C5 5

Teagan ignores her. “My love notes were nothing compared to your little collection from my trash.” She turns to the girls. “He saved old napkins and water bottles I drank from. Even little bits of my hair.”

The girls cover their mouths and take a few steps back.

I choke back a laugh, determined to keep a straight face. “You make it sound creepy.”

“We have to go,” Brit says. “But congrats to you two.”

“Yeah,” Jennifer says. “You’re a totally . . . special couple.” They walk away, and I can barely make out Brit telling her friend that they dodged a bullet. Teagan drains her drink as we watch them go.

“Little bits of your hair?” I ask. “Am I in love with you or planning to murder you and store your corpse in my freezer?”

“I’ve known guys with creepier tendencies,” she says. Standing, she holds out a hand to me and motions toward the crowded dance floor. “Come on. If we sit here, more women are going to want to talk. You dance, don’t you?”

“I think I have to if I want to save my reputation. I’m lucky those women aren’t local, or I’d never get another date.”

I don’t have much time to dwell on that thought. Teagan loops her hands behind my neck and rolls her hips to the song’s quick beat, and I can’t think of anything but her.

I’m stunned by the sudden press of her body into mine, and at first I’m not sure what to do with my hands. Sliding them behind her neck seems too junior high, but if they’re in her hair, I know I’ll be too tempted to tilt her face up so I can kiss her again. If I put them on her waist, they’re bound to roam south to cup the curves her little black dress shows off so well.

“You started this,” she whispers into my ear. “You’d better dance with me like it’s real, no matter how much you’re regretting it right now.”

I grunt in surprise. Regret is the furthest thing from my mind. “I didn’t want to scare you away,” I say, wrapping my arms around her waist to rest my hands at the small of her back.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” She looks up into my eyes, and I wonder what’s going on in that head of hers. She turned so quiet and awkward over dinner. I thought it was because everyone was staring at us, but . . . maybe there was more to it.

Am I crazy to hope that she’s as attracted to me as I am to her? That she’s thought about it—fantasized about it—like I have?

I lean my forehead against hers but keep my eyes open so I can watch her as we dance. When the music transitions into Christina Perri’s “A Thousand Years,” Teagan leans her head against my chest and sighs.

“You like this song?” I ask quietly.

She pulls away enough to look up and meet my eyes. “I just love love. Love is my favorite.” She giggle-snorts so loud that half a dozen people turn to stare, and I stare too. Teagan’s beautiful, but it’s always been her quick humor and open personality that have drawn me to her. I don’t care if this is fake. I’m going to enjoy every minute of this night.

I lose track of the drinks we have, the dances we share, and the women she politely sends away when they try to cut in. I imprint these moments on my mind—Teagan’s smiles, the brush of her hands across my back, the way she leans her head against my shoulder when the music turns slow.

When the party’s wrapping up and the guests are trickling out, she says, “I’m glad I wasn’t planning to drive.”

“Come with me for a minute?”

She studies my face for a beat. Is she thinking the same thing I am—as desperate to give into this chemistry as I am? She swallows hard, then nods.

I lead her out of the banquet room, down the hall, and into the vacant office by my brother’s. I press her against the wall. “I’m not ready for tonight to end.” My voice comes out husky, all the desire I feel tangled into those few words. I could blame the alcohol, but this buzz in my veins is more about her nearness than the beer I consumed.

“Me neither,” she says, her gaze dropping to my mouth. I don’t need any more invitation.

I kiss her.

Teagan

T

his isn’t the kiss from the stage—it’s not a kiss that’s gentle or asking permission. This kiss is hard. Demanding. Insistent. It’s the kind of kiss a girl dreams about, where desire is written in every nip of the teeth and slant of the mouth, where the chemistry is so potent that it has a taste of its own.

Keeping me pinned between the wall and his hard body, Carter strokes a hand down my arm and positions a thigh between mine. “You look so damn beautiful tonight.”

I pull back and stare into his dark eyes. My whole body is buzzing. I’m tipsy from irresponsible amounts of vodka, sure, but I’m drunk on him—his touches, his smiles, his whispered jokes in my ear, his body pressed to mine. “You think so?”

Insecurity nagged at me all through dinner. I watched those women staring at him and kept thinking he should have let one of them bid on him. His brothers might give him shit for his revolving door of women, but Carter deserves a little fun. And a lot of happiness. One little kiss onstage had me wishing he could find both with me—despite our friendship, despite my own rules for pushing him away any time his flirting turned too intense.

“I thought so from the minute you walked in the door. I love looking at you in this dress. And those sexy shoes . . .” He swallows, his eyes dipping to the swell of my cleavage. “Dancing with you like that was killing me.”

“Me too,” I admit, and the room spins a little because I want this. His words, his mouth, his touch . . . him. “This is crazy.”

“Then tell me to stop,” he says, even as his hands skim up and down my sides.

“I don’t want you to.”

He groans in satisfaction. “Good, because I’ve been dying to do this . . .” He reaches for the hem of my skirt, tugging it up to give his hands access to my skin.

“Just that?” I ask.

He nips my neck, his mouth trailing up and down—kissing, sucking, biting. Hot bolts of pleasure arc down my spine and have me arching closer. “All of this,” he murmurs. “I’m not done yet.”