by Tania Joyce
“I’m not most guys.”
“No.” She stroked the side of his cheek. “And I’m glad you’re not.” She threaded her fingers into his hair and clutched a handful. “It was worth a shot.”
“Since we’re talking weddings. . .” He tilted his head toward the stairwell door, “ . . . want to go and sort out a few things?”
Gemma wrinkled her nose as if she’d smelled his after-performance sweaty socks.
He kissed the side of her neck. Nuzzling into her ear, he whispered, “I promise to make it worth your while.”
“You better.” She lowered her gaze and her cheeks blushed. He loved the way her body reacted whenever he was suggestive. Made him love her even more, knowing he had a profound effect on her.
Damn, he couldn’t wait till their honeymoon. They hadn’t had a decent break in fifteen months; time off would be well-deserved.
She gave him a quick kiss. “If we have to do this, I’ll need a drink.”
After the harrowing day they’d had, a drink or two sounded perfect. “Deal.”
They headed downstairs to their apartment. He grabbed the JD, tumblers and ice from the kitchen and met Gemma over in the living room. She curled her feet underneath her on their linen sofa, her shirt riding up showing off her gorgeous legs and flashing him a peek at her black panties. God, he wanted to tear them off with his teeth, but they had to talk about the wedding. He poured a shot into each glass. She snatched one of the drinks and knocked it back.
Grinning, he sat beside her, stroked his fingers through her hair. That’s my girl.
Gemma stared at the wedding folder he’d left on the coffee table as if it was Pandora’s box and she was terrified of what horrors lay within. “So what do you want to go through?”
Kyle opened it to pictures of cakes he’d printed off the Internet. “Let’s pick a wedding cake so I can sort it out with catering.”
Gemma sank into the cushions. “Do we need one? There are only six of us.”
“We’re having a cake. No argument.” He spaced out half a dozen images on the glass tabletop. “I’ve narrowed it down to make it easy. Let’s pick one and it’s done.”
He gazed over the tiered masterpieces covered in flowers, satin ribbons, glittery trim and golden beads.
Gemma tensed beside him. She rubbed her eyebrow, hard. “We don’t need anything this big. These cakes would feed over one hundred people.”
“You’re right. I’ll make sure I order a smaller one.” His grin broadened.
Gemma glanced at him. The color drained from her face. He didn’t understand why she stressed over such trivial matters.
“You pick,” she pleaded. “I don’t care.”
“Gem, it’s a cake.” He stroked his hand over her thigh. “On the count of three, we’ll both point to one, okay?”
She nodded and glanced at the images.
Looking at the pictures, he re-evaluated his selection. What was he thinking when he printed these? Gemma wouldn’t like the one with cascading pink flowers; she hated pink. The three white monstrosities with swirls of white icing and silver beads . . . nope, too girly, definitely not. It was between the tiered round cake with colored ribbons, or the square dark chocolate cake.
“Ready?” He shuffled forward on the sofa. “On the count of three. One. Two. Three.”
Their hands slapped onto the picture of the chocolate cake. The beaming smile that shot across her face made his heart thud, thud, thud. God, he loved her so much. They were so in tune . . . most of the time.
“What’s next?” She refilled her drink and took a sip.
He flipped over a couple pages to a picture of a long table dressed in elaborate candles and flower decorations. His stomach cinched into a knot. Table decorations meant they needed to talk about the guest list. The change he wanted most had him breaking out in a cold sweat, but he was ready to plead his case.
Gemma stared at the picture in the folder. “I draw the line. We’re not having anything like that.”
He took a steady breath. The whiskey shot he’d had calmed and cooled his approach. “This isn’t about decorations, it’s about the guest list. I know what we originally agreed on, but . . . I’d really like to invite a few more people. Actually . . . quite a few more.”
“What?” Gemma choked on a mouthful of whiskey. “No. We agreed to keep it small.”
That was true, but now he wanted changes. “Hear me out. I’ve got a plan. I think you’ll like it.” He grabbed a piece of paper he’d scribbled names on from within the folder and read from the top.
“I’d really like Kade to come.” His relatives lived in Seattle. It was where his parents had come from before they’d moved to New Jersey shortly after he was born.
“Your cousin?” Her voice came out in a strangled gasp. “But he’s coming to your bachelor party in Vegas. Isn’t that enough?” She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs.
“That’ll be drunken debauchery, not our special day.” Hayden and Hunter were keeping plans for his bachelor party tightly sealed, guaranteed to be wild fun. He took a gulp of whiskey, letting the burn warm and spread through his chest.
She closed her eyes, tension tightening every muscle on her face. “Please don’t do this. Don’t make me out to be the bad person here. I just want our wedding to be us and our four closest friends.”
Her soulful tone hit him in the chest hard, but he wasn’t going to back down. “But Kade is important to me.” He’d been away on tour and lived on the opposite side of the country to Kade. Growing up, Kade had come to stay every summer. Every vacation until the end of high school, they’d headed to the old beach house that had been in Kyle’s family for three generations in Amagansett on the far stretches of Long Island. He and Kade were still close. Family was everything. “I’d like him to be there.”
“But if he comes, does that include his girlfriend?”
Kyle shrugged a shoulder. “Shelley’s nice. So yeah.” He took a deep breath and continued down his list. “And I’d really like to invite Bec, Kate, Sophie, Carla, the guys from our backup band and our security team.”
“Kyle, no.” Anguish swirled like an undercurrent in her voice.
He stared at his list, lead pooling in the pit of his gut. Bec and Kate had been through everything with Everhide. Bec, the mechanical clockwork behind their life, organized everything meticulously. Kate, their publicist, always had her work cut out for her dealing with everything from the dramas, scandals and cover-ups, to the accolades, awards and celebrations. Sophie, their manager, had slipped seamlessly into taking over from Amie when they’d left SureHaven Records and signed with Sony. These three ladies were a significant part of the Everhide empire. So was Carla, their makeup artist, their band, and their security team. “Gem, they’re part of our lives. They should be there to celebrate.”
Her hand shook as she placed her glass down onto the coffee table. “They’ll be with us in Vegas. We can have a get together back here after our honeymoon. No more wedding guests. Next you’ll be wanting photographers, and flower girls, and a string quartet.”
“Um, yeah.” Kyle couldn’t keep exasperation out of his voice. “We’ll need a photographer.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No, we don’t. Lexi has agreed to take photos. Hayden’s going to help.”
“But they’re part of our bridal party, we want them in photos.”
She flicked her hand. “I’m not having some random photographer we may or may not know at our wedding.”
“But—"
Gemma clenched her fists against her thighs. “No buts. Kyle, we wanted to keep the ceremony small. Just us, our four friends, on the beach. That is perfect. Now you want to make it bigger? First it will be these few guests. Then you’ll want to invite their partners, more friends and distant family members.”
“Yes.” His voice jumped, but he reined it back in. He didn’t want this conversation to turn into a heated argument. “Partners have to be
included.” He didn’t look at Gemma as he finished rattling off a few more names of friends, relatives and colleagues on his list. The air prickled around him, but he ignored it and kept pressing his plan. “We’d fly everyone to Belize, have them stay on the mainland and charter a boat to get everyone to and from the island for the ceremony.”
“What the hell?” Fire flared in the depths of Gemma’s eyes. “How many people is that? Fifty. We’ve gone from six to fifty? No fucking way.”
“Yes way. The more the merrier.” His tone was firm, but the daunted look in her eyes pulled him up short. His chest ached seeing her so distressed. He couldn’t understand what was going on in her head. What was she battling? “What’s the problem? Are you afraid the paparazzi might find us? I can assure you; I’m keeping the details of our wedding as tight as possible. Or are you afraid your mother will demand to come? I can assure you, Janine isn’t invited. I’ll relocate the wedding if she turns up.”
“It’s too many people. Too extravagant. And yes, with that many guests, information is bound to leak to the media. I don’t want helicopters, speed boats and paparazzi with their long-range lens ruining our day. This is the one day we wanted to be out of the spotlight. Why change it?” Her glassy eyes searched his face for the answer.
He placed his hand over his heart. “Because these people are our family and it would mean so much to me to have them there.”
She closed her eyes. Her nostrils flared as she took a long, deep breath. “God, you can be so infuriating.”
She met his gaze and he gave her an I-know quirky grin. He usually wasn’t one to flash his money around, but their wedding was an exception. “Just think—it will make it one hell of a party.”
Her skin had taken on a grayish tinge. Her pulse throbbed in the veins on the side of her neck. “This is supposed to be about us. Not them.”
“It is.” He softened his tone. “We have the whole island for three weeks. Lexi, Hayden, Kara and Hunter are only staying with us for a few days. We can skip having a rehearsal dinner. Everyone can just come for the ceremony and reception, that’s it. I’ll organize everything . . . with a touch of Bec’s help.”
Her hands trembled as she twisted the necklace he’d given her for her birthday around her finger, chewed on the pendant and tapped it against her lips.
Silence.
Her shoulders slumped and her hands dropped into her lap. Her eyes hooded heavily when she looked at him from underneath her thick lashes. “If this is that important to you, can we compromise?”
His heart skipped a beat. As she placed her hand on his leg and fumbled with the edge of his boxer shorts, he could tell she was struggling with the idea of negotiating. He loved her even more for trying. She often dug her heels in when she was adamant about something. Maybe she realized this was a good change to their plans and wanted to make him happy. She was an angel like that. Whatever she’d give him, he’d take . . . within reason. “We can do that. What did you have in mind?”
“Make it less than twenty people. Is that okay?” She lifted her chin and jabbed her finger against his leg. “But no pro photographer. If Kate’s coming, she can help Lexi and Hayds with photos. Deal?”
No photographer? Lexi was a hobbyist photographer and did the odd shoot for her job at a food magazine. She was incredibly talented. She’d take amazing photos; he didn’t doubt that. Looking at Gemma and seeing how hard she was trying to accommodate his wishes, he had to give a little as well. Entwining their fingers, he kissed the back of her hand and warmth flooded his heart. “I can work with that. Thank you.”
She pulled her hand free and pointed at him. “But promise me, no more changes. No more guests. I won’t go through with it if you suddenly want to book out the Waldorf and sign up for a magazine deal or reality TV show. Got it?”
His laugh reverberated deep in his chest. “There’s no chance of that happening. Not ever.” He threw his arms around her and hugged her, planting a big kiss on her lips. Shuffling closer to her, they culled names from his guest list until they reached the final number. Done. The negotiations hadn’t been too painful. “Awesome. I’ll send them save-the-date emails. We’ll have the best day. No regrets.”
“We’ll see about that,” she groaned and nudged him in the ribs. “Is that it? Are we done?”
“Yeah. For now. There’s a few more things, like food, to discuss, but we can talk about them later.” Even when she frustrated him, not a day went by without him thinking about how lucky he was to have her. Her strong will, loyalty and good heart won him over again and again.
She downed her drink and slapped him on the thigh. “Good. If that is everything, I’ll clean up. We have rehearsal all day tomorrow.”
She went to stand but he grabbed the back of her T-shirt and pulled her back onto the sofa. He leaped to his feet and grabbed their empty glasses. “Nah, I’ll do it.”
A wicked smile curled across her perfect lips. “I love my man in the kitchen.”
“That’s because I can cook and clean better than you,” he teased, walking toward the counter.
She threw a cushion, hitting him in the back. “You’re my slave to love.”
“I’m a slave for you.” Singing in a sultry Britney Spears-like voice, Kyle spun around and did his best attempt at a sexy body roll.
He scored another cushion, this time in the head. Hearing Gemma laugh was worth acting like a goof.
As he put the last of the dishes away and turned the dishwasher on, Gemma stood by the kitchen island, skimming through her phone.
Her hair fell in waves down to the small of her back. The hem of her T-shirt barely reached past the bottom of her ass, drawing his gaze over her shapely legs. So sexy. He slid behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder.
She stopped scrolling and tapped the screen.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Yea-p.” She spun around to face him. The whiskey on her breath teased him. Sent a buzz through his veins. “Just an email from Detective Jones, following up on tonight’s meeting. Nothing urgent.”
He pressed his forehead against hers. “We won’t let this ruin our plans, okay?”
“I’m not worried about the letters.” Her eyes told a different story. Shards of darkness flickered in the depths of the green but within a blink they disappeared, replaced with a playful glint. “I’m worried that dredging up memories about your exes might change your mind about marrying me.”
He caught his bottom lip with his teeth and shook his head. “Never. They’re in the past for a reason.”
She placed her hand on his chest and strummed her fingers. “I remember everyone. Teased you about every girl. Know what you did with them and why you broke up.”
He braced his hands either side of her on the countertop, trapping her. “Maybe I should worry about why you’re marrying me. You know everything about me. And yet . . . you still proposed.”
Last year at the start of tour, on his birthday, she’d given him the best present. She’d sung him a song in front of sixty thousand people, got down on bended knee and asked him to marry her.
“Was I high?” Her cheeks flushed rosy pink. Her gaze fell to his mouth then returned to meet his.
Running the tip of his nose up and down next to hers, he breathed her in. “Nope . . . it was the ultimate high.” He brushed his lips against hers, tasted sweet whiskey on her mouth. Hmm.
She slipped her hands around his neck. “Do you miss being single?” she said over their kisses.
The inquisitive tone in her voice caught him off-guard. Was she having doubts about marrying him, or just tripping down Memory Lane?
He clasped her hips, lifted her onto the countertop and edged in between her legs. Her T-shirt rode higher revealing black lace panties. His favorite. A grin tugged the corner of his mouth. There would never be another woman for him. Only Gemma.
He cupped the side of her neck, glided his finger over her pulse. “Those days are go
ne. You’re the one I love and want to spend the rest of my life with.”
Her eyes sparkled. What was she playing at? “Remember our first world tour? And we had that huge after-party in our suite in Miami? The one where the three of us were high as kites and we had one of the wildest nights ever?”
He closed his eyes. How could he forget that night? They were nineteen years old, done a few lines of cocaine and had drunk an excessive amount of alcohol. As music blared throughout the room and people partied in the suite, the three of them had dragged their evening hook-ups into the master bedroom. Hunter had banged some girl on the desk. He’d nailed some girl on the bed. Gemma had ridden some guy on the sofa. Damn, they’d done some crazy shit together. But he wouldn’t change any of it. Everything led to her being his. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
She shrugged. “Just wondering if you miss those days—the women, the partying, the wild sex. Recalling your list of girlfriends, I can’t believe you want me.”
He buried his fingers into her hair and massaged the base of her neck. Worry spiked through his pulse. “What’s going on, Gem? Are you having doubts?”
“God no.” Phew! “We still party hard. Just without the drugs, sex fests or hook-ups.” She wrinkled her nose. “Are we getting old and boring?”
“You . . . could never be boring.” He kissed a trail up the side of her neck and nibbled on her earlobe. Slowly, he slid his hands over her thighs, his fingers slipping under the hemline of her T-shirt.
She hooked her legs around his waist and stroked her thumb across his lips. Her touch ignited his skin. Sent his blood rushing south. “If this, being here with you, making music and getting to sleep with you all the time, is boring, I’ll take it any day. I love you. So much.”
His heart swelled every time she said those three words. He inched his hands higher underneath her shirt and caught the edge of her panties. He curled his fingers around the edge of the lace. “Good.” He nipped at her bottom lip. “Wanna be bad?”
“Always.” She swiped her hand over his freshly shaven cheek. “What did you have in mind?” Her voice, breathless and heavy, made his dick twitch and harden.