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“Yeah,” she chuckles, letting out a relieved sigh. “I see why brides go crazy now. There’s so much planning.”
I don’t know squat about wedding planning. I’ve never been close to it and don’t plan on being any time soon—which is exactly why I needed her in the first place. But I nod, playing along, tugging her arm lightly to make her look up at me.
“If you want to leave, just let me know. We don’t have to stay here all night.”
She tenses, shaking her head quickly. “No, I’m fine. Besides, you need to impress the board.”
“Trust me,” I say, leaning a little closer, inhaling the warm vanilla scent that clings to her. “They’re impressed.”
Her green eyes meet mine, wide and uncertain. For a split second, I think she might say something more, but instead, her gaze flickers to my mouth. My throat tightens. Her plump pink lips part just enough to draw my attention, and in that moment, I forget how to breathe.
Christ. She looks beautiful.
The sharp clinking of champagne glasses breaks the moment, dragging my attention back to the crowd. I glance up and freeze. A group—hell, nearly everyone in the room—is staring at us, glasses raised, and grins plastered on their faces.
“To the happy couple!” Robert’s voice rings out, his glass lifted high. “C’mon, give us a kiss, Blackwood.”
The cheer rises around us, and my shoulders stiffen. I glance at Amara, who’s just as frozen as I am, the faintest crease forming between her brows.
“Kiss! Kiss!” someone calls out, and the room erupts, the chant spreading like wildfire.
I swallow a groan, jaw tightening as I look at Amara again. She glances up at me, her expression flickering with nerves, and I know there’s no way out of this.
I’ve had no issue kissing any of my previous dates in the past, and if I decline this kiss with her right now, it’ll look suspicious as hell, and every eye in here is on us.
I lean down, my hand sliding to her waist. “Relax,” I murmur against her ear, low enough that no one else can hear.
I lift her chin with my thumb and her breath hitches. Her eyes flutter as they meet mine before they close, and I take that as permission, erasing the distance between us to brush my lips against hers.
I think there’s applause and some cheering, but I couldn’t care less, because all I can focus on is the way she tastes. Sweet and warm, and faintly of champagne and despite my better judgement, I tip her head back, deepening the kiss.
She gasps into my mouth, her fingers clutching at my shirt like she’s holding on for dear life. Andfuck, I don’t remember the last time a simple kiss felt like this. Like the ground beneath me was no longer solid, like the world had narrowed down to nothing but her.
My grip on her waist tightens instinctively, my fingers digging into the soft fabric of her dress. I don’t want to pull away. Hell, I don’t think I could even if I tried. All I want is to keep kissing her—forever, if she’d let me.
But just as quickly as it started, it’s over.
Amara pulls back abruptly, her chest rising and falling with a sharp inhale, her lips glistening and just slightly swollen. For a split second, her wide eyes meet mine, and something unspoken passes between us.
The cheering from the crowd finally registers in the background, loud and relentless, but she doesn’t look away. Neither do I.
I’ve kissed plenty of women before. It was always… fine. Routine. Practical. Forgettable. Clinical, even. But this? There was absolutely nothing clinical about what just happened.
My tongue darts out, grazing my lips as if to confirm it wasn’t a hallucination. Nope. Still there. They still taste like champagne and something entirely Amara. My skin burns, like her plump, swollen lips have imprinted themselves on me.
A slap on my shoulder jolts me out of my thoughts. I whip my head around to find Ethan grinning at me. “Hell of a kiss, Nic.”
I roll my eyes, shrugging him off. “Don’t you have better things to do?” I mutter.
He chuckles, and I barely register him moving away because I’m already looking back at Amara. She blinks up at me, her lips parted like she’s still catching her breath. For half a second, her walls are down, and I catch a glimpse of… something. Then she recovers, her signature professional smile snapping into place like armor.
“That was… a good call,” she says, letting out a light laugh that doesn’t quite match the way her fingers fidget at her sides. “I’m sure they bought it.”
A good call?
They bought it?
I force myself to nod, but my chest tightens as I watch her spin on her heel and head toward the drink table, a little too quickly, like she’s trying to outrun what just happened.