Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol 1) - Page 69

His tongue flicked playfully against my lips, and I parted just enough for a taste.

Roaring applause crept past our bubble, and we slowed the kiss, both of us panting like we’d run a marathon—both of us looking a little shocked by the intensity that consumed us.

“I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Rush.”

He linked his fingers with mine and smiled a smile full of victory and promise.

I smiled a challenge back and shook my head, letting him lead me down the aisle to the awaiting limo.

He helped me in and poured me a glass of champagne. With eyes scanning every inch of me, I took my first sip, the bubbles tickling my tongue.

“You look fucking beautiful, and you’re all mine,” he almost growled.

Heat bled into my cheeks. Surprisingly, I didn’t mind being called his. Surprisingly, I liked his coarse compliment.

Maybe it was the moment—the champagne, the kiss, the cheers, the limo, the dress and tux, or flowers. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. Euphoria and boldness had me scooting closer, looking him over before meeting his heavy-lidded stare.

“Am I?” I challenged softly. “Am I all yours?”

The pads of his fingers teased up my bare arm, playing with the lace strap against my shoulder before tracing the line down into my cleavage.

I didn’t stop him.

I sat still, breathing hard.

Want burned me from the inside out.

He set his glass aside, grabbing mine to do the same. His fingers traced the edge of my cheek, down my neck, and slid behind my head, holding me in place as he leaned in.

“Yes,” he answered, his hot breath against my lips. “You. Are. Mine.”

“Nico,” I said, a hollow effort to stop.

“Just…one more.”

This time, I closed the gap, feasting on his lips. This time there was no one around to stop us. There was no church to keep us in line. Only my stubborn pride and a dress entirely too large to straddle his lap like I wanted without it engulfing us both in the process.

Instead, we kissed. Our hands holding each other in place so we could taste every inch we’d only imagined for the last few months.

His tongue dueled with mine, and he gave as good as he got. Surprisingly, never once did his hands stray below my neck. It was like he wanted to indulge what I’d denied him for so long.

Part of me demanded I stop—to not give in.

And I would.

But not yet.

“Just for the limo ride,” I panted between drugging kisses.

He smiled, his look doubtful, but I didn’t care because he went right back to kissing me, and I wanted to take as much as I could before I forced myself to hold true to that promise.

However, my promise was useless when we got to the reception. Everyone tapped their silverware against their glass, huge smiles waiting for the newlyweds to kiss. And each time I tried for a peck, Nico held me in place to devour me. And each time, I gave in.

As soon as we finished eating, he linked his hand with mine. “I want you to meet someone. My grandpa,” he explained.

“Of course.”

I followed him to a broad man with white hair and the same mouth as Nico. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was what Nico would look like when he grew older—and if I’d get to see it.

“Grandpa, I’d like you to meet my wife, Verana. Verana, this is Charles.”

“Charlie, please.” He stood and took my hand, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles. “Welcome to the family, my dear. Although, Nico was supposed to bring you sooner,” he said with a glare at Nico.

Despite the look having no heat behind it, Nico still rubbed a hand along the back of his neck and looked away. I could imagine him as a little boy, getting in trouble and kicking at the dirt.

“I felt terrible to miss meeting you beforehand. Work has been fairly busy. Especially since we have such a long honeymoon planned.”

“Well, if he ever works too much, you can come visit me. I’m much better company, anyway,” he said with a wink.

“I’ll definitely make sure to do that. Do you like cards?”

“I may have been a bit of a shark in my day. I taught Nico everything he knows. Don’t let him swindle you into a game of poker. He’s better than he’ll pretend to be.”

“I may be a bit of a shark myself.”

“A woman after my own heart. Beautiful, smart, hardworking, and can put you in your place, Nicholas.”

“We’ll see about that,” Nico muttered, giving me a challenging stare. I gave one of my own, making a mental note to pick up a deck of cards for our honeymoon.

“Your grandma would have loved to be here,” he said to Nico. “Now, there was a shark. The prettiest, strongest woman I’d ever met. She held me up when I was weak and made our life what it was.”

Tags: Fiona Cole Blame it on the Alcohol Romance
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