Falling for the Groomsman (Wedding Dare, #1)(24)

“I’m not bossing you around,” he said, his voice irritated. “I’m employing common sense. Something you refuse to listen to. As a matter of fact, you’re always the one wandering off, aren’t you? Just like in Mexico.”

She flushed. “I had my reasons.”

“You were crying,” he said softly.

Her mind went back to that night. The way he’d held on to her while she sobbed, his hands so sure and comforting. The way he’d tasted…so sweet and tender and yet sexy all in one hot package. “Yeah. So I had to leave.”

He caught her chin, lifting her face up to his. “You didn’t have to walk away from me.”

“Yes, I did.” She pressed her lips together. “I don’t like showing my weaknesses to people. I hate crying with a passion. It’s ugly, drooly, and snotty. That’s one of the last times I cried, thank God.”

“Over your parents, you mean.”

“No.” She met his eyes defiantly. “I mean ever.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious.” She tapped her fingers on her thigh. “It’s been a long, long time since I succumbed to that particular weakness.”

As a matter of fact, the last time she’d cried had been after he left her in Mexico. But he didn’t need to know that, now did he?

He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, no one’s crying now, and we need to turn around and go back before that changes.”

“I’m not going because you demanded I do so.”

He fisted his hands and glowered. She had a feeling he was giving her his best “I’m a fellow and you’re an intern” glare…but it wouldn’t work on her. “Christine, I swear to God—”

She cocked her head to the side. Time to go for the kill. “You look tired. I’m guessing you didn’t sleep well last night? Was something bothering you? Something…hard…perhaps? Tell me. Were you able to lay on your stomach at all?”

His backpack hit the ground and he stalked across the clearing, closing in on her. There it was. The anger she’d wanted. When he was angry…he kissed her. She needed him to kiss her more than she needed air right now. She lifted her chin at the fabulous show of anger in those green eyes that haunted her, her breathing heavy and triumphant.

When he pinned her body between his and the tree, it took all of her control not to praise the Lord at the top of her lungs. Hallelujah, amen.

She was finally getting what she wanted.

He gripped her hard. “No, I did not f*cking sleep well last night. Is that what you want to hear? I had to jerk off while picturing you going down on me. It still didn’t help. I still need you.”

Her lips parted and she made a tiny sound she didn’t even recognize. “I can make it better.”

“And how will you do that, exactly?” He lifted her leg and insinuated himself between her thighs, pressing his cock against her heat. She moaned and dragged her nails down his back. “Because I can’t f*cking keep track of what the hell you want from me.”

“I want you to stop talking” —she grabbed his hair and yanked hard—“and kiss me.”

He closed in on her mouth, but didn’t touch her. Instead he stopped just short of her lips. “Say it. Say you want me.”

Damn it. He was trying to take control, and she didn’t have enough strength to keep it out of his hands. Screw it. He could take the lead if it made him feel better—as long as he took her, too. She nodded frantically. “I don’t want you. I need you. Please.”

He buried his hands in her hair and tugged her head back. “This time? I’m not f*cking stopping. And no running away.”

“No running away.” She yanked harder. “I won’t stop you this time. I’m yours, Tyler.”

Possession flashed over his eyes. Pure, hot, and archaic. Her nipples tightened, begging for his touch. “Damn right you are,” he growled.

And he kissed her. Thank God.





Chapter Nine


Christine collapsed back against the tree, inviting the pain of the bark digging into her shoulders. For once, she wasn’t thinking about her list.

It was just them. Him. Now.

She broke the kiss and yanked his shirt over his head. He lifted his arms to help her and let it hit the ground at his feet. He pulled her shirt over her head, then propelled her against the tree. The bark hurt her back even more without the protection of the cotton, but she didn’t give a damn.

When his lips closed over hers again, she ran her hands over his hard pecs. Over the years, she’d kind of hoped he’d let himself go soft and maybe had the decency to grow a beer belly or something. But he hadn’t. If anything, he was even harder than he’d been back in Mexico.

And now she wanted him even more than she’d wanted him then.

This whole thing had “mistake” written all over it in bright neon marker. But with his mouth on hers and his hands on her…oh my God. He closed his hands over her breasts and squeezed her nipples through her bra. She whimpered into his mouth and reached down, unclasping her bra with a simple flick of her wrist.

He pulled back and looked down at her, his eyes on his fingers. His fingers…oh my God, his fingers moved over her nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger with expert precision. She arched her back and urged his head back down. He took the hint and lifted her higher up on the tree, his hips supporting her weight. He scraped his teeth over her nipple, and she cried out.