Page 8 of The Wedding Situation Romance

“Fair enough,” he nods, taking a single step back.

It’s enough to allow me some breathing room, but not enough to eliminate his presence as a whole.

He smells like vanilla, sandalwood, and spice. Like a pastry you’d eat in the morning, warmed up with a cup of coffee.

Fuck.

I need to get out of here.

“We need to get out of here,” I let out.

“Why? Am I bothering you?”

“No. I mean yes. I mean, we have to take photos soon,” I say, and it’s true, though it’s not the reason.

The reason is being here, alone, with him in this garden, where the only thing I can think about is whether kissing him is in fact like biting into a fresh baked cinnamon roll, is making every nerve in my body tingle and alarms are going off left and right.

“Do I make you nervous?” he asks.

I answer almost before he finishes the question. “Of course not,” I say, swallowing hard and wishing there was less alcohol in my alcohol. On that note, I’ve hardly drunk any of my Pink Martini.

“Being alone with me doesn’t make you anxious?” he asks.

“No,” I lie. “Why would it?”

“Because it’s hot over here,” he says. “And I don’t think it’s the sun.”

“We’re wearing a lot of layers,” I say, coming up with any excuse I can find.

“It’s the clothes. Right. Nothing else,” he says as he takes another sip of his whiskey. How in the bloody hell can this man be drinking whiskey in this heat?!

“Of course, it’s nothing else. I could never be attracted to you,” I blurt out, and as his lips crawl into another smirk. I swear I can feel them on my skin.

“Really?” he asks. “Because you’re flirting an awful lot for someone who isn’t attracted to me.”

I let out a laugh that comes out way too high. “I am most certainlynotflirting with you.”

“This isn’t you flirting?”

“No! If I were flirting, I’d be…charming and playful and trying to get you to kiss me,” I say.

And for some reason, this conversation feels a lot like pedaling on a stationary bike. I’m working my ass off and not getting anywhere.

“So you don’t want me to kiss you,” he says.

“No. Of course not,” I say. “That would be crazy. Why would I want that?”

I laugh. Honestly, I sound crazy.

Because why would I want this sexy stranger to kiss me?

A man who I will likely never see again (and I'd never even want to see him again), meaning there would be no consequences to kissing him.

A man who is probably a damn good kisser if he kisses the way he talks.

It would be a kiss at a wedding in a secluded garden, like something you’d see in Bridgerton.

Why would any romantic woman want that?