Free Their Wicked Wedding by Ember Casey

words.
    “A work errand?” she says, obviously trying to fill in the gaps. Her voice is even, but I can see the struggle in her eyes. She’s trying to be patient with me, trying to give me the chance to explain myself. But I know her too well. Her eyebrows are just a touch too close together. She’s restraining her temper, and though I know I should be ashamed of myself, there’s something incredibly sexy about that spark in her eyes.
    “I’m here now,” I say, moving closer to her. “And I don’t want to think about work anymore.”
    She raises an eyebrow when she catches the suggestion in my voice. “If you think you can just slink in here and—”
    I grab her by the hips and pull her toward me. It wasn’t my intention to be so forward, not without explaining myself first. But now that she’s here in front of me, I want to forget about everything else. I always seem to forget how much she affects me, but after spending a day locked in my own head, the feeling is overwhelming.
    I hold her body against mine, and before she can protest, I kiss her. She sucks in a little breath, and I can’t tell whether she’s surprised or whether she’s about to argue with me, but she doesn’t try to pull away. I deepen the kiss, devouring her, enjoying the velvet softness of her lips. There’s a hint of something sweet on her mouth—the last remnants of some dinner wine, maybe. I slide my tongue along her lips, trying to catch every last bit of the sweetness, and she sighs. Her body relaxes in my arms, and she begins to melt against me.
    And then suddenly she jerks away, pushing back from my chest.
    “That’s not how this works,” she says. There’s no denying that she enjoyed our kiss—her cheeks are flushed, and her breasts rise and fall with quick, shallow breaths—but all it takes is one look at her eyes to know she won’t let me get away with that again. Which is a shame, because even that brief meeting of lips has left me burning for more. And—though I’d never admit it to her—I can’t help but see that irritated look in her eyes as a challenge.
    But I also know when to tread carefully. I wait for her to speak.
    “What’s going on here, Calder?” she says.
    How should I respond to that? Confess that I’m slowly going mad? That some stranger has appeared out of the blue to claim that he’s my father’s son, and the very possibility threatens to push me over the edge? In the past year, I’ve done everything in my power to find that sense of family again—but now that someone else is asking for that connection, I find myself rejecting the claim down to my very core. I don’t know how to explain it. I hardly understand it myself. And this is not the sort of burden I want to place on Lily right before our wedding.
    Carefully, I cup her face between my hands. She looks up at me with those big, beautiful eyes of hers—eyes that even now send a bolt of desire straight to my groin—and in their depths, beneath that flicker of annoyance, I see what I feared to find in her. Worry. Concern. Doubt. I know those emotions come from a place of love, but they’re also exactly why I don’t want to share these things with her. I don’t want her to worry about anything this week. I want her to know only joy and hope and excitement. She deserves that much.
    And I make my decision.
    “I know I’ve been a little strange these past few days,” I say. “And I’m sorry. But I promise you, I’m done being distracted.” And I mean it. How can I not, with that lovely face looking up at me? When I’m here with her, it’s so easy to disregard everything else.
    She shakes her head slightly. “But—”
    “No buts ,” I insist. “I’m done. For the rest of the week, it’s you and me. No work. No distractions.” No more investigations. I’m not even going to spare a thought for Taran Harker.
    She doesn’t look convinced.
    “Lily,” I say gently. “I know I’m doing a poor job of this. And I deserve