The Wedding Favor by Unknown Page A

tangling him up in her arms and legs. He pawed her dress up over her ass, shoved his hands inside her thong, snapped it like a thread. She moaned and squirmed, rubbing against his hard-on. He dragged his lips across her jaw, buried his face in her throat. And—what the fuck!—sucked in a noseful of Annemarie’s perfume !
    He reared back, but her ankles chained his thighs. With one hand she opened his jeans, snaked the other down inside, and wrapped her fingers around his pulsing cock.
    Goddamn him for a horny fool! If he’d thought about it for even a second he would have realized that the ass in his hand was too round to be Vicky’s. The heaving chest was bigger too, three times bigger, and the frantic panting, at least the part not coming from him, had a definite French accent.
    With superhuman willpower, he unfastened his hand from her bare breast—how it got there, he couldn’t recall—and locked it around the arm she’d shoved halfway down his jeans.
    “Slow down there, honey,” he said against her swollen lips.
    “But you’re so hard,” she moaned, making him harder.
    “I sure am.” He could hardly breathe. “And that’s a real good grip you’ve got there.” He tugged on her arm. “Come on, now, sweetheart. Let go before it’s too late.”
    She held on, stroking expertly.
    He changed tacks. “You don’t want to waste a good hard-on, do you, honey? Not when we can put it to better use in one of those feather beds.”
    That slowed her down. “Now?”
    “Soon.” He tugged her arm again. If she didn’t let go this time, it was all over.
    Reluctantly, she released him. He gasped out a breath, part relief, part regret. Rolling onto his back, he lay still, afraid to adjust himself yet. The slightest touch might set him off.
    Beside him, Annemarie rose up on her knees. His vision had adjusted to the faint light inside the pergola and he could see her naked breast, a creamy globe. He couldn’t look away. Deliberately, she cupped it, took the weight. Licked her thumb and ran it across the nipple. Blew on it lightly so it stiffened, while his dry mouth went drier. Then she slipped it inside her dress.
    A sexy sound in her throat pulled his gaze up to her mouth. Her tongue peeked out; she stroked it over her lips. Leaning down, closer, closer, until those lips were just an inch from his, she said in a smoldering accent that no man with a throbbing hard-on could be expected to resist, “Your bed? Or mine?”
    He swallowed once. “Let’s make it yours, honey. And hurry.”

Chapter Eight
    T y exited the chateau through the front door, then crept around the side to the garden in the back. Hugging the shadows, he scanned the crowd, if twenty people could rightly be called a crowd.
    Pierre and Adrianna danced on the terrace. Matt and Isabelle clustered around a table with a small group of friends. Others were scattered in twos and threes around the fountain or on benches under the trees.
    No sign that he’d been missed.
    Moving briskly across a narrow strip of grass to the pergola, he ducked quickly into its shadow, pausing just long enough to rake his hair into a semblance of order and give his zipper a final check. Then he hooked his thumbs in his pockets and strolled casually out into the torchlight.
    He’d hadn’t gone ten steps when Vicky came barreling down on him. She slammed on the brakes six inches from impact, nostrils flaring.
    “ What in the world did you say to my mother? ” she hissed in a furious whisper.
    He knew better than to break into a grin, but damn, he loved to see her fired up. Catching her arm, he tugged her toward the terrace. “Come on, let’s dance.”
    “ Dance? ” She dug her heels in. Literally, so they divoted the grass. “I asked you a question!”
    “And I’ll answer it. On the dance floor.” He tugged again. She huffed out an aggravated sigh and followed him.
    Up on the terrace, he gathered her in and they flowed seamlessly into the waltz. He let himself