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Sour grapes. Nothing more complicated than that. She’d started getting a little too touchy-feely with the peanut butter and jelly analogy and he’d set her back on the right path with timely reminders of what they were doing here. For his trouble, she’d frozen him out and then used that as an excuse to pull back from a friendship with his mother.
Well, she was over it. They were married now and both of them knew the score. The no-sex rule wasn’t in the way any longer. Thank God. They could spend all their time in bed and never have to talk about mothers, peanut butter or anything difficult.
“This was amazing,” she said earnestly. “So much more than I was expecting. Thank you.”
Surprise filtered through his expression. “I... You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it. The wedding planner did all the work. I just approved everything.”
“I should have done it with you.” The fact that she hadn’t made her feel petty and childish. If nothing else, it was an effort that benefited her, so she could have done half the work. Then maybe she’d feel more like she’d earned the right to be called Mrs. Harris. “I’m sorry I didn’t.”
For the first time since their disastrous date, Hendrix smiled at her like he had that night in Vegas. As if he’d found the end of the rainbow and the pot of gold there was more valuable than he’d ever dreamed.
She liked it when he looked at her like that.
“It’s okay. It wasn’t any trouble.” He spun her around as the last notes of the waltz ended and something a little darker and more sensual wafted from the string quartet on the dais in the corner. His arms tightened, drawing her deeper into his embrace. The crowd on the dance floor grew thicker as people filled in around them. “I’m enjoying the benefits of it, so it’s all good.”
His body pressed against hers deliciously. A slow simmer flared up in her core, bubbling outward until her nerve endings were stretched taut with anticipation. “The benefits?”
“Dancing with my bride, for one,” he murmured. His hands drifted along her body with sensual intent, pressing her more firmly against him as he stroked her waist, the curve of her hip, lower still, and there was so much wedding dress in the way that she strained against his touch, yearning for the heat of his hand in places that hadn’t been touched in so very long.
Dancing was a great excuse to let Hendrix put his hands on her in public. “I’m enjoying that part, too.”
“It’s been a long time,” he said gruffly, “since I had free rein to hold you like this.”
Yes, and judging by the oh-so-nice hard length buried in her stomach, he was as affected by their close proximity as she was. “You were a trouper about it.”
“Wasn’t easy. But it’s over now. I can kiss you whenever I feel like it.” To prove the point, he nuzzled her neck, setting off fireworks beneath her skin as he nibbled at the flesh.
“That’s not kissing,” she muttered, biting back a gasp as he cruised to her ear, molding it to his lips as he laved at her lobe.
“I’m getting there.”
“Get there faster.”
He pulled back and swept her
with a glance that was equal parts evaluation and equal parts I’m a second from throwing you down right here, right now. “Is that your way of saying you’re ready to leave?”
“We can’t,” she reminded him and tried to ignore how desperately disappointed she sounded.
This was a networking event as much as it was a wedding. Helene had a throng of people around her, and the movers and shakers of Raleigh stood at the bar. If the bride and groom dashed for the door fifteen minutes after the reception started, that wouldn’t go over well.
“No,” he agreed and bit out a vile curse that perfectly mirrored her thoughts. “We need tongues wagging with positive comments about us, preferably with lots of praise about how respectable we are.”
Exactly. Especially if they spouted off at the mouth around her father. He needed a whole lot of reassurance that Roz had turned a corner, that her photo ops with naked men were a thing of the past. From here on out, the only scandal associated with her name should be more along the lines of serving the wrong wine at a party she and Hendrix threw for Harris Tobacco Lounge executive staff.
“So maybe we don’t leave,” she said as a plausible alternative began to form in her mind. Oh God, did she need that alternative. Fast. Her insides were already tight and slick with need.
His expression turned crafty as he considered her comment. “Maybe not. Maybe there’s a...closet in the back?”
“With a door. That locks.”
His thumb strayed to the place along her bodice where it met the skin of her back and heat flashed as he caressed the seam, dipping inside just enough to drive her insane and then skimming along until he hit the zipper.
“One tug, and this would be history,” he said, the hazel in his eyes mesmerizing her with the promise as he toyed with the hook anchoring the zipper to the bodice. “It feels complicated. Challenging.”
“Maybe you don’t start there,” she suggested and swayed a little to give the couples around them the impression the bride and groom were still dancing when in reality, her attention was on the perimeter of the room where two very promising hallways led to the back of the reception venue. “You might have better luck checking out how easily my skirt lifts up.”
“Mrs. Harris, I do like the way you think.” In a flash, he grabbed her hand and spun to lead her from the dance floor.
