her go taut.
“He won’t,” she confirmed. She didn’t need Schuyler reminding Gavin that she had nothing in common with the gorgeous, sexy women he usually dated. “He’s amazing.”
Schuyler laughed again. “If you say so. Shall we head back inside? I need a drink after this little bombshell.”
“We’ll meet you in there,” Gavin said, and Christine wanted to argue. She wasn’t quite ready to face his reaction to what she’d just done.
“Don’t take too long,” Schuyler told them, grinning at Christine. “Maddie should be throwing the bouquet soon. We need to position you front and center.”
Christine tried to laugh, but it came out more like a croak. “Sure,” she managed and waved as Schuyler walked away.
When they were alone, she forced herself to turn to Gavin again. “I’m so—”
Her words were cut off as he fused his mouth to hers.
Gavin hadn’t meant to kiss Christine again. He was still in shock from her announcement to Schuyler. He appreciated what she’d done. He’d been quickly running out of options when it came to distracting his sister from her obsession with his nonexistent girlfriend.
He owed her his thanks, but all he could think of was tasting her sweetness. His hands skimmed along the silky material of her dress, then over her hips, which held just the right amount of curve. And her reaction to him was a revelation. Straitlaced Christine Briscoe could kiss. She met him stroke for stroke, nipping at his bottom lip as if asking for more. Gavin lost himself in her, pulling her tight until her breasts pressed against his chest. As she had when they were dancing, she fit against him perfectly.
She was perfect.
How the hell had this happened?
Voices drifted from around the corner, and he took a step back, knowing the dazed look in her eyes probably mirrored the one in his.
“Hey, ladies,” he called as a group of his mother’s friends passed, several of them craning their necks to get a better look at Gavin and Christine.
He shifted so that he was shielding her from the curious gazes.
“We need to talk,” he whispered when the women had passed.
Christine nodded, staring at the floor.
Gavin drew in a breath. Was she terrified of him now? She’d tried to save him from his sister, and he’d all but shoved his tongue down her throat. She’d seemed a willing participant at the time but now...
Another group of people turned the corner toward them, and Gavin automatically laced his fingers with Christine’s and led her down the hall toward the hotel lobby. Her heels clicked against the pristine marble floors as they passed the stately columns that, along with the beautiful stained-glass dome, was the hallmark of the Driskill’s famous lobby.
“Hey, Christine.” The man she’d been standing with at the bar earlier, Bobby, waved from where he stood in front of the concierge desk. “A few of us are going to bail on the dancing and head to an Irish pub around the corner. Want to—”
“Oh, no,” Christine whispered, her lips barely moving.
“She’s busy,” Gavin called and headed for the elevators along the far wall. She followed him in without protest but tugged her hand away as he hit the button for the fifth floor.
“Are you staying here, too?” he asked, not sure how to broach the subject of what had just happened between them. His wildly successful legal career had made Gavin believe he could talk his way out of any situation. Not so, apparently.
She shook her head, a lock of fiery hair falling forward to cover her cheek. Had he run his hands through her hair, loosening the elegant chignon? He couldn’t remember but suddenly he wanted nothing more than to see the bright strands cascading over her shoulders. He’d told his sister he was dating a woman with blue eyes and auburn hair. Maybe he’d been unconsciously thinking of Christine after their dance.
“Gavin, I—”
The door opened, cutting off whatever she was going to say to him. An older couple got in.
“Going down?” the man asked.
Gavin shook his head. “Up.”
“We’ll ride along,” the woman offered. “You two look fancy.”
“Wedding reception,” Christine said quietly.
“I love weddings.” The woman sighed. “Always so romantic.”
Her husband snorted. “Except when your brother got sloshed and threw up on the dance floor at ours.”
“He had food poisoning,” the wife said, her tone clipped.
“Forty years.” The man lifted his hands. “She still can’t admit that her no-good brother’s a drunk.”
“At least he still shows up for holidays,” the woman shot back. “Unlike your rude sister and her—”
“Our floor,” Gavin interrupted when the elevator dinged. The door slid open, and he placed a hand on Christine’s back. “I’m at the end of the hall,” he told her when the door closed behind them with a snick.
His hand stilled as he realized her shoulders were shaking. Oh, God. Not tears. He could handle an angry jury or a recalcitrant witness. But tears killed him, especially the thought that he’d caused them.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered. “It will be—”
A sob broke from her throat. No, not a sob. Laughter.
She lifted her face, and he realized her tears weren’t from anxiety, but amusement. “I know our relationship is five minutes long and a complete lie,” she said, wiping her cheeks as she laughed, “but promise we’ll never fight about your drunk brother.”
He grinned and looped an arm around her shoulder as they started down the hall. “Fortunados can handle their liquor,” he promised. “Do you have a sibling? I don’t even know.”
“A sister. Aimee is a year younger than me and perfect in every way.”
“Perfection must run in the family.”
As lines went, Gavin thought it was a pretty good one. Both subtle and charming. Christine only burst into another round of laughter. He was definitely losing his touch, although it was somewhat refreshing to be with a woman who didn’t melt in a puddle at his feet. Gavin liked a challenge.
He wouldn’t have pegged Christine as one, but this woman surprised him at every turn.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, clasping a hand over her mouth when a snort escaped.
He unlocked the hotel room door and gestured for her to enter.
“I hate to be indelicate,” he said when they were both inside, “but are you drunk?”
She
