“First of the Prime East competitions.”
“Cool,” I nod, and the heat of a body warms my back.
“Have you made a friend?” Spencer sounds annoyed, and I decide to forego the third appetizer.
“Mm.” I swallow quickly motioning between the two. “Max, this is Spencer. Spencer, Max. We used to work together.” I give Max’s arm a squeeze. “Good luck.”
Spencer’s brow is arched as we stroll towards the dance floor. “Where did you work together?”
“I was a cater-waiter in college. I actually hired these guys for the reception.”
“You’re a Jill of all trades.”
“Master of none,” I mutter, as he takes my hand.
“Let’s dance.”
“You’re not here with anyone?”
“I would never take a date to a wedding.” He acts as if it’s so obvious.
“And why not?” My tone is defiant, and he pauses, studying me with a grin, like I’m one of those rare finds he and Daisy like to talk about. It tingles low in my stomach.
“I have my reasons.”
I allow him to lead me onto the dance floor. A slow Olivia Newton-John song I don’t recognize is playing, and the crowd has cleared after a boisterous round of Sir Mix-A-Lot’s “Baby Got Back.”
Spencer slides his hand to the middle of my waist, and our hands clasp. I lean closer, placing my eye at the level of his lips. He must be six-two, and I kind of love that he’s taller than me. I’m five-eleven, which means I’ve always been the same height or taller than my dates. I haven’t worn heels in years.
I close my eyes, listening to the song lyrics as I inhale his luscious scent. Fuck you, Elliot drifts through my mind.
“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way…” His mouth is at my temple.
“You secretly hate flowers?”
A chuckle rumbles from his throat. “You have the perfect body for that dress.”
My insides shimmer, and again, I’m at a loss. “You don’t think I need to lose a few pounds?” Elliot’s always commenting on portion size.
“Don’t you dare. You’re a perfect hourglass, a vintage beauty.” He steps back, and gives me an appreciative glance. “I’m sure that’s why Daisy picked it for you. She has a great eye.”
“Right.” We sway side to side, and I’m quiet.
“I’m sorry if I offended you.”
“No. You didn’t.” I lean back, squinting an eye as I study his perfectly straight nose and wicked gaze. He’s more like a model or an actor than how I’ve always pictured an antiques dealer. “How does a man like you get interested in antiques?”
“A man like me?”
“Yeah. You’re not an old professor in a moth-eaten coat with crumbs in your beard.”
“Thank God.” He exhales a scoff.
“So what’s your story?”
“I was born into it. My father had the largest, best-curated collection of priceless antiques in Newport. Drake Carrollton was the best in the business. A legend.”
“Are you a legend?”
“I’m an asshole.”
His frankness makes me laugh. “I’ve heard that about you. Daisy says you’re Mr. Freeze.”
“I don’t waste time on sentimentality. We deal with junk found in attics or sorted after the death of a relative. Your cousin gets too emotionally involved. It’s a waste of energy.”
“Right.” I move my nose to his shoulder again so he doesn’t see me grinning at his arrogance. “She told me.”
The song ends, and he gives me a little squeeze before releasing me. I miss the warmth of his body, but he slips my hand into the crook of his arm and leads me to the balcony.
Guests shriek and funnel past us as the DJ launches into another banger. Their laughter and the noise of the music fade to a low roar as we step outside.
It’s a warm, breezy night, and the scent of brine and salt air surrounds us.
The lights of the beach houses and mansions lining the shore reflect off the water, and I remember how much I miss this when I’m in Columbia. Maybe Daisy’s right, and I need to ditch the idiot and move home.
“How does a pinup like you get involved in flowers?” Spencer’s deep voice breaks my reverie.
Lowering my chin, I exhale a smile. “Disney?” His brow furrows, and I continue. “I always loved watching those old parades, the Rose Bowl and Mardi Gras. Then my mom took me to Epcot once, and when I saw all the gardens, I realized people actually did this for a living. I couldn’t believe it.”
The slightest grin lifts the corner of his mouth, and my bottom lip slides between my teeth. Spencer Carrollton is not a nice man. He’s an asshole my cousin also playfully refers to as Lucifer, which is a more fitting description from what I can tell at this point.
Naturally, I’m wildly attracted to him.
“Well, I can’t speak to your work as a waitress,” He leans against the balcony railing, crossing his arms. “But your skill as a florist is quite masterful.”
I blink a few times, fighting a grin.
His brows lower, and his frown returns so fast. Mercurial. “What?”
“The way you talk.”
“What about it?”
“Do you always speak like you’re reading from an encyclopedia?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” He straightens as if I’ve offended him.
“Your skill as an artist is quite masterful.” I imitate his voice in an affected, snooty-nasally way.
“I sound nothing like that.”
I can’t resist. “I sound nothing like that.”
“Stop it.”
“Stop it.”
His eyes flash with fire, and I wonder if I make him hostile and horny too. I press my lips together hard, but a laugh snorts through my nose anyway.
Yep, I’m definitely a little drunk.
He places both hands on the balcony rail on either side of me, caging me against his chest. “Don’t mock me, Joselyn.” His nostrils flare and his voice is low with a bit of a snarl.
He might be Lucifer, but I’m a witch. “Or what?”
The salt air stills around us. Everything stills, as if our chemistry has created a bubble just for us. The party noise is gone, and it’s him and me and electricity and this moment. His eyes darken and flicker to my lips as if he’s trying to decide.
I’m not.
I reach out and thread my fingers in the dark waves touching the back of his collar. His hair is soft, but his lips are softer. As soon as I press mine to his, he takes charge, pushing my mouth open and sliding his tongue inside.
My knees melt. One large hand moves to my lower back, palm flat, radiating heat through the thin silk of my dress as he pulls me closer. His other hand grasps my face, two fingers against my cheek, his thumb under my chin, tilting my head so he can kiss me deeper.
The way he kisses me… It’s like being devoured, yet savored. He slides his tongue along mine like he’s tasting delicious fruit. He’s minty and luscious, parting my lips with his and guiding them. My eyes roll back, and my panties drench when I feel his erection against my stomach.
I exhale a moan, one hand still threaded in the back of his hair while the other grips his coat tighter, pulling him closer. Devour me…