"Yeah, you do."
I really hate that he's right.
Chapter Three
Tia
The reception is half over before Briggs finds me as I'm coming off the dance floor, sweaty and ready for a break.
The band has everyone else on the dance floor, dancing their asses off. Even Harlan is dancing with Sophie, impressively well, considering she's a trained ballerina and he's absolutely not. Tables are deserted, the sumptuous meal half eaten. Even the waitstaff has disappeared, leaving the rest of the reception hall looking deserted.
It's just me and Briggs. As soon as he steps in front of me, I consider darting back onto the floor…but I'm not that much of a coward. I may not like hockey players, but that doesn't mean I can't hold my own.
I don't run from anyone, especially not irritating goalies.
"Here," he says, holding out a bottle of water. "Thought you might want this."
I think about walking past him, but before I can even decide to do it, I'm reaching for the water. My eyes meet his as I pull the cap off and take a big drink.
He watches me the same way he's been watching me all night—like he finds me fascinating. It's unnerving as hell. The only thing fascinating about me is my inability to tell the difference between a charming liar and a dangerous snake. Believe me, I'm not that interesting.
Except Briggs won't stop looking at me like I am. And the longer he looks, the more I want him to keep looking. It's a frustrating problem to have, for all the reasons previously mentioned.
"Did you have fun out there?"
I stop drinking to look at him. "Maybe. Why?"
"Because you move like a dream, Tia," he says with a straight face. "I've been hard all fucking night, watching you."
I nearly choke.
I'd like to say copious amounts of wine are the reason I grab him by the arm, practically hauling him into an alcove behind a wall of flowers in the corner, I really would. Except…I've never been a big drinker, and I've only had one glass all night.
Wine has nothing to do with it. It's all him.
"What is your deal?" I growl, spinning on him as soon as we're alone. "I told you that I'm not inter—"
His big hands sink into my hips, yanking me up against him. "I heard you," he growls, dipping his head to brush his lips across my throat. "You lied."
"No, I didn't."
"Then why'd you drag me back here alone, beautiful?"
"To tell you…" I break off, moaning when he nips my throat. "To tell you to stop stalking me."
"Stalking you?" His chuckle vibrates all the way to my core. "You're the one who dragged me back here."
Right. Dammit.
"Yes, to tell you to leave me alone." I sink my hands into his hair, pulling. It's part frustration, part demand. I want his mouth on me, dammit all. I don't even know why. It's not like I know him. Maybe that's the appeal. I don't know him. This can be a one-time thing, a casual wedding hookup that ends as soon as we're finished.
I can be in control and decide how far it goes. I can take what I want and move on like it never happened. I never even have to see him again after this. There's no pain, no consequences. It can be purely physical.
And if he has some ulterior motive? Well, I can deal with that later, by killing him and hiding his body where no one will ever think to look.
Right now, I just want him to kiss me.
It's reckless and stupid, but it's what I want.
