Page 11 of With Any Luck

He went on, “Rhett wouldn’t shut up about you when I first met him. You should’ve heard the way he talked about you—like you hung the moon, the sun, and all the stars. I couldn’t wait to meet you in New Orleans, and when I did, I realized he didn’t even tell me the good parts.”

My throat stung as I tried to swallow down my sobs. My mascara had left an impression on his lovely wool coat. “W-what a-are the good parts?”

“That you’re sexy as hell.”

“My mascara’s all over your coat.”

“Minor setback,” he replied, and reached up to tuck my hair behind my ear. “I wasn’t joking yesterday when I asked you to kiss me.”

My bottom lip wobbled. “So you can find your t-true love, too?”

“Fuckthat,” he growled and took my face in his hands and kissed me. Crushed our mouths together, our breaths intertwining in the cold.

I was surprised at first, but then my shoulders relaxed, and I curled my hand around his wool lapels to bring him closer, and the world went quiet. He nibbled on my bottom lip, his long fingers tracing down the side of my face, fingering into my hair. I sank into him so willingly, like hot butter on a skillet. When we broke apart, his eyes were bright and feverish, and a blush had taken up permanent residence on my cheeks.

“Room?” I asked, and he pulled me to my feet, and we kissed each other down the sidewalk, tumbling in through the gate of the bed-and-breakfast, giggling as we ascended the stairs to his room—

“Not mine, never mine,” I said.

To which he amusingly asked, “Why?”

“Because it’s bad luck to have sex with the bride’s best friend in the best man’s suite.”

“Hmm.I’ve never heard of that before.”

“Trust me,” I said as he planted a kiss on my neck. “I’m superstitious.”

His room was just as untouched as mine, at least until he picked me up, my thighs wrapped around his middle, and placed me on the bed. My hands couldn’t stop tracing his jaw, traveling the length of his neck to his chest. Our coats dropped to the floor. His hands traced the contours of my jumpsuit, looking for the zipper on the side as he nibbled on the side of my neck. I tugged off his tie, and it slithered away off the bed.

He finally released me from my sparkly jumpsuit, and took off his own lilac shirt. He kissed the side of my neckagain, trailing down between my breasts, his teeth grazing my skin like a hungry wolf.

“What made you change your mind?” I asked. “About kissing me?” He felt so hard against my middle, and I hadn’t had anything intimate in so long I wanted it. So, so badly.

“Because it’d be you,” he said. “I knew it’d be you.”

My chest felt tight. He didn’t have to explain whatitwas.Itwas the thing I had been trying to find my entire life.Ithad been the thing that always eluded me. The thing that followed every guy I ever kissed. I was always the girlbeforethe happily ever after.

I was the person you stopped at for a little while for shelter. I wasn’t the person you stayed with.

I wasn’t that person to anyone—

Or at least, I thought.

“You’re not just saying that to fuck me?” I asked.

His mouth inched lower and lower, his hands on my thighs, thumbs slowly guiding down my underwear ... and then he paused and looked back up at me with those stormy emerald eyes. “Audrey Love, I’m not going to fuck you,” he growled, and slowly guided his fingers into me. Two, then three, his thumb rubbing soft circles against my clit. My fingers curled against the sheets, and I fought back a moan. “I’m going to make love to you, Audrey Love,” he said, “and make you scream my name, and tell me just how fucking lucky you are.”

And I did.

-Now-

Isink into his kiss, last night like a flickering projector on my eyelids. There’s a burn, a longing, deep in my belly. His lips taste exactly as I imagined, sweet and warm, and they’re soft and—God—I wish I had remembered this sooner. Because the way he kisses feels like the way I fall in love, sharp and quick and deep. I feel him smile against my mouth.

“Remember now?” he purrs, his rumbly voice laced with last night’s memories.

“Yes,” I reply, breathless, pressing my forehead against his. My fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I do.”

Which means—

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