If my embarrassment over the fact that my best friend listening in wasn’t enough, the fact that I wasn't really wearing any panties probably should have been my next clue.
"Well, Mr. Hale, while this has been quite interesting, I’m afraid I have to leave right about now. I have more important things to get to."
As I turned, he gently reached for my elbow and flipped me back. "Oh, not so fast. I did ask you on a date. And from the look in your eyes and the way you licked your lips when you looked at me, I know you want to say yes. But I really rather prefer to hear the words."
Words. He wanted words. Which words?
See, that was the problem with men as good-looking as him. They made you lose your train of thought. I focused on the only thing that I could manage, my shawl in his hands. I reached out and took it back, wanting to wrap it around my shoulders again. "I'll take that."
He lifted a brow. "Is that a no?"
"Why are you asking me, Mr. Hale? Clearly, I am not the kind of woman you’d normally ask out on a date, so I guess I'm just curious. What is it you want from me?"
He moved then. Closing the space between us, blocking out the passersby in the quiet hallway of the venue.
"What do I want? With you, I'm not quite sure yet." He leaned forward ever so slightly. Then he breathed deep.
I blinked rapidly. "What?"
"Your scent, it intoxicates me. There's a light floral in it. But mostly you smell like honeysuckle in the summer breeze. What is that perfume?"
I swallowed hard. For the last five years, I'd been using the same perfume every day. It was the slightest hint, and he'd gotten it right. Honeysuckle. God, what was wrong with me?
Step away from that beautiful man. It's safer that way. Amelia is listening.
I told myself I was going to step back out of his gentle grasp. I was going to walk away because this was a dangerous game, and I was not supposed to be there. But still, there I was, taunting, waving the red cape in front of the bull, trying to get answers, unable to make sense of anything. This was probably what my father was talking about. My impulsivity. I didn't always think these things through.
But how was I supposed to know what to expect from East fucking Hale? Or Bridge Edgerton? They were the kind of men that could melt your panties from their sheer hotness. And while Bridge Edgerton was the kind of broody, dark, good-looking, sexy man, there was something about the way East smiled. That fucking dimple. No man should have dimples. Honestly. They should be reserved for children and women because men would use them for evil. Like what he was doing right now.
"Miss Kincade, if you tell me you don't want to go to the wedding with me, I am more than happy to let you go. I don't pursue women who aren't interested. But I keep waiting for an answer, and you keep not giving me one."
Answer. He wants an answer. Right. To the question. Just tell him now.
I tilted my chin. "Now, you and I both know you don't really want to take me to a wedding."
"Your answer isn't telling me what I want. I feel like I need to lay it out because clearly, you’re having a little brain glitch in that pretty little head of yours."
Oh, son of a bitch. He turned that grin on full blast, and there were two goddamn dimples.
Knickers down! Knickers down!
You're not wearing any.
No. No, I wasn't. That warm pulsing rush between my thighs was going to make them sticky. I shifted on my feet, pressing my thighs together in the hopes that despite the tightness of my dress, he was not going to notice any embarrassing spots.
Jesus Christ, next time wear fucking panties.
"Go on, say no. I'll walk away. Just say the words, Nyla."
I wished to God he would stop saying my name that way. Like we were in bed and it was a hushed whisper that was half-reverence, half-curse.
"I—"
I couldn't finish what I was saying because he leaned ever so closely and then tucked his body against mine, and I felt the full press of his muscles through that outstanding suit. "Say the words, Nyla. Say, 'No, East. I don't want to go. I don't want to attend the wedding with you.’”
"You recognize I'm an Interpol agent who plans on bringing you down?"
His grin was slow. Sexy. Determined. "And what will you do when there’s nothing to find? Will you regret wasting time we could have been shagging?"
"Honestly, I—"
And then his lips pressed to mine, and his tongue swooped in, licked into my mouth, and God help me, I moaned.
The sound was low. Throaty. Desperate.
Oh hell.
He kissed like he moved. With a command and a distinct lack of patience. But there was also a surprise in his kiss. A gentleness. A coaxing that was at war with his pure power.
He dipped down further, his big hand slid into my hair and angled my head by sliding his fingers along the base of my neck and into my hair, tugging ever so gently and turning my head as he stroked his sure tongue into my mouth.
I couldn't help it, my hips sought out his with a jerk. The motion made him growl deep and press into me. The sound of his low rumble made my knees week and my skin too hot. Like it was stretched all over my body.
Heat and slick moisture pooled at the juncture of my thighs. The slickness was accompanied by this throbbing ache. Hell, I was quite certain there was a wet spot on my dress.
With one kiss, a stroke of his tongue, the press of his body and a gentle rocking of
