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“Begging is not happening. I’m not that desperate. See you on the altar,baby.” The nickname holds no sentimentality, only mocking.
He doesn’t move. There’s along, heavy silence. Weighted down by second guessing and appraisals and regrets. “Ask me.”
“Ask youwhat?”
“Ask me tokiss you, Scarlett. Isn’t that what this conversation has been about?”
Honestly, I’ve lost track. It’s become a push and pull—a battle of wills. Each of us feeling out what we’re willing to give up. What we won’t agree to concede on. “I don’taskfor things, either. I take them.”
“So do I.”
We stare at each other, at a stalemate. I want to kiss him. Badly. I’ve never wanted to erase the distance between my lips and someone else’s more. He wants to kiss me. Just as badly, if his tense posture is any indication.
Pride keeps me in place. He doesn’t move either.
“I need to finish getting ready.” I say it softly. A fact, not a foot out the door. I’m not backing down. I’m not giving him an excuse.
Crew releases an exasperated sigh, like some major inconvenience is taking place. I’m expecting him to turn and leave. Instead, he approaches me with the conviction of a conquering king, diminishing the few feet separating us with a couple of long strides. He cups my face, his fingers brushing my cheeks, as he tilts my head back and forces my gaze to meet his. “Tell me,” he demands.
I question him with my eyes, tempted to sway into his touch. I’m losing ground, and I blame his close proximity for encroaching. It’s hard to think—tobreathe—when he’s touching me.
“Tell metokiss you, Scarlett.” His thumb traces my bottom lip.
Goosebumps rise on my skin. Shivers race down my spine.
He’s compromising. Ceding. It prompts a heady rush of power. I didn’t capitulate—hedid. With anyone else, I’d perceive it as weakness. But this doesn’t make me think less of Crew—it makes me want him more.
“Kiss me.”
Theeis still hovering in the air between us when he complies. His lips crash against mine, demanding and urgent and commanding. The hands gripping my face are gentle. His mouth is anything but. The wet heat of his tongue invades my mouth, forcing a moan out.
Crew Kensington tastes like whiskey and mint. Sin and seduction. Pleasure and power. And this is exactly why I told himnoin the library—I knew we would be this combustible. I knew if I let him, he’d burn me. Consume me.
I can respect him.
I can explore my attraction to him.
I just can’t care about him.
Success isn’t built on good intentions and consideration of others.
His lips leave mine. Too soon. I want to kiss him until I’m out of oxygen. I want to relish the way he makes me forget this is fake.
When I open my eyes, he’s staring straight at me. I have no idea what to say, how to reconcile who we were before and who we are after that kiss. A distinction I didn’t think I’d have to make before sayingI do. That’s when before and after weresupposedto start. I’m realizing, as my lips tingle and my pulse pounds, it might have started a long time ago.
I clear my throat. “You should go.”
If he’s bothered by the immediate dismissal, he doesn’t show it. Crew nods once, brisk and business-like. His hands fall away from my face, and I immediately miss their warmth. Their possessive presumptuousness. “See you out there.”
I watch him turn and walk away, warring with myself. He gave me an inch. I can do the same. Marriage is about compromise, right?
“Crew.” He pauses when I speak but doesn’t turn around. My eyes coast over his broad shoulders, stretching the tux jacket tight. Unlike me, he’s already wearing his wedding attire. I’m glad he doesn’t turn around. It makes it easier to spit out, “Thank you.”
He doesn’t look back. The door closes behind him a few seconds later, leaving me alone. Surrounded by shoe boxes and cans of hairspray and the products painted on my face, waiting for the hairstylist to appear so I can change into my dress and walk down the aisle.
CHAPTERSIX
CREW
