I laugh, and she bites her cheek, not wanting to let on. This girl. She crouches down, and after a few moments, she stands back up again. She’s a lot shorter than what I’m used to. I’m well over six feet, and she looks about five foot three. Surprisingly, I like it.

We walk away from the twinkling Christmas lights outlining the wedding area.

Her bare feet, softly arched, slowly pad forward. “If I get something stuck in my foot, you’d better be ready to remove it.”

“No worries. I’ve got a whole kit in my truck.”

“Boy Scout.”

“You know it.”

I take the shoes from her hands before sparing a glance at the newly married couple, who are so up in each other’s love that they can barely see straight. The music is fast, but Vincent and Eve are at their own leisurely pace.

Walking toward my truck, I smell vanilla and citrus. It’s her. I want this woman. And it’s not just because she’s gorgeous. She actually makes me laugh, which is rare. Smarter than she seems, too. She plays it off to be all simple and sweet, but if there’s something I’ve learned tonight, it’s that there’s more than meets the eye. The fact that she’s here for a limited time doesn’t hurt either. We can have a great time, and then she’ll head on home to LA. No stress.

I turn to her as she breathes in the fresh air around us. It’s so dark.

“This is it,” I tell her as my red truck comes into view.

She leans against the side, looking sexy as hell. I just spent the last hour trying to make the girl smile, and now, with the way she’s staring at me, I feel like yelling, Hooyah! I love completing a good challenge, and the finish line is so close; I can taste it.

“So, is this where you wanted me?” Her tongue teases through parted glossy lips.

Before she can open up that pretty mouth of hers again, I lift her round ass into my hands and place her on the car’s bed. Her legs spread apart, making room for me. My lips press against hers, and she immediately grabs my back, moaning. Fuck, she tastes so good. Like wine and berries.

I start pulling on the straps of her dress, wanting it off, as I move my mouth to the side of her neck.

“Wait, wait. My dress. The buttons—”

I’m panting. “Huh?” My dick strains against my jeans.

“Don’t rip it. It’s Mendel.”

I remove my mouth from her collarbone. “Mend-who?”

“Like, a serious designer.”

I curse. “Turn around. Let me take the thing off.”

“You can’t do it in the dark, Slade.” Again, that annoyed voice.

Why it turns me on, I don’t have a clue. The girls I grew up with are down-home and relaxed. Not snooty upper class. I have no idea how a woman like her operates, but right now, I’ll do basically anything to make us happen. My dick and I, we’re in agreement. We want this girl.