Page 73 of Tempt
Deepening our kiss, she moans against my lips. A sound I love to hear.
* * *
I try to hide my amusement but it’s next to impossible.
“She refuses to have a wedding.” Colton says. “I’ve got my mom trying to plan this massive event and then Gretchen shooting down every idea. How in the hell am I supposed to come out on top of this situation? There is no fucking way I’m disagreeing with my mom and if I go against Gretchen she’ll have my balls hanging on her rearview mirror as a trophy.”
“Aren’t they already hanging on her mirror?”
“Fuck you,” he shoves my shoulder. “Like you have any room to talk, you’re as whipped as the rest of us."
No reason to argue, but I’m loving his tormented state.
“So what does Gretchen want to do for the wedding?”
“Courthouse,” he shakes his head.
“And you?”
“I want to marry her, if that means it’s her and me in a room with a judge then I’m there. But you know my mom and if I got married without her she’ll kick my ass.”
“Sounds like you have a dilemma.”
“Anyone ever told you, you’re an asshole?”
“You,” I lift my beer to my lips, “a few times.”
He stews at my side for a few minutes before he says anything more.
“Things good with you and Kyra?”
“Real good,” memories of our morning in the shower coming back to me. Her body pressed to the wall, my hands on her hips and I pushed to the hilt inside her. I shake off the thoughts because now is not the time to get excited.
“Wipe that smile from your mouth, asshole.” I smile wider. “I’m not getting any because as Gretchen puts it, I’m a wuss and won’t take her side in this wedding thing.”
“Awe have you been benched.”
“I don’t know why in the hell I thought going out with you tonight was a good idea.” He grumbles. “This was supposed to make me feel better, but all you’re doing is pissing me off.”
I can’t contain my laughter and when he shoves me I almost fall off the barstool.
Colt is right, I am enjoying his misfortunes entirely too much.
CHAPTERFORTY-THREE
Kyra
Gran reaches out wrapping her hand around mine, offering a squeeze. I glance at her and find her eyes filled with tears.
“Everything is going to be fine,” I tell her. “No matter what, we’ll be okay.”
“I know,” she says, though she doesn’t look convinced.
We sit side by side, each drawing strength from the other.
When the door comes open and Rose steps through it, I feel my heart race.
Her hair is no longer stringy, greasy and lifeless. Instead it looks soft and wavy, freshly washed and possibly even styled. There is color in her cheeks, and light in her eyes.