Big Man's Heat (Big Men Big Hearts 3)

I'm going to miss her.

Getting up, I walk to the drink table and grab another glass of wine. I don't even bother going back to my table because I've already decided that I'm getting drunk tonight. If I keep thinking about not having my best friend by my side, I'm going to spend the rest of the night crying.

I don't want to cry selfishly on her wedding night, so getting drunk makes sense right now.

“Did you taste that at all?” His voice comes in over my shoulder, low and heavy.

Laughing, I set down my empty glass and pick up another. “Nope, and I'm not trying to. Want to get drunk with me?” I ask, lifting up a second glass and passing it to him.

“How drunk?” he asks with a smirk as he takes the glass from my hand, letting his fingers brush mine gently.

Tingles rush up my arm, sweeping through my chest, and seizing my lungs. I hold my breath for a second, trying to not visibly shiver.

“Very drunk.” Flashing him a big grin, I lift my glass, tapping it against his.

“Count me in,” he says.

His eyes move all over my face. They trace my cheeks, moving down slowly, and lingering on my lips. My heart starts to race, the blood rushing so forcefully it pounds in my ears, silencing everything else around me.

The way he looks at me makes my body come alive. His eyes pierce me where I stand, forcing my heart to speed up. I can't breathe. I forget how as his eyes start to travel over my breasts, working their way down over my hips, and moving all the way to my feet.

God damn, he's gorgeous.

His hair is styled with just enough mess my fingers itch to slip through it. The suit he's wearing barely contains his thick muscled body. He flexes his arm as he lifts the glass to his lips, and I swear the threads at the seams are straining.

The tips of my fingers reach for my neck as I swallow the lump forming in my throat. I can feel every inch of my body prickling with desire, begging for this man to just grab me with his bear sized hands and take me however he wants.

“Having a good time?” he asks, turning around to face the small crowd on the dance floor.

“I am, actually.” Leaning back against the table, I hold the glass close to my lips, but don't take a sip. I let it rest there, cooling my skin.

“You sound surprised by that. What did you think it would be like? A bunch of people chasing pigs through the mud in ripped jeans and line dancing?”

“No. . . Well, maybe a little.” Giggling, he laughs with me. “But no. I'm just used to weddings that are. . .” Letting my voice trail off, I try to pick my words wisely. I don't want to offend him. This is where he lives.

“Built for the rich and famous?”

“Yeah, basically.” Agreeing, I catch Jenna making a beeline for the house. “Huh,” I say under my breath.

“What?” he asks, following my gaze.

She runs up to the house quickly and disappears inside. Mark looks around the room, and that's when we see Ryder talking to one of Jenna's and my friend, Tara. She points to the house, and he nods, sending him in the same direction as Jenna.

“Hm, wonder what's going on,” Mark says into his drink.

His lips make a slurping noise, drawing my eyes right to them. Lowering the glass, he licks his lips with deliberate slowness. Biting on my bottom lip, my mind starts to twirl with thoughts of his lips against my skin. Kissing my neck and moving down my throat until he finds more exposed skin to taste.

Mark coughs, drawing me out of my daze. My eyes move up to his and he smiles coyly.

I'm caught.

Bashfully, I twist my head in the other direction, embarrassment flushing my cheeks. “Yeah, I have no idea, but they both ran off quick.”

“I'm happy for them. You know, I honestly thought me and Ryder were going to be bachelors forever. Boy was I wrong, huh?” He chuckles to himself, looking deep into the liquor in his glass.

“Yeah, well I thought Jenna and I would be drinking mimosas every Sunday morning for at least another two or three years before she got swept away for her design career. I don't think that's happening anymore. Looks like we were both wrong.”

He laughs again and holds his glass in my direction. “To change,” he says.

Clinking my glass against his, we both finish what's left. “So, what about you? What are your plans now that you're going solo?”

Shrugging his shoulder, he sets the glass down on the table. “I don't plan on a changing a thing. I'm a mechanic, and that keeps me busy enough.” He sounds slightly bitter. His voice is flat, but I can see it in his eyes. “What about you?”