Hard Luck (Trophy Boyfriends 4)

Or.

Maybe he doesn’t find me attractive. Maybe he’s only being nice to me because I’m the groom’s sister…

Weddings are like a drug, and some people get high on the romance, the atmosphere. The food, the decorations, how nice the guests look, decked out in their finest.

The guests at my brother’s wedding certainly spared no expense for this black tie affair, where potted plants surround the room, their branches sprouting cherry blossoms and lit up with thousands of dim, twinkling lights.

Mateo himself is wearing a deep navy tux, its fabric so expensive and thick the threads practically gleam. Black satin lapel. Black shiny shoes I only caught sight of when he stepped away to shake his teammate’s hand moments ago.

Oddly, most of the guests have left us in peace, most likely because there are no fans here—just teammates and other sports professionals, the few journalists in attendance ordered to be brief and make themselves scarce after any interviews they nab.

These men are not here to work.

They are here to enjoy themselves.

To drink free booze and eat free food.

To dance with their wives and girlfriends.

Sure, a few of them aren’t in relationships and their dates are your typical gold-digger-looking types: big boobs, fake hair, spray tans. No offense to them, of course—it’s no crime to be sexy; it’s just…common when it comes to these guys.

They love that shit.

Big lips, fake lashes.

Ugh!

I’m not feeling dowdy tonight though, thanks to the shapewear beneath this gorgeously slinky bridesmaid dress. Its pink color compliments my complexion, my heels are high, makeup professionally done.

It may be the few drinks I’ve had, but I feel like a goddess.

Mateo seems to think so too with the way he’s staring down at me, our height difference magnified by the fact that we’re standing at the bar and not sitting.

He’s offered me the one open seat a few times, but I prefer it this way, prefer that I can accidentally bump into him. Accidentally brush my hand against his.

He has to lean down to hear me when I speak, lips grazing my ear each time he does.

Then.

He does something new.

His teeth bite my ear and tug, breath hot.

It sends a jolt through my body, beginning at my neck. Down my spine, through all the places south of the border, straight to my toes.

I shiver.

His nose nuzzles that sensitive spot just below my lobe. “Have I told you how beautiful you look?”

Beautiful.

Not sure I quite believe him when he undoubtedly dates women more beautiful than me, but I’m certainly willing to take the compliment and blush from it.

Add that to the tingling already coursing through my veins, and I’m positively vibrating.

I lift my chin a notch so I can look him in the eye; he’s so close his nose drags along the smooth plane of my cheek until our air mingles, mouths a breath apart.

“You’re pretty, too,” I tell him, for the sake of responding—not knowing what to say. Legs giving out a little, I take the opportunity to seat myself.

His hands slide over my bare shoulders, large and strong, calloused and a bit rough, if I’m being honest.

Still, they make me tremble, and I pray to God he doesn’t see it.

You can’t actually see someone tremble, can you?

This is ridiculous. True Wallace, get a grip—you’ve had hands on your body before. Hands that were just as big and strong and capable of giving you pleasure.

And right now, you’re not naked.

Why is this bothering you?

Hot and bothered is more like it.

Distracting.

Wonderful.

Sexy.

Oh god, so, so sexy.

No one is paying us one bit of attention; no one has come along and told him to get his hands off me. No one says anything because no one gives a shit.

We’re all having a great time, and nothing is going to ruin it.

I decide to throw caution to the wind.

Do what everyone else is doing and enjoy myself. Hell, I’ll do what my brothers do, which is whatever the hell I want.

So when Mateo steps closer, settling himself against my chair and sliding an arm along my back to curl around my shoulder, I tilt my chin up. Let my fingers rest on the hand that’s settled on my skin.

“Eres tan sexy.” He leans down and kisses my shoulder, whispering just loud enough for me to hear. “Quiero besarte todo el cuerpo.”

I have no idea what those words mean so I ask him to repeat them.

“Quiero besarte todo el cuerpo.”

Whatever they are, they sound like heaven. Feel like heaven too, murmured against my skin in the dim light of the ballroom, lights and stars and low music seductively setting the mood.

“Eres tan sexy.”

Sexy. That I understood.

The rest, not so much. “What are you saying?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.” I wish I knew Spanish so I could say it back.

“I said…” He gets in close. “You’re so sexy.” He kisses the spot on my skin where my shoulder and neck meet in a delicate slope. “I want to kiss you all over your body.”