Page 12 of Baiting His Bride

“With you?” he replies, the devilish grin returning. “Anytime.”

I laugh and press the button. A countdown timer flashes on the screen, and we pose, both with wide smiles, adjusting a little each time until all four photos have been taken.

The music outside the booth changes to a fast-paced number. We’ve got a few minutes to sneak away before the cake cutting and garter toss. I spin to Carson as he reaches for the photo strip and tucks it into his jacket pocket. “That offer for a walk by the lake still good?”

He rises so fast I topple off his lap, but his arms steady me just as his head slams into the booth’s low ceiling.

“Ouch,” he exclaims, wincing in pain.

I can’t help but bite back a smile at his eagerness. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Moments later, the festivity of the reception extends out to the illuminated flagstone patio but floats away on the cool evening breeze as we slip past the strings of lights. The moonlight shimmers on the water in the distance as my heels sink into the thick, green grass. Carson and I silently make our way down toward the rocky shore.

I’m grateful for the quiet moment because my mind is spinning. And my lady parts are throbbing in a way that reminds me I haven’t slept with a man in way too long.

But now? I want to.

I wish I didn’t. I wish I wasn’t craving Carson’s touch so much the juncture between my thighs thrums in a way that shines a spotlight on that particular part of my anatomy as if it were center stage.

If only I wasn’t drawn to this bachelor like a moth to a flame. But facts are facts, and there are only so many ways I can use my PR skills to gloss over the truth when faced with a reality that defies reason.

If I were putting together notes for a briefing, the pro-con list for the tall, sexy, playful man at my side would be edging close to even, despite being no contest just twenty-four hours ago.

Am I crazy to consider one night of what would no doubt be great sex? It’s not as if there’s any chance of more after this weekend. If I were just Mallory and he were simply Carson, I wouldn’t be having this debate. The man oozes charisma I’m one thousand percent certain translates to the bedroom. Plus, the wine and the festive atmosphere and the way he lights up my world must be to blame. Because my reasons, carved in stone yesterday, are now fluttering away like the fireflies sparking in the night sky.

There’s no reason I shouldn’t enjoy myself. We’re both consenting adults, hundreds of miles from the city. And it’s not as if he’s the reporter on the beat covering AV Industries. Surely, he’s enough of a gentleman to keep our agreement—and anything that happens between us—off the record. Even if my heart isn’t so guarded.

“Watch your step,” Carson warns gently, his voice cutting through the quiet as his arm stretches out like a steel railing to stop me in my tracks.

I grab hold of the sinewy muscles a man who works behind a desk, in a corner office in a high-rise, has no right to have and scan the thick summer grass at my feet. I see nothing until the camouflaged frog I almost speared hops away with a croak.

“Are you okay?” he asks, the palm of his hand pressed against my belly.

“In these heels that could have been ugly,” I murmur, glancing over at him.

But as I gaze past him, my breath hitches. We’re almost to the boathouse. The lapping water is only yards away. I hadn’t realized how far we’d strayed from the reception. The shore didn’t seem this far from the patio before. But now, outside of the ring of light where the dancing has started, the music is pounding and is sure to keep going for hours? We might as well be a million miles away.

“Frog guts would have really killed the moment.”

“Is that what we’re having?” I ask, finding his dark eyes searching mine. “A moment?”

“I know I am,” he admits, flashing me a wicked grin. One that tips the scales and seals the deal.

After all, a moment is all I need from a man like this, and it’s not as if he’s looking for anything past tonight, either. Might as well enjoy a romp with this flirt and get whatever is going on between us out of my system.

Carson

“Ithink I am, too.” Mallory's confession delivered with a determined smile sends my balls straight up into my stomach. God, there’s nothing I love more than a confident woman who knows what she wants. Especially when what she wants is me.

It’s the opening I’ve waited for all day. Verbal confirmation of the signals her body has sent for hours, despite the fact she’s still in public relations and I’m still press.

I step closer, one hand landing on her hip and the other lifting to brush my thumb along her jawbone and across her lower lip. Then I lean down, close enough to kiss her again. But I don’t. Not yet. Even though I want to more than anything.

“Good,” I murmur instead, weaving my fingers through hers. But rather than head back toward the hotel, I steer us forward to the resort’s pristine, hand-crafted wooden boathouse.

I noted its perfect, private location and surprisingly lavish interior yesterday when we returned from that failed attempt at trout fishing late in the morning. Despite coming up empty-handed, the outing was the highlight of my day until meeting Mallory.

But now that I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know this woman, a fierce intuition has awakened. A certainty, based on pure instinct, sits in my chest as sure as my beating heart. But I brush aside the sensation—and plan that’s been forming in my head—to focus on slipping inside the dimly lit structure, the mineral fragrance from the water blending with the earthy cedar scent.

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