At least I wasn’t bleeding.
“Omigosh,” Amanda said, and grabbed a bunch of napkins from the bar to help me. “Um… I think you’re supposed to finish drinking the wine before you break the glass.” She smiled at me, then got the bartender to whisk the broken glass away and hand me a fresh one.
While I just stood there.
Staring across the room.
Because Jessa Mayes had just walked in wearing a dress that couldn’t possibly be legal on that body.
Not that there was anything scandalous about the dress on its own. It was fitted to her goddess-like curves, but it was longish, ending just below the knee, the neckline dipping no lower than her collarbone, with half-sleeves. It wasn’t exactly an upstaging-the-bride sort of dress. It wasn’t white, slutty, or showing miles of leg—and Jessa Mayes had miles and miles of leg under that thing.
It was just what it did to my brain when I saw her in it.
It was made of what looked like thick, bunched-up silk. Not quite peach, not quite pink… salmon? Iced-rose-cantaloupe-sorbet? I had no idea what the fuck a chick would call it, but it was motherfucking hot.
Along with her silky, slightly wavy hair that reached pretty much exactly to her nipples, worn smooth, the ends curled under and one side tucked behind a perfect ear, she looked like a screen siren out of some old black-and-white movie—but in vivid flesh tones, like some technicolor wet dream.
Hard to tell when I’d picked her up at the airport in that furry jacket, but now I could see how she’d changed since she went away—in all ways holy and good. As a little girl she was cute, a little dorky, scrappy, with her mane of wild brown hair and those big brown eyes. As a teenager, she got lithe and limber, swanned right out into an angel-faced beauty.
As a woman…
I’d seen photos of her these last six-and-a-half years. Professional photos from high-end shoots for major fashion brands. It was pathetic how often I’d searched her on the web, found new shots of her from some swimsuit shoot or lingerie campaign I hadn’t yet seen, and saved them.
None of those photos came close to capturing what I was looking at right now.
Jessa’s eyes found mine across the room… and that wide-eyed look of hers went straight to my dick.
Christ.
She turned away, hastily. Then she bent down to give Dolly a hug, giving me a first-rate view of her perfect, heart-shaped ass, and I just about broke another wine glass.
It was fucking official. The woman was trying to kill me.
Wasn’t enough that I was dead to her; she was actually trying to end me.
As I watched her across the room the most fucked up thing was, after being that close to her again—close enough to breathe the same air, close enough to smell her, close enough to glimpse all those colors in her eyes—I’d probably let her.
I put the wine glass down on the bar and stared at my hand wrapped around it, afraid if I let go the whole thing would fall apart. Stared kind of blankly at the tattoo on the inside of my forearm, a single line of runes that read abstinence. A tattoo that only I, or someone who happened to know how to read ancient Germanic runic writing, would understand. And for the life of me I couldn’t remember what it was supposed to mean or why the fuck I had it permanently inked into my arm, other than the fact that it had nothing to do with abstaining from alcohol or any other such substance—and a lot more to do with the goddess across the room in the silk-sorbet dress.
I let go of the wine glass and ordered up a beer from the bartender. Why the fuck was I drinking wine anyway? I didn’t even like wine.
Amanda. Amanda liked wine.
My gaze fell to her. She was standing next to me, sipping her wine and watching me over the rim of her glass. It really wouldn’t take a genius to match my line of sight to Jessa Mayes’ ass and Amanda was far from stupid, so I wasn’t even gonna pretend that wasn’t where I was staring for the last half minute.
“That’s Jesse’s sister, right?” she asked lightly, like what I’d been staring at didn’t bother her at all. But yeah, it did.
Because perfect, heart-shaped ass.
“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep my tone business-neutral. Like, Yeah, that’s the sister of one my best friends, and isn’t that nice she made it to the wedding? I haven’t seen her, or even thought about her, in six-and-a-half years. Have you tried the crab cakes yet?
No idea if Amanda knew me well enough yet to see through that shit. But she smiled softly and the uneasy, suddenly self-conscious look in her eyes made me feel like that much more of an ass. “Maybe you could introduce us?”
Yeah. I’d get right on that.
“Have you tried the crab cakes yet?” I asked her. “I’ll get you some.”
Then I took my beer and got the fuck out of there.
Get Dirty Like Brody
Sneak Peek: A Dirty Wedding Night
A Dirty Wedding Night (Dirty #2.5)
It wouldn’t be a rock star wedding without a whole lot of sex…
It’s been one hell of a night at Cathedral Cove Resort. Love and lust are in the air, and rock star Jesse Mayes is just about to drag his bride, Katie, back to their luxurious cabin to celebrate in private.
But the newlyweds aren’t the only ones in the mood…
After all, sexy “wild card” Roni just disappeared into the dark with two hot, naked rock stars.
And Dirty's lead singer, Zane, just took off—also naked—into the woods, with the band's assistant manager, Maggie.
And what ever happened to that tall, dark and mysterious best man, Jude?
And where the heck is the groom’s poor ex-girlfriend and
