Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol #1) - Fiona Cole Page 0,77

my hands in my pockets, feigning a lack of interest as I took it in. “The hotel really goes all out for honeymoon suites.”

Of course, they went all out because I asked them to with very specific instructions to use buttercream scented candles and the deepest of red like the dress she wore to the masquerade party.

“Oh…” she said softly, her excitement fading.

The flare in my chest grew uncomfortably large with the way she looked at me, and I wanted it gone, so I let her think it wasn’t me, but the disappointment bothered me even more. And a disappointed Vera wouldn’t sleep with her husband. At least, that was my excuse, and the only reason I could understand why I uttered, “Dance with me.”

“What?”

“Dance with me,” I said again, holding out my hand, walking to meet her in the middle of the room.

Some of the disappointment faded, and curiosity took its place. She studied me, and I tried to hold still, wondering if my small fib had ruined our night, and she’d turn me down. Instead, one side of her mouth tipped, and she closed the gap, slipping her hand in mine.

I pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her waist, my fingers playing with the exposed curve of her spine, and started swaying.

“Where did you learn to dance?”

I huffed a laughed. “My mom taught me some basics when I was little. She claimed a good man could win any woman over with smooth moves; at least that was her excuse for falling for my dad.”

“They sound like they were happy.”

“Very. When she died, I took a few classes to keep part of her close to me.” I pulled back enough to meet her eyes and smirked. “And to win over the ladies.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled before tucking her head back against my chest.

“My mom loved Billie Holiday. She loved all the oldies.”

I knew that. She’d mentioned it in passing when I caught her in the kitchen with Dean Martin on. It was why I requested they play them in the suite.

Billie Holiday shifted to Frank Sinatra to Ben E. King, and with each song, I worked us closer to the bedroom across the foyer. By the time we reached the foot of the bed, my body ached to feel her lips on mine—to peel her wedding dress from her body and bury myself inside her all night long.

I drifted my hand up her back and into her hair, softly tugging her head back, so I could lean in for a taste. Her glossy lips parted, and I was inches from heaven when she pulled away.

Wide, nervous eyes met mine. But behind the nerves sat the resolve I’d been trying to break through all night, and my brows lowered before she even spoke.

“We’re not in the limo anymore, Nico. And no one is clinking their glasses.”

My teeth clenched, and I inhaled through my nose, searching to hold my irritation back.

“I said I wasn’t sleeping with you.”

“Vera,” I growled.

“Nico,” she said, standing taller. Her resolve locked in place, and I knew there would be no getting past it.

Frustration had me wanting to storm out. To slam the door behind me. We both knew she wanted to sleep with me and that it was sheer stubbornness that stopped her. My blood pumped for release, and my muscles ached from holding back for so long.

But it was my wedding night, and I wouldn’t run from my own wife. If I was frustrated, then she could damn well deal with it, even if I was a bear for the rest of the night. She could deny me, and I’d always respect her, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t be pissed about it. It didn’t mean I couldn’t still get what I wanted in another way.

With a growl, I turned her around to face the bed and started working the tiny buttons on the back of her dress.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

“Helping you out of this contraption. I’m assuming someone helped you in, and unless you want to sleep in it forever, you’ll need me. Or should I call someone to come up?”

“No. But Nico, I said I’m not sl—”

“So I heard.”

Working the last button free, the heavy skirt parted, and I groaned.

“Like a fucking present I can’t even open.”

I stared at the small satin bow adorning the top of the strings holding mostly transparent lace over her ripe ass. She shivered when I dragged my fingers up her back and