Page 39 of Best Man Speaking

He pauses, his hand holding open the heavy fabric of his fitting room curtain. A grin slowly unfurls, lighting up his face. “Hallie, were you talking about me this whole time?”

“Not by choice,” I reply a little too eagerly.

His grin remains steadily in place. “Uh-huh. And just what did Andrea force you to listen to?” Skepticism coats his voice.

“That apparently you’re good for something other than your mouth.” I shake my head to dispel my thoughts and slip behind the heavy velvet curtain of my own fitting room.

His bark of laughter is only slightly muffled as the curtain closes behind me.

I’m reaching behind my back for the delicate zipper when the curtain lifts and Marcus slips inside. “You don’t have to believe her, you know. It’s probably better if you don’t.”

His presence in my space is all-encompassing and, therefore, infuriating.

“You still don’t knock?” In the mirror, I raise my brows in his direction and then turn to face him.

Our little intense moment out there aside, he’s yet to apologize for being an ass the other day.

“Do you see a door?” Marcus gestures at the curtain.

“There are other ways to ask for consent.” My smile is sharp and all teeth. The push of effort and ease between us pushes me off-balance.

Marcus senses the challenge and steps closer. “Uh-huh, ongoing, enthusiastic, and increasingly filthy dirty talk is personally my favorite form. Shall we start now?”

I raise both my hands, palms forward. “Don’t you touch this dress. I won’t be sorry for the pins poking you, only for the blood that’ll damage such a beautiful thing.”

He steps forward again until my palms are flush against the fabric of his shirt. “Then take it off.”

I refuse to drop my hands, though my chest rises and falls rapidly. “That would be a terrible idea. Also, it’s not allowed as per Julian’s truce.”

“Then ask me to leave.”

I can’t speak, though I could easily push him away, giving a physical response to his verbal request.

But I won’t ask him to leave, just like he’s never asked me to stay.

“Turn around,” he directs, voice soft but firm.

I do as he asks, spinning slowly back toward the mirror. “Tell me again how you don’t want to get blood on the dress?”

I repeat the words back to him, aware of where he’s leading us. “I don’t want to get blood on the dress.”

From the base of the spaghetti straps at the top of my breasts, his fingertips trace a line of wildfire over my shoulders to the zipper at my back. “Don’t you think it’s much safer if we take it off?” His voice is low and just for me.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say yes, to let the word simply fall from my lips, but I’m hesitant, and he sees it.

Because with me, he sees everything I’d rather he didn’t.

Marcus holds my gaze in our reflection, and leaning in close, he whispers, “I was wrong, Hallie, and I’m sorry. It’s not your silence I want. It’s your words. Will you give them to me? Will you let me give you this?”

The urge to let my eyes drop away from his is tempting, but it’s different than the other night, and I let myself find power in it. In the fact that I want this. That it never had to be forever—a hookup is just fine.

I keep my eyes connected with his as I lift my hands behind me and begin to unzip my dress.

I reply, “Yes.”

Marcus stays close as I lower the zipper down my back. The material slips from my shoulders and slithers down my chest. Catching me by surprise, he kneels at my side, gently removing my hands and replacing them with his own, easing the fall of the silk down my legs. Lungs burning, I await the brush of his fingers against my skin, but the touch doesn’t come.

Silently holding the dress for me to step out of, I give in to my own need, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady myself. The simple contact hits me like an exhale, releasing the tension from my body. With uncanny timing, Marcus looks up, and the sight of him on his knees with my hand on him has lust curling low.

---