Page 9 of First Comes Marriage

Don’t look at her tits.

But when had she gotten curves like that, the kind that begged for his hands? When had Sabrina Page, the quirky kid at the food pantry and his almost sister-in-law, turned into this knockout with tits that defied gravity and legs he wanted to feel wrapped around his waist? If she were any other woman, he would have already made filthy promises to her, every one of which he would make good on. If she were any other woman—

“Ready?” she asked, smoothing her hands over her thighs to straighten the dress.

Baz could think of a thousand things he was ready for in that moment, none of which involved leaving that hotel room and all of which ended with her lipstick smeared all over his cock.

Fuck. Stop.

Sabrina Page is the last person you can think about that way.

“Sebastian?” she asked, her brow wrinkling.

Jesus Christ, why did he like the way she said his name so much? If anyone else insisted on calling him by his given name he’d bite their head off. But he liked the sound of the consonants on her lips.

“Let’s go,” he grunted, buttoning his suit jacket and striding out of the room.

***

The bar in the hotel lobby was crowded, but they found a small booth in the corner and ordered their drinks. Sabrina practically clapped when her margarita arrived. She took a slow sip, her tongue darting out to lick salt off the rim. Thatflash of pink was how Baz knew he was in hell. Their plane had fallen from the sky after all and he was in his own personal hell watching Sabrina Page’s tongue flick in and out of her mouth. He threw back half his drink in one sip.

What is wrong with you? You hate this woman.

Didn’t he?

“Nice suit,” she said.

He grunted, because what the fuck was that supposed to mean? “Nice dress.”

“I don’t remember you wearing suits.” When he didn’t answer, she leaned forward, a grin tugging at her lips. “Do you even own jeans anymore, or is it all suits and Darth Vader costumes now?”

“Do you always dress like your mother?” he shot back. She flinched slightly at his words and he turned away.You are such an asshole. “Your mom wouldn’t have worn spandex on a plane,” he conceded.

She chuckled. “No, she definitely would not.

They sat in silence for another few minutes, Baz trying not to think about why he cared what she thought of his wardrobe and Sabrina seemingly focused on her drink.

“The way I see it, we have two options.” Sabrina twisted the stem of her margarita glass between two fingers, leaving a widening circle of condensation on the table. “We can spend the next few days walking on eggshells, with you grunting and scowling and me babbling like an anxious lunatic, or we can actually talk about what happened.”

“When you broke up my wedding,” he said.

She huffed out a breath. “It’s not that simple.”

“You told your sister not to marry me.”

Her face went pale and she swallowed, rolling those distracting bright red lips over each other. “I did.”

“Seems simple to me.”

Sabrina took a long sip from her margarita, that fuckingtongue gliding over her lips to catch the last bits of salt and tequila. She threw a nervous glance his way and he almost felt bad for being such a jerk.

Almost.

He let himself sink down in the booth and drank his Scotch, his thighs spreading as he adopted a posture far more casual than he felt. Let her think it no longer bothered him, that her betrayal on what should have been the happiest day of his life didn’t still sting. That he hadn’t spent ten fucking years wondering what he had done wrong.

Except he didn’t have to wonder. He’d been born into a middle-class family in a middle-class town where he worked a middle-class job. He went to college on loans that would take him too long to pay off and he scraped and clawed and worked for every damn thing he had. He didn’t belong on the golf course at the country club and he sure as fuck didn’t fit in with the Pages, with their generational wealth and all the moral high ground they thought came with it.

He hadn’t been good enough. That was his crime.