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At first her lips are startled, resistant. But just when I’m about to pull back and curse myself for overstepping, she sighs and softens into me. It’s all the encouragement I need to kiss her back, in earnest this time, until she lets out a soft, uneven moan that sears through me.
My body knows what that moan means. It means I could walk her back right now, cage her against the wall, press our hungry bodies against each other. It means I could let my hands wander, find out how soft that sweater dress of hers really is. Find out if it holds a candle to the softness of her skin.
I could do all of that, and she’d let me.
But we’d both regret it in the morning.
I break the kiss, my breath jagged. “Does something like that work for you?”
“Mmm,” Hazel’s eyes are dazed, and it wakes up something primal in me. Then she blinks the feeling away and gives me a small frown. “I don’t know. I don’t want to juststand there,for the first kiss of my marriage.”
“It’s a fake marriage,” I remind her.
“Still. It feels anti-feminist,” she points out.
“Anti...Woman, it’s a kiss,” I grumble. “Don’t overthink it.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Look. We’ve covered how you’d do it if this was really your wedding. All...” she waves a hand at me, “hot and possessive and demanding.”
I can’t hold back a crooked smile. “You think I’m hot and possessive and demanding?”
“The point is—” Hazel says, talking over me as she blushes like a virgin, “that if you were really my husband, I’d kiss you more like this.”
She rises up on her toes to kiss me, using my chest for balance. This time, she’s in it from the start. My hands instinctively find her waist, tugging her toward me, as we taste each other. It’s soft and sweet andHazel,and when she laces her fingers at the nape of my neck so she can lean her full weight against me...let’s just say this time she’s not the one moaning.
Hazel pulls away, lowering her heels to the ground. “We could do something like—”
But my mouth is on hers again. I shouldn’t be kissing her like this, I shouldn’t be kissing herlike this in my office,but I don’t give a damn. I’m lost in the scent of her, the taste of her, the way she shudders and melts under my hands. Some distant part of my brain is thinking about how Cooper will kill me if he ever finds out, but the rest of my brain is occupied with the more important task of figuring out how I can ease up the hem of her skirt without stopping the kiss, because it’s not like kissing any other woman, it’s not.
Hazel is different.
And like the bastard I am, I’m greedy for her.
Maybe she’s a little greedy for me too. Because she doesn’t shove me away or scold me. Instead, she arcs into me, her mouth hot and sinful under mine, and we kiss some more, until someone knocks on the door.
Hazel jolts away from me, backing away until she hits my desk.
“Um, sir, you said it was ok if I left at 5:30 today, for that thing?” Joey calls through the door. “If that’s still ok, with you, I’ll head out?”
“Go home, Joey,” I grunt.
I hear the muffled sounds of Joey grabbing his stuff and heading out for the night.
Hazel stares at me, gripping the desk for support, panting. “So, um, you’re good with my version? For the wedding tomorrow?”
My laugh is harsh. She’s really going to pretend that that kiss was just about practicing for a fake wedding?
Fine. Whatever. If that’s how she wants to play it.
“No, Hazel,” I say. “I’m not. We do it my way.”
“But—”
“Do you wantthisto happen at the wedding?” I say, gesturing bluntly to where I’m obviously hard for her.
Her eyes widen. She shifts against the desk. Instinctively parts her legs a little wider.
Fuck.
