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“I’m happy in my current position.”
“I’m certain you are. But it’s different to inherit versus to earn. I built everything I have, same as your great-grandfather.”
“Because you had to, in order to succeed. Kensington Consolidated is my legacy. No sane person would turn their back on a thriving birthright to hack it on their own.”
“I’m not sure your new wife would appreciate that characterization.”
I open my mouth, then close it. “That’s different,” I finally manage.
“Is it?” Royce challenges. “I find it difficult to believe there wasn’t a place at Ellsworth Enterprises for Hanson’s only child.”
“I believe Scarlett had diverging interests. Ellsworth doesn’t own any magazines.”
“They offer limited opportunities in other ways as well.”
“Perhaps,” I acknowledge.
Royce picks up the glass the bartender delivered without me noticing. “Think it over. And congratulations. I expect great things from you and the new Mrs. Kensington.”
The end of the reception passes more quickly. The important, older guests begin to leave. I’m left to drink and talk with people I consider friends.
The wedding planner, a petite woman named Sienna, is the one who tells me it’s time to make our grand exit.
“Where’s Scarlett?”
“Changing. She’ll meet you in the lobby.”
When I get to the lobby, Scarlett is already waiting. She’s wearing another white dress. This one has straps and no train. The silky material clings to her curves, covering her from head to toe in an ivory waterfall.
All I get is a cursory glance. “Good. You’re here. Let’s go.”
I grab her hand before she can take a step. She doesn’t ask what I’m doing. Doesn’t move as I release my grip and trail my fingers up her arm. Her hair is still pulled back in a fancy knot, baring her shoulders and neck. I trace all the exposed skin, savoring the goosebumps that raise on her skin.
I take another step closer, pressing my body against her side.
She inhales sharply. In the wide, empty space, it’s all I can hear. The music and chatter coming from the ballroom sound distant and muffled.
Neither of us say a word. This is a silent truce.
My hand falls away.
Your move.
Scarlett turns, so our bodies are flush. Her eyes scan my face. I have no idea what she’s looking for.
I don’t know if she finds it or not. But she does kiss me, which is whatIwas looking for.
Her taste hits my system like a drug. Something about Scarlett—her prickliness, her beauty, the fact she’s my wife—sharpens sensations. I can’t recall the last time I kissed someone else, expecting it to go no further. That’s theonlyway I’ve kissed Scarlett. I pay attention to things I normally wouldn’t, not distracted by flying clothes or finding the nearest hard surface.
She smells like lilac and tastes like champagne. Her warm curves crush against me as she deepens the kiss. I slide my hands down her back and settle them on her hips, tugging her closer even though there’s nowhere to go. We’re already pressed as tight together as two people can be.
If the hem wasn’t out of reach, I’d pull up her dress and slide a hand between her thighs. Instead, I journey back north, cupping her left breast and confirming she’s not wearing a bra. She moans my name and the sound ricochets around my insides.
This was supposed to be a tease—a preview of what she’s missing out on tonight by choosing to fly across the Atlantic. It’s turned into torture. She’s affected, but so am I. Rock hard and desperate.
Scarlett pulls back first. I let her move away, watching as she straightens her dress and smooths the fabric. I want her—badly. I’ve never been this affected by a woman before. If she wasn’t a former Ellsworth turned Kensington, wasn’t mywife, I’d tell her exactly how much. Describe exactly what I want to do to her.
Hell, I’m tempted to do it anyway. But then she smirks—triumphantly,knowingly. And I’m reminded of just how far out of my depth I am with her.
