angular face. He’d tied his hair back for the ceremony, but he’d released it sometime during the evening, and now it hung to his shoulders. His full lips and kind green eyes contrasted with his sharp jaw line. An image hit her unexpectedly, making her throat grow thick—this man holding a new baby, his face going soft as he studied the new life in his arms.
She shook off the image and the hot grief that came with it.
Too much wine. Too many conversations pretending their marriage was a love match and not a matter of convenience. It had all gone to her head. Now she was thinking of babies when she should be planning the logistics of a smooth divorce.
Harrison’s gaze dropped to her mouth. His fingers stroked the side of her neck as the limo began to move. “Did you have a nice night?”
She licked her lips. “It was a dream.” She wanted him to kiss her—not despite their lack of audience but because of it. The last month had been one filled with soft kisses and hand holding. The public displays of affection had been an act for the benefit of their friends and family, but each touch had made her little crush on him morph into an all-out lust fest. Now she wanted one of those kisses for her own benefit. “No one’s watching.” Brave with wine, she leaned into him even as she spoke the words. “You don’t have to touch me. You don’t have to pretend.”
“I like touching you.”
Heat swept through her at his words—heat and an ache as delicious as the wine she still tasted on her tongue. She was taken back to their one time together—that hot, impulsive teenage mistake.
Tilting her head up, she brushed her lips against his, blaming the wine, the day, anything but her foolish heart.
Harrison groaned softly and held her fast before she could pull away, his hand slipping from her neck into her hair, dislodging bobby pins and sending strategically placed curls tumbling.
His tongue brushed across her lips, his teeth nipped. She opened to him, full of his heady, masculine smell, wanting his taste.
For a heartbeat, he stilled and she thought he might pull away. Then he slanted his mouth over hers and she found herself crawling in his lap. He found her breast through her dress, but there was too much fabric, too many barriers, and she needed him closer.
“Unzip me,” she whispered.
Between their bodies, her hands sought out his waistband. She had him half unzipped before he stopped her.
He squeezed her fingers. “You’re drunk.”
“Thank God.” She was taking what she wanted—something she never did sober, not since she was sixteen.
“Jesus.” He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling.
Unwelcome sobriety washed over her, bringing with it a memory of the rules she had insisted on. She leaned her head against his shoulder and exhaled slowly. “I know. We agreed.” She muttered a curse. “I’m sorry.”
He grunted. “Stacey.” His face softened as he shifted, and the hand she had pressed to his upper thigh came into contact with the long, hard ridge of his erection.
A soft moan slipped from her mouth. There was something amazing about knowing she could turn on a man like Harrison.
He laughed, but the sound held a dangerous edge. He released her hands. “Yeah. So let’s just remember who wanted those rules to begin with.” He ran his thumb over the edge of her jaw. “If it were up to me, I would have had you under me weeks ago.”
Power whipped through her, and she licked her lips, adjusted her fingers over his thick shaft. “So, why are you stopping me now?”
His fingers stilled on her face. “Because you’re drunk. And Stace, when I break your rules—and I plan to—it will be because you made a conscious— sober— decision to let me.” The corner of his mouth drew up in a grin. “I want you to remember every second I’m inside you.”
“Oh.” She applied light pressure to his erection.
He groaned and pulled a hand through his shaggy hair. “Are you trying
She shook off the image and the hot grief that came with it.
Too much wine. Too many conversations pretending their marriage was a love match and not a matter of convenience. It had all gone to her head. Now she was thinking of babies when she should be planning the logistics of a smooth divorce.
Harrison’s gaze dropped to her mouth. His fingers stroked the side of her neck as the limo began to move. “Did you have a nice night?”
She licked her lips. “It was a dream.” She wanted him to kiss her—not despite their lack of audience but because of it. The last month had been one filled with soft kisses and hand holding. The public displays of affection had been an act for the benefit of their friends and family, but each touch had made her little crush on him morph into an all-out lust fest. Now she wanted one of those kisses for her own benefit. “No one’s watching.” Brave with wine, she leaned into him even as she spoke the words. “You don’t have to touch me. You don’t have to pretend.”
“I like touching you.”
Heat swept through her at his words—heat and an ache as delicious as the wine she still tasted on her tongue. She was taken back to their one time together—that hot, impulsive teenage mistake.
Tilting her head up, she brushed her lips against his, blaming the wine, the day, anything but her foolish heart.
Harrison groaned softly and held her fast before she could pull away, his hand slipping from her neck into her hair, dislodging bobby pins and sending strategically placed curls tumbling.
His tongue brushed across her lips, his teeth nipped. She opened to him, full of his heady, masculine smell, wanting his taste.
For a heartbeat, he stilled and she thought he might pull away. Then he slanted his mouth over hers and she found herself crawling in his lap. He found her breast through her dress, but there was too much fabric, too many barriers, and she needed him closer.
“Unzip me,” she whispered.
Between their bodies, her hands sought out his waistband. She had him half unzipped before he stopped her.
He squeezed her fingers. “You’re drunk.”
“Thank God.” She was taking what she wanted—something she never did sober, not since she was sixteen.
“Jesus.” He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling.
Unwelcome sobriety washed over her, bringing with it a memory of the rules she had insisted on. She leaned her head against his shoulder and exhaled slowly. “I know. We agreed.” She muttered a curse. “I’m sorry.”
He grunted. “Stacey.” His face softened as he shifted, and the hand she had pressed to his upper thigh came into contact with the long, hard ridge of his erection.
A soft moan slipped from her mouth. There was something amazing about knowing she could turn on a man like Harrison.
He laughed, but the sound held a dangerous edge. He released her hands. “Yeah. So let’s just remember who wanted those rules to begin with.” He ran his thumb over the edge of her jaw. “If it were up to me, I would have had you under me weeks ago.”
Power whipped through her, and she licked her lips, adjusted her fingers over his thick shaft. “So, why are you stopping me now?”
His fingers stilled on her face. “Because you’re drunk. And Stace, when I break your rules—and I plan to—it will be because you made a conscious— sober— decision to let me.” The corner of his mouth drew up in a grin. “I want you to remember every second I’m inside you.”
“Oh.” She applied light pressure to his erection.
He groaned and pulled a hand through his shaggy hair. “Are you trying
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