by Lindsey Hart
I do wonder what it would feel like to be the one tucked in his arms. Our table has a few open bottles of wine, and I take advantage of one of the whites. I don’t honestly really even taste it. I’m just trying to drown out the fact that my female organs have started to rule my life. Also, why am I disappointed that I’m sure Philippe will have every excuse in the book not to dance again after this. We’ve already sold the boyfriend-girlfriend thing. Anything else is just extra. I’m sure that within an hour, Philippe will make excuses about getting out of here.
“Is everything alright?” I jump at Philippe’s voice in my ear and his hand on my back. I didn’t even realize the song had ended.
“Yeah, sorry. Too much wine. I’m zoning out.”
He slides into the chair beside me. “You’ve only had two glasses that I’ve seen, and you ate the entire meal. You shouldn’t even feel it.”
“Wow. Rude.” I lift my glass. “I’ll have you know that wasting food is a terrible thing to do. It was good. I was starving. And this is technically my third glass, and I’m a lightweight, so what can I say?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Philippe pours himself a glass of the white I was just sampling. I know for a fact that he doesn’t like wine. I’ve actually heard him complain when people gift it to him at Christmas. But I don’t comment. I just watch his lips meet the glass. Watch his throat bob as he swallows.
Is it incredibly pathetic that I’m jealous of his wine glass?
Yes. Yes, it is.
“Are you okay?”
He nods and slowly sips at his wine. He also watches me unnervingly like he’s waiting for me to add something to that. So I can’t resist.
“You’re not normally nice. This is a change…worrying about me, noticing other people around you.”
“Thanks for that. Maybe I’m different outside of work.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
Philippe leans in. We’re the only ones at the table, but he drops his voice so only I can hear him. “I’ve never tasted you at work, so I’d say that’s hard proof of how some things are quite different.”
Flustered, I grab my glass of wine and practically choke myself downing whatever’s left of the glass. I have absolutely nothing to say to that, unfortunately. Although right now would be the perfect time to shoot something snarky back at him.
“Would you like to dance?” Philippe surprises me. I think it’s a trick question, so I ignore him.
I make myself so busy by pouring another glass of wine that I nearly jump straight out of my seat when Philippe’s sister steps in between us. She bends down, smiles at me, then turns to her brother.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare anyone or interrupt anything. I just wanted to ask you before I talked to anyone else. One of my bridesmaids actually had an emergency come up at home. Apparently, her son fell out of the tree in their backyard and broke his arm. She and her husband were both here. They had her mom babysit, and they were going to spend the night. I rented them a suite like I did for the rest of the wedding party. It was expensive, and I don’t want it to go to waste. Would you take it? If not, I’ll try and find someone else.”
Philippe doesn’t even look at me. A slow, lazy smile spreads across his face. I’d classify it thoroughly in the realm of evil as far as smiles go. “Sure, I’ll take the room. Thanks, sis.”
Jennifer gives her brother a relieved look. “I’ll get the room key to you. It’s under my name, so you shouldn’t have any problems with checkout.”
“I’m just glad I don’t have to make my way back here in the morning for your extravagant gift opening of all the things you already have.”
Jennifer pulls a face. “You’re such a dick. You know that? Good to know you haven’t changed a bit, at heart.” She turns to me. “Has this jerkus told you about all the things he used to do to me when we were kids? How he’d pull off all the heads of my dolls, freeze them in blocks of ice, and display them all around the house where he knew I’d find them before they melted? It was seriously disturbing.”
“Sounds like it,” I agree as easily as I can. I clench my wine glass so tight that I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter.
“He also used to fart on me. He’d run all the way from a different room just to rip one right in front of me. It was disgusting.”
“Sounds like something a brother would do.”
“Do you have a brother? I’d like to hear all about it and see if they were as evil as mine.”
“I’m actually an only child, thank goodness.”
Jennifer punches Philippe on the upper arm. “I’m just kidding. You know I love you, bro. Thanks for coming. And it was so nice to meet you.” Jennifer clearly has other things to worry about, so she rushes off. Now I have bigger things to worry about too.
“I am totally not staying the night,” I lean in towards Philippe and mutter. “Granny is expecting me home.”
He shrugs. “Call her. Tell her you’ll be back in the morning.”
“No! Oh my god. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it would be? Imagine going to tell your mom you’re going to spend the night. In some suite. With me.”
“Alright.” Philippe shoves back his chair and stands. “I’m sure she’ll be really happy. She’ll probably come over and ask you how long it will be before she can start picking out baby clothes.”
“Stop!” I stand too and grab Philippe’s hand. “Don’t you dare!”
“I did say I would take the room,” he relents because I’m obviously getting worked up. “I didn’t say we would. You don’t have to stay. Although…if you do want to, I wouldn’t say no.”
“You wouldn’t say no?” I splutter. “Are you kidding me? This is supposed to be fake!”
“Did last time feel fake?” he whispers throatily against my ear. “Dance with me.” His hand lands on the small of my back, sending a hurricane of sensation fluttering through me. “They just put on some extra sappy song that is a classic wedding DJ move. How can you resist?” He’s clearly changing tactics.
Earlier, I had wished I could dance with him. So how can I say no now?
I could say no. I could. I can practically hear Granny telling me that dancing leads to babies. But really? What will one dance hurt? Honestly, I don’t know if I could say no if I tried. Maybe we can just put a slow dance on the list of things we also don’t talk about. We’ve done worse. Or better. Depends on how you look at it. Maybe he’s just offering so he can accidentally on purpose step all over my feet.
“Sutton?”
Goooood lord, now he’s saying my name in that smooth, silky, buttery soft voice of his, making all my resistance melt away. The song is slowly slipping away too, so it means I’ll probably just have to be out there dancing for a few minutes. Two, maybe three at most. No. Big. Deal. Right?
“Our chance to make fools out of ourselves and endure complete and utter humiliation is passing us by.”
Why? Why does it have to sound so sexy?
“Fine.” I grind my teeth. My jaw relaxes when Philippe’s hand curls around mine and leads me towards the dance floor.
It’s pretty full already, so it means we have to stay in our own little space. Which I’m good with. I was never a great dancer, and I’m more likely to stomp all over his feet than Philippe would be even if he were trying to punish me.
One big hand settles on the small of my back while the other wraps around my shoulders. I don’t so much lean in as I melt against the granite wall in front of me. I reach up and tangle my arms at Philippe’s neck. I brush my fingertips against the coiled muscle there as we begin to sway. His hair tickles my knuckles.
I can’t even hear the music. I’m not sure we’re swaying in time to anything, but this feels so good. So. Freaking. Right. This is hands down the best dance I’ve ever had in my life, even if we’re basically just standing here. Philippe is warm, and I’m pressed up tight against his chest, so tight that I can feel every shift in his abs as we rock from side to side.
&n
bsp; “Stay.” His husky voice flows over the sweet spot of my neck, right below my ear. “Stay the night.”
My lips clamp shut. It’s not a matter of should. At the moment, I actually couldn’t care less about what I should or shouldn’t do. Lately, Philippe seems to have that effect on my better judgment. It’s like I’ve been walking around drunk on him for over a week. Eventually, a lot of alcohol usually culminates in bad decisions.
“I can’t. Granny’s expecting me home.”
“Call.”
“It’s late. She doesn’t have a cell.”
“There is an answering machine. I left a message about your sizes for the dress. Leave a message. She’ll get it in the morning before she even has time to worry.”
“You’re my boss,” I groan. “I can’t. It’s not right.”
“I’m not your boss tonight.”
“You’re always my boss.”
“Don’t say things that can and will be used against you.”
My lips twitch. My left eye twitches. My clit twitches. “Just for tonight, you get a free pass on snarky remarks.”
“Stay. Please.”
“You said the magic word. Did it hurt?”
“Like I swallowed bits of broken glasses.”
A couple near us nearly runs us over, but Philippe deftly steers us away, all while not even really looking, because his face is still nestled at the crook of my neck. His hands are burning through me, scalding me straight to the core.
“Stay. Please. We don’t have to do anything. I’ll sleep on the floor if you want.”
“What’s the point of that then?”
His nose nuzzles against my cheek, and my heart nearly leaps from my chest. I’ve had boyfriends before, done the usual things girls do with their boyfriends, but I’ve never had anyone touch me as intimately as this. All without touching any of the usual erotic culprits. No. All it takes is a nose and my earlobe to set me off. I don’t know if it’s pathetic on my part or if it’s actually kind of sexy. Okay, it’s sexy. I know it’s sexy. I just don’t know if I should let myself know it.
Suddenly, Philippe tenses. I can feel the shift in his neck muscles, in his shoulders, in his abs, in his legs. Why shouldn’t I stay the night? All of me is already pressed up against all of him. “Stay. Because the truth is, I’m lonely.”
I want to crank my head up, but I’m scared I’d crunch his nose or hit him in the mouth. Is he drunk? He must be, even though I only saw him drink a couple of sips of wine all night. Philippe Wilson doesn’t get lonely. Philippe Wilson isn’t human. Philippe Wilson is my boss. Philippe Wilson could buy whatever company he wants, and no, I don’t mean it that way. It’s just that any woman would be happy to date him. He might not be overly nice, but he’s beautiful, and he’s rich, and as far as I know, that’s enough for a ton of people.
I know it’s extremely unkind of me to think that. I know it is. I’m just trying to be mean so that I can quell the feelings pumping through me. The problem is, I’m not naturally mean. I hate myself for thinking things like that. And I can’t just shut off my attraction for Philippe. Not just attraction, but I’m starting to find I genuinely actually like him when he’s not being a tyrant d-bag.
“There’s nothing like watching two people who are in love to make you realize you’re terribly, utterly, and entirely alone.”
I realize I need to say something. I try to pull a bit of dry humor out of my ass, but it’s not happening. “So,” I choke. “This is just…this is just about the wedding. It’s not actually about…anything else?” Smooth. Seriously smooth.
“It’s about that too.”
This time, my head does jerk up, and luckily, I don’t hit anything. “Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Being nice. Being normal.”
“Maybe this is who I really am. Maybe I was actually nice all along, but I just needed a few night’s worth of good sleep.”
I stare at him until my eyes are dry from not blinking for so long. “Sleep?”
“I actually hadn’t slept soundly in…around…I can’t remember. The night you came over, I slept. For twelve hours straight.”
“So, you just want me to stay so you can…uh…rest? On the floor?”
“It is a suite, so there might be a couch.”
“I...” I cling to Philippe to keep me on my feet, which I know is more than a little ironic. I need to finish that. Tell him no, go home, be smart, and keep the squishy feelings in my chest at bay.
The song finally ends, or maybe it was over a long time ago, and we just danced straight through another one. I’m not actually sure. I expect to unwind myself, step back, and sit back down at the table for another half an hour or so before I can make excuses to leave. I’ll call a cab, go home, and lick my wounds because I’m pretty sure not spending the night here at this hotel with this man is the worst kind of rubbing salt in cuts, cuts I didn’t even realize I had.
Philippe clearly has other ideas. He might be done talking, no, he is done talking, but he hasn’t lost the battle or the war. All of a sudden, his head tilts down, and his mouth crushes mine.
CHAPTER 11
Philippe
Apparently, honesty isn’t the best policy. Or maybe it’s my track record doing me in. I decided to open myself up and put it all out there for Sutton to see. I feel like she can see straight down into the depths of me anyway, so why not take the risk? She thinks I have ulterior motives. That I’m trying to trick her. That I’m not serious. Have I really been so bad that she doesn’t think there’s any good left in me?
Good thing I have a backup plan. Not that I did actually plan it. More than anything, I just want to kiss her. She’s deliciously warm, curvy, and delicate under my hands. Her entire body is melded with mine, and I’ve just spent the past few minutes inhaling her tender, sweet scent at her neck. Not kissing her isn’t really an option.
I could tell her we’re really selling it now in front of a whole crowd. Somewhere back there, my mom is probably watching. I could tell her I just wanted to be a dick and throw her off balance. I could tell her I thought she’d never stop talking, so I had to figure out a way to silence her. Chances are, I’m not going to tell her anything. She wouldn’t believe me anyway even if I told her the truth. That I couldn’t not kiss her because she’s perfect in every single way, and if I don’t take the opportunity, I’ll regret it forever. As it is, I have enough regrets already.
So yeah.
The kiss. The kiss is amazing.
I shouldn’t be kissing her, because kissing her makes me realize how unguarded it leaves me. I can usually lock the rest of the world out, be one thing, and put on a brave face, but with Sutton, she makes me want to come undone.
At first, Sutton doesn’t respond. She doesn’t resist either. Her lips just are there, but then they part on a soft sigh and yield to mine. They transform into something warm and alive. Welcoming. The taste of her is sweet and heady. She tastes like delicious sweet wine, honey, and burnt sugar, even though I’m sure she didn’t eat anything containing the last two. Kissing her makes my head swim.
Even after she pulls back, I can’t help myself, so I bury my nose in the delicate, sweet spot where her neck joins her shoulder. I inhale deeply, and she smells sweet there too.
“What are you—”
Her gasp is cut off by my sister’s soft laugh as my sister approaches us. She sneaks up on us like a cat, unseen. Sutton leaps back guiltily like we’ve done something wrong, and she eyes her shoe as she toes the floor awkwardly.
“I’d tell you to get a room,” Jennifer laughs, “but I already have one for you.” She holds out a small paper envelope with the key cards. “The room number is on the bottom there.” Looking every bit the charming bride she is, she turns to Sutton, who is looking suspiciously at the envelope that was just transferred to me. There might as well be something lethal in there. Like a viper. “Thank you for coming,” Jennifer says softly. She’s angled towards Sutton, away from me. “
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my brother look as happy as he has tonight.”
“Oh, uh…” Sutton chokes.
Jennifer laughs. She punches me in the shoulder affectionately, like she has since we were kids. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to answer that. Have a good night, kids. I’m out of here soon.”
“So that you can get up early and open your mountains of gifts?”
“You bet. Why else does a person get married? It couldn’t actually be for love, could it?”
That earns a smile from me, but I roll my eyes too. Jennifer saunters away, grinning broadly, to check up on a few of the other guests and say goodnight to her friends and all the family. The party is still going strong—if you can count this as a party—but I guess, for some people, it’s a night out, and maybe for them, that’s their definition of a party.
“You’re horrible,” Sutton hisses under her breath. “Now, I’m pretty much going to be forced into staying, or this whole thing will look like a sham if I’m not there in the morning, at least to say hi and then disappear.”
“I could make excuses for you. Say you had somewhere to be.”
“On a Sunday morning.”
“The dryness in your tone is unmistakable.”
“Good!” She storms off towards our table. She’s surprisingly fast when she’s pissed. Surprisingly hot too. Maybe that’s not much of a surprise. Maybe it’s more of a given because she’s beautiful all the time.
I catch up with her as she snatches her clutch off the table and grabs one of the still full bottles of wine.
“What do you think you’re going to do with that?”
“Use it to get through a painful night,” she grinds out. “Or maybe bottle you if I have to.”
“I didn’t think sleeping in the same room as me would be such a hardship.” I lean in close. I can’t help myself. I am a straight-up asshole when it really counts, and I guess this counts because I want to match her feistiness in every way.
Sutton snatches the envelope out of my hand and marches off. So…I guess that’s her way of saying she’s going to stay. I like that she’s pretending to be angry about it. Whatever. If she has to justify it that way to herself, I’ll let her. I’m starting to know Sutton, and I know she’s too nice to keep this up for long. She can’t be that mad. She was probably looking for an excuse to stay anyway. She didn’t exactly tell me no back there when I asked her. She just listed off the reasons she couldn’t, which mostly had to do with her grandmother expecting her back and the fact that we work together—like that really stopped her before. That’s not fair, shithead.