His Mother's Wedding

“All right. Thanks.”

He returned to their table and found her purse hanging by the shoulder strap on the back of her chair, so he picked it up and carried it back outside.

She stood near a rosebush, gazing at a new moon.

The black fabric of her dress hugged her body in a perfect, sexy fit. He was again struck by that damned “no chemistry” comment she’d made earlier, and his ego took another stumble. In spite of his better judgment, the rebel in him flared to life.

“Hey,” he said as he sauntered toward her, the purse dangling from his hand.

She turned and smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He closed the distance between them until they were face-to-face. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

Her eyes grew wide. “You do? Why?”

“I don’t want you lying to my mom.”

“What are you talking about?” Her furrowed brow and the indignant tone of her voice taunted him, tempted him. “I would never lie to her.”

He slipped his hand around to the back of her neck, under the silky curtain of her hair. His thumb caressed the softness along her jaw.

Her eyes widened, yet she didn’t flinch, didn’t push him away. “What are you doing?”

He brushed his lips across hers once, twice.

She sucked in her breath but didn’t move. Didn’t speak, didn’t stop him. Instead she placed a tentative hand on his chest, then slowly gripped the lapel of his jacket—to steady herself, no doubt. Or maybe to draw him closer?

Her lips parted, and he boldly swept his tongue inside, tasting, seeking.

He’d only meant to tease her, to taunt her as she’d been doing to him. But damn. She turned toward him, sliding her arms around his neck, heating up the kiss to a blood-pounding, head-spinning level.

When a car turned in to the parking lot, flashing its headlights at them, Molly finally came to her senses and pulled away. “What in the world was that all about?”

“You’re not my type either,” he told her. “So tell my mother that I’m rude or a cynical jerk. Tell her I’m a die-hard bachelor who never wants to settle down with one woman. That I’m stubborn and cocky and too damn set in my ways.”

She merely stared at him, her lips swollen, a red flush on her cheeks and neck.

“But don’t tell her there’s no chemistry between us,” he added, flashing her a rebel grin.

“Because that, sweet Molly, would a be bold-faced lie.”

Chapter Four

Molly’s head spun—not just because of the kiss she and Rico had shared but because of the words he’d spoken. The truth he’d forced her to acknowledge.

When she’d said there wasn’t any chemistry between them, she’d been lying to him—and to herself. But once their lips touched, their tongues met…

Kaboom.

There’d been no denying the rush of desire. No ignoring her wobbly knees, her racing pulse.

He opened the passenger door for her, and she slid inside the sleek black Corvette.

As he strode around the back of the car, she fingered her lips, touching where his mouth had been.