Matched To Mr Right. Kat Cantrell

what she was worried about? That she’d messed up and displeased him? A weight settled onto his chest. Did she think he was that concerned about their agreement?

      Obviously so.

      “On the contrary, you’ve made a great impression. Exactly as I expected. I watched you with my business associates. They liked you.” She’d charmed them easily and he could already envision her doing the same at future events. Daniella was amazing, through and through.

      “Really?” The disbelief in her voice settled that weight a little deeper. She seemed so disheartened by what was such a small blip in the evening.

      Daniella was his wife, not a casual date he might or might not see again. The very act of making her his wife changed everything. He wanted her to be happy, which he hadn’t planned, could never have predicted. Not only did he want her to be happy, he’d discovered a healthy drive to care for her and ensure her security. He wanted her to know she could depend on him, always.

      Problem being, of course, that his experience with serious relationships started and ended with the woman in front of him.

      He nodded, scouting for a way to put a smile back on her face. “If nothing else, you can take solace in the fact that your wardrobe malfunction didn’t take place on national TV.”

      She laughed, as he’d intended. The resurrection of his hard-on, he hadn’t. But who could blame him? Her laugh curled through him like fine wine and came coupled with the distinct memory of her beautiful breast.

      The secluded alcove grew close and heavy with awareness as she locked on to his gaze. Her irises warmed. “Thank you for rescuing me. It was very chivalrous.”

      The back of his neck heated at the adoration in her eyes. He felt like a fake. There wasn’t a romantic bone in his body. “I wouldn’t have abandoned you.”

      “Your button.” Without breaking eye contact, she touched it with her fingertips. “It’s loose.”

      “No problem.” He swallowed and his throat was on fire. Everything was on fire. “I have another one.”

      Slim eyebrows arched as she cocked her head. Loose tendrils of dark brown hair fell against her cheeks and he barely resisted an urge to tuck them back for her. And as a treat for himself. The shiny, slightly wavy locks would be soft against his fingers.

      “Should we rejoin the party?” she asked in an incredible show of courage. Not many people would walk back into a room where they’d performed a free peep show. His admiration for her swelled. “As long as I don’t move around too much, I should stay tucked away.”

      His gaze dropped to her cleavage automatically. She was quite tucked away, but the promise of what he knew lay beneath the fabric teased him. How easily he could thumb down that dress and run the pads across those taut nipples. No effort required at all. No one could see them back here behind the sculpture.

      He sucked in a hot breath.

      “Leo,” she murmured and slid lithe fingers along his lapels, straightening them as she traveled south.

      “Hmm?” She was so close he could see golden flecks in her eyes. Raw energy radiated from her, wrapping around him in a heated veil.

      “The party?” Her lips met on the last syllable and he recalled how they’d sparked against his when he’d kissed her at their wedding ceremony.

      This was like a first date, wasn’t it? He’d kissed women on dates, lots of times. It might even be considered expected. A major disappointment if he didn’t do it.

      Would kissing her be as hot the second time? Hotter?

      His curiosity would only be satisfied one way.

      “We should go back. Shouldn’t we?” she asked. But she stood there, frozen, peeking up from beneath her lashes coyly, as if she could read the intent in his eyes.

      Yes. They should go back. His body strained toward her, desperate to be closer.

      The scent of strawberries wafted to him on a sensuous cloud as she swayed into his space. Or maybe he was the one who moved.

      Like honey, he thought as their bodies met. Their lips touched hesitantly, then firmly, deliberately, and his mind pushed out everything except the sizzle of flesh on flesh.

      His wife’s mouth opened under his and he swept her deep into his embrace as he kissed her. His back hit the wall but he scarcely noticed as Daniella came alive, hands in his hair, her mouth strong and ferocious against his.

      Hunger thundered through his veins. His hips circled against hers involuntarily, uncontrollably as he sought to ease the ache she’d inflamed. With one hand, he enveloped her neck and pushed, tipping her head back so he could open her wider, then tentatively stroked her tongue with his.

      She stroked him back, deeper, harder. Leo groaned against her mouth. She kissed like a horny teenager’s fantasy. Deep. Wet. Carnal.

      Those perfect breasts haunted him. Touch them, his libido begged. The temptation was almost too much to bear, but he feared if he gave in to it, he might never surface.

      Home. They could go home. Right now. They lived together, after all.

      If he took her home, he could strip that dress away to taste every peak and valley of his wife’s body. Especially the parts he hadn’t yet seen but could feel easily through the silky drape of cloth over her luscious skin.

      The kiss deepened, heating further, enflaming his skin. Desire screamed through his body. He’d never kissed a woman on a date quite like this. Hell, he’d never kissed a woman like this ever, not even in bed.

      She was luring him into a dark pit of need and surfacing suddenly wasn’t so appealing.

      He trailed openmouthed kisses along her throat and palmed her sexy rear again. Unbelievably, this incredible, stimulating woman was his. She moaned under his touch and her head fell back.

      “Leo,” she murmured as he slipped a pin from her fancy done-up hair. “Don’t you need to go back?”

      As if she’d thrown a bucket of water over him, his lust-hazed bubble burst. They were in the hallway of a hotel and his wife was reminding him of the importance of circulating at the alumni ceremony.

      He pulled back to breathe the cool air of sanity. “I do.”

      Her face remained composed, but a storm of desire brewed in her gaze, one he suspected would easily explode again with his touch. She’d been just as turned on as he had.

      “Till later, then?” she asked.

      Oh, no. That wouldn’t do at all. Focus, Reynolds.

      At least four people he must speak with mingled in the ballroom less than a hundred yards away and his wife’s mussed hair and plump, kiss-stung lips alone threatened to steal his composure. If he had to suffer through the rest of the night while anticipating later, nothing of consequence would be accomplished.

      You’re weak, the nasty voice of his conscience whispered. And that was the real reason he couldn’t lose his single-mindedness.

      If he let himself indulge—in drawing, in a woman, in anything other than the goal—he’d be lost. Look what had just happened with a simple kiss.

      He released her and his body cooled a degree or two. It wasn’t enough to erase the imprint of her in his senses. “I apologize. That was inappropriate. Please, take a few moments in the ladies’ room and meet me back in the ballroom. We’ll act as if that never happened.”

      Disappointment replaced the desire in her expression and made him feel like a world-class jerk.

      “If that’s what you want.”

      It was absolutely not what he wanted. But distance was what he needed in order to get a measure of control.

      This marriage should be the perfect blend of necessity and convenience.