RED LOVE (A British Billionaire Romance, Part 3) by Kristina Weaver

Author:Kristina Weaver [Weaver, Kristina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-01-06T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

“You’re drunk,” he says derisively, pulling me closer to sway to the eerily mournful music.

“Tipsy,” I purr, spreading my fingers over the breadth of his muscled chest.

Everything inside me clenches, turning my wobbly bones to liquid when he brings our hips flush and grinds himself into me.

“Blotto,” he murmurs back, making me gasp when his slow rubbing hits me exactly where I need it. “I like it.”

I do too. With the alcohol streaming though my blood I feel invincible, untouchable, and more importantly, unbreakable.

“You only like what you can’t have,” I mutter, staring at his button hole with one eye to still the jumping circle. “Or, more accurately, you only want the thrill of the challenge. Or is that chase? Whatever.”

To say that I’d lost the leash to my tongue somewhere between the second glass of wine and the tequila is an understatement. Here I am, drunk—yes, I’m blotto—and taunting a breed of very dangerous animal, just to see him react.

“Oh well, no hard feelings,” I mumble airily, rubbing his chest in slow circles. “I should have taken blonde hottie up on his offer. I think it’s most definitely time to stop sulking and move on.”

I’m not even talking to him at this point. Strange fact, when I get drunk I have a disgusting habit of talking to myself and answering as if no one’s there. One time I’d spent half of a New Year’s party holding an enthralling conversation about global warming.

How do I know? Bee’s friend Jack still has the video he’d taken of the whole mess. A hot mess, but a mess nevertheless.

“I really should. I mean, I almost had a breakdown when they told me about the baby. And what for? Just because the thought of a baby smashes my pathetic heart to pieces doesn’t mean nobody else deserves happiness. And you know what else?”

Okay, here’s the part where I get really sloppy drunk and start saying things that I’ll cringe about later.

“What?” he prompts when I fall silent, my mind whirling sickeningly.

I swallow and blink rapidly, refocusing on his quietly amused face.

“Oh, yeah. I really think I should stop talking to Marty about loving you and just get back on the horse, you know? I mean, it’s so sad to still have those dreams about you all these months later. Yeah,” I say, more decidedly than my sloshing brain should be able to handle right now.

“I think I should definitely do that. Okay, thanks for the dance,” I chirp merrily, pulling away to skip off toward the brightly shining head of blonde hair I see ducking through the main doorway.

I feel so good suddenly that I even smile at Beau and blow him a kiss when I skip by, already unbuttoning the top button of my jacket in an effort to show more cleavage.

“Yo, Jason! What up, man.”

Okay, let’s pause here so I can explain something else. Apparently when I get shitfaced drunk I also start talking like a rapper wannabe. I don’t know

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