Forbidden - Karla Sorensen Page 0,96

because I was standing next to Aiden, holding his hand and chatting with family friends like absolutely nothing was strange about that. My impatience to be alone with him must’ve shown because Allie gave me a tiny wink and then tapped her husband’s chest. “You know, my glass is empty. Buy me a drink?”

He smiled down at her. “Logan’s buying. Hell yeah, I’ll buy you a drink.”

They wandered off, and I let out a deep breath. “Did you get something at the bar?” I asked.

Glancing at me with warm, humor-lit eyes, he tilted his head toward a table. “It’s over there.”

Aiden pulled us away from the milling groups of people to a corner that held a white couch just big enough for two. His jacket was hanging over the arm, like he made sure to stake a claim to this slightly private spot. He slid into the corner and stretched one arm over the back of the couch. Instead of joining him right away, I took a moment to study him like that, lounging like a great big cat.

His long legs were slightly spread, and it was so easy to imagine if we were alone. Judging by the look in his green eyes, he was doing some imagining of his own.

My skin heated under his perusal, tightening underneath the silky fabric of my dress where I wanted his hands. If we were alone, I’d slide the dress up over my thighs and climb into his lap, smooth my hands up his chest, let those large, capable hands hold me in place, and his mouth find the parts of me that tasted best.

Aiden exhaled a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “You keep looking at me like that, and we’re going to cause trouble.”

I blinked slowly, coming out of my stupor. Carefully, I took a seat next to him, tucking one leg underneath me so I could angle in his direction. His fingers slid over my shoulder blade and toyed with the ends of my hair.

Then he paused, reaching for a tall glass on a table next to the couch. My eyebrows bent in when he handed it to me.

“Screwdriver?” I asked. “I didn’t peg you as a mixed drink guy.”

Without a word, he motioned for me to take it. Our fingers brushed as I took the glass, and after I took a sip, his eyes warmed.

“Orange juice?” I asked, mouth widening into a massive smile.

Aiden retrieved the glass and took a drink. I licked my lips as he set the glass down. He leaned in, angling his back so he was blocking me from view, and he took my mouth in a voracious, toe-curling kiss that tasted like bright citrus and held the promise of sex. I was ready to climb him by the time he pulled away.

“Orange juice,” he said.

“I’ll make a note for work.” This level of happiness should be illegal.

“You’re okay with sitting in the corner with me at your sister’s wedding?” he asked.

With a glance around, I saw only a few people who I probably should have been making small talk with. Finally, I looked back at Aiden and studied his handsome face.

“Completely okay,” I told him. “I’d rather talk to you.”

Because I could, I touched my thumb to the bottom curve of his lip and swept it softly over the stubble that lined his jaw. I loved that he hadn’t shaved for this. It made him look a little dangerous, or maybe that was just how I felt being with him like this. The entire thing felt too big to be real, to be safe.

Could two people survive this level of sexual tension? Because I wasn’t sure we could.

“What do you want to talk about?” he asked. He took my hand away from his mouth and kissed the tip of my thumb before settling it on his rock-hard thigh, fingers lightly entwined with mine.

So many questions I could ask. Some that could wait, a couple that couldn’t.

I took a deep breath and asked the first thing on my mind. “Is this … our first date?” I looked at him from under my lashes.

“You don’t count changing the fuse?”

With a grin, I shook my head. “No.”

“Your night at my house?”

I gave him a dry look.

Aiden hummed. “What about our first training session?”

Slowly, I raised my eyebrows. I know I’d felt like the slightest touch from him that night would’ve made me explode, but I was never certain if he’d felt the same.

“Maybe,” I conceded.

“First dates are