Page 30 of The Temporary Bride

I’m wearing his ring.

Suddenly, I’m unreasonably glad he announced our engagement ahead of time.

“Look at these two!” Camille beams. “A power couple if I ever saw one!”

The crowd continues to clap politely, and from somewhere off to the side, Beckett lets out a long whistle, loud enough to carry over the smattering of applause. I turn to Tristan, meeting his gaze, and the assembled people seem to melt away.

Something comes over me, something fierce rising suddenly in my chest. Camille’s announcement couldn’t have come at a more perfect time.

Before my sense of logic can curtail my instincts, I’m standing on tiptoe, reaching to kiss him.

Chapter 10

Tristan

Chloe’s lips meet mine, and for a moment, my mind goes blank.

This wasn’t planned. This kiss is completely spontaneous. Her eyes have fluttered closed. It looks, for all the world, real.

I go still for a beat, caught off guard in a way that almost never happens, and then something takes over and I kiss her back, nipping at her lower lip as my hand comes up to grip the back of her neck.

Someone wolf-whistles in the crowd—probably Beckett again—and the moment is broken. Chloe pulls away, even though I wasn’t ready for it to end. That wasn’t nearly enough time to explore the spark that just flashed between us. If we’d had more time, and if there had been fewer people around, we might not have been able to stop it from bursting into an open flame.

Under my breath so that only she can hear me, I ask, “What was that for?”

She raises an eyebrow. “It was a reminder.”

“Of what?”

Before she can respond, my mother—visibly confused, but working with what she’s got—gives a little cough into the microphone. “Well! If that isn’t chemistry, I don’t know what is. Keep it classy, you two, we’ve got company.”

A stilted laugh ripples through the room, dampening the tension between myself and Chloe. My mother has always been good at working a crowd, adaptable and quick on her feet.

Right now, though, I wish I could wave a hand and make everyone in this room vanish. I need to finish this conversation. I need a moment alone with Chloe.

So when she steps to the side and heads off the dance floor, I follow her and catch her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. Those gray eyes flash as she shoots a look at me over her shoulder.

“A reminder of what?” I ask quietly, stepping closer.

She almost smiles. Those dimples appear at either side of her mouth, and for an instant, she looks like a different person, one that’s not icy or emotionless at all. “A reminder of who you’re marrying. Me. Not your ex.”

My brows shoot up. She must’ve seen me talking to Iris, although I have no idea how she knows we’re exes. She must have seen it on social media, or maybe Ivy told her.

“You promised me loyalty,” Chloe continues quietly. “I think your ex might need some reminding that you’re off the market.”

A grin spreads across my face, heat kindling in my chest. “Well, if that’s what you’re trying to do, dimples, then we should make sure everyone in the room really gets the message.”

I slide my palm to the back of her head, pull her in, and kiss her the way I actually wanted to the first time. Harder, deeper, not a brief and unexpected thing, but something with real intent behind it. She makes a soft, startled sound against my mouth as my tongue slides between her lips, and I feel her hands come up and grip the lapels of my jacket.

To my surprise, she responds in kind, meeting my kiss with a whirlwind ferocity. She gasps a little as my tongue slips between her lips. This is definitely not keeping it classy, and behind me, I can just barely hear my mother’s rebuke and the murmuring of the assembled crowd. There are more than a few whistles this time, not just Beckett hamming it up.

At this point, I can’t bring myself to care about what’s appropriate for this kind of event. Chloe’s chaste, impulsive kiss ignited a hunger in me that feels insatiable in this moment.

Besides… let them see. That’s what she wanted, right?

I run my thumb along her jaw as I kiss her, my eyes closed, savoring her taste. I can’t get enough of it, of the scent of her shampoo wafting from her hair. Of the feel of her soft lips against mine. They’re warm too, nothing like the ice I imagined.

When the kiss breaks and we come apart, she wears a dazed look on her face. For a few seconds, the room seems to spin, as if all of it—the lights, the tables, the floral arrangements—is orbiting her face, her elegantly-styled dark hair, her smudged lipstick.