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The door closes behind me, and I step back so I’m leaning against the door. My balance feels compromised after all that tequila, and he spins to look at me.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod, and he takes a step toward me. He takes another, and another, and then there are no more steps to take as he stands mere inches from me.
He rests one of his arms on the door beside me as his gaze burns heatedly into mine.
“Wha—what are you doing?” I ask softly.
His other arm shifts as his fingertips locate my hip. He moves his body in so he’s flush against me. “I was going to kiss you. Is that okay?”
My breath catches in my throat. I nod, my eyes never leaving his.
And then his mouth drops down to mine. His lips are as soft as they look as they press to mine, and all the thoughts fly directly out of my mind as I can only focus on one thing: Spencer Nash is kissing me.
Holy. Shit.
Spencer Nash is kissing me.
And then his mouth, which has formed to mine, opens, and his tongue moves against my bottom lip. He sucks on that bottom lip, and then he offers just the slightest edge of his teeth as he bites down a little. He opens his mouth a little more, and his tongue brushes mine.
I feel weak in the knees as he kisses me. I finally come to my senses enough to wrap my arms around his waist, mostly because I have to do it in order to keep from falling flat to the floor since it feels like my legs will give out at any second.
That’s how much this man is currently knocking every bit of wind out of me. Well, that and the tequila.
His tongue starts to move a little faster, a little more urgently, and his hips push against mine as I feel his length hardening between us. The thought pulses a deep, needy ache between my legs. I have no idea if this is leading somewhere, or if this kiss is just a kiss, which is fine if it is. We’re probably both too drunk for it to be more than that.
He pulls back abruptly, and his eyes are full of heat as they burn into mine. “Let’s do it. Let’s get married.”
“What?” I shriek. I mean…I came all this way for this to happen, but never did I actually believe he’d agree to it.
“Let’s do it.”
“But…but…I don’t have a gown. You don’t have a tux. We don’t have a license.”
“There are places here that have all that. Or, wait—” He backs away from me and walks over to the closet. “Voila. Wedding attire.”
I stare at the gown and tuxedo in the closet meant for another bride and groom.
“We’ll just wear it for an hour. Long enough to tie the knot. Nobody will see,” he says. “Nobody will know.”
That…
That seems…
That seems like…
That seems like an excellent idea.
“Let’s do it,” I say with a grin.
He hands me the white garment bag and grabs one of the black ones. He reads the tag. “This says groom. Looks like that’s me. You can change in the bathroom. Meet me out here, and I’ll look up chapels nearby.”
Oh my God. Are we really doing this?
We’re really doing this.
I feel positively giddy, though that could be the alcohol talking. Who the fuck cares? I’m marrying Spencer, and I’m getting my freaking vineyard.
