LITMIR.BIZ

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a beeline for her knees and threatening to collapse them. Whiskey, thy name is temptation.

      Was she seriously going to do this? Trent Hollings? The bachelor every female at the wedding had been throwing herself at? Of course, he’d been the one to throw himself at her. Literally.

      “Tell me again not to overthink this,” she muttered.

      He turned her around then, his hands unerringly finding every hairpin and tossing them aside. He plunged both hands into her thick, blond hair and pulled the French twist down around her shoulders in lush waves. Her hair was her secret pride, and she was glad he could see it like this. She never wore it down in her daily life. In her career field, she needed people to take her seriously and not treat her like some kind of sex kitten. But tonight, she was okay with that. If Trent Hollings thought she was hot, she was darned well not about to talk him out of it.

      “Mmm. Better,” he murmured. “I’ve been itching to do that all day.”

      “Really?”

      He took her face in his big hands and tilted it up to his. “Really.”

      She tensed as his head lowered toward hers. He paused, his mouth inches from hers, and breathed, “Don’t overthink this.”

      Right. Live in the moment. Go for it. Carpe diem. His lips touched hers and the platitudes fled in the face of this stunningly sexy man kissing her. His mouth was warm and smooth and confident, and in about ten seconds, he’d blasted past all her experience in kissing. His lips parted hers and his tongue tested her teeth. She gasped at the invasion and he took immediate advantage of it to taste her more deeply.

      His arms tightened around her, lifting her against his big, warm body. A hand slid up her back to her head, cradling it in a large palm and drawing her even further into the kiss. And then he was kissing her with his whole body. Whether that was him moving against her or her moving against him she couldn’t tell and didn’t care. Her dress gaped open in the back and his hand burned her bare flesh as it dipped inside the gown. She was shocked when his hand slid down to cup her derriere and … Oh, God, she’d forgotten she was wearing that silly thong Sunny’d talked her into. Something about panty lines ruining the lie of the gown.

      He made a sound of surprised approval.

      “What?” she blurted.

      “I didn’t peg you for a naughty-lingerie kind of girl.”

      Painfully aware of the drawer full of cotton granny panties across the room, she didn’t disabuse him of the notion. For the first time all day, she was grateful for the tiny scrap of spandex and lace nestled a little too intimately in her nether regions. Trent’s finger traced the thin line of the thong downward and she groaned in pleasure and embarrassment.

      “You’re overthinking,” he warned laughingly. “Let go and enjoy yourself.”

      Her knees did buckle then. He caught her up against him with ease and kissed her with gusto until her knees would bear her weight again. “Ahh, you’re going to be a joy to seduce. So artless. So natural. Such a nice young lady.”

      “Is that bad?” she asked, frowning up at two of him swimming in her gaze. She did believe she was officially buzzed.

      “Not at all.” His fingers slipped under the shoulders of the lined gown with its built-in shelf bra. Which meant she wasn’t wearing a blessed thing under the gown. Except that sexy little black thong, of course. He hooked the red silk and slipped it off her shoulders, kissing her skin as it was revealed. The gown whispered down her body to the floor in a bloodred puddle and she shivered. Whether it was the cool air on her skin or Trent’s hot mouth on her skin that caused it, she couldn’t say.

      “You’re magnificent, Chloe. How is it some man hasn’t snatched you up and made you his?”

      She blinked up at Trent as he straightened and shrugged off his tuxedo jacket. Nope, no padding in them there shoulders. His starched, white shirt clung to a physique that could make a girl weep with appreciation. Realizing belatedly that she was all but drooling at him, she answered, enunciating carefully so she wouldn’t slur her words, “I’m too boring. And neat. Men hate neat.”

      Trent laughed as he stripped off his cummerbund and tossed it aside. “That’s not how I hear it. Most men love a woman who’ll pick up after them. When I settle down, I’ll hire a butler to do the job. It’ll save on resentment from the ladies in my life.”

      Ladies. Plural. Of course a man like him had scads of women chasing after him. “I’m just one more in a long string of conquests, aren’t I?” she accused. Who knew whiskey brought out such a brutally honest streak in her?

      He laughed lightly. “Never. You’re one of a kind, Chloe Jordan.”

      At least he knew her full name. The way she heard it, that was an exception for most pick-up artists. For surely, this man was a master of the art. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to care as his hands slid over her ribs and cupped her breasts, lifting them and testing their weight. She wasn’t all that stacked, although she’d always privately thought her breasts were rather nicely shaped. Trent seemed to think so, too, as his mouth captured one pert, rosy peak and sucked gently. Lightning bolts started at his mouth and spread outward through her body.

      “Oh, my,” she sighed. “That’s lovely.”

      A strong arm swept behind her knees and she was tipped on her side all of a sudden as he picked her up and laid her on the bed. The down comforter gave beneath her weight, and the room spun lightly around her. And then Trent was there, stretched out beside her, propped up on one elbow, yanking the knot out of his bow tie with his free hand. Shirt studs went flying as he jerked his shirt free of his trousers and all but tore it off.

      She reached up to help push the shirt off his shoulders and gaped as acres of tanned chest appeared before her eyes. “Yowza,” she breathed.

      He laughed heartily and she glared up at him. “Are you laughing at me?” she demanded.

      “Yes, I am. It has been a while since I’ve gotten that sort of reaction out of a woman from taking off my shirt.”

      “Do you only date blind women?” she retorted.

      He leaned close to kiss her lightly before answering, “No. Jaded ones. Like I said, you’re one of a kind.”

      “Hey. I didn’t fall off the pumpkin truck yesterday, you know. I live in San Francisco and work at a very upscale address. Of course, I’m going to take that company down, but—”

      He stopped her rambling with his mouth against hers. She wasn’t sure how he got his trousers off or how the covers got thrown back, but in a moment, she was lying on her back on Egyptian cotton sheets with a thread count so high they felt like velvet against her skin, and Trent was stretched out in all his naked, unconcerned glory beside her.

      “Please tell me you’re a little bit drunk, too,” she muttered.

      He grinned, flashing that million-dollar smile at her again. “I’m drunk on you, baby.”

      She rolled her eyes and he laughed back at her. He really was incorrigible. But then the smile faded from his eyes, leaving them a dark, smoky gray that pierced through her whiskey-induced fog like high-beam headlights. All of a sudden, heat radiated from him. A promise of sex so steamy it would burn away all the fog and bring the night down around them.

      Her breath caught on a gasp as, without breaking his gaze into her eyes, his hand traveled down the valley between her breasts, across the flat plane of her belly, and hooked inside the thong that was her only remaining defense. His fingers slid across soft flesh that was so sensitive she thought she was going to come apart this very second.

      And then his fingers dipped lower, sliding across strangely swollen flesh that raged with lust in response to his touch. “Whoa!” she exclaimed.

      He froze against her. “What’s wrong?”

      “Nothing’s wrong!”

      “Then

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