Boyfriend for Hire(13)
“What’s gotten into you?” I ask. “You’re constantly telling me how I need to get out more and cut loose, and now I want to and you’re against it.”
Christine bites her lip. What could be so bad about Nic that she’s trying this hard to keep me away from him?
“Look, I just saw you go through all this heartbreak with Jeremy, and I think you should focus on you right now,” she says, putting her hands on my shoulders. “Promise me you won’t sleep with him?”
What the hell?
I really have no idea what’s going on. So what if Nic was a ladies’ man in college? If I’m okay with it, Christine should be okay with it too. Why even set me up with someone she didn’t want me to pursue?
Nothing makes sense, and I want to keep pushing her, but I also don’t want to make a huge deal of this on her special day, so I decide to just drop it.
“Okay, I won’t sleep with him,” I tell her, and she smiles, clearly relieved.
I feel bad, because I totally don’t mean what I just said. I’ve never lied to Christine before, but if she can’t give me a good reason not to sleep with Nic, then I don’t know why I should listen to her. And if things get heated between the two of us later . . . I can’t argue with chemistry, right?
Trying to shake off my guilt, I rejoin Nic. He’s talking to a group of my elderly relatives, and they’re all laughing at something he’s just said.
I can’t stop the grin from spreading across my face. On top of everything else, he’s amazing with my family. A lot of guys would be intimidated to meet a woman’s entire extended family on the second date, but Nic is taking it all in stride. And it doesn’t hurt that he looks tantalizingly sexy all dressed up in his tux.
Sorry, Christine. I can’t let her get into my head.
Nic looks so good, it’s going to take a lot more than some dirty laundry from his past to stop me from ending the night in his bed.
Chapter Six
Nic
Elle and I are seated at a table near the front, a little to the right of the wedding party’s table. The servers are milling around us, taking away our salad plates and replacing them with entrées. Elle has the chicken option, while it looks like Christine picked the beef for me.
Perfect.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the server asks as he sets my plate in front of me.
I glance at my now-empty champagne flute from earlier and shake my head. My one-drink rule is going to be even more crucial now that I know I clearly have a hard time controlling myself around Elle.
And who can blame me? She’s unbearably sexy in that dress. I should have picked the other one. Not that it would have made that big a difference because she’s got curves in all the right places, and neither of those dresses would have left much to my imagination. The creamy swell of her ample breasts is visible above the neckline, and while the hem is modest and drops to her knees, I know exactly the kind of hourglass figure she’s hiding beneath those layers of chiffon.
Down, boy.
“What about you, miss?” The server turns to Elle, who cocks her head to the side for a moment, looking at me as she tries to decide.
“Don’t let me stop you from having a good time,” I say, flashing her a casual smile.
“You’re really going to make me drink alone?” She swats my arm with the back of her hand, her expression playful.
My arm tingles where she hit it, not because it hurt, but because I’m suddenly so aware of every time our bodies touch. When I position my body toward her, our knees brush, and I allow my fingers to graze hers.
“Everyone here is drinking like there’s no tomorrow. I’d hardly call that drinking alone. Besides, I need to keep my wits about me around you, beautiful.”
A blush spreads across her cheeks, moving down her neck and dangerously close to her cleavage. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to take a good look at just how close it gets.
Elle raises a challenging eyebrow at me before turning to flash a smile at the waiter. “I’ll have another glass of champagne, please.”
The waiter nods and walks away, moving around the table to take drink orders from other guests.
“After all . . .” Elle looks me in the eye and crosses her legs so her calf rubs fully against my leg. “This is a celebration, isn’t it?”
Fuck. This is going to be much more difficult than I thought.
After dinner, the maid of honor and best man give their speeches, and there’s hardly a dry eye in the room. When I notice Elle dabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand, I give her another tissue from my jacket pocket and she laughs, shaking her head at how prepared I am.
What can I say? I’m a professional.
After the toasts, the dancing begins, and I pull Elle out on the dance floor with me. Not that she needs much persuading. She had another glass of champagne with her dessert, and she’s clearly feeling it.
The DJ plays a few good upbeat songs, and the two of us find our rhythm easily, our bodies moving in sync. It’s perfect. Too perfect. And that can only mean amazing things about what our bodies could do with no clothes on.
Just as the playlist slows down, the mood shifting to something more sensual, Christine walks over and clamps her hand firmly on my forearm.
“Can I steal him for a sec?” she asks Elle. Her tone is light and cheery, but her grip on my arm tells me something is wrong.