The Love Wager by Lynn Painter

            “No problem.” Jack set down his glass, took the key, grabbed the section of the cake she wanted to save, and took it into the kitchen. He found a shelf for it in the back of the freezer and was closing the cooler door behind him when Hal walked in.

            “Hey.” She grinned at him like he was exactly what she’d been looking for. “You.”

            She pushed his chest, giving him a little shove so his back was pressed against the freezer door.

            Goddamn. He liked her so much it was stupid.

            “There’s a lot of booze in that smile,” he said, looking down at her hand. The sight of her short red fingernails on his chest did something to him. Ever since she’d said she had feelings for him, he felt like a wild animal on a leash, straining to get at her.

            “It’s only ten percent wine,” she corrected in that breathy voice he’d only ever heard when he was kissing her. “Ninety percent happiness.”

            And then, because of her high heels, she easily reached up and pressed her lips to his. He instantly fell into her, tangling his fingers in her hair and losing his damn mind. Her mouth was soft and tasted sweet, like champagne, and he wanted to sip at it until he fucking drowned.

            God help him.

            Her hands flexed on his chest, grasping, and it was like an electric shock that he felt everywhere. He trailed his mouth down to her throat, where her skin smelled like the Chanel No. 5 she’d left on the vanity in their room, and he wanted to consume her.

            The skin on her throat, just under her ear, underneath the curtain of hair on the back of her neck—he wanted to taste every inch of it. She made a noise in the back of her throat, a demand, and he moved behind her, lifting her hair in his fist so he could drag his teeth over her nape.

            “Jack,” she said around a sigh, slapping her palms against the freezer door, “that is . . .”

            She trailed off, and he said against her skin, “Hot?”

            “Mmmm,” she breathed, pressing her backside against his front. “I was going to say ‘wicked.’ ”

            He wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her back, closer, so she was flush against his body. “You make me that way.”

            “What time is it?” she asked, making a little noise as he nibbled at the skin between her shoulder blades. The red bridesmaid dress exposed half of her back, and he would be eternally grateful to Lillie for selecting the style.

            “Almost ten,” he said, unwilling to leave her body to verify.

            “Dammit, we only have a few minutes before the bouquet toss,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “Please hurry, Jack.”

            Her words almost made him dizzy with lust, and he clenched his teeth as he said, “By ‘hurry,’ you mean . . .”

            She answered him with her hands on his belt.





Hallie


            Apparently that was all it took.

            Jack muttered a string of obscenities as he hurried to multitask things like belts and zippers. She felt she was going to die waiting as he slid his hands up her dress, his fingers drawing a line up the sides of her thighs as he raised the skirt and bunched it in his hands.

            And then he was there—oh, God.

            They groaned in unison, and after that his hands were on her hips and she might’ve lost consciousness as he drove her absolutely wild.

            “This doesn’t count,” he said, his voice thick and hot, “as our first time post-hotel.”

            “Don’t,” she replied, bending a little lower and arching her back, making him growl, “be bossy.”

            “Honey,” he rasped, and then her knees nearly gave out as he touched her with a talented hand. “At this moment, I will be whatever you want me to be.”

            “Jack?”

            They both froze at the sound of Hallie’s mother’s voice. She started knocking on the kitchen door, pounding, and Jack said, “Shit.”

            “Don’t you dare stop,” Hallie said.