The Bride Test (The Kiss Quotient #2)(23)

Her breathing evened out, and her sniffles grew farther and farther apart until they stopped altogether. She shifted on his lap slightly, and he realized he was aroused, wildly and embarrassingly aroused. Shit. If she wiggled anymore, she’d notice for sure.

“Are you done?” he asked.

She pulled away and scooted off his lap, thankfully missing his raging erection, and he rubbed his chest where her tears had dried.

A long silence followed. She started to talk several times but held back. Finally, she whispered, “Can I sleep here tonight? At home, I sleep with Má and Ngo?i and … I won’t touch you, I promise. Unless you want …” Her eyes glittered mysteriously as she gazed at him.

Unless he wanted what? Wait, did she mean sex? No, he didn’t want sex. Actually, he did. His body was enthusiastic about the idea. But mind over penis and all that. Sex was tangled with romantic relationships in his mind, and because he wasn’t suited for relationships, it only made sense to avoid the sex. Besides, touching was complicated for him. Hugs were mostly okay, but anything else was likely to be a problem. It was bad enough he had to give his haircutter instructions for how to manage. He didn’t want to do that with a woman before the act.

He looked at the empty half of his large bed. The blankets were completely undisturbed, pristine. And he liked them that way. He always felt a certain accomplishment when he woke up in the morning and didn’t have to make the other side of the bed.

Rubbing at her elbow, she edged away from him. In a small voice, she said, “Sorry, I’ll go—”

He pulled the blankets down. “You can sleep here, I guess.”

Dammit, what was he doing? He didn’t want her sharing his bed. But she looked like she was going to start crying again. She wasn’t supposed to be sad. Esme was always happy, always smiling.

She covered her mouth. “Really?”

He swiped the hair away from his forehead. This was a horrible idea. He could already tell. “I might snore.”

“My grandma snores like a motorcycle. It doesn’t bother me,” she said with a big grin.

There it was. Her smile. It was important somehow. Muscles relaxed that he hadn’t been aware of tensing.

She crawled under the covers and plopped her head down on the pillow, lying on her side so she faced him. He stretched out on his back and stared up at the ceiling. They were a good arm’s length apart, but his heart threatened to go into cardiac arrest anyway.

This was weird. He’d done sleepovers with girl cousins. This was nothing like that. He wasn’t attracted to his girl cousins. His girl cousins didn’t cut down trees with meat cleavers, wear his boxers, or want to marry him. His girl cousins didn’t run to him when they had nightmares.

Only Esme.

“Thank you, Anh Kh?i,” she said.

He pulled the blankets up to his neck. “You’re welcome. Try to get some sleep. My cousin Sara’s wedding is tomorrow.” His brow creased when he realized he’d never mentioned it to her. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, but I do. Do you want to?”

“Your mom told me about it. I want to go.” Her voice vibrated with excitement, and he almost sighed. At least one of them was going to have a good time.

“Okay, then. Good night, Esme.”

“Sleep well, Anh Kh?i.”

For several moments, he was aware of her watching him. He could almost feel the happiness rays beaming off her and bouncing against the side of his face, but it wasn’t long before she fell asleep. She didn’t snore, and she didn’t take up much space. But her mere presence sent him into a state of alarm.

There was a woman in his bed, his life was completely out of order, and there was a wedding tomorrow.

That night, he didn’t sleep at all.





CHAPTER EIGHT



The following evening, as Esme and Kh?i waited for the ceremony to start in the hotel’s gold-encrusted ballroom, the last thing she expected him to say was, “This wedding is missing something.”

She took in the tall floral arrangements, crystal chandeliers, and French palace ambience and shook her head. “Missing what?”

“I thought you’d know.”

“Me?”

“I can’t figure it out.” He cleared his throat and pulled at his collar like his tie was too tight.

She scanned their surroundings again, but nothing obvious stuck out. Of course, she had no idea what to expect at an American wedding. She barely knew Vietnamese weddings, since she’d personally skipped that part of the baby-making process. It said a lot about them that he could think this wedding was missing something when it was as close to perfect as she could imagine.

A flutist started playing, and a little flower girl with pigtails tossed rose petals as she walked down the aisle between row after row of men in suits and women in áo dài and cocktail dresses. The bride wore a filmy gown that looked like it was made of clouds. She took her father’s arm and walked to the wedding altar, where the groom waited, watching her like she was everything.

Esme’s throat knotted, and though she tried to ignore it, her wanting grew so big her chest ached. She didn’t need live music or a place this nice or a gown this beautiful, but the rest …

As the ceremony went on, she found herself watching Kh?i more often than the bride and groom. He concentrated on the couple’s vows with his usual intensity, and she wanted to reach up and trace the strong lines of his profile, anything to feel closer to him. They were side by side, but they felt so far apart.