Page 153 of The Reason I Married Him
“Are you having a good time, you two?” Hattie asks us.
Wyatt smooths his hand over my bare thigh as he says, “The best.”
His hand moves higher, making my stomach twitch with warmth as it slowly slides under my skirt. I attempt to keep a smile on my face while he strokes my thigh, sending this bolt of unexpected lust straight between my legs.
“I’m glad,” Hattie says. “Hayes just ordered another round for everyone, so enjoy.”
“Thank you,” Wyatt says, lifting his empty glass toward their table.
When they all turn around, I half expect Wyatt to stop touching me, but he keeps his hand where it is and continues to run his finger lightly over my skin.
I don’t think Matt ever touched me like this. He never casually claimed me as his person in public, but here’s Wyatt, having no problem doing so, and he’s not even romantically interested in me.
Quietly, I say, “Your hand is up my skirt.”
“Yeah, it is,” he says casually.
“Okay, just wanted to make sure you knew, in case you lost it.”
“Nope, I know exactly where it is.”
“Did you know that no one can see you stroking my thigh, yet you’re still doing it?”
“Just relaxing you, Mrs. Preston,” he says.
“The alcohol is doing just that.”
“I can tell.” He turns his head to look at me. “An hour ago, you would have broken my fingers off if I was touching you like this.”
“Not true,” I say.
“Such a liar.”
“No, I don’t break your fingers off when you hold me at night,” I reply.
“That’s different,” he says.
“How so?” I ask.
“That’s for comfort.”
“Mm-hmm,” I answer. “And what’s this for?”
“To see how far I can go before you stop me.”
I turn toward him and put my arm on the back of the couch. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I want to show you that even if you try to ignore me all day, I’ll still be here at the end of it, touching you, being by your side, kissing you good night.”
“You say that as if you want more,” I say. “I thought we said this was all platonic.”
“It is.” With a smirk, he adds, “But it doesn’t hurt to play.”
Yet he removes his hand from under my skirt to lift his newly replenished drink off the table and brings it straight to his lips.
I do the same. But whereas he takes a sip, I take a gulp.
“What doyou think of your drink?” Wyatt asks me as I set the empty glass on the table and curl my legs up on the couch so I’m facing him.
