She shrugs, lifting her free hand palm up. “It’s just … temporary. For show so I can have health insurance and you can feel like you’re keeping your promise to Hunter.”
My laugh is low and dark. “I promise you, Hailey. What I’m feeling for you isn’t brotherly at all.”
Her lips press together, and her eyebrows crimp like she’s confused.
Stepping close, I use my grip on her hand to pull her the rest of the way to me. “Don’t you feel it?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, but I know she hears me because she shivers, and it’snot because it’s cold. “Electricity arcs between us every time we touch. I know I can’t be the only one who notices.”
Her eyes look deep and fathomless below the street lights as she gazes into mine, barely blinking. Then she shakes her head. It’s a tiny movement, maybe only a millimeter. “You’re not,” she whispers.
And then I kiss her for real. Not because people are watching or chanting or it’s the expected next step in a wedding. But because I want to. And she wants me to.
Her fingers flex against mine, and her other arm snakes around my shoulders as I hold her against me with my free hand pressed flat across her back. This time, I do taste her, my tongue testing her lower lip, and she opens for me on a gasp, her fingertips digging into the space between my shoulder and neck.
She tastes like the cocktail she drank—fruity and sweet and intoxicating.
After a moment, she breaks away with a gasp, breathing hard, but I keep her pressed against me. “If you want to go to a club, I’ll take you,” I say, my voice low, nearly a growl. “But I’m not going anywhere without you.”
She stares into my eyes for another beat, then dips her chin in a nod. “Let’s go home.”
As soon as we’re inside, I pull her into my arms again. I don’t want to let her go. I can’t get enough of her—her taste, the way she feels, everything.
She kisses me back, and I’m thrilled that she’s been as enthusiastic about this kiss as the one on the corner. Every time I’ve kissed her before, it’s seemed like she’s surprised andunsure how to respond. Which, I suppose is understandable given how we ended up here. But I want her to want this too.
On that note, I pull back, breathing hard, my heart hammering like I’ve just been running drills for the last hour. After taking a second to catch my breath, I meet her eyes. “This is … you’re okay? With this?”
She bites her lip, which has my heart plummeting, but then she nods, which has it rising up again like I’m on some kind of internal roller coaster. But that hesitation gives me pause, and I twine my fingers with hers, leading her to the couch, settling her on one end, then taking the other.
She laughs when I sit, making sure the entire center cushion separates us. “What are you doing?”
“I want us to talk. I don’t want …” I shake my head. “I don’t want you to have any regrets. About me. Or us. Or any of this.”
One of her eyebrows arches up her forehead. “What would I be regretting?”
I make an ineloquent gesture toward her and then down the hall, which only has her looking at me with both eyebrows raised now. Clearing my throat, I decide to just be completely and brutally honest. “I want you, Hailey,” I admit, my voice low and gravelly. “I have for a while, but I didn’t want to freak you out or scare you off. I know this was supposed to be a formality, but …”
“But?” she prompts when I don’t finish the sentence.
I shrug. “But youaremy wife.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that no one would think it strange if we consummated our marriage.”
She giggles at that. It starts small, then turns into full-throated laughter. “Consummated our marriage,” she murmurs when she calms down a little, kicking off another fit of giggles.
Grinning, I watch her laugh, leaning back against the arm of the couch. I’d much rather have a laughing Hailey than onewho’s uncertain, uncomfortable, or waking up in the morning with regrets. “Is there something wrong with saying it that way?”
Still laughing, she shakes her head. “Not if you’re a duke from the eighteenth century, there’s not.”
That has me chuckling too. “Fine. I want to fuck you. Repeatedly. And as often as you’ll let me. Better?”
When she raises her eyes to mine, all her laughter dries up at the combination of my words and the look on my face, which I’m guessing only serves to reinforce what I just said.
She swallows. Audibly.
“Like I said,” I murmur. “Youaremy wife. It’s not that ridiculous.”
“No,” she whispers. “It’s not, is it?” She looks away for a moment, then meets my eyes again. “Would this change anything?”
