Page 5 of In It to Win It

“Raspberries are my favorite fruit,” Taylor says.

With my fork, I lift the berries garnishing my plate and transfer them to hers.

She shoots me a startled glance.

I smile. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you.” She gives her head a small shake and pushes the tines of her fork into one berry.

With dinner finished, Théo and Lacey stand at one end of the room to say a few words, thanking all of us, and then presenting their wedding party—me, Taylor, Karine, Everly, Andy, and Leo—with our gifts: gold bracelets for the bridesmaids and for the guys, a wooden box with whisky stones and a shot glass, and a bottle of Crown Royal.

“This is awesome,” I say to Théo. “Thanks, bro.”

Some people are moving out to the hotel bar for another drink and since Taylor is one of them, I join them too. We’re at a smaller table with a little more privacy. She orders a glass of sauvignon blanc and I go for a beer this time.

“I can’t stay too late,” she says. “Don’t want to be posing for pictures tomorrow with big bags under my eyes.”

I scoff. “You could never look bad.” She really is one of those natural beauties, with high cheekbones, perfect skin, and full lips.

“And you’re full of it.” She smiles, though.

Damn, that smile. It makes me hard. “Now you can tell me what kind of porn you like to watch.”

“Did I say I like to watch porn?”

I catch the teasing twinkle in her eye and grin. I pick up my drink.

“Okay, okay,” she says. “Porn is fun sometimes. I’m kind of an ‘everything in moderation’ person. I don’t like stuff that’s demeaning to women, though. I like romantic porn. But I don’t think it’s good for anyone to watch too much of it. Real-life sex is better.”

“Oh, hell yeah.” I hold her gaze meaningfully. Heat slides through my veins, my dick thickening with arousal. “I bet real-life sex with you is amazing.”

“That’s . . .” Her eyelashes flutter, but she’s looking at my mouth. “Inappropriate.”

“I often am,” I admit. “But I’m not taking it back.”

I want to kiss her so damn bad. I’ve always had a little problem with impulse control, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from leaning in even closer and kissing her. But there are others around us, friends and family, so I restrain myself, giving myself a mental pat on the back.

“Have you ever made a sex tape?” I ask.

Her eyes widen. “Uh . . . that’s not really smart.”

“Sadly, that’s true. You have to trust the person you’re with.”

“Not only that! What about that actress who had her sex tapes stolen from the cloud? Hackers can get into anything.”

“Right.”

“And maybe you trust the person at the time, but then you discover he’s a pill-popping addict with a gambling problem who hits on your friends, and you dump his ass, and next thing you know he’s sending the video to all his buddies on Snapchat.”

“Whoa.” I frown. “You’re not speaking from experience, I hope.”

She winces. “Maybe.”

Ugh. What kind of doucheholes has she been dating? “I would never do that.”

“So you say.”

“You don’t trust me?”

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