This is bad.
This is dangerous. It goes beyond flirty. This is nuclear-level attraction wrapped in a crisp white dress shirt and a Scottish accent that could bring entire wedding parties to their knees.
“I’m drunk,” I tell him, like it’s some kind of warning.
“Aye.” He smirks. “Me too.”
We sway in silence for a beat, wrapped up in each other, the crowd around us melting into a blur of motion and candlelight.
Then softly he adds, “Lassie, I think you’re the most beautiful thing I ever laid eyes on.”
Well, shit . . .
I should push him away, shouldn’t I?
Instead, I clutch the front of his shirt like I never want to let go.
Lights twinkle above us as the melody plays, the band performing a mix of classic hits and popular new songs, currently playing “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” an achy, soulful version that has me wanting to pretend I’m in my own version of a love story.
“You’re trouble,” I whisper to him, because it’s all my brain can manage.
His hand slips lower, resting against the small of my back. “Aye. But I’m the kind of trouble ye dream about.”
Ye dream about . . .
I let out a shaky breath. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” I swallow. “I might believe you.”
He dips his head, brushing his nose against mine. “Then believe me. I don’t say what I don’t mean.”
God, I want to kiss him.
Reallykiss him.
Forever.
His mouth hovers close, just shy of mine. His fingers flex on my back, like he’s waiting for a sign.
I tilt my chin up. Barely.
A breath between us.
And he doesn’t close the distance—he just looks at me, eyes soft and heated and full of everything I’m terrified to feel.
“I’ll never forget you in this dress,” he murmurs. “Or this night. Or the way you’re looking at me.”
Oh my God ... If only Lucy could see me now. She would be so proud. Probably squealing with glee, encouraging me to go for it.
So I kiss him.
There in the middle of the dance floor at someone else’s wedding, champagne bubbles still tingling my lips and the edges of the world a lot bit fuzzy from tequila and too many shots and too much laughter.
I rise onto my toes, one hand still curled in the fabric of his shirt, and press my mouth to his like I’ve been waiting forever to do it.
He kisses me back.
