Page 7 of My Best French Wedding

“Really.” Her hands stilled, like her whole body was skeptical of that answer. “Not a girlfriend?”

He shook his head, taking the opportunity to bring his face closer to hers. She pressed a finger to his mouth. Walter waited for her to tell him to stop, get over himself, read the room. He was dreaming if he thought she was going to…

Slowly rub that finger along his lower lip, staring at him with heavy-lidded eyes. When he inhaled sharply, her finger slipped inside his mouth. Walter tasted her on his tongue as his lips closed.

It lasted only an instant before she pulled away, sliding that same finger into her own mouth and sucking it like a candy cane. It was almost a kiss—but not close enough.

Yanking her against him, Walter spun so his back was to the wall. And then his tongue was in her mouth, or vice versa, and his hand was sliding up the thigh she’d wrapped around his hip. She made an impatient noise, and he hoisted her higher, until they both gasped.

“You’re touching my ass,” Hildy observed.

He squeezed the smooth flesh, wondering hazily if she was planning a complete play-by-play. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing about this moment. “You’re not wearing underwear.”

She bit his earlobe. “Try again.”

Walter’s hand traveled slowly over her hipbone until he encountered a delicate scrap of lace. It felt like the slightest pressure would snap it in two.

“Ah,” he said, giving the fabric an experimental tug.

Hildy choked out an “ah” of her own that he swallowed with another kiss.

They’d kissed before, but not like this. Walter wasn’t worried about accidentally banging teeth or what to do with his tongue. He only wished he’d had less tequila so he could taste more Hildy as his mouth slid down to the base of her throat. Pushing the strap of her dress aside, he pressed his lips against the delicate skin of her shoulder.

“I swear to God if you give me a hickey I will end you, Walter Burns.”

Hearing her growl his name was almost too much, a phantom wish from his subconscious escaping into the light. And now all he wanted was to leave a mark on her perfect skin to sayI was here. She liked me enough to let me do this. Every time Hildy looked in the mirror, she’d remember this—rememberhim.

He pulled back, wondering if this was a fever dream. Sincewhen did Hildy let him hold her like this, all loose and flushed in his arms with her hair mussed and her dress askew?

She flicked him in the shoulder. “Did I tell you to stop? You used to be better at taking direction.”

There she is, he thought as Hildy tilted her head to give him access to her neck. It was a pleasure to do her bidding.

“Walter,” she asked, breathless.

“Mmm?”

“Are we really doing this?”

“Probably not a good idea.” But he didn’t stop.

“Because we hate each other?”

“Hate” was a strong word. Maybe their decade of sparring had been more like a scrimmage than a war.

“I was thinking about the public setting,” he said. “And we could be drunk.”

“But if we don’t do it now, we might never get another chance.”

“Why?” They were both young and healthy. Walter felt like he could run a marathon, though that wouldn’t have been his top choice of aerobic activity.

“We can’t go on like this forever.”

He tried to frown, but it was hard to focus with his mouth against her throat. A future without Hildy was not something he’d ever contemplated.

“Eventually one of us is going to come out on top. Not like that,” she chided, when he hummed his approval. “For real.”

This isn’t real?Walter didn’t give voice to the question, for fear she’d say no.