The Wedding Gift by Cara Connelly Read Free Book Online

raised his hands and moved away.
    She turned on Mick. “Why’d you do that?”
    â€œJesus, Jan. That guy’s after one thing.”
    â€œSo am I.”
    â€œNo, you’re not. Not really.” He drove all ten fingers through his hair. “Think about it, Jan. A lot of these guys are still in college. They’re young and stupid and selfish. They can’t give you the experience you want.”
    Honestly, she’d been thinking the same thing herself. Besides young, stupid, and selfish, most of them were really drunk too. She’d made out with drunk guys before, and it hadn’t been much fun.
    She bit her lip. Wavered.
    Then Mick leaned in close, his scruff scraping her cheek, his breath warm on her ear. She let herself inhale just a tiny whiff of his Mick-scent . . .
    And he said three words. “Walking. Dead. Marathon.”
    She pulled back and stared at him. “Right now? No way. Why didn’t you tell me?”
    He shrugged. “You had your heart set on this.”
    She followed his glance around the crammed room. Men and women alike churned around the floor, shit-faced and horny. A cheer went up as two drunks hoisted a blonde onto the bar. She started twerking; guys started whistling.
    Jan turned back to Mick. He lifted one brow. A half smile played on his lips.
    Drunks and twerkers, or Mick and zombies?
    She jerked a thumb at the door.
    B ACK IN THEIR room, Mick second-guessed his strategy. The Walking Dead marathon had seemed like an inspiration back in that bar full of drunks.
    But now reality hit him: they’d have to lie in bed to watch it.
    Still, he’d have faced worse to get her away from that scene. Christ, when that fucked-up frat boy started pawing her . . .
    Pulling a cold one from the fridge, he rolled it across his forehead. He knew all too well what that guy had in mind. He’d had it in his own mind often enough.
    Jan came out of the bathroom. “Your turn,” she said.
    Without thinking, he looked over at her.
    Cotton boxers and a short cotton T-shirt.
    She shouldn’t look sexy in them. But she did.
    She peeled the blanket off the bed. “It’s too hot for this, don’t you think?”
    He managed to grunt. He was hot all right. Sweating.
    She folded it at the foot of the bed, and— finally —slid her slender legs under the sheet. “Can I have this side? I always have to pee during the night, and I don’t want to crawl over you while you’re sleeping.”
    â€œYeah, sure.” Like it was no big deal. Like the thought of her crawling over him didn’t have his dick knocking at his zipper, begging to come out and play.
    Swamped with lust and despair, he sucked on his beer and helplessly side-eyed the action on the bed.
    She shook back her hair so it shimmered in the lamplight. Reached for the remote, so her white T-shirt rode up over her ribs. Twisted around to stack pillows, so one creamy cheek popped halfway out of her boxers . . .
    He peeled his eyes away, slowly, like unsticking tape from a package.
    Then he drained his bottle and reached into the fridge for another.
    â€œHand me one?” she said.
    He brought it to her. She’d finally stopped wriggling, thank God. Now she sat back against the pillows, sheet folded primly across her lap, scrolling through the channels.
    Eyes on the TV, she took the beer without looking, and for a moment her warm hand clamped his palm to the cold bottle. The contrast was insanely erotic.
    Blissfully unaware of his agony, she found the channel. “They’re already into season three,” she announced. “The Governor.”
    She shot him a smile, then swigged her beer. The bottle dripped sweat on her chest. His gaze followed the drips, their slow rolls down white cotton. This close up, her T-shirt was nearly transparent.
    â€œI need a shower,” he mumbled, and disappeared into the bathroom.
    Caging himself in the