I gave him a steady look. “Do you really think I’m going to fall for that pick-up line?”
He let out a laugh, eyes twinkling in the dark. “Pick-up line? The best man can’t get the best woman a drink? You know, I heard you were no fun, I just didn’t believe it. Not with that body.”
I was stunned. My face flushed hot and somehow I found my words. “Who told you I was no fun?”
His smile was softer now but it still looked like he was having the time of his life toying with me. “It doesn’t matter. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, but I guess they were right after all.”
“Was it Linden?” I asked, feeling nauseous. I liked Linden a lot, and though his own personal opinion of me didn’t really matter, I hated the idea that I was known for something negative, especially if it was something I feared. I used to be fun at some point, I swear to God, but when life gets hard, fun becomes something that gets swept under the rug along with manicures, one-night stands and eating at nice restaurants.
Bram didn’t say anything to that, so I knew it was his brother.
“It’s hard to tell, is your face going red?” he asked, peering at me closely. The mellow scent of cigars wafted to me again.
“I am fun,” I told him, inching myself away from him. It was pointless but I still had to defend myself.
“And that’s why you’re out here alone with an empty drink?”
“Just because I’m not getting shitfaced and spreading my legs in your bed, doesn’t make me a square.”
Oh geez, a square? Now I was talking like I was from the 50’s.
“No,” he said slowly and leaned in closer. “But that does sound like fun, doesn’t it?” His breath was hot on my cheek and I resisted the urge to turn and look at him. There was something about his eyes that felt vaguely X-Ray-ish, like he could see right through you. Already, I knew he was probably imagining what I looked like naked under this dress. I didn’t need him to look any deeper and see what kind of no-fun mess I really was.
“I like it when you look embarrassed,” he said, voice lower, that accent roughing up each syllable. “I bet you look the same when you’re about to come. Caught off-guard and exposed.”
And again, I was speechless. My eyes bugged out and I almost slapped him in the face and ran away, because that’s what I’ve been taught to do with men like him. Deflect them. Let them know what they’ll never have, what they’ll never deserve.
But I didn’t do that. Because against everything I hold dear, his words did this slinky thing in my brain, sliding down into my heart and between my legs. It made me want to clench my thighs together to keep the heat building even though it had nowhere to go.
It revved an engine inside that I tried my hardest not to think about.
I swallowed hard and kept my eyes focused on the shrubs in front of me. The wedding sounded even further away, as if it were leaving in order to get us alone.
Bram gently placed two fingers underneath my chin and slowly turned my head, so I had no choice but to look at him. “If I tell you you’re beautiful again,” he said, whispering, “will you blush? Or will you believe it?”
Damn. Damn, damn, damn. I’d be a fool for falling for this swarmy little act, but boy did I want to believe it.
At least I didn’t blush. There wasn’t any time to.
Before I knew what was happening, Bram leaned in a millimeter and kissed me. His lips were soft and wet, tasting like rich tobacco and mint. I sucked in a breath, my body frozen and caught-off guard, exactly what he wanted. The back of my brain screamed, “The best man and maid of honor, hooking up at a wedding, what a cliché!” and “He’s a player and he’s playing you” while my lips, spurred by alcohol and a deep-rooted ache for something, kissed him back.
It all went in slow motion. The voices in my head quieted down, turning to a hazy hush, and all that was left was this stoked fire burning deep inside. His hands went to the sides of my face and he held me there with strong, warm fingers. It steadied me as his tongue slipped against mine and our mouths danced with each other in perfect rhythm. If I could have formed any thoughts, I would have considered that this wasn’t at all what I thought kissing Bram McGregor would be like. This was soft, sensual and, dare I say it, meaningful.
Just as I found myself relaxing into his body, though, wanting more from his hands, wanting to slip my own underneath the tuxedo jacket and feel the hardness of his chest, he pulled back, eyes closed and breath ragged.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, clearing his throat. His eyes opened, gazing at me lazily through long, dark lashes, lashes I would kill for. “You’re still blushing, though. Actually, you seem a little more than flushed.” He raised a brow, his face still inches from mine. “Did I turn you on?”