“There are Morellis crawling all over this city. I’m sure you’ve come across one or two.”
Charlotte actually giggles, and I wonder how much wine she’s had. If she’s too drunk, there’s no way I’m making a move on her tonight. I want her to remember it. And I’m not about to take advantage of a drunk woman.
“Are you drunk?”
“No. Maybe a little buzzed,” she admits, biting her lower lip.
I look away from her. The lip-biting thing is sexy as fuck, and I don’t think she realizes it. “Why did you giggle, then?”
“The way you said it. Morellis. As if they’re your mortal enemies,” she admits.
I need to get over myself. I’m on edge. Stressed out over the wedding. Stressed about the responsibilities that come with marriage.
The future Mrs. Constantine is walking by my side with my ring on her finger and my great-grandmother’s earrings in her ears, yet I have no idea what she looks like naked, or what her pussy tastes like. What sounds does she make when she comes?
Have no fucking clue.
Going to rectify that tonight, if she’ll let me. Maybe that’ll ease some of my stress.
“The Morellis are our mortal enemies.” I shake my head, shaking all thoughts of Morellis out of it. “I don’t want to talk about them. I’d rather you show me your hotel room.”
She comes to a stop in the middle of the corridor, giving me no choice but to do the same. “I thought you just said that to get out of your conversation.”
Originally I did. “I won’t stay too long.”
Or I’ll stay all night. Whatever she’s in the mood for.
“I haven’t even seen the room,” she admits. “I had my stuff sent up there and was given a key by Miranda when I arrived.”
“Where’s your wedding dress?”
“In one of the bedrooms. There are three,” she admits. “All of the dresses are already there. Your mother’s, your sister’s. My mother’s as well. We’re getting ready together tomorrow.”
That sounds like my worst nightmare. “Then take me up. Show me your room.”
Charlotte contemplates me, her tongue darting out to touch the corner of her mouth. A groan almost leaves me at seeing it. Fuck, this woman. Everything she does tonight is like pure sexual torture. “You really want to see the hotel room?”
No, I want to see what you look like beneath that wet dream of a dress.
“You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all,” she continues.
But I haven’t seen you. And I’m dying to.
Dying.
To.
I don’t say any of those words out loud. Instead, I nod, taking her elbow and steering her toward the bank of elevators that are nearby. “What floor are you on?”
“The top one.”
Of course. Nothing less for a Lancaster.
“Let’s check out the view, then.”
We enter the empty elevator car and I push the PH button, settling back to lean against the wall. Charlotte stands right next to me, her head tilted back to watch the numbers light up as we climb higher.
I blatantly study her profile, not caring if she catches me. The elegant lines of her face. Her pink, glossy lips. Her thick, dark eyelashes. Smooth, creamy skin.