Alice nodded and gave Yasmin a small smile of compassion. “Dear girl, I know you loved your grandfather dearly. For all his bluster and noise, he was a man who cared deeply. But sometimes promises made in the heat of the moment should be broken. Is Carter Air truly your passion, or are you merely holding onto an old man’s dream...and his bitterness?”
“How dare you say such a thing? His bitterness? You dumped him! In fact, you didn’t even have the decency to tell him yourself at the time. He had to read your engagement notice in the local paper.”
Alice felt a pang in her chest. “It was for the best.”
“You’ll have to forgive me if I disagree.” Yasmin got up from the sofa and began to pace the floor, the layers of her gown swirling around her like a cloud.
“Fine, I know I can’t afford to break the contract. I’ll go ahead with the wedding, but on one condition.”
“And that is?”
“That our companies remain as two separate entities and Ilya and I never discuss business.”
Alice rose and went to stand in front of Yasmin. “Your businesses are a big part of both your lives. Not being able to share and discuss your day’s work, your challenges and successes, means you’ll only be sharing half a life together. Are you sure this is a wise decision?”
Yasmin’s eyes darkened and her mouth firmed into a straight line before she spoke.
“It’s the only way. If he won’t agree to it then the wedding is off and you will release me from my contract with no penalty because while it would definitely harm my business if it was to be widely known I broke my contract with you, wouldn’t the same be true for Match Made in Marriage? After all, Ilya is your grandson. In itself that would raise eyebrows if your involvement in this was made public, wouldn’t it?”
Alice had to admire the girl’s mettle. She inclined her head slightly. “And you’ll accept my grandson’s word that he will honor your request? I’m sure you’ve heard that his word is his bond.”
Yasmin nodded.
“Fine. I will discuss it with my grandson.”
* * *
“I have to say I’m surprised at how well you’re coping,” Valentin Horvath leaned over and whispered in Ilya’s ear. “After all, it’s not every day a man is rejected by his bride on first sight. Maybe I’m biased, being family and all, but I didn’t think you were that ugly.”
Ilya clenched his jaw and deliberately counted to ten before answering his cousin, who also happened to be one of his closest friends. Valentin headed up Horvath Pharmaceuticals in New York and was generally more serious in nature than his younger, more carefree brother, Galen.
“It’s only to be expected that she would be nervous.”
“And if she doesn’t return?” asked Galen.
“She’ll return.”
“With Nagymama frog-marching her from behind, no doubt,” Valentin said, using the family’s Hungarian nickname for their grandmother.
Galen stifled a laugh. “Can’t say I’ve seen Nagy move quite so quickly in the past few years.”
“Protecting her investment, perhaps,” his brother replied archly. “You know how personally she takes her matches.”
Ilya rolled his eyes. Family ribbing was all very well and good—to be expected under the circumstances—but he was getting impatient. Where the hell was his bride?
He’d recognized Yasmin Carter the moment he’d turned around. So many thoughts had crossed his mind, the first being how stunningly beautiful she was in her wedding gown. Who knew that beneath the flight suits or jeans and a T-shirt he’d seen her wearing at the airfield, she could be so incredibly feminine, or so vulnerably fragile. That first glimpse of her today had appealed to an instinct his family constantly teased him about—his need to protect and provide for those he cared for. He hadn’t expected to feel that for his bride immediately, but he had—deeply and viscerally. His response had made him want to follow her when she’d turned and left after her awkward pronouncement. It was only his grandmother’s hurried whisper that she would deal with it that had prevented him from chasing Yasmin as she’d bolted from the room, even though every cell in his body had called on him to do so.
He looked at his watch again and fought not to start tapping his foot in impatience. The women had been gone twenty minutes now.
“The natives are getting restless,” Valentin observed as he cast his eyes over the assembled family and friends who’d been able to make it on short notice. “It’s a good thing you have the champagne flowing, Galen.”
Galen was the head of Horvath’s hotel and resort chain. He’d automatically switched into damage control mode the moment the wedding had gone off the rails. Ilya refused the offer of a waiter passing by with a tray of beverages. He needed a clear head today.
A movement in the doorway attracted his attention and he started toward his grandmother before anyone else noticed her.
“Is Yasmin all right?” he asked as his grandmother tugged him into the hallway.
“You recognized her?”
“Of course I did. While I’m left wondering what madness possessed you to match her to me, I’ve learned to trust you. But does she? She’s more skittish than I would have thought.”
“And so you ought to trust your grandmother. I only ever have your best interests at heart,” Alice said, patting him fondly on the cheek. “We have a small problem.”
A small problem? He would have thought his bride running away from the ceremony was a bit more than that.
“She has a stipulation if the wedding is to proceed,” his grandmother continued.
“And that is?”
“She’s very protective of Carter Air. She will go ahead with this, provided that you two never discuss business together and that your companies remain two separate entities. Therefore, no mergers, no buyouts, no sharing of information.”
“And that’s it?”
In the grand scheme of things, it was nothing. Of course she’d want to protect her company. And though their families had bad blood between them, he wasn’t interested in Carter Air as a takeover target and didn’t wish Yasmin ill beyond the usual competition in the industry. It wasn’t his style. He’d never understood why the cold war that had raged between his grandfather and Jim Carter, Yasmin’s grandfather, had been carried on for generations. Ilya didn’t believe in holding grudges. But even so he did wonder if his grandmother had some other ideas cooking beneath her halo of perfectly coifed silver hair.
“You agree, then?”
“Of course I agree, Nagy. Show me where to sign and I’ll sign.”
He saw relief in his grandmother’s blue eyes. “Thank you, my boy. I think it’s best if we keep this a verbal agreement for now, don’t you? We don’t want anything to muddy the waters should circumstances change, and thanks to your exemplary reputation, Yasmin is prepared to accept your word. Now, go back inside and wait.”
“We’re going ahead?”
“We most certainly are.”
Two
Yasmin fought the overwhelming sense of déjà vu that assailed her as she approached the double doors to the ballroom. This was it, her wedding day. She was actually going through with it. And now, hopefully, her problems would begin to fade away. Her business problems, at least. As for her personal ones, well, that was another story.
She hovered at the end of the carpet, sensed a movement at her side. Ilya.
“Yasmin Carter, will you marry me?” he asked, offering her his arm so he could accompany her down the aisle.
She looked up into his denim-blue eyes and saw only reassurance there. Strange that in business they were such fierce rivals, yet here he was offering her comfort, companionship. Marriage. It shouldn’t have made sense—she barely knew the man—but in this moment he was the key that would hopefully unlock the door to her future.
“Yasmin?”
“Yes, I will marry you,” she said in a voice she’d hoped would be firm and decisive, but that came out husky and with a faint tremor.
“Shall we?” He nodded toward the aisle.
She tucked her arm in his and together they walked slowly down the aisle toward the celebrant.
The ceremony itself passed in a blur. She supposed she said the right things at the right time, because before she knew it, Ilya was putting a blindingly brilliant wedding band on her finger and the celebrant was pronouncing them husband and wife.
Ilya leaned toward her. Oh my, he’s going to kiss me! she thought, her heart kicking up to double speed in her chest. Unsure of what to do, she stood there, watching him come toward her with a twinkle in those intriguing eyes and an expression of humor mixed with determination on his face.
As he drew closer Yasmin felt his warmth and took in the scent of his cologne, the tang of pine with an underlying hint of sandalwood. And then his lips touched hers. Sensation rippled through her whole body and her breath caught in her throat. Time stopped. All that existed was the sensation of his kiss. And then, just like that, it was over. Too soon and yet not soon enough.
As he pulled away, there was a polite smattering of applause together with whoops and hollers from Ilya’s groomsmen. He might not be touching her right now, but every nerve in her body continued to party as if he still kissed her. It was madness and it was wonderful all at the same time. A roaring sound filled Yasmin’s ears.
Her new husband leaned forward and whispered, “Breathe, Yasmin.”
She took in one shuddering breath and then another before turning to accept congratulations from the few members of her staff—pretty much her only friends these days—who’d made it to the wedding. All the while she tried to come to terms with the avalanche of emotion that swept her along on its tumbling course. She was married. To Ilya Horvath. And the man was dangerous.
One kiss had scrambled her synapses. One. That’s all it had taken. Was she so weak? So starved for male attention? Yasmin looked across at Ilya, her husband, and the tingle of desire he’d ignited in her dialed up a few notches. She felt a flush warm her cheeks as he turned from the person congratulating him and his gaze met hers. Yasmin swiftly averted her eyes.
Alice Horvath stood before her. Were those tears in the older woman’s eyes? Surely not. Before Yasmin could say anything, Alice stepped closer.
“Congratulations, my dear, and welcome to the family. You’re one of us now.”
Alice pulled Yasmin into a firm hug, holding her close for several seconds before letting her go. Her words, however, settled into Yasmin’s mind like a rock sinking in quicksand. Before she could reply, Ilya was back at her side.
“The photographer would like us to himself for a while. Nagy, will you excuse us?”
Yasmin wasn’t sure how Ilya managed it, but within moments they were in the beautiful gardens overlooking the marina. She’d been excited when she’d learned that due to California’s requirement that the couple apply for their license together, their wedding would instead take place in Washington State, where they could show up to apply separately, which satisfied the Match Made in Marriage condition of bride and groom first meeting at the altar. She’d always loved the area, with the trees, mountains and Puget Sound. The resort was as picturesque and breathtaking as she’d hoped, and the sounds of rigging clanking on the boats berthed in the marina peppered the sea-scented air.
“Are you okay?” Ilya asked. “You looked as if you could benefit from a breath of fresh air.”
“I’m fine, thank you, but you’re right. It’s good to be away from the circus. I didn’t know it would be so...”
“Overwhelming?” he said in a voice that sounded like he understood exactly how she was feeling.
She looked up at him. She was not a short woman, but in her flat-heeled slippers, he was a good head taller. “Yeah, overwhelming.”
And she didn’t just mean the ceremony. It was him—everything about him was more than she’d expected. Of course, she’d seen pictures of him. Even been in the same room with him a time or two when they’d attended aviation industry functions. But she’d never in a million years imagined being his wife. She dropped her gaze to his hands. He held a bottle of French champagne and a single glass. When had he grabbed those? she wondered as she noted his long fingers and how gracefully he poured the wine.
“Here,” he said, handing the flute to her. “This might help.”
Her skin was peppered with goosebumps—as if he’d touched her already, as if he’d traced those smooth fingertips across the swell of her breasts and lower, ever lower. Inside her corset she felt her nipples harden. A tiny gasp of surprise escaped her as a spear of longing arrowed straight to her core. Was this what Alice had meant when she said they belonged together? Did the woman have some kind of insight into the chemistry that attracted one person to another? The chemistry that made Yasmin feel as though she had about as much chance of avoiding her attraction to Ilya as an iron filing did a magnet?
She ripped her gaze from his hands and accepted the glass, lifting it straight to her lips and downing at least half the champagne in one gulp. The bubbles fizzed and danced along her tongue and down her throat, much as her blood danced more and more heatedly through her veins the longer she was around him.
This wasn’t what she’d expected. This instant, engulfing need for a man she barely even knew, yet was now wedded to.
“Thirsty?” Ilya asked, cocking one brow.
A flush of embarrassment stained her cheeks, making her feel even more flustered.
“Something like that,” she muttered and took another, more delicate, sip.
Before she could ask him why he didn’t have a glass himself, the photographer and his assistant joined them. Yasmin took in as deep a breath as her corset would allow, grateful for the distraction.
The next hour passed in a blur of directions, unnatural poses and equally unnatural smiles. By the time the photographer called for one last pose, she’d drank far more of the bottle of champagne than anyone who’d skipped both breakfast and lunch out of nerves had a right to.
“Okay, people. How about a bit of passion?”
“He does know we only just met today, doesn’t he?” Yasmin said to Ilya through gritted teeth. “We don’t even know each other.”
Ilya’s arm slipped around her waist and he stepped in closer. “I think we can produce a reasonable facsimile of the feeling, don’t you?”
He lowered his face to hers, his lips hovering a hairsbreadth away from her mouth. She could see the silver striations that radiated from his pupils and the rim of dark blue around his irises. He really had the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. His hand was strong against her back. Supporting. Warm. The warmth seeped slowly into her skin. A shiver ran up her back in total contrast. He might essentially be a stranger to her, but he affected her on a level that intrigued and frightened her at the same time.
His breath was a mere whisper against her lips, his gaze intense as he looked into her eyes. Involuntarily she raised her hand to cup his cheek, her palms tingling as she felt the bristles of his neatly trimmed beard against her fingertips. Her lips parted on a sigh and her senses primed themselves for that moment when their lips would touch.
“Perfect!” the photographer exclaimed joyfully, breaking the spell. “Now let’s go back inside for some group shots and the cutting of the cake.”
Yasmin blinked and let her hand drop to her side. Her other hand still clutched her bouquet in a death grip. What had nearly happened there? She wasn’t sure if she was grateful for the photographer’s interference or maddened by it. She shivered again. Even though it was early fall, and the day had dawned sunny and mild, clouds were gathering in the sky and the temperature had dropped markedly.
“Here, you’re cold. Let me put this on you.”
Be
fore she could protest that they’d be inside soon, Ilya had stripped off his jacket and was draping it over her shoulders. The heat of his body transferred from the silk lining to her skin, leaving her feeling overly sensitive. A few drops of rain fell on his white shirt, rendering it transparent where they hit. She caught a glimpse of a dark nipple behind the fine cotton, felt a clench of need so intense it made her stumble as she started to move forward.
Ever the gentleman, Ilya steadied her. The photographer’s assistant rushed toward them with a massive white umbrella that Ilya accepted and held over them both. He guided her toward the doors leading to the main reception room. As soon as they were inside, she pulled off his jacket and thrust it toward him.
“Thank you. I don’t need this now.”
“It’s okay to accept a little help from time to time.”
“Said the man who has never had to ask for help from anyone, ever.”
She smiled to soften her words but her meaning hung in the air between them. He had been born into a life of privilege. Certainly the privilege had been created by the hard work of previous generations and, she knew well, of the current generation, too. But had he ever truly wanted for anything?
“Besides,” she continued, “you’ll need to look your formal best for the reception.”
He said nothing but shrugged the jacket back on. The resort’s wedding planner hovered at the inner doors to the reception room.
“Are the two of you all ready?” she asked with an encouraging smile.
“As ready as we’ll ever be, right?” Ilya replied with a crooked smile in Yasmin’s direction.
She nodded, desperately trying to ignore the ridiculous sensations that poured through her. Anyone would think she was a sex-starved crazy woman if they knew how easily he sent her senses into overdrive. And aren’t you? a little voice teased from the back of her mind. Okay, sure, she hadn’t had a date in, what? Two years? And as for sex, well, it had been even longer. That didn’t mean she had to melt like an ice cube on hot tarmac in the middle of July with just one look from him. Besides, he didn’t appear to be similarly afflicted, she realized with a burst of chagrin. From now on she’d keep her ridiculous reactions very firmly under control. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it?
Tangled Vows (Marriage At First Sight Book 1) Page 2