Page 23 of Baby for My Best Friend's Brother

I want him again. Last night and the night before were something else. But we didn’t go far enough.

I know he was being a gentleman by not taking me too far.

But tonight? Tonight, I want to keep my wits about me. Because I don’t want him to be a gentleman.

I want him to claim me. Completely.

I bite on his lower lip, and he groans into my mouth. He grinds against me. My hips move in response, instinctive and greedy. I’m seconds from asking him to find a broom closet or linen tent when the speakers crackle.

“Would the brother of the bride please report to the head table? It’s time to begin our toasts.”

We break apart, chests heaving. As if that’s even possible—I’ve been breathless since the moment our paths crossed at the airport.

“Fuck.” Cliff rests his forehead against mine, then lowers his arms to wrap around my waist.

The DJ repeats the call, louder this time. Cliff raises his head, his dark eyes lock on mine.

“I better go make my toast.” He rubs his lips together like he’s still savoring the taste of me. “You’ll still save a dance for me?”

“Sure.” My voice is barely a whisper. Does he even have to ask?

“Which one?”

He brushes his lips against mine, and my body shivers.

“Would I be greedy if I said I wanted all of them?” He kisses my cheek and lowers his voice. “Especially the ones back in your room?”

My heart skips a beat.

It would be too easy to fall in love with this man.

It’s a good thing I’m leaving soon. Otherwise, I’d be starting out my pregnancy with a broken heart when things inevitably end.

But I have him now.

I might as well enjoy this for as long as I can.

I give him a light squeeze and step back. “They’re all yours.”

As he starts to turn away, he pauses. “Wait. Before I go…”

He gestures to the photographer, who’s herding the wedding party together for post-ceremony shots. “Would you mind taking a photo with me? Just us?”

Just us.

Something about those two words hits different. It’s not just a snapshot he wants.

It’s a moment.

It’s something to keep.

“Okay,” I say, a little breathless.

We step into the frame together. His arm curls around my waist. Mine loops up to rest lightly against his chest.

“Closer,” the photographer says.

We already are.

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