thigh.
Patience. Pretty soon he would have Kit right where he wanted her.
I’ve got him right where I want him. Kit couldn’t believe her good luck. Saved from having to chase Jake down in the interest of good column fodder! If it wouldn’t have earned her a slap from Elizabeth, she’d lean over and kiss Michael in gratitude.
She’d been a little worried when she’d seen him, unable to completely suppress the insecure teenager who still lurked inside. What if he really had no interest in seeing her again? Men were easy enough, and she was confident that she’d be able to get him to sleep with her again at the very least. But the idea of having to work at it didn’t sit right with her.
But given the way Jake was eyeing her the way a lion eyes a steak, she had nothing to worry about.
And, Kit admitted, she was equally eager to have him drag her off and pin her against the closest flat surface.
The next hour seemed interminable as they sipped their drinks and talked about Elizabeth and Michael’s upcoming nuptials. A month and a half away, the wedding had Elizabeth wired so tight it was a wonder she didn’t spontaneously combust. No wonder she was pounding the wine like it was water.
“Kit, you’re one of my besht—best friends,” Elizabeth slurred. “I really love you, you know?”
Oh no. Elizabeth had crossed the line from happily tipsy to “I love you, man” drunk.
“I love you too,” Kit said gently, returning her friend’s sloppy hug and pulling a face at Michael over her shoulder.
“But I worry about you,” Elizabeth continued, grabbing her wineglass and not seeming to notice when she missed her mouth completely and spilled down her chin. She looked at the napkins Kit handed her as though she was not sure what to do with them.
Jake chuckled behind her, and Kit shot him a glare over her shoulder.
“I don’t know why you would worry about me,” Kit said to Elizabeth.
“Becaushe you need to find love, Kit. Everyone needs love.”
Oh God, here we go. “There is nothing wrong with my love life,” she said, though she recognized the futility of arguing with a woman who’d eaten nothing but lettuce all day in an effort to fit into her designer wedding dress and then consumed an entire bottle of chardonnay.
“You have all these men, Kit, like that Max, Mort—”
“Matt?” Kit supplied.
“Yeah, that one with all the tattoos?” Elizabeth scowled at the memory. “Dint like ’im.” She belched a little, and Kit could feel Jake shaking with suppressed laughter. “Stupid tortured writer type.”
Kit sighed but couldn’t deny Elizabeth’s assessment of poor maligned Matt.
“Shee, you have these men, Kit, but you don’t have love. Don’t you want to find someone to love, someone you can get sherious about—”
“Okay little matchmaker,” Michael broke in, “let’s get you home.” He pulled Elizabeth to her feet and mouthed, “Sorry,” silently to Kit over her head. Kit waved his apology away. The poor woman was planning a ridiculously lavish wedding for nearly four hundred people while running her own interior design business. It was enough to drive any woman to drink.
“Like my Mikey,” Elizabeth said dreamily as Michael got her to her feet, supporting her with one arm wrapped around her waist. “Don’t you want a man just like my Mikey?”
Frankly, no, Kit thought as she took in Mike’s dirty blond, slightly thinning hair; his medium frame with shoulders that were showing the first signs of corporate slump; and a midsection that hadn’t revealed an ab muscle in a decade. But Elizabeth adored him and he treated her like a queen, so maybe there was something to that.
“So tell me more about these men Elizabeth mentioned,” Jake said as they sat back down and watched Michael guide his inebriated fiancée to the door. “I didn’t know I was among legions.”
Though he tried to keep his tone light, the derisive edge was unmistakable. “Typical sexist
Patience. Pretty soon he would have Kit right where he wanted her.
I’ve got him right where I want him. Kit couldn’t believe her good luck. Saved from having to chase Jake down in the interest of good column fodder! If it wouldn’t have earned her a slap from Elizabeth, she’d lean over and kiss Michael in gratitude.
She’d been a little worried when she’d seen him, unable to completely suppress the insecure teenager who still lurked inside. What if he really had no interest in seeing her again? Men were easy enough, and she was confident that she’d be able to get him to sleep with her again at the very least. But the idea of having to work at it didn’t sit right with her.
But given the way Jake was eyeing her the way a lion eyes a steak, she had nothing to worry about.
And, Kit admitted, she was equally eager to have him drag her off and pin her against the closest flat surface.
The next hour seemed interminable as they sipped their drinks and talked about Elizabeth and Michael’s upcoming nuptials. A month and a half away, the wedding had Elizabeth wired so tight it was a wonder she didn’t spontaneously combust. No wonder she was pounding the wine like it was water.
“Kit, you’re one of my besht—best friends,” Elizabeth slurred. “I really love you, you know?”
Oh no. Elizabeth had crossed the line from happily tipsy to “I love you, man” drunk.
“I love you too,” Kit said gently, returning her friend’s sloppy hug and pulling a face at Michael over her shoulder.
“But I worry about you,” Elizabeth continued, grabbing her wineglass and not seeming to notice when she missed her mouth completely and spilled down her chin. She looked at the napkins Kit handed her as though she was not sure what to do with them.
Jake chuckled behind her, and Kit shot him a glare over her shoulder.
“I don’t know why you would worry about me,” Kit said to Elizabeth.
“Becaushe you need to find love, Kit. Everyone needs love.”
Oh God, here we go. “There is nothing wrong with my love life,” she said, though she recognized the futility of arguing with a woman who’d eaten nothing but lettuce all day in an effort to fit into her designer wedding dress and then consumed an entire bottle of chardonnay.
“You have all these men, Kit, like that Max, Mort—”
“Matt?” Kit supplied.
“Yeah, that one with all the tattoos?” Elizabeth scowled at the memory. “Dint like ’im.” She belched a little, and Kit could feel Jake shaking with suppressed laughter. “Stupid tortured writer type.”
Kit sighed but couldn’t deny Elizabeth’s assessment of poor maligned Matt.
“Shee, you have these men, Kit, but you don’t have love. Don’t you want to find someone to love, someone you can get sherious about—”
“Okay little matchmaker,” Michael broke in, “let’s get you home.” He pulled Elizabeth to her feet and mouthed, “Sorry,” silently to Kit over her head. Kit waved his apology away. The poor woman was planning a ridiculously lavish wedding for nearly four hundred people while running her own interior design business. It was enough to drive any woman to drink.
“Like my Mikey,” Elizabeth said dreamily as Michael got her to her feet, supporting her with one arm wrapped around her waist. “Don’t you want a man just like my Mikey?”
Frankly, no, Kit thought as she took in Mike’s dirty blond, slightly thinning hair; his medium frame with shoulders that were showing the first signs of corporate slump; and a midsection that hadn’t revealed an ab muscle in a decade. But Elizabeth adored him and he treated her like a queen, so maybe there was something to that.
“So tell me more about these men Elizabeth mentioned,” Jake said as they sat back down and watched Michael guide his inebriated fiancée to the door. “I didn’t know I was among legions.”
Though he tried to keep his tone light, the derisive edge was unmistakable. “Typical sexist
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