and flirt.
Her gaze locked on his full lower lip below his contoured top lip. She wanted to kiss him. Before it was too late. Before she lost her nerve, and her only chance with it. As soon as he figured out that she was Drew Fleming, the moment would be lost.
A wave of panic sailed through her chest. She’d regret not kissing him for the rest of her life if she didn’t do it now. She set aside her champagne glass and faced him.
“Tell me more about—” he started, but she cut him off. In the most delicious way possible.
She grabbed his dashing, perfect face, tugged his mouth to hers and kissed him hard.
Reid’s spicy cologne tickled her nose as she tasted his amazing mouth. She’d sort of slammed her lips into his to start—blame years of pent-up lust—but now she eased into a more tender kiss, sliding her lips over his in gentle exploration.
She didn’t know if he felt the same electric sizzle that flamed to life inside her the moment their mouths met, but she accepted that this couldn’t go on forever. When they pulled apart, she’d come clean. She’d tell him her name—her real one—and then she would do the awkward dance of apologizing for the subterfuge.
But when she would’ve ended the kiss, Reid’s fingers fed into her hair, holding her close. He opened his mouth wide and stroked his tongue against hers.
That ignited flame inside her burst into a five-alarm fire. He kissed like no man she’d ever known. The slide of his tongue was ten times more intoxicating than the champagne she’d been drinking—in and out, in and out. A needy sound resonated from her throat.
Reid Singleton was even more delicious than she’d imagined. And, oh, had she imagined. In the darkest corner of her bedroom with a flashlight and her journal. A shoebox in her closet held some truly horrible poetry. She’d imagined him saying her name in his proper accent—not in polite greeting, but with passion.
She might never know what it was like to hear him say her name in that way, but at least she knew how he tasted. Like smoky scotch and sexy male. Every part of her from her peaking nipples to her overheating thighs wanted to climb onto his lap and satisfy the insistent throbbing between her legs.
His kiss was both thorough but careful, his skill and his tongue almost too much to bear. Here was a man who knew how to please a woman, and Drew was a woman who needed pleasing. Badly. Not just sex for sex’s sake, but sex with Reid. Sex with the man who’d noticed her from across the room, who had always been polite and friendly to her and her family. The man who, if she told him who she was, would end this fantasy in an instant because he would never take advantage of his best friend’s little sister.
She wanted to hover in the in-between forever. Where they knew each other physically, where the past had no weight on the present.
She palmed his chest, and even over a shirt, he felt better than he had in her fantasies. Hard and firm, and real. So real. Greedily, she ran her fingers to the open placket of his shirt and touched the bare skin of his neck. That’s when he broke their connection.
Blinking like he was having an epiphany, he took her hand from his chest and held it, her fingers gripped lightly in his. She watched in horror as he studied her, his eyebrows drawn. She waited for recognition to hit, her own fear and worry a toxic mix. He’d recognize her, reject her—and possibly apologize for kissing her back, which would be worse than the other two combined.
Turned out he did that first.
“Apologies for that,” he said, his accent thick, his voice tight with what she hoped was lust and not disappointment.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who kissed you.” She licked her lips, needing another drink of her champagne like her next breath. She reached for the flute, but he beat her to it, handing over her glass. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
A deep chuckle brought her eyes to his, and she held his gaze and silently asked the question she wouldn’t dare ask aloud. Did you figure out who I am yet?
“All seven minutes you’ve known me, Christina?” His lips twisted temptingly. If that didn’t answer her question soundly, nothing would. He still had no idea who she was.
She polished off the remainder of her bubbly. Disappointment had no place in the moments following kissing him, but it was there anyway, making her chest tight and causing her to feel something else. Sad, if she wasn’t mistaken.
Beggars can’t be choosers, Drew. You wanted to kiss him, and this was your only opportunity. Did you expect more?
More.
She blinked, the rogue thought so far from her good-girl tendencies she instinctively wanted to shut it out. Reid’s throat moved as he swallowed a sip of scotch. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and she chased the line of his neck to the scant bit of chest hair visible where his shirt gaped open—just below where she’d touched him seconds ago.
Lie or confess?
“I’m an impatient woman. That’s why I kissed you.” Lie, it was.
She wanted more. She wanted to run her tongue along his neck and kiss his bare chest. She wanted to kiss the firm, flat plane of his belly and trace that trail of hair down to the promised land. She wanted his mouth on hers, and lower. On her breasts and body, between her legs where she knew he’d be incredibly attentive and pleasing.
Although, if she walked out of this party without him—without telling him who she was—she’d be off the hook completely. She didn’t hang around online and chat with old friends or new. She wouldn’t cross Reid’s path again unless Gage invited them to the same party—oh, shit.
Her brother’s wedding!
Reid would see Drew at the wedding because he’d be there, obviously. Hell, he’d probably be the best man. He’d recognize her then, now wouldn’t he?
That narrowed her options to an unfortunate one: confessing her real identity.
Reid tucked her hair behind her ear, then rested his arm over the back of the sofa. Leaning close, he watched her carefully. “I like impatience in a woman. And not to sound like a complete nutter, but I feel as if that kiss was inevitable. That even if you’d have waited seven more minutes, and seven more after that, it would’ve happened eventually.”
Or maybe if I’d waited nine years. Ha ha ha...sigh.
He traced his finger along her jaw, his eyes following the path. Her heart rate was erratic. Could he see her pulse point thundering at the side of her neck? Then another, more devious, thought occurred. If she didn’t tell him the truth just yet, how far could she take this night of fantasy? He’d forgive her. He’d have to. Gage and Reid weren’t going to stop being friends because Drew told a white lie. Although one had to wonder if her own identity would be considered a “white” lie. Maybe off-white. Light gray...
“Like fate?” she whispered as he traced the scoop neckline of her shirt. This felt like fate to her.
“Bold word, but why not?” He continued
