Page 84 of Hooked on Trouble

“Do you have to be a virgin to live on the Virgin Islands?”

She’s back on those stupid questions. Our questions. Our game. The familiarity has me moving a step closer, but I don’t feel much like playing. “If you want to ask me a stupid question, ask me if I’ve missed you.”

The sparkles on her chest glint with each quickened breath. “Have you missed me?”

I lean down and whisper, “Painfully.”

Instead of replying, she glances over her shoulder. This is her night. Her gig. And I’m interfering. I scrub my head, the short stubble scratching my palm. “Your photographs were amazing.”

Her attention swings back to me, and she grazes her teeth over her bottom lip. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. We really need to talk.” So I can tell her I love her. Even now, not saying it is like being gagged, the air in my lungs clawing to get out.

“Or not talk…” There’s rasp to her voice, a seductive edge. It’s how she sounds when I make love to her slow and deep.

“That, too,” I agree.

She looks down, at my thick fingers brushing her thigh. “Unfortunately, both will have to wait.” She taps her camera. “I have a job to do. Save a dance for me, though.”

“Of course.”

Our eyes collide another moment, then she turns, her dress glinting with the sway of her hips.

This better be the fastest ceremony in the history of the world, because we do have to talk. And not talk. There are things that need saying, by both of us. Apologies given and received. And I have to tell her how impressed I am with her exhibition and how that photo of Josh lit up the room. And my heart. But having her this close—those lips, that body, and that inked skin within reach—stirs my blood. My hunger for her is a tangible thing. Thickness fists my throat. Tonight, if all goes according to plan, the springs in my bed will be put to the test.

Twenty-seven

Raven

There’s nothing subtle in the way Nico’s eyes crash over me. This is the look he gets when we have sex, like he can’t get close enough or kiss me hard enough or roll his hips deep enough. And I forgot how handsome he is. Even in his penguin suit. All that brawn fills out his jacket and slacks, his tie crooked, the shadows below his cheekbones flickering in the light. I might have to pull a fire alarm and douse myself with water. But this is Lily’s night, and I’m on the clock.

Releasing his hand is agonizing, walking away excruciating, but his liquid gaze follows, cascading down my back, lapping at my feet. I don’t have to turn around to know he’s watching me. And that he wants to fuck me.

What I don’t know is if he loves me.

Every other woman he’s dated has heard those words drop from his lips. Not me. Never me. Still, he seems ready to talk—my exhibit having the desired effect—and I’m ready to listen. I’m ready to drop to my knees and beg forgiveness, especially if I get to look up at his massive cock and climb the ridges of his abs. (With my teeth.) Nico may be as moral as they come, but his body is built for sin.

A deep breath later, my camera is at my eye. The guests mingle in my viewfinder, and I force Nico to the back of my mind.

Click. Lily’s father with stars in his eyes.

Click. Moonlight casting over Sawyer’s nieces.

Click. Jackson trying to catch a planet.

Sawyer may not have gotten his superhero wedding with spandex costumes and capes, but the girls gave him a galaxy. The room is dark and alluring, a solar system slipping across the ceiling. The harpsichord heightens the mood, the waitstaff taking the theme that much further.

Capturing memories has never been so easy.

A short while later, Sasha taps me on the shoulder. “The ceremony is about to start. I’ll take it from here.”

“I’ll find you after.” I hand her my camera.

As much as I’d like to shoot the nuptials, Lily threatened to remove me from speed dial if I didn’t stand up for her vows. An impressive threat, from her. Not that she had to worry. Since everything with Rose, I’ve realized how important my girls are. My sisters, blood or not. They don’t judge my taste in music or my ink, they tolerate my snarly moods and sarcasm, and they don’t ask me to deal drugs. Since Nico left, they’ve eaten ice cream with me and offered to egg his house. If he’d deserved it, I would have let them. But I’m largely to blame. The girls were honest about that, too. Tough love, they said.

Real love, I thought.

Chairs are put in place for those who need to sit, the rest of the guests ushered toward a small platform and canopy draped in tiny star-shaped lights. I hurry to the back, my velvet skirt trailing behind me, but someone grabs my shoulders and spins me around.