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He slides a hand to his waist, moving his suit coat back to reveal a trim physique. Yes. Something naughty might be just what I need to get the funk of Paris off me. It is a wedding, after all. Isn’t everyone supposed to hook up?

“I have a better idea,” I say, waving to the bartender again. “We’ll take the bottle.”

The well-tipped server is happy to oblige, and I grab it, two glasses, and my black clutch. “This way, lawyer.”

A small billiards room is off the main ballroom, and it’s completely empty. The reception party is focused on the room where the food, drinks, and band are located. Striding into the cozy, dim-lit space, I place the full bottle of vodka and two slim glasses on a tall table with two bar stools.

“Do you play?” he asks, stepping over and sliding the cue ball across red felt.

“Not billiards.” Cracking open the bottle, I pour two glasses mid-way. “You’re up.”

Stepping to the counter, he lifts one. “Skal.” With a clink, he slams the entire contents back.

“Swedish?” My eyes only pinch a little as I do the same.

“No, I only figured if we’re shooting vodka, we should keep it real.”

I’m pouring another drink feeling looser than ever. “So if you’re not Swedish,” I glance up and give him a playful wink, “Where is home? Here in Wilmington?”

“Chicago.” He takes the glass, openly letting his eyes run all over my body. A warm tingle follows his inspection.

“I don’t believe it,” I say, sliding the fur off my shoulders to give him a better look.

“Why?” He moves a bit closer. “Too conventional?”

“Chicago is where I live now.”

“Now?”

“I spent the last year in Paris.”

His eyebrows rise. “The City of Love?”

“I prefer City of Lights.”

“Right.” He’s even closer. Close enough that I can smell the fresh linen scent of his cologne. “You don’t do love.”

“I do other things.” It came out as more of a purr than I’d intended, but I’ll go with it. I feel good, and I want to bury my face in his delicious scent while I tangle my fingers in those caramel-brown waves.

A pause. Our eyes hold each other’s a moment. “What’s your name?” I ask.

“Marcus.” I like it. Marcus the lawyer. “What’s yours?”

“Amy.”

“Pretty.” Unexpected warmth simmers in my stomach. “What’s your game, Amy?”

The sound of his voice saying my name is a delicious vibration under my skin. What’s my game? It could mean anything, but I go with the less provocative interpretation.

“International trade and finance.” I push my lips out just a bit over the S sound, allowing my eyes to stay on his mouth. It’s a nice mouth, and I love the feel of scruff against my bare skin. “I’ll probably focus on PR now that I’m home.”

He’s not backing down, and a shimmer of excitement moves through my stomach. “Are you experienced at PR?”

“Why don’t you find out?” My voice has gone a little lower. It’s enough for him.

Another step forward, and our bodies are touching now. He’s warm, and that crisp linen fills my senses. Large hands slide up my hips, and I close my eyes, dropping my head back for him to kiss me.

He trails his lips lightly up my skin, more taking in my scent than tasting me. It makes me wet. When he reaches my jaw, he pulls a little nibble in his teeth, and a noise comes from my throat.