It was supposed to be quick. For the camera.
The second my lips met hers, my hands tightened on her waist and every thought I'd had about keeping this professional burned out like a match. She tasted like champagne and something sweet. Her lips were soft, parting under mine. One of her hands fisted in the front of my tuxedo shirt and I made asound I'd be embarrassed about later. My hands spread across her back, pulling her closer.
She kissed me back like she meant it.
May's phone clicked rapidly. I didn't care.
When we finally broke apart—and it took effort to pull away—her lips were swollen, cheeks flushed, breath coming in short gasps.
I didn't move. Couldn't, actually. She was looking up at me like she was waiting for me to say something, and I had absolutely nothing. My brain had gone completely blank for the first time in my life and I didn't care at all.
"Got it!" the photographer called. "Beautiful shot!"
"That kiss!" May bounced over, shoving her phone in our faces. "Oh my God, that kiss! This is going viral! Look at you two!"
She scrolled through photos. We looked like a couple.
"May, give them space," Laverne called, approaching. "Though Hunter, you two look happy together."
"Thanks," I managed.
We escaped to cocktail hour on the terrace—passed appetizers, champagne, a string quartet. The sun was setting, washing everything in gold.
Dixie grabbed champagne and downed half of it.
"You okay?"
"That kiss."
"Yeah."
"That was—"
"I know."
She looked at me, uncertainty plain on her face. "Hunter, what are we doing?"
"What do you mean?"
"This." She gestured between us. "It's supposed to be simple. But that didn't feel simple."
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "What if I said I don't want simple anymore?"
Her breath hitched. "Hunter—"
"Mr. Massey!" A coordinator appeared. "They need you for more photos."
I bit back a curse. "Can it wait?"
"Afraid not."
I looked at Dixie apologetically. She nodded, but whatever we'd been building toward shattered.
The next hour was a blur of photos. By the time we were released, the reception was starting.
But as we walked into the ballroom—roses and candlelight everywhere, the cake Dixie had transformed as the centerpiece—she slipped her fingers between mine, and held on.
The night was just beginning. And I was done pretending this was just a weekend deal.
