Page 18 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Biker

"Yes."

He cupped my face in both of his hands, his palms warm and rough against my skin. He paused for half a second, giving me a chance to change my mind.

I didn't.

When his mouth met mine, every reason I'd ever had for not doing this disappeared at once. His hands cradled my jaw, and his lips moved painfully slow, drawing out the moment. Under the coffee and the warm-skin smell of him, I could taste every year we'd spent not doing this.

I reached up and fisted my hands in his shirt, pulling him closer.

He made a low sound in his chest and deepened the kiss. One hand slid to the back of my neck, his fingers threading through my hair. The other stayed against my jaw, his thumb brushing my cheek.

I'd imagined kissing Grim before. Years ago, when I was young enough to believe wanting something might make it happen. But none of those fantasies had prepared me for the reality.

He tasted like coffee and something darker. Something I'd been missing without knowing it.

When we finally broke apart, I couldn’t catch my breath.

Grim rested his forehead against mine, his breathing uneven. "Hannah⁠—"

"Later," I repeated. "We'll talk about everything later."

I promised myself I'd think about it after the wedding. I'd ask him why he hadn't corrected me sooner. I'd decide whether the lie bothered me enough to matter.

But not yet.

Right now, I just wanted to stand here with his hands still cradling my face and the taste of him lingering on my lips.

The wedding could wait. Everything else could wait.

CHAPTER 6

GRIM

When Hannah finally pulled back, her bright eyes searched mine. “We can't pretend this didn’t happen.”

“I don’t want to.”

"So we're actually doing this?"

I brushed my thumb along her jaw. "Yeah. We are."

She nodded once. Then she smiled, and something loosened in my chest.

The rest of the day unfolded a hell of a lot different than the rehearsal dinner. I was done pretending. Every touch meant what it meant.

When we walked into the bridal brunch, I kept my hand at the small of her back. Not for James's benefit. Because I wanted it there.

Hannah leaned into me while Lyra opened gifts. Her shoulder pressed against my arm. Her knee bumped mine under the table.

She texted me from three feet away.

Hannah: Are you staring at me?

I typed back without looking down.

Me: Yes.

Hannah: Why?