He smirks. “I’m going to kiss you.” He presses his lips against the corner of my mouth, and I turn my face enough that our lips meet full-on when he kisses me again. His hands slide from the counter to my hips where his fingers dig into my leggings as if he’s fighting the urge to rip them off of me. I wish he would.
I drape my arms over his shoulders and lean into him, deepening the kiss and sliding my tongue along his lower lip. He lifts me onto the counter with ease, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him as close as the counter will allow. I gasp when he nips my bottom lip, but the sound is swallowed by his mouth on mine.
After several minutes of the two of us battling for control, he leans back a bit and peppers kisses along my jaw before stepping away.
He walks back to the other side of the counter and plates the food. “Hungry?” he asks.
He has no freaking idea.
I spend the afternoon prepping the ballroom. Skylar and Max help here and there, but for the most part, it’s up to me and a team of the hotel staff. This is my event . . . well, not my event, but it’s my project, my responsibility, and to ensure it goes well, I like to know I have control over most of it. That’s my type A personality rearing its insanely organized and control-freakish head.
Once the room is prepared and I’ve spoken to the bartender, the caterer, and the classical musician Skylar contacted, I take a breath and allow myself to get ready. There isn’t much time before guests and donors arrive, so I sneak upstairs to Tristan’s place to finish my hair, do my makeup, and put on my dress.
I’m surprised when Skylar comes in and grabs the curling iron while I’m trying to rush through doing my makeup. She goes to work on my hair, pulling part of it up and curling it into loose waves before braiding a portion of it, which gives me time to touch up my face. We don’t talk, and when she’s finished, I don’t say thank you because she’ll snap at me if I do.
I pace around the guest room until there’s nothing left for me to do but put on my dress. I stare at where it hangs on the closet door. It’s a floor-length, sleeveless, rose gold gown that glimmers with every movement. It has a sharp V-shaped neckline and an open back. It’s the most gorgeous dress I’ve ever seen. The fact that I’m wearing it for a work event was my justification for the expense, but when Tristan insisted the company reimburse me for it after he found out how much it cost, I didn’t argue.
I step into the dress, pulling it up until it falls into place, and slip on my heels. My breath catches when there’s a soft knock at the door. “Come in,” I say.
I watch the door open from the mirror in front of me as Tristan steps in and closes it behind him. The world slows. There’s nothing but the two of us, and we can’t stop looking at each other. I’ve seen Tristan in formal wear at the office for meetings, but I’ve never seen him like this. His hair is slicked back, none of the usual unruly pieces sticking out, and it looks darker than normal. It suits him. He’s wearing a black tux with a bow tie, making me smile at the thought of watching him standing at a mirror tying it.
He walks over to where I’m standing and stops behind me. He stares at me in the giant mirror, a look of genuine admiration on his face.
“You look stunning,” he says in a low voice, as if dozens of people fill the room, and his voice is meant for my ears only.
I meet his gaze in the mirror and smile. “Thank you. You look handsome.”
He leans in and kisses my cheek. “This is your night. You’ve worked hard on this event, so I know you want it to be nothing short of perfect, but try to have a good time.”
“It will be perfect,” I assure him.
He chuckles. “Of course it will.”
I nod. “I’ll have a good time. Don’t worry about me, Tris.”
He tilts his head. “What did you call me?” he asks, his tone light with amusement.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to—”
“No. I liked it,” he admits, making my belly swirl with warmth.
“Okay,” I say after several beats.
His eyes travel the length of me, taking in every curve the material is hugging.
“I just put this dress on, and you’re looking at me like you’re about to tear it off.” The idea isn’t one I’m completely opposed to, but this dress was expensive, and I kind of need it for tonight.
He licks his lips, making heat rush to my cheeks and far lower. “It’s a stunning dress, but I think what’s underneath would interest me much more.”
I swallow, my pulse kicking up as he slides his hand into mine and guides me around to face him. I grip the lapel of his jacket with my free hand as my heart pounds in my ears.
He dips his face closer until our noses brush before resting his forehead against mine. “You have no idea how badly I want you, Rory.”
I suck in a breath, but before I can get a word in, his lips seal over mine, and whatever I was going to say is lost in the feel of his mouth. I slide my hand up his chest and grip the back of his neck, tugging him closer as I flick my tongue across his lower lip.
A soft growl rumbles in his throat, and he nips my lip before his tongue darts out to meet mine. His hands grip my waist, rubbing slow circles against the fabric of my dress that I’m suddenly wishing didn’t exist. Well, that escalated quickly.
“How much time do we have?” I ask, kissing the corner of his mouth.
“Not enough,” he murmurs against my lips. He leans away and brushes my hair back into place before adjusting his suit jacket. He offers me his arm. “Our guests will be arriving any minute. We’ll have to pick this up later.”
I press my lips together so I don’t suggest something stupid like missing the beginning of the event. No, I silently scold myself. I’m going to be a responsible adult and ignore the delicious throbbing between my legs. Jesus. I need a cold shower.
Placing my hand on his arm, we walk to the elevator. Once we’re on, I pull my hand back and stand against the wall opposite him. I need a clear head going into tonight, and whenever I’m too close to Tristan, it can prove difficult to think straight—or think about anything other than his hands on me.
Tristan says nothing, but the smirk on his lips is telling enough. He knows why I put distance between us—he thinks it’s hilarious.
I roll my eyes and keep my gaze trained on the wall the rest of the ride to the main floor where the ballroom is.
Skylar and Max, along with several other Westbrook Hotel employees, are already downstairs when Tristan and I arrive. We walk into the room, and I feel eyes on me. Squaring my shoulders, I stand straight, refusing to look as nervous as I am.
“That’s my girl,” Tristan murmurs from beside me.
My girl. Oh boy. My chest swells. I like that statement way too much.