Page 28 of One Wild Wedding Weekend

When she was barefoot, the difference in their heights frustrated her. She went up on her tiptoes and touched her lips to his. “Gladly.”

It was a great kiss. World class. As notable as the Great Pyramid or the Eiffel Tower. People should write sonnets about this kiss.

Tristan ravaged her mouth with his. Taking. Giving. Coaxing. Demanding.

Already, her legs were shaky.

He scooped her in his arms and dumped her on the bed. Then he came down beside her, still partially clothed, and took the kiss deeper still. All the while, he skated his palm over her thighs, her belly, her breasts.

When he plucked at her nipple, fire shot straight to her sex. She grabbed his hair, making him wince. “I want more than kisses,” she said.

“We’ll get there,” he promised.

Suddenly he stopped, reared up on one elbow and narrowed his gaze. “Put your hands behind your head,” he said. “If you don’t touch me, we can make this last longer.”

“But I want to touch you,” she wailed. She was dying to touch him, restless and on the brink of something earth-shattering. Even so, she did as he asked.

Such a simple thing. Clasping her hands behind her neck. But she felt vulnerable now. Open.

Tristan moved between her legs and knelt, parting her sex with his thumbs. “I like looking at you,” he muttered.

She shifted restlessly. “Well, don’t. You’re making me self-conscious.”

He lifted his head and grinned at her. “That’s not what I’m after, sweetheart. I’m more interested in you being wild and free.”

Could she do that? Be wild and free? Coaxing Tristan into her room last night was the craziest thing she had ever done with a man. Besides, wild and free was scary.

“You need to be naked, too,” she said. “It’s only fair.”

He shrugged. “Your call.” He scooted to the side of the bed and shucked his pants. When he came back to her, his erection was full and proud.

Daley had instinctively pressed her legs together while he was gone. Tristan ended up on his hip beside her, leaning over and tracing her collarbone with his finger.

She moved restlessly. “I’m glad we scratched this itch,” she said. “Your talents have been eye-opening.”

His hand stilled on the curve of her breast. “It’s not over yet. And that’s not a very romantic description. Scratched this itch? No, I don’t like that.”

She moved her hands from behind her head and reared up on her elbows. “Then what would you call it? It’s definitely not romance.”

Tristan’s expression was thoughtful. “How about mutually satisfying pleasure?”

Six

Tristan struggled to stay a step ahead of the sexy, curvaceous, alluring woman in the bed with him. She was part femme fatale, part aloof stranger.

He wasn’t a stupid man. There were boundaries in place. Erected by her. To keep him at bay.

The more she tried to devise a valley or a moat between them, emotional or otherwise, the more he wanted to breach her defenses. It was a visceral reaction on his part. Perhaps an elemental need to conquer. To revert to his caveman roots.

She pursed her lips and wrinkled her brow. “I do like pleasure,” she said softly.

He moved on top of her, groaning at the sensation of skin to skin. Her soft body. His heavier, harder one. Burying his face in the curve of her neck, he inhaled her delicate scent. “I promised you slow,” he said, feeling foolish. Why had he thought he could hold out?

Daley stroked his hair, making him shudder. “We can do slow the second time.”

He reared up and studied her face. A weird shiver worked its way down his spine. He and Daley had agreed this wasn’t leading anywhere. It wasn’t serious. Upsetting Tabby and John when the relationship went south would be a disaster.

Tristan had no illusions about his strengths as a serious boyfriend. He worked all the time. He invariably found some reason to break up with a woman. Either she was too clingy or not interested enough. Or she was obsessed with home shopping shows, or she voted wrong in the last election.

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