“Sorry,” she murmured to the three women giving her knowing grins.
The oldest of the trio winked at her. “Honey, that’s one hell of a view you’ve got. We don’t blame you for soaking it in.”
The other women burst into laughter. Wren blushed, praying Grayson hadn’t overheard the woman.
For the next half hour, they were too busy for Wren to ogle her partner. More’s the pity, because despite the rush, she was still managing to obsess over every move Grayson made.
It didn’t help that he wasn’t observing the same “personal space” they’d maintained yesterday. Today, he was standing closer. His arm kept brushing against hers, and twice, when he needed to walk behind her to grab another bottle of wine, he placed both hands on her waist, dragging his front along her back, even though the space in the booth wasn’t that limited.
Every tiny contact lit her up.
Wren’s breathing stopped completely when he did the same thing again now, his hands lightly gripping her waist. However, this time, his hold remained as he leaned closer, murmuring in her ear. “You’re good at this.”
Her lust-addled brain didn’t engage before she found herself asking, “At pretending?”
“At selling,” he responded, frowning slightly. “What are you pretending at?”
Heat rushed to her face because, wow, she was really fucking bad at this.
“Uh…nothing. Misspoke.”
She could tell he didn’t buy that answer, but there was no way she could clear her brain enough to come up with something more plausible. Especially not when his hand briefly settled on the small of her back, resting there for a moment before he stepped back to his side of the tent.
That contact hadn’t lasted more than five seconds, but it still had her spiraling with a desire so overwhelming, she felt dizzy. She nearly dropped the corkscrew she was holding.
Jesus, Wren. Pull yourself together.
It was just…she’d never felt like this before. Never understood why women in books lost their minds over simple touches or lingering looks.
Now she did.
Because Grayson touched her like he knew exactly how she’d sound if he got her alone again. That thought hit so hard, she had to grip the edge of the table.
“You okay, little bird?” Grayson asked, his tone more concern, less flirting. Not that the change helped. If anything, it made her even hotter, and for one reckless second, she wondered what it would feel like to stop fighting her desires.
Her imagination went wild as she considered kissing him again. What would it be like to let him touch her everywhere?
Her body clenched with a need so strong and intense, it almost hurt.
And then…an older memory came roaring back, refusing to be shut away any longer.
Darkness.
The bed shifting.
The rancid smell of bourbon.
That heavy weight pressing her into the mattress and a hand over her mouth.
Fear sliced through her.
Wren jerked away from Grayson so fast, his expression shifted from concern to confusion. “Lark?”
Hearing her sister’s name somehow helped, grounding her.
She wasn’t herself. She was someone else.
God, she really needed to be someone else right now.
