Page 8 of My Best French Wedding

“I’m talking about settling this for good.” Her palms traveled slowly down his chest, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “Winner take all.”

Finally something clicked. “You mean tonight. The award?”

“Maybe.” Her eyes slid sideways, and a distant corner of hisbrain catalogued her brief hesitation as suspicious. “Watch this space, as they say.”

“I’m always watching.” Apparently it was his night to blurt out things he should have kept to himself.

“Not for long, creeper. You’ll be off licking your wounds after I wipe the floor with you.”

He captured her mouth again. “I’d rather lick yours.”

“Except I won’t have any,” she said, breathless.

“Somebody’s feeling confident.”

“I have every reason to be.”

Walter fully intended to ask why, until Hildy started undoing the middle buttons of his shirt.

“Guess we better strike while the iron’s hot.” She suited action to words, slipping her hand inside.

His eyes flickered shut as her fingers skimmed his pecs. “You always did like a good hard deadline.”

“Oh yeah. It really gets me going.” She gave his nipple a pinch. “This wouldn’t even count. It’s like a do-over.”

“Is that how it works?” He liked this rule—a hall pass for unfinished business—especially when Hildy pulled her hand out of his shirt and reached for the buckle of his belt.

Fuck me, Walter thought.Please.

The hangers on the garment rack rattled. The reality of the situation came crashing down on him a second before Corinne shoved a pair of raincoats aside.

“Do I need to get a hose?” She gave them her most withering stare. “I was gone for five minutes.”

“At least we weren’t arguing.” Hildy had already stepped away from him to yank her dress back into place.

“You know what you also weren’t doing?” Corinne crossed her arms like a disappointed teacher. “Showing up for the awards announcement. As in, the entire reason we’re here.”

“It’s happening now?” Hildy frantically removed her barrette, sweeping stray tendrils behind her ear before fastening it again. “Can I borrow your lipstick?” she asked Corinne, barely glancing at Walter, who was probably wearing most of Hildy’s.

“Too late,” Corinne informed her. “They already called it.”

Hildy sucked in a breath, like she’d had the wind knocked out of her. She flashed Walter a look heavy with accusation, as if he’d done this on purpose.

Did she really think he’d hatched an evil plot to waylay her with a scorching make-out session? She seemed to have forgotten that Walter had also blown off a career-making milestone to be with her.

And I’d do it again, he realized. If Hildy showed the slightest interest in picking up where they’d left off, Walter would follow her right off that ledge. If he was pissed at anything, it was his own idiocy.

“Who won?” Hildy asked.

Corinne’s grimace said it all.

Walter braced for Hildy’s reaction. He was ready for her to breathe fire, but she had gone perfectly still—a statue of herself. A second later, she stooped to pick up her shoes.

“Hildy!” he yelled when she slipped past him without so much as a parting glance.

“Whatever,” she snapped. “It doesn’t matter.”

His mouth opened, ready to throw questions after her like grappling hooks. Surely she wasn’t going to justleave. That would be…