Page 33 of Catch and Release Groom

So here they were, engaged in small talk as if they were on an actual date. Drinking to calm their nerves.

For someone who disliked wine, Easton sure gulped the next sampling, a full-bodied Malbec.

At her raised eyebrows, he said, “Like medicine. Tastes nothing like cherry or grape, or any other fruit it claims, so you just chug and wait for it to work.”

Figuring there was a valid point somewhere in there, Imogen shrugged and polished off her glass as well.

The merlot was drier, with a hint of spice and tobacco. Imogen swore she could taste a couple of the notes, never mind that she’d been informed of them prior. What mattered was something about its good legs and the smooth, satiny finish.

Easton didn’t bother savoring flavors, tossing back his pour in one gulp. “Not whiskey,” he said, and a gritty, grinding noise accompanied his next words. “It also has rocks in it.”

“Don’t you usually order your not-whiskey on the rocks?” She giggled, and delight pinged through her at having teased a smile out of him. “Those are the tartrates—they told us to think of them as tiny diamonds.”

One of the crystals hit the back of her throat, spurring a coughing fit, and Easton pounded his palm between her shoulder blades to dislodge it. “Death by diamond. Or as I like to call it, marriage.”

“As your blushing, choking bride,” she half-laughed and half-wheezed, “I can’t tell you how comforting that is to hear.”

“Hey, think about me—my rep’ll never recover if spiked grape juice is what does me in.” He groused a boozy list he’d rather be offed by, starting with his favorite beer and ending with top-shelf bourbon.

“What about you? What’s your poison?” This time, he was the one scooting closer, contracting their intimate bubble. “And just know, I’m gonna judge you if it’s anythin’ we tried today.”

“Oh no,” Imogen said, heavy on the sarcasm. “Whatever will I do if you judge me, like you’ve done since the morning we met.”

“As if you weren’t doing the same thing,” he fired back and, since she’d rather get along than split hairs, shechoseto answer the question.

“I’m a sucker for strong, smoky tequila. In a margarita or shooting it straight, depending on how quickly I’m lookin’ to forget.”

“That’s my girl,” Easton said, clearly on reflex, so there was no reason for her body to react so strongly. His forehead creased as he scanned the wineglasses scattered across the tabletop. “Right, I already finished mine. Something must’ve been in that last one—it was tasty enough I wouldn’t mind another pour.”

“See? The more you drink, the better it is.” Imogen nudged the rest of her merlot toward him and found a glass with enough white to wash away the red’s bitterness.

“Cheers, then.” Easton knocked the rim of his glass to hers, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob as he drank, completely mesmerized and pleasantly buzzed. While the wine played a part, it was nowhere as potent as the blissful contentment and lust.

Next, the staff uncorked and served the cabernet. It was bold and dry—like, welcome to the Sahara Desert, have a glass of boozy sand.

Just as Imogen was about to declare she couldn’t drink another drop, heart-shaped chocolates were delivered to each table, along with generous pours of Brachetto d’Acqui. Ruby-red and bubbly, a hint sweet and a hint tart, it paired perfectly with the bitterness of the dark chocolate.

“This one’ss ssreally good.” Easton eyed the now-empty glass and then plunked it on the table. “I reckon I owe wine an apology. It’ss not so not bad after all.”

“Yeah, see?” She thwacked his shoulder. “Although it’s meant to be ssipped and savorrd, not slammed, ya goof.” There went her plans to give Easton a hard time, as she was doing a little slurring herself. “I’m also guessing you’re now drunk enough not to care so much what it tastes like.”

“I already had a taste of what I wanted,” he murmured, and when she asked him to repeat himself, he leaned extra close. “You might not be sweet as this dessert wine, my pint-sized princess, but that mouth of yours…”

His gaze dropped a few inches, painting heat across her lips, and when his Adam’s apple bobbed this time, it was slower, his swallow thicker.

Inside her chest, her heart performed a similar move. Using the over-the-top pet names to rile was part of the game, but there was no mistaking the shift of tone. It danced across her nerve endings, set her core aglow, and gave her body the entirely wrong idea.

Except… Nothing about their arrangement said they couldn’t enjoy their time together; that there couldn’t be kisses and cuddling. If anything, it’d make activities more fun, prepare them to win that cash prize at the newlywed competition, and solidify their act for his ex’s wedding.

She grinned at him, and he grinned back, showing off wine-stained lips and teeth, and she barely withheld a chuckle. Then, realizing her smile was probably tinted as well, Imogen lowered the setting to a closed-mouth version.

“Excuse me,” Easton said to whomever had approached her chair from behind. He requested a bottle of the Riesling “for the missus,” and she blinked at him, wondering how he’d known that was her favorite? They’d sampled it at the beginning and, since that was when he was still being a big grump about drinking wine, she definitely hadn’t told him.

In the next instant, she was halfway out of her seat and giving his whiskered cheek a peck.

He hauled her onto his lap as swiftly, and seconds collided as he ever-so-slowly twisted his neck. The scrape of whiskers preceded the brush of soft lips as he captured her mouth in a steamy kiss.

This time, when their fellow honeymooners cheered for “the happy couple,” her head was spinning too quickly for her to do anything besides savor the delicious free fall.

---