me – guide her hand to my crotch, press down, let her feel the effect she’s having on me.
I swear sparks are buzzing between us. She clutches tighter, and I hold on for a moment longer, squeezing, never wanting to let go.
“Nice to meet you,” she says when our hands finally separate.
“Isn’t this the part where you give me your name?” I smirk, teasing lightly.
She blinks and bites her lip. She needs to be careful with how she stares at me.
When she looks like this, so prey-like, so ready, I could tear her clothes off right here. It turns me into a beast. It makes restraint difficult.
I’ve never felt like this, never dreamed I could.
“I’m June,” she says a moment later. “It’s nice to meet you too.”
She takes a sip of her drink. I do the same, but I keep my eyes on her the entire time. I’m not sure I could take my eyes off her even if I wanted to…which I don’t, ever.
“I hope I’m not keeping you from anyone,” I say.
She shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. It’s good.”
Another pause and I wonder what she’d do if I reached out and cradled her cheek. What if I stroked my thumb along her skin and told her how she’s making me feel, the strength of it, the fact of it?
“Are you going to the wedding?” I ask.
She laughs, then nods. “Uh, yeah. I plan to.”
“Is something funny?”
“No.”
I smirk, stepping closer, inhaling the scent of her perfume, the scent of her. “That’s strange. I’m sure I heard you laughing.”
She tosses her head, a note of sassiness entering her expression. It goes to war with the nerves there, the redness in her cheeks.
“Maybe you’re hearing things. Did you ever think of that, huh?”
I chuckle. “It must be my old age.”
“You’re not old, Ben,” she says.
I grin, pointing self-deprecatingly to my hair. “See that? That’s a sign of old age right there.”
“Well, how old are you?”
“Thirty-nine.”
“See, that’s not old at all. Anyway, some people like the silver fox look.”