She disappeared down a hallway, leaving Mari and me alone in the dimly lit venue.
“Do you think the projection team will work overnight?” I asked.
“They will if I pay them enough,” Mari replied, wandering toward the edge of the room. “Though I’m sure you’d prefer something more ‘reliable’ than projections.”
“I never said projections weren’t reliable. I said they required precise calibration.”
“Same difference,” she shrugged. “You dismissed the idea out of hand.”
“I was being practical.”
“You were being boring,” she corrected, turning to face me. “You’re so afraid of taking risks that you miss opportunities for something truly memorable.”
“I’m not afraid of taking risks,” I said, stepping closer. “I’m just not willing to sacrifice excellence for the sake of novelty.”
“And I’m not willing to sacrifice imagination for the sake of predictability.” She didn’t back away as I approached. “That’s the difference between us. You see weddings as events to be managed. I see them as stories to be told.”
“Stories are a garbled mess without structure. Without attention to detail, your creative vision falls apart.”
“Without heart, your precision is just empty choreography.” She tilted her chin up, defiance flaring in her eyes like blue fire.
We were standing too close now.
“You seem to think you know everything about me,” I said, my voice dropping lower. “You’ve decided I’m some soulless automaton because it’s easier than admitting we might have more in common than you want to believe.”
“We have nothing in common.”
“No? We’re both dedicated to our work. Both willing to fight for our vision. Both too stubborn to back down.” I leaned closer, close enough to see her pupils dilate. “And both perfectly aware that there’s something happening between us that has nothing to do with wedding planning.”
“The only thing happening between us is rivalry,” she said, but she didn’t move away.
“Is that why your pulse is racing right now?” I asked, gaze dropping to the flutter visible at her throat. “Is that why you can’t seem to maintain a professional distance when we’re alone?”
“No, it’s because I don’t like you,” she whispered, but there was no conviction in her voice. “You’re delusional.”
“Am I?” I reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, satisfied when she inhaled at the contact. “Then tell me to stop, sweetheart, and I will.”
She didn’t.
Instead, she stood perfectly still; her gaze locked with mine, a silent challenge in them I couldn’t resist any longer.
I closed the remaining distance between us, one hand moving to the small of her back while the other cupped her face. For a heartbeat, there was resistance, her hands pressed against my chest as if to push me away, and then she was pulling me closer, fingers curling into my shirt as our lips met.
I kissed her like I’d been starving for weeks because I had. No soft pretense. Just heat and frustration and everything we hadn’t said. This was raw, desperate, fueled by two weeks of tension and antagonism. I backed her against the nearest wall, grinning as she let out a gasp against my lips. I pinned her there with my body, one hand sliding into her hair to tilt her head back as I deepened the kiss.
God, she tasted just like I remembered.
She made a sound, half protest, half moan, that sent heat straight to my dick. Within seconds, she had me hard, and I pressed into her to show her exactly what she was doing to me. Wrecking me. Ruining me. Making me lose my fucking mind. I caught her lower lip between my teeth, biting just hard enough to make her inhale before soothing the sting with my tongue. Her hands were everywhere. In my hair, on my shoulders, sliding down my back, as if she couldn’t get enough contact.
“I hate you,” she breathed against my mouth, even as her body arched into mine.
“Feeling’s mutual,” I growled, moving from her lips to her neck, finding a sensitive spot just below her ear that made her fingers dig into my shoulders.
Her leg hooked around mine, pulling me closer, the friction making us both groan. I slid my hand down to her thigh, bunching her dress as I hitched her leg higher on my hip, pressing her more firmly against the wall. Conveniently, it also pushed her against my erection. Fuck, she felt amazing.
“Hudson,” she gasped, and the sound of my name on her lips nearly undid me. She hadn’t known it last time. Hadn’t been able to scream out anything but expletives and pleas for more.
I kissed her again, harder this time, one hand still tangled in her hair while the other explored the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist. She met my intensity with her own, nails scraping against my scalp,hips rocking against mine in a way that made it clear we were both thinking about more than just a kiss.
