“If Delores comes in this room, she’s going to get an eyeful.” I chuckle. Kate tilts her head with a sigh, giving me more room to taste, even while she argues, “And when Dee finds out you’re here?” I kiss and suck the sensitive skin above her collarbone. I counter her dodge with a move towards her neck. I lean in to kiss her lips, but she leans back. “Because everything is always about you, right?”

Delores just made up this shit up to make me miserable.” And that’s not even accurate-the actual rule is the groom isn’t allowed to see the bride before the ceremony. I stand up and pull Kate flush against me, because seeing her, smelling her vanilla- and lavender-scented skin, makes touching her a must. Kate smiles forgivingly, but reminds me, “The guys aren’t supposed to see the girls before the reception. Ask any recovering drug addict which night of detox was the worst? When they were hungriest for a fix? The initial hours of withdrawal are always the hardest. Now, you might think that one night shouldn’t be that big a deal-but you’re wrong. Last night was the first night we’ve spent apart since Kate moved in with me. I scowl at the mention of Kate’s psychotic best friend, whose mission in life is to interfere with mine. “If Dee sees you, she’s going to freak out.” “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here.”

She’s wearing a short, red silk robe that leaves little to the imagination-which is exactly why I bought it for her. Her hair is twisted up in a high knot, while delicate, curling strands brush against her damp neck. She holds a champagne glass filled with bubbly, orange liquid. And like a dog who hasn’t seen his master all day, my lonely cock lifts its head at the sight of her. You have no idea what’s going on right now, do you? Well, hang on you’ll figure it out shortly.īecause the bathroom door opens, and Kate steps into the bedroom. A lust-filled, haven’t-seen-her-in-twenty-four-hours-and-I-can’t-wait-to-get-inside-her kind of surprise. She’s behind the closed bathroom door, probably taking a bath. I shift in the chair, trying to get comfortable, but the seat was obviously made to be “looked at” not “sat in.” I give up on the magazine and wait. It looks like it was designed by a deranged Mistress Mary, quite contrary-obsessed grandmother. I don’t care how “flawless” looking the makeup claims to be if you don’t already look like a Victoria’s Secret model, no cover-up in the world is gonna make you look like one.Īnother thing I don’t get-everyone always raves about The Plaza, but the room is wall to wall florals-the bedding, the upholstery, the framed pictures. I SIT IN A HIGH-BACKED CHAIR in the corner of the bedroom in a suite at The Plaza hotel, flipping through the advertisement-packed pages of Bride Magazine. To my readers-because you love these characters as much as I do.

Holy frigging matrimony