My Big Fat Demon Slayer Wedding by Angie Fox Page A

I cook, I’m going to live in the kitchen.”
    I ran my fingers through the thick, ebony hair that curled at his collar. “Promise?”
    He tilted his head. “What happened to your hair?”
    Right. I touched my dark brown ‘do, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “My mom fixed it.”
    He touched a lock at my shoulder. “I like your wild child side.”
    “It’s still there.” I couldn’t get away from it. “Only now I recognize myself.”
    Pleasure tickled down my spine when his eyes swept over me. “Well you look sexy as hell.”  
    I felt it. I’d waited thirty years for a man to look at me like that.
    He leaned down and brushed my lips with his once, twice. I sank into him, teasing the nape of his neck with my fingers, feeling his hands slide up my back and skim around my side until one of his hands cupped my breast. His thumb brushed over the nipple, teasing it, and I felt it down to my toes.
    “You’re going to burn your bacon,” I said against his mouth.
    “I like it crunchy,” he said, drawing me closer, deepening the kiss until I couldn’t think of anything else either.
    His hard length pressed against my stomach and I ground against it, wishing we had a bed or a couch or hell—a kitchen table so that I could feel it where I needed it most.
    I slid my hand down to cup him, and he jerked against me.  
    I could do it. I could take him right over to that table.  
    If the room had a lock. And soundproof walls. And was located in another house entirely. I trailed up his length, wriggled around the apron and began to slide a hand down the front of his jeans.
    “Elizabeth Gertrude Brown!” My mother choked.  
    Dimitri and I broke apart, only I couldn’t quite get my hand out of the front of his jeans, so he ended up dragging me with him.
    Hillary stared at my hand, to us, back to my hand.
    I wriggled it out as my entire body flushed pink. This was so not how I wanted her to meet Dimitri. Or Dimitri to meet her.
    Holy Hades.
    Meanwhile, he’d turned back to the stove, probably to hide his giant erection.  
    There was nothing I could say to make this better, so I cleared my throat and went for the obvious. “Hillary, I’d like you to meet Dimitri.”
    She brought a hand to her chest. “I…I did meet him earlier. He made me a delicious Greek coffee. Thank you, Dimitri. We had a lovely conversation.” She talked as if she were on autopilot.
    I stifled a groan. Come on. What did she think I was? A virgin? I was thirty years old. Engaged, for goodness sake.
    It’s not like she caught us on the kitchen table—her favorite spot. Sure, maybe I’d thought about it, but she’d actually done it.  
    That should count for something, right?
    “Your mom was telling me about your first date,” Dimitri said, changing the subject as he finished flipping the bacon.
    Oh, no. “Mom, you weren’t telling him that.” She did want this man to like me, right?
    She winced. “Not so loud.” She nudged around me and found the coffee pot.
    Dimitri only smiled and began checking on some scrambled eggs he was keeping warm in the oven.
    Yeah, okay, I could tell Hillary wasn’t feeling so hot. Her hair was perfect. Her sleeveless eyelet shirt was pressed. But there was a slight rounding to her shoulders, and she was at least two shades paler than usual.
    Maybe I could convince her she’d hallucinated the whole hand-in-the-pants incident.
    Or maybe I was getting a tad bit desperate.
    Still, I had to know, “What’d you tell him?”
    “Little things,” she mused, pouring herself a cup. She leaned back against the counter. “Like the first time you tried to say something romantic.”
    “Ugh,” I said, as she calmly sipped at her coffee. I knew where this was going.
    “Remember?” she asked, as if I hadn’t tried to forget. “You called your little boyfriend, Matt Peterman. First you wrote a long letter to read to so you’d know what to say.” My stomach tightened. I remembered. “And then you started