by Jill Shalvis
Remembering how he’d still managed to look seriously badass even in cheap neon green, she smiled. “You really feeling better?”
“Yes.”
She searched his gaze, but he was good at hiding when he wanted to. She could learn a lot from him. At the thought of all that she might learn, she got one of those little tingles that he always seemed to invoke by just standing there. She could only imagine what would happen if they took this thing to bed.
“Kate,” he said, his eyes heating as he clearly read her thoughts. “You have to stop looking at me like that.”
“Why?”
“I’ll take advantage of you,” he said, no hesitation.
This caused another tingle. She wouldn’t mind him taking that kind of advantage of her . . .
“We’re not going there, Kate.”
“That’s not what your kisses say.” And then before he could respond to that, she walked away.
* * *
An hour later Kate, Holly, and the other bridesmaids met at the church to get ready together. Jade, the most sophisticated of the group, did their makeup. Lilah kept everyone in stitches recounting the trials and tribulations of running the town kennel. As a bonus, Miranda managed to keep most of her snark to herself. When they were all finished, they stood around a huge mirror staring at their reflections.
“Wow,” Kate said reverently. “Holly, you look amazing.”
Holly’s eyes got misty, and she ran a hand along her stomach, a motion Kate knew she was the only one in the room to understand the implication of. “I don’t want to forget a minute of this,” she whispered.
“I’ve never seen a more beautiful bride,” Miranda said, and mostly redeemed herself in Kate’s eyes.
“Never,” Kate agreed.
Holly hadn’t taken her eyes off herself. “You all need to stop saying nice things. My makeup is too perfect to cry now.” She waited a beat. “Okay, don’t stop it.”
They all gushed some more, shed a few happy tears in spite of their makeup, and then Holly smoothed her dress one last time and smiled. “So, any last-minute advice, girls?”
“Make sure to train him from the get-go,” Lilah said. “Toilet seat down.”
“And he should sleep in the wet spot at least half the time,” Jade said.
“And don’t let him contort your body into a position during sex so that your stomach pooches and your boobs end up in your armpits with your ankles near your ears,” Miranda said. “That’s just not flattering for anyone.”
Everyone stared at her for one awkward beat.
“Um, thank you,” Holly finally said. “That’s good advice.”
Kate’s cell rang. It was Ashley. “Dad’s lost his keys.”
Kate rushed over there to pick them up. Her dad was waiting for her on the porch. “Sorry,” he said. “You look beautiful. I hope that sometime soon it might be my turn to walk my little girl down the aisle,” he said.
She gave him a hug, and he squeezed her tight as Ashley showed up, wearing a miniskirt and skimpy tank top.
“No,” Kate said, pointing to the stairs. “You’ve got three minutes to add many, many more acres of clothing, or you’re going to get left behind.”
“When I go off to college, you won’t be the boss of me anymore.”
“Don’t tease me.”
Ashley stomped back up the stairs.
Kate looked at her dad.
He shrugged. “She doesn’t listen to me.”
“She would if you actually said something.”
Her father winced in guilt, and Kate felt her own stab of the same emotion. “I know you don’t like to upset her, but she’s an alien right now. You upset her by breathing, we all do, so you might as well put your foot down and mean it.” Then she eyeballed Tommy from head to toe. By some miracle, he appeared to have used both shampoo and a brush. He looked adorable in his khakis and button-down shirt—which was dark brown so as to cover any possible stains because there were surely stains. “Your shoes are on the wrong feet,” she said.
Tommy looked down at himself.
Kate waited.
But Tommy just scratched his head. “But I don’t have any other feet.”
“Fair enough,” Kate said. “Let’s go.”
She drove them to the church, which was full and buzzing with warm vibes, soft music, and the hushed excitement that always came before a wedding.
Kate was in the waiting alcove with Holly and the others when she caught sight of the groomsmen showing guests to their seats. Griffin was one of them. She’d seen him in his army camo. She’d seen him in jeans. She’d seen him in a variety of clothing. But nothing beat seeing him in a tux.
Well, except for when he wore nothing at all . . .
* * *
The ceremony was beautiful, from the music to the flowers to the wedding party itself. Kate watched Griffin standing tall at Adam’s side, his hair growing out of the military buzz cut, those miss-nothing eyes and that carefully blank face scanning their surroundings.
What was it like, she wondered, to have been so hardened, so honed into a lean, mean fighting machine that you could hide your every emotion?
Or did he just not have emotions?
No, she knew he did. She saw them when he dealt with Holly in an easy, affectionate way. Or when he looked with frustration at his father.
Or when he’d kissed her . . .
Yeah, there’d been a wealth of living, breathing, one hundred percent pure emotion under his surface. He was just entirely too good at keeping it all to himself most of the time.
Adam and Holly had written their own vows. By the time Adam took Holly’s hand and looked deep into her eyes as he recited his own words in a firm, steady voice, there wasn’t a dry eye in the place.
Except for Griffin. Kate knew he loved his sister, knew he was a good brother, but he was standing there like he was carved out of granite. She stared at him from a view gone blurry with her own tears, longing in a way she didn’t understand. What was it about this one man that reached out and grabbed her by the throat? Why him?
The minister said something about the importance of family, and Holly craned her neck and met her brother’s gaze.
Griffin flashed her a heart-stopping smile.
The smile got to Kate like nothing else. And she knew right then and there. She was in deep trouble.
The I-do’s came, and then the kiss-the-bride part, which Adam appeared to take very seriously given the length of the time it took him to kiss Holly. No one could say that Adam wasn’t extremely thorough.
Then the new bride and groom walked back down the aisle, followed by matched sets of bridesmaids and groomsmen. Griffin crooked his elbow and Kate slipped her arm through. He was the hardened soldier again, cool-headed, gorgeous with the strong angle of his jaw, the perfect contours of his cheekbones, the badass testosterone leaking from his every pore, and he represented something she’d never been able to give herself—fun.
The truth was, he flat out stole her breath. He always had, from the first time she’d seen him.
He met her gaze then, and she had to steel her resolve against the unwelcome wave of emotion that welled up inside her. His hand was on hers, and he smelled so fricking amazing, she ached. She ached from head to toe for him.
How stupid was that? She wanted him. Not for comfort or security. Those things were an illusion. She wanted him just for her. She didn’t have a chance with him, and yet that didn’t seem to matter to her heart. Just once, she thought with yearning.
Okay, maybe twice.
Three times tops.
Ten
The reception started off boisterous and happy, and escalated from there. Kate moved through the room, chatting, helping make sure everything ran smoothly, all while making her plan. How hard could it be to convince a red-blooded male in his sexual prime that one night together was a great idea?
She was smart, she reminded herself. She could do this. Maybe she didn’t have a lot of expe
rience, but she had great recall, so she mentally accessed every Cosmo article on flirting she’d ever read. And the next time she caught sight of Griffin in his tux, she made subtle—or what she hoped was subtle—eye contact, and making sure her arms were uncrossed, she smiled.
“What are you doing?” Ryan asked, coming up to her side, handing her a flute of champagne.
“What do you mean?”
“You look like you’re having a seizure.”
She sighed. “I’m trying to flirt.”
“That was flirting?”
“Studies say that a woman can increase the likelihood of a man approaching her if she uncrosses her arms, makes subtle eye contact, and smiles,” she said.
“Studies? What studies?”
“Cosmo.”
Ryan laughed and looked across the room to see whom she was flirting with. “Mr. Houghton? Your sixty-five-year-old neighbor?”
“No!” She drank down her champagne. “Forget it. What happened to your bridesmaid? You get shut down?”
“Yeah.” He stepped closer. “That dress is the exact color of your eyes, did you know that?”
Yes, she knew. It was a happy coincidence, as was the fact that the cut flattered her body. It could have gone either way. She had a closet full of bridesmaid dresses that had gone the wrong way, in fact. And then she realized she wasn’t the only one flirting. Ryan was, too, with her. “Hey, you threatened to kill me if I made you be my date tonight,” she reminded him. “So you can just take all those bottled-up sexy pheromones and go wave them at some other hot bridesmaid. You lost your chance with this.” She waved at herself. “This is for someone else.”
Ryan leaned in close enough to murmur in her ear, giving her a little nuzzle first. Which, damn him, he knew was her hot spot. “We could have breakup sex,” he whispered hotly.
She slid him a look. “Breakup sex?”
“Yeah.” He flashed his winning smile. “The kind of sex you have when you’re broken up. To get over each other.”
“We were over each other before we were under each other.”
He sighed. “This isn’t going to happen, is it?”
“Let me spell it out for you,” she said. And then she made the same finger across the throat gesture he’d given her the other day.
He sighed again. “You’re a little mean when you hold a grudge.”
Kate turned and was handed a second flute of champagne by Mr. Nevins, her postal carrier. Mr. Nevins was six foot six and about 140 pounds when soaking wet. A pipe cleaner with eyes. And though he’d been delivering her mail for as long as she could remember, she still didn’t know his first name.
“Heard you’re looking for a hot date,” he said.
Kate slid her gaze to just behind Mr. Nevins. Miranda was watching her. Eyes aglow, she waved at Kate. Kate tossed back her second champagne. “I’m sorry, but I’m not on the market.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “You’d give me a crimp in my neck anyway.”
She was then propositioned by Mr. Houghton, who gave her yet another drink and said it looked like maybe she’d been flirting with him earlier.
Kate turned him down gently, but she did accept the drink.
And just like that, the evening got pleasantly blurry. The DJ called the wedding party to the dance floor, and somehow she found herself bumping up against Mr. Tall, Dark, and Annoyingly Gorgeous himself.
“Hey,” Griffin said, pulling her into him when she crashed into someone behind her and nearly went down. “You drunk again?”
“Okay,” she said, very carefully pointing a finger in his face. “First of all, I wasn’t drunk last night. Or the night before.” She paused. “But I might be on my way now—entirely by accident, mind you. People keep asking me out, and turning them down requires alcohol.”
“Remove your finger from my face.”
Instead she waggled it. “Or . . . ?”
He nipped at the tip, and she yelped. Before she could pull it back, he sucked that same tip into his mouth. And just like that, her legs wobbled again. “Damn,” she said.
“Tell me about these guys who are asking you out and plying you with alcohol.”
She shrugged. “I have options is all.”
His eyes narrowed. “Who?”
“Mr. Houghton.”
Griffin relaxed. “Houghton’s got high blood pressure and some heart problems. You’d probably kill him. Who else?”
“I’m dancing. I can’t do two things at once.”
“It’s not like we’re trying to samba,” he said.
“Did you know that samba means rubbing your belly buttons together?”
“Then by all means,” he said. “Let’s samba.”
“Too late. And BTdubs,” she said, poking him in the chest with her finger again. “Lots of people who aren’t senior citizens find me hot.”
“Everyone finds you hot,” he said.
This stopped her temper in its tracks, and she blinked up at him. “Yeah?”
“Hell yeah.” He made a sound that might have been a low laugh or some sort of pained groan and pulled her in tighter, resting his cheek on the top of her head.
This was when she realized that they were slow dancing, that he had one big hand at the small of her back, the other wrapped warmly in hers, pressed against his chest.
“Do you?” she whispered. “Find me hot?”
He opened his eyes and met hers. “So hot I’m already burned,” he said.
She grinned. “It’s the dress.”
He let out a low laugh. “I’m pretty sure it’s you.”
That was just about the nicest thing anyone had said to her lately, and she felt her throat go tight.
His smile faded. “What are you doing?”
It had been a long, emotional three days, she told herself, and swallowed hard. The knot in her throat remained. “Nothing,” she said.
“You’re not crying.”
“No.”
He looked vastly relieved at her denial, but then she sniffed. He swore, making her laugh and drop her forehead to his chest. “I’m not.” Much. “But I might wipe my nose on you.”
“Go for it,” he said. “The tux is Adam’s. Whatever you want. Anything.”
She went still at the possibilities before lifting her face to his. “Anything?”
He paused and then let out another low laugh. “You know, we could use you in the military. One look from those melting green eyes and conflicts would just fall away. Whole armies would line up to give you whatever you want. You’re dangerous as hell, you know that?”
She liked that. She liked that a lot. Stupid with lust—and champagne—she smiled, the threat of tears gone. “Did you know that sex is a great way to burn calories?”
He gave her a long look.
“It’s true. A real orgasm burns about one hundred and twelve calories.”