A Wild Card Night by Lauren Blakely

Author:Lauren Blakely [Blakely, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lauren Blakely Books

4

Harlan

With champagne flutes in hand, we head to the balcony—alone. It’s deserted out here, and I’m over the moon because I’m eager to gobble up more time with her then find the perfect moment for a kiss.

After that, I’m hoping we can kick it up more than a few notches at my place or hers. I’ve got a feeling Katie is game for that too.

I clink my glass to hers. “To weddings.”

“To wedding kisses,” she adds.

Yup. Perfect night.

I take a drink and she does too. We set our glasses on the terrace wall at the same moment, then she puts her pink purse next to them.

“You truly can’t beat this view,” she declares as she gazes at the ocean. “I’ll miss San Francisco.”

“Wait. Hold on. Are you leaving the city?”

Quickly, she shakes her head. “I mean if I leave. I’d miss it. That’s what I meant to say.”

I arch a dubious brow. “Are you sure? Are you Cinderella, planning to take off at the stroke of midnight?”

She laughs, a buoyant sound that kind of turns me on. “I promise I’ll leave behind a glass slipper if I do.”

My eyes coast down to her shoes. “They’re silver, Katie. Not quite glass.”

“But close enough?” she asks, like she’s hoping the answer is yes.

“Do you want to be Cinderella?”

“I have no desire to be in a fairy tale.” Her eyes flicker with hints of naughtiness. Or maybe I’m just seeing my own wishes reflected back. “Unless . . . it’s the dirty kind.”

Ah, and naughty hope wins the night. I step closer, brushing her hair off her shoulder. She trembles, and I don’t think it’s from the night air. “And now we’re talking the same language.”

I savor the anticipation in this moment.

The moment before.

There is little I love more than teasing a woman, than drawing out the high of expectation.

I play with her hair, running the strands through my fingers, then dart my thumb to her cheek, stroking a soft line across her jaw.

She breathes a shuddery sigh, and I inch closer but still don’t touch. I wait, staring at those glossy pink lips.

Katie lifts her chin slightly. “My language says kiss me. What does yours say?”

I slide my palm over her shoulder then down her bare arm. Goosebumps rise in its wake. “Same, but a gentleman should ask, Katie,” I say. “May I kiss you?”

“Get your lips on mine.”

“You’re my kind of woman,” I tell her, then I shut the fuck up. I close my eyes and brush my lips across hers.

A jolt of pleasure slides down my spine as I taste her—lip gloss and sweetness and a hint of champagne.

Sugar and sparkles.

So damn fitting.

I start slow, exploring her lips with a gentle sweep of mine, letting the moment expand, enjoying every sensation—from the hitch in her breath, to the jut of her hips, to her soft hands traveling up my chest.

I cup her cheek, running my thumb along her face, then I thread my hands into her hair. Soft strands slide through my fingers as I flick my tongue across the seam of her mouth, pressing a little harder.

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