Page 32 of One Wealthy Wedding

She’s not telling the truth. Her face betrays little, but I’ve known Cat Peterson for a long time. She can never keep eye contact and tell a lie. And she spends a hell of a lot of time looking away from me.

“You can take mine.”

Idiot.

“Excuse me?”

Take it back. Do not go down this road with her. But my foolish mouth is running away with me.

“My last name. You can take my last name. If you want to get away from your family.”

She looks at me with a befuddled expression. “You’d do that?”

Yeah, dumbass. Why would you do that?

Because it will feel damn good to flaunt it in her father’s face. That’s why.

“Would your father hate it?” I ask.

Her face takes on a viciously satisfied cast.

“He would. He’ll lose his mind when he sees the news.”

“Then yes. I’ll do it. Why don’t we announce the marriage right now?”

“How?” Cat asks warily.

“Just a selfie. For social media. I’ll have the PR company post it. You put it up on yours.”

“I don’t think I need to do that.”

“Oh, come on, Cat. The world needs to know. We want people to talk about us.” I loop an arm around her shoulders and drag her into my body. She’s tense at first, but when I grip her shoulder, she relaxes, leaning in to me, pressing close.

Ah, shit.

The contact sends sparks shooting through me. Her hand is on my stomach. Her soft skin is warm under my palm. I focus on pulling my phone out of my pocket and not on how indescribably good it feels to be close to Cat. As good as it did the first and only time I held her.

I thought I’d forgotten about that, but my body remembers. My hands itch to explore her curves, to see what’s changed between nineteen and now. Are her breasts still that perfect teardrop shape? Does she still have a freckle on the side of her thigh?

Focus. I put the phone on selfie mode. “Look like you love me,” I tell her.

She grimaces, and I take the shot.

“Yikes,” she mutters. “We look deranged.”

“No, you look deranged. I look hot.”

She laughs and pinches my side before I grab her hand. “Take two,” I tell her. I turn her in my arms, bend, and press a kiss to her cheek as I snap the photo. She makes a little sound of surprise. I breathe her in, letting my lips linger for just one second, before I pull away. Her cheeks are pink and her mouth is parted, in the photo, and in life. With her tousled hair and her skimpy pajamas, she looks like she just left my bed.

Her eyes flick to my mouth before she takes a swift step back.

She wants me. The knowledge sends excitement galloping through me.

I can use this. This marriage is a battlefield, and I intend to win. I might have promised not to have sex with Cat, but that doesn’t mean I can’t flirt with her.

Tease her, touch her, figure out her secrets, break down her walls. I’m done being controlled by the Peterson family.

Game on, Catherine.

---