Page 70 of If the Ring Fits

Excusing myself once more, I make a beeline for the bar. Another drink. Anything to dull the ache of wanting her. But even as the alcohol burns down my throat, I know it’s futile. Rowena has me wrapped around her finger and all she has to do for me to unravel is pull a little harder.

As if she’s heard me, I feel a prickle on my scalp a second before she sidles up to the bar. Her arm wraps around my lower back, turning my nervous system haywire. “Can you get me a virgin mimosa, Bunny?” she purrs, her breath tickling my neck.

I nod, barely able to focus on what I’m telling the bartender as I order her drink. Moments later, I hand Rowena her cocktail, grab some food, and sit at one of the many whitewashed tables with a few of my traders, hoping for a brief respite.

But my plan backfires when Sarah joins us and, immediatelyafter, Rowena, noting the lack of extra chairs, settles into my lap, draping an arm over my neck as she sips her cocktail. The intimacy of the position drives me wild. I’m unhinged. As I attempt to keep up the conversation, Rowena plays with the hair at my nape, twirling it around her fingers. I close my eyes, briefly savoring the sensation even as I remind myself to stay in control.

The torture never ends. Rowena’s hand trails over my shoulders, tracing patterns on my forearm. Each touch is a sweet agony, eroding my resistance a little further.

As the time for speeches and toasts approaches, I’m relieved I’ll have to stand soon.

But just as I’m about to get to my feet, she tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet her gaze. “You’ve got this, Bunny,” Rowena whispers, finally slinking off me.

With that simple encouragement, she sends me off to face the crowd, my body on fire. I shake my head to disperse the lust mist clouding my brain before I step up to the microphone, my voice steady despite the turmoil burning within me. As I speak, the words I’ve prepared about what a lucky guy I am to have found my missing half flow from my heart. And I’m not even sure where the fiction ends and the truth begins anymore. As I finish my toast, Rowena joins me on stage and, seemingly overwhelmed with emotion, she grabs the microphone and says, “What he just said.”

Our guests laugh and clap. In response, she drops her forehead on my chest, snuggling closer. To everyone watching, it must look like she’s moved by my heartfelt speech.

I’m not sure what she’s up to exactly, but I’m done pretending I don’t crave whatever it is she wants to give me.

“Kiss her already!” someone in the crowd shouts, and my heart nearly stops.

Rowena’s head snaps up. Our eyes lock. For a split second, a flicker of uncertainty dances across her irises, but then she gives me a tiny nod. Permission granted.

I lean down, brushing my lips against hers in a chaste kiss. The brief contact is not nearly enough, but it’s all I can allow myself. But as I make to pull back, Rowena’s arms wind around my neck, refusing to let go. She kisses me again—nothing chaste about it this time.

And that’s when I lose it.

I tighten my grip on her waist, digging my fingers into her hips as I pull her impossibly closer, deepening the kiss. Her hands thread through my hair, tugging more frantically as our mouths grow more urgent, more insistent.

We are lost together, in a moment of absolute, unfiltered passion. Rowena’s lips part beneath mine and I take the invitation, my tongue sweeping into her mouth to taste her fully. She tastes like the pineapple juice of her mimosas, sweet and intoxicating. Our breaths mingle, ragged and hot, as the kiss ignites.

Her body melts against mine. My hands roam her back, skimming the low edge of her silky dress—its plunging line not much higher than her tailbone. Her skin is warm under my fingertips even as she shudders. Rowena moans softly into my mouth, and the sound sends me spiraling. I forget we’re standing in front of an audience full of people, my hunger for her insatiable.

All that exists is the taste of her, the way she fits in my arms. I’m lost, drowning and I never want to come up for air.

Catcalls and whistles finally break through the haze and someone shouts, “Get a room!”

We pull apart, both of us panting and wide-eyed. I stare at Rowena, shocked, marveling at the way she made me unravel—utterly, completely. She looks equally overwhelmed, butthere’s also a hint of smugness in her expression. That coyness makes me want to repay the teasing look with another kiss.

Thank fuck the moment is broken by a server announcing dinner is ready. The main meal is served in a different section of the resort, still facing the beach, but with elegantly decorated tables. The menu is a lavish affair, but I can barely taste the food. Rowena sits beside me, every accidental brush of limbs a distraction.

First she leans in, her fingers tracing the tense muscles of my shoulder. “You have a bit of lint,” she breathes against my ear. She plucks at the invisible offender, her touch lingering longer than necessary.

I grind my teeth, trying to concentrate on the surrounding conversation, but it’s impossible. Rowena’s proximity is driving me to the edge, and after that kiss, I’m not sure how much longer I can hang on to the flimsy thread of self-discipline I got back.

All throughout the meal, she finds little ways to torment me. A whisper in my ear, a hand on my thigh under the table. Each touch is innocent enough, but the cumulative effect is maddening.

After dinner, the band strikes up a slow melody and couples drift to the spacious deck lit by string lights to dance. Rowena stands, holding out her hand to me. “Dance with me, Bunny?”

I hesitate, knowing that dancing with her is reckless insanity, but the stage is set. I take her hand and let her lead me onto the floor, my jaw working as she steps into my arms.

Rowena’s hands slide up my chest, settling on my shoulders. She looks at me with those impossibly big eyes, a shy smile on her face. “I don’t really know what to do.”

Instinct takes over. I palm the small of her back, pulling hertoward me, the startled gasp that escapes her lips my reward. With my other hand, I trail up her forearm, entwining our fingers. “Let me lead, then.”

My darling fiancée swallows, suddenly not so smug anymore.

I lean forward, letting my voice hover just above a breath against her ear, “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

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