Page 18 of I Almost Do

I gasp in laughing outrage. And James—growly, grumpy James—grins. “Too far?"

So I bite him.

I don’t do ithard—I’m not a monster—but I lean right up and close my teeth gently on his full bottom lip. Then I give a little tug, just enough to make his lip look swollen and loved on.

He goes perfectly still as I press the entire front of my body against his for those three seconds. Then I ease back.

He looks shocked, but I know I didn’t hurt him.

I’m a little stunned myself, partially at my own audacity and partially from the sheer physical intensity of it. I’ve never done something like that in my life.

He blinks, swallows, and takes a step back. Then he runs a hand through his hair, honestly probably more from habit than remembering how I mussed him up. I’m a little disappointed that he manages to smooth most of it back into shape in one move. I thought I’d been more thorough than that.

Curse his perfect hair.

“I think that’s probably enough,” he says.

“Should I fix my hair a little?”

“No. It just looks like it’s down out of the—” He waves a hand at my head. “—whatever that is. You have the most gorgeous hair I’ve ever seen. I don’t think it could look bad if you tried.”

It’s clear that, as far as he’s concerned, he's just stating a fact. And it makes me warm all over, like I just swallowed sunshine.

“So,” I say. “We just go out there and…?”

“Sell it.”

And James takes my hand.

7

Kiss Me

James

My bride is trashed. I didn't see it happen, but I'm blaming it on the feisty one, Bronwyn, as being her supplier.

We're riding up the gleaming elevator to the honeymoon suite. One of Clarissa's security detail, a blonde named Beth, stands in the corner, pretending she isn't there. And Clarissa serenades her own reflection in the polished steel walls.

She's singing something about buying herself flowers and holding her own hand.

I keep an arm around her waist because she's not that steady on her feet.

And, yeah, if I’d realized Clarissa and her bridesmaids were going to be sneaking alcohol, I’d have been an ass about it. I don’t have a choice. It’s about PR.

But they were sly. By the time I noticed what they’d done, the party was nearly over.

Bronwyn’s toast was ridiculous. The guests knew she was kidding about some of it, of course. She’s a natural comedian.

But most of them bought the spirit of it, which is that Clarissa and I are not just in love with one another—we’resoul mates.

The alcohol the guests were imbibing probably helped in their suspension of disbelief.

According to Bronwyn, I’m such a lovesick sap that I drive halfway across the city just to bring Clarissa a cup of her favorite coffee every morning. (To be fair, I actually would do that for her if she wanted me to. I really don't see why that one was such a big deal that it got a round of “aaahs” from the assembled guests).

Apparently, I also made her a layer cake from scratch for her birthday, which tasted worse than it looked.

In reality, I’ve never baked a cake in my life. I’ll be buying Clarissa’s birthday cakes from the best bakery in the city. Hell, I’ll take her to Paris, if she wants me to. Why would I give her my shitty subpar efforts if I can pay someone to do it better?

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