Page 54 of Catch and Release Groom

The microphone amplified their emcee’s inhale and whooshing exhale. “Did you hear the question?”

Imogen shook her head. “Sorry, Captain. I was too focused on my answer.” She scooted away from the table and pushed to her feet. With too much attention suddenly on her, she about plopped right back down in her chair, but the dizzying amount of desire pumping through her was stronger. “This was super fun, and I wish my competitors the best, but unfortunately my, uh, husband and I need to go.”

Captain Johnson’s eyebrows met in the scant space over the bridge of his nose. “Need to go?”

“Yep, that’s the exact same answer I had.” Easton shot out of his seat, rounded the end of their table, and stretched out an arm to offer her a hand.

With their exit already veering toward dramatic territory, she went ahead and embraced his help and the pageantry. Placing her palm in his and using the seat of the chair as a booster, she stepped from it onto the table. Then she traipsed across it and leaped, not even considering it a risk, as she knew Easton would catch her.

He did, too, and much like the day when they’d made a spectacle of themselves on the dock, she wrapped her legs around his waist and crashed her mouth over his.

There weren’t any swans this time. Just a whole lot of whistling, whooping, and hollering as Easton carried her away, his long strides eating up the distance to the front of the lodge in no time.

“Excuse me,” he told the teenage boy lazing away behind the steering wheel of the decked-out golf cart. “There’s a fucking emergency, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to commandeer this vehicle.”

Imogen snorted at the double entendre, and she couldn’t help but laugh at the kid’s stunned expression as he bailed out of Cupid’s Chariot.

Easton plunked her in the middle of the bench seat up front, climbed behind the wheel, and hit the gas. The obnoxious, tinny rendition of “The Wedding March” blasted from the speakers, as bad as she remembered and then some, only this time it had her offering up a tiny prayer of gratitude to the god of love.

When she’d originally booked her trip, she’d been bitter the Talladega Forest wasn’t Italy. Now she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the entire world than seated in a golf cart beside a man who’d compared her to a fish.

The cans trailing behind them clanged out a rhythm as irregular and noisy as her pulse, and she trailed fingernails up Easton’s arm, preening at the goose bumps she’d caused. “Aren’t you the same guy who told me he’d rather die than ride in this contraption again?”

“Turns out there’s an exception—”

“Sex,” she said with a nod, while at the same time he finished with, “You.”

Everything within her turned melty and molten, and she wrapped herself around his arm and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. She peppered his skin with kisses, following up with a light drag of her tongue. A thrill fired up her core at his harsh swear and how firmly his fingers dug into the flesh of her thigh.

Not only did she feel more daring around Easton, she felt powerful. Smart and sexy and funny and strong. Around him, she found it easier to be herself and happier about who that truly was. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d experienced this level of contentment and confidence—she’d previously suspected it was one or the other, not both.

A cloud of dust enveloped them and the cart as Easton skidded to a stop at the end of the shortest excuse for a driveway ever. Then she was in his arms again, his large hands kneading her ass as he strode them up the sidewalk, the porch, and—after a clumsy hand-off of the key—inside the Chateau de Paramour.

It was high time this place lived up to its name.

…

If Easton’s heart beat any faster, it’d beat right out of his chest, and it could go ahead and do that—as long as it happenedafterhe got this woman naked and underneath him.

Make that after they both finished. He was a gentleman, after all.

Not enough of one to wait more than two seconds before lowering her feet to the floor and ripping her shirt off. “Goddamn, woman. How do you not just stare at yourself naked, all day every day?”

Pink crept into her cheeks, and her red lips stretched into a gorgeous grin. “Aww, stop it.” She swayed closer and fiddled with his belt. The metallic clatter echoed through his balls as the buckle came undone, and his erection strained against the fly of his jeans as she yanked the leather strip free of the loops. “Actually, go on.”

He slid his palm up her thigh and beneath the frayed edge of her shorts, swiping his thumb higher and higher as he inched up her smooth skin. He drove the fingers of his other hand through her hair, twining the strands and bringing her face to his.

Then, ever so slowly, he rasped his mouth over hers, gratified at the slight smear of red. “I dream about these lips of yours, even in my waking hours. Last night, you were amazing, and I slept better than I have in months.”

“Oh, so you just want to sleep,” Imogen taunted, releasing her fingers from the waistband of his jeans. “Got it.”

“Fuck no,” he growled, adding a nip to her lower lip. “Last night we slept. Now I’m going to devour you.” In he dove, swirling his tongue over hers as he chased after her wet heat with his thumb.There.He increased the pressure and circled her clit, inhaling her gasp as he nudged her toward the bed.

Imogen tugged up his shirt, and he bowed to assist in its removal before speedily recapturing her lips and her hips. They undid buttons and zippers in a frenzied rush, adrenaline demanding they get naked as quickly as possible.

Her shorts dropped to the floor, but his jeans took a little extra effort. Once he’d kicked free of the denim, he swept her dark hair over her shoulder and skirted his fingertips down the strap of her bra.

His hand trembled along with his breath as he undid the clasp, not bothering to hide his haste or his need. Same way he didn’t waste any time ridding her of the lacy undergarment.

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