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“They’re unique.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll give you that. Not sweet or romantic or wedding appropriate, necessarily, but definitely unique.”
Oscar’s eyes narrowed, and he pointed one long finger at me accusingly. “Oh my god. No wonder my lines aren’t working on you. You’re a closet romantic. Admit it.”
“Freely.” I drank more champagne and found it settled nicely in my stomach, warming me all the way through. “Nothing closeted about it. I want candles and poetry and fireworks. I want handholding in starlight and passionate declarations of love. I want the irresistible, can’t-fight-it-so-don’t-try, absolute knowledge that someone is it for me and that I’m it for him. Yep. That’s about it.”
“You want a fairy tale.” The way he said it made the word sound dirty. “That’s how hearts get broken, Hugh.”
There were a lot of things I could have said to that. Like, that I’d already had so many heartbreaks over the years I was used to them. Like, there were lots of ways hearts could break, and not all of them had the promise of a happily ever after at the end.
Instead, I shrugged. “You just have to kiss a bunch of frogs until you find the right person. Believe me, I know. But you can’t win the lottery if you don’t pay for the ticket, right? And the more you lose, the more likely you are to win next time.”
Oscar rolled his eyes to the ceiling and muttered something that sounded like “gambler’s fallacy,” whatever that was.
“Anyway.” I cleared my throat. “What were we talking about before?”
Oscar sighed. “I was talking about my oral skills,” he said dejectedly. “I was going to offer to demonstrate them for you, upstairs, all night long. You were gonna be putty in my hands.” He took a long drink of champagne. “But now I’m thinking about frogs.”
I stared, transfixed, at the way the strong, tanned column of his throat bobbed when he swallowed.
This man—this sexy, intelligent, witty man—wanted me. I sucked in a breath as a flash of heat kindled in my gut, and my balls tingled. There wasn’t a single thing romantic about it. He was not The One, this was not my HEA, and I knew exactly how it would end…
But Jesus fuck, I wanted him too.
I set my champagne on the bar with a little clack.
“Nine out of ten,” I declared.
Oscar’s head swiveled in my direction, and a confused pucker appeared between his brows. “What?”
“I said… nine out of ten. That was concise, direct, and sincere. I have no notes.” I put my hand on his arm and leaned in to whisper confidingly, “I’m a sucker for sincerity.”
Oscar placed one hand on the bar beside me and the other on the back of my stool, effectively caging me in. He leaned in closer, and his scent—spicy, woodsy, and expensive—washed over me.
“Sincerity, huh?” My eyes fluttered shut as his mouth neared the spot where my jaw met my throat. “How about this, then: I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you all night.” His lips brushed over the sensitive skin, sending goose bumps blazing across my body. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” His teeth nipped the shell of my ear. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what I’d like to do with you.”
“Oh.” I could barely breathe, and my head spun. “Yes. Good.”
He smiled, nuzzling my neck. “Spend the night with me.” He pulled back to meet my gaze head-on, waiting.
I’d adopted a blanket “no casual fucks when working a wedding” rule a long time ago. Not only did hooking up with guests seem vaguely unprofessional, but the hookups were ultimately unfulfilling too. Oscar wasn’t wrong when he’d called me a romantic.
In that moment though, I found I didn’t care about my rule. It was a heady thing being the center of Oscar’s attention, the object of his entire focus. I wanted more of it. I wanted him naked. I wanted him undone. And for once, I wasn’t imagining a happy future because every synapse in my brain was very busy processing the absolutely mind-blowing here and now.
I knew Oscar was offering me tonight and nothing more, but my options were to go home to an empty apartment and my hand for company or go upstairs with Oscar. When I looked at it that way, the answer was blazingly obvious.
“Okay,” I told him.
Surprise flashed in his eyes, like he’d expected me to turn him down. When he realized I wasn’t, that flash turned wolfish. A shiver of desire raced down my spine, confirmation that I wasn’t going to regret this decision.
He tugged me from my stool and toward the bank of elevators, where he smoothly slipped his key card into the penthouse slot as the doors slid shut.
The interior of the elevator was all mirrored walls, and we were suddenly faced with a thousand reflections of ourselves. For a moment, there was nothing but silence stretching between us.
Our eyes met in the mirror, and Oscar’s mouth started a slow slide into a grin. Then, the elevator jolted, gaining speed as it accelerated upward. My stomach dropped, and I might have stumbled if Oscar hadn’t shot out a hand to steady me.
I glanced down at where his fingers wrapped around my hip, and as I watched, he flexed them against me and tugged.
We could have taken it slow. Teased the moment out longer. I could have let him seduce me with a hundred more terrible pickup lines and pretended I wasn’t slowly melting inside just from the solid weight of him against me. Instead, I let our momentum take over, pushing him back against the wall and crowding in close, gripping his shirt front in my hand and pulling his lips to mine.
