Page 3 of Bleeding Heart
His cantankerous laughter bounces off the walls. “Come on, which one of the guys set me up?” He shakes his head, unbelieving. “I could have sworn Trig and Carver were having too much fun with their respective wives to notice I left.”
I shake my head in response. “No clue what you are talking about. Didn’t know you were closed. Didn’t remember my cell.”
Jake plays with the cleft in his square chin. His pupils are wide and black with an icy blue halo. He stares, daring me to hide the truth from him. “It can’t be that simple.”
“Uh, yeah. It can,” I say sarcastically. It is the truth and I’m coming down from the adrenaline high of hot-footing it out of a church during my wedding. “So can I—”
The door flings open interrupting me.
“I need to use your phone. Please! I left mine at the church a few blocks away and I need to tell my fiancée’s mother… Paisley?”
Oh, fuckkity, fuck, fuck.
My shoulders hit my ears. I’m caught in Jake’s blue-eyed tractor beam, unable to turn and look at Gavin.
“Just go with it,” I whisper under my breath.
I jump before even realizing what I’m doing. Wrapping my arms around his neck, the Norse God’s palms encase my ass, and our bodies press flush together. Jake plays along, kissing me as if runaway brides barrel into his establishment every single day, searching for sanctuary.
And while this kiss isn’t the one I anticipated ending my wedding day with, I have to admit Jake Ballentine is an amazing kisser.
________________
2
________________
“Paisley?”
The guy in the tux has repeated himself a bunch of times. But I’m languishing in the lady in white who has my full frontal attention. She didn’t think twice about opening for me when I licked the seam of her soft lips. She faintly smells like a spring morning, but she tastes like adventure and the night. Darker. Spicy. Chaotic. Her velvety tongue strokes against mine and I cradle the back of her neck in my palm and twist her face so that I can dive in deeper.
I give into kissing this woman because… Well, the fuck reason do I have not to?
Whatever we’re doing is a good show. And being the owner of a semi-classy strip joint, I’m the master at putting on a damn good show. Neither of us are coming up for breath and the chemistry we’ve got going is combustible. For a spur-of-the-moment performance, this kiss has got me hot and bothered. For a tiny thing, the impeccable rounded globes I clutch to maintain our lip lock are a handful.
I’m losing my grip—likely on reality—definitely on her ass.
The bulk of Paisley’s slippery dress makes it harder to keep my grip on her than say if we were naked in my office. She slides down my body. Our lips don’t part until her feet touch the ground. I stifle a groan, thinking about all the ways I could torture Paisley. That I’d corrupt her into tormenting me.
Her forehead rests against my breastbone. Her chestnut brown hair is coming undone. I had nothing to do with that. I only held her silky neck. My fingers purposefully dug into her hairline at the base of her skull, knotting into the curled tendrils. A spot I’m still massaging now.
Something comes over me. I pass it off as trivial. Simply my subconscious combating the achy loneliness that made me leave the tent while the party was in full swing and come back here alone to the deserted club. I kiss the crown of Paisley’s head atop that vulnerable pile of curls. Right where it looks like something important has been ripped away.
Then I spot Paisley’s crestfallen groom. He reminds me of a guy who has given me everything he has to take and then can’t understand why I won’t give it back.
Because I’m an ass and a cheater, that’s why.
And where I have nothing else to lose except a nightclub my father left me to run when our lives went to shit, I swindle people for fun.
“I’m sorry, man. We’re just uh, I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” I lie, unsure of what, or who, I’m lying for.
The guy turns, his shoulders slump, and he bangs the long silver handle on the door. It slides shut behind him.
“Thank you,” Paisley mutters into my chest. About four buttons down toward my stomach, I feel her breath and my balls tighten.
“I had to improvise.” I press my lips to her head again.
Yup, lonely sap looking for love in all the wrong places. This time I’d shuck my pants for a woman who broke a guy’s heart in front of a crowd, no less. No wonder why I’ve got my friends convinced that I’ll never settle down. They’re right, though. I don’t plan to.