I brush my thumb over her bottom lip, aching to kiss her. “This is about you, and all the things I want to do to you, and with you. You won’t be able to walk away from me after that.”
Bending my head, I crush my lips to hers.
I’ve kept my desire reined in before, but this time, I let it free. My mouth sears across hers, taking rather than asking, demanding she comply and give herself to me. She gasps, and I take the opportunity to slide my tongue into her mouth and kiss her deeply. She places both hands on my jacket, pushes, and tries to say something, but I’m too fired up by the feel of her against me. Her hands curl around my lapels. And then all of a sudden, she’s pulling, not pushing. Her tongue is thrusting against mine. Joy fills me as I realize she’s kissing me back. And heat billows between us.
I slide my arms around her, pulling her against me, and she moans and slides her hands up, lifting them around my neck. She’s tall enough to do this, and I can feel her breasts pressed against my chest. I move my hands down to her ass, unable to resist the urge to squeeze the firm muscles there, and I lift her just a little, so I can nestle my erection against her mound.
“Oh God,” she whispers, sliding her hands into my hair and tightening her fingers on it. “God help me, but I want you.”
I want her too. But I can’t have her. It’s not time. This is why I stayed away.
I tear my mouth from hers, and we stare at each other, our chests heaving.
“We’re not doing this,” I say. My voice is thick with lust. “Not yet.” I cup her face and brush my thumb over her cheek. “Three days, Wren. And then, after Saturday, I won’t stop.”
She drops her head and rests her forehead on my shoulder. “I don’t know what you do to me,” she whispers.
Emotions whirl through me: frustration, excitement, desire, and relief. She wants me. I wasn’t sure if that was the case.
A few days ago, she signed the prenup in my lawyer’s office. I refused to be there. I hated that we had to have one. At herurging, it included the clause that said if we part, she’ll only accept money for any offspring we produce. After she’d signed it, I added my signature, almost pressing my pen through the paper because I was so angry. No relationship should be entered into with an acknowledgement of what might happen if you break up. And I didn’t want to see her plans in black and white.
She’s still worried she picked the wrong brother. And all I can do is try to prove that I am her Mr. Right, and that I intend to keep that title indefinitely.
*
The following day, my feet barely touch the ground. I’m flat out at the office, trying to get everything ready for the week I’m taking off for the honeymoon. In between meetings and, you know, trying to get work done when I’m distracted with thoughts of my fiancée becoming my wife, I take calls from my mother, Aurelia, and Wren herself about the wedding. Mum’s hired an event organizer, but she’s having a whale of a time getting stuck into it with her, as this is the first time one of her children has tied the knot, and for some reason she seems to think I want to have the final say on everything.
After the third call in a row about the color of the serviettes, I say, “Mum, I don’t give a damn about anything as long as Wren turns up on the day,” and she laughs and promises to leave me alone unless there’s something that definitely needs my input.
Under my insistence, Wren visits the house in Stanley Point with the real estate agent. I can’t join her because I have back-to-back meetings, but when she calls to say she loves the place, I’m more than happy to tell the real estate agent to go ahead with an offer.
The weather forecast looks good, and the RSPVs are coming in thick and fast. Everyone wants to attend what Korero is calling ‘the surprise wedding of the year’.
Tonight, Aurelia has organized a hen party for Wren and her friends, something small at a local bar, which Wren is terrified about, but I’m sure she’ll secretly enjoy it once she gets there. Neither Caesar nor I are particularly into parties, and I have no desire for a crazy stag night, but Huxley invites us to the Midnight Club for what he promises will be a restrained and civilized gathering of some of our best friends, which I’m happy to attend.
Sure enough, he keeps to his promise, and we have a fun-filled evening with a few games and lots of whiskey, but thankfully there are no strippers or incidents involving traffic cones. When my driver drops me off at my city apartment, I’m merry but not comatose, and I fall into bed with a growing sense of excitement.
I’m getting married in two days. Tomorrow, I’ll be seeing Wren—we’re not having a formal rehearsal dinner, but we are meeting with the event organizer for an informal run-through. I’ve spoken to Wren several times, and I text her a lot, but I’ve tried to keep my distance after our intense kiss at my parents’ house. I’m nervous about freaking her out too much.
Deep down, part of me fears she won’t be able to go through with the wedding, and she either won’t turn up, or she’ll back out at the last minute. I haven’t raised this with her, or mentioned it to anyone else, but it’s there beneath the surface, like a riptide waiting to pull me under.
Feeling a frisson of unease, I pick up my phone and compose a text. It’s nearly one a.m. Will she be home from the hen party? And if so, will she still be awake? I send the message, half expecting her not to reply.
Me:How did the evening go? You awake?
To my relief, she replies within a couple of minutes
Wren:Helloooooo! I’m here, and awake, but probably not for long, I’m in my pjs and drinking water coz of all the wine coz your sister kept filling up my glass
I chuckle, relieved she seems happy.
Me:I’m so glad you had a good time
Wren:How about you? Are you plastered?
Me:Merry
Wren:Ohhhhh I wish I could speak to merry Mars
