Tony’s eyes immediately homed in on Francesca. She’d assumed he was still angry, so it surprised her when he turned his signature dimpled smile on her and asked, “Can I speak with you for a moment?”
She nodded and followed him down the long boardwalk that led to the beach. Their arms accidentally brushed together as they walked, but neither made an effort to move away. When they arrived on the sand she noticed a rack where guests were supposed to leave their shoes. Tony quickly took off his shoes and put them on the rack. Francesca started to bend over to remove her shoes, but the tight silk gown made that impossible. She quickly gave up and just placed her hand on one of his shoulders and toed off her shoes. He shook his head, kneeled down, and placed her heels on the rack for her. Then he led her away from the chairs, toward the water. “You look beautiful, by the way,” he said.
“Thanks. You look pretty great yourself, Tony.”
He smiled but didn’t say anything. He picked up a few pebbles and tossed one into the ocean.
“Where’ve you been?” she asked.
“Sulking.”
She smiled. “That’s honest.”
“Francesca, I’m sorry about last week. I was an ass.”
“Yeah, you were. But it’s okay. I understand.”
“Do you?” he asked. “Are you kicking my ass out of the Academy?”
“No. Are you planning on quitting WtF?”
“No,” he said, throwing another pebble. They both looked out over the water. It was almost sundown, and the colors of the sky against the ocean were breathtaking. “So? We okay?”
“Of course we are. Why wouldn’t we be? My job is to keep you in line, and yours is to provoke me. You’re doing an awesome job at it, by the way.”
He laughed. “I swear I don’t try to piss you off. Quite the opposite, actually. I have a temper and I’m not too good at controlling it. And you don’t coddle me, which seems to bring my temper out a little more.” He threw the rest of the pebbles into the ocean and then dusted his hands together before looking over his shoulder. “People are starting to sit down—guess we better get a seat.” He reached forward and tucked some of her hair behind her ear.
She laughed. “Yeah, this wind is killing my hair. Should’ve put it up.”
He looked at her wrist. “I bet you’re dying to.”
“Why do you say that?”
He shrugged. “I’ve noticed how you tend to put it up, then let it down, and then put it up again. You do that like a hundred times a day.” He chuckled and then touched her wrist. “You don’t have that rubber band thing you always have.”
Damn, she thought, he’s observant. She suddenly had the urge to put her hair up.
“It’s rude to comment on a lady’s weird tic.”
“It’s cute.”
Now she wasn’t really sure what to do with her hands or what to say next. He was being so sweet and docile, it was unnerving.
“Your hair looks beautiful down, but when don’t you look beautiful?” He smiled.
She smiled back. “When you’re telling me to fuck off.”
He looked into her eyes. “No, cariño, that’s usually when you look the most beautiful.”
She didn’t have a snarky reply at the ready—actually, she couldn’t even find her voice at the moment—so she just stood there looking at him for a moment, until he put out his hand and led them back over to the chairs.
By the time they were seated, Jack was already standing by the beautifully adorned arch with Slade, his best man, at his side. A roar of laughter followed, and Francesca had to stand and lean over Tony to see Drogo walking slowly but surely down the white runner that marked the aisle. Slade called to him, and the dog growled. Jack bent down slightly and tried as well, but again the dog snarled. Slade rolled his eyes, took some treats from his pocket, and beckoned to Drogo once again, and this time the dog came over. Slade laid the treats on the ground and carefully tried to turn the collar so that he could open the little pouch and pull the rings out without getting bitten. Drogo seemed too busy eating to pay much attention to Slade. Just as Slade got the rings out of the pouch, the dog turned and snapped its tiny sharp teeth. “Son of a bitch!” Slade hissed loudly. Jack elbowed his friend and the minister gave him a look, but Slade triumphantly held the rings in the air. Then an older woman who looked just like Jack called Drogo over to her. The pup hopped on her lap and she gave him more treats. Everyone chuckled.
Jessica followed next in her beautiful yellow dress, holding a small bouquet of calla lilies. Her eyes immediately found Slade, who had a loopy smile on his face. It was as if there were silent words of love passing between them. They were so crazy about each other that being around them made Francesca feel unnerved. She hadn’t even known that kind of love existed.
Then the music changed to the wedding march, and Jack stood up straighter. Francesca glanced over at Chrissy, who looked beautiful in a simple white strapless gown. Her black hair was in loose waves around her shoulders, and her blue eyes glistened. But Francesca was more enthralled with Jack. The big brawny cop and MMA fighter seemed to be using every bit of self-control not to cry. Next to him, Slade looked just as messed up as he watched his sister walk down the aisle to wed his best friend. When Chrissy finally reached the front, she placed her palm against Jack’s face; his eyes closed, and she gently swiped a tear away with her thumb. He covered her hand with his and mouthed, “I love you.”
Francesca felt a big lump form in her throat at the tenderness the two shared. She felt like a voyeur intruding on a private moment. Tony glanced at her and smiled, then reached for her hand and squeezed it quickly.
After the ceremony, the guests rose, preparing to make their way to the reception being held in Slade’s backyard, which was next door to Jack and Chrissy’s house and just several hundred feet away from the beach where the ceremony had been held. Tony watched as Francesca struggled to get her heels back on. He laughed when he saw her blow a wisp of hair out of her face in frustration. “Need some help?” he asked. She looked up at him and let out a huff. He bent down, picked up their shoes, and then strolled over to some nearby chairs and patted one of them.
“I can put on my own shoes,” she said.
He smiled, put her shoes on the sand, and gestured, “Have at it.”
He bent down and slipped on his own shoes as he watched her squirm to get her stilettos on. He snorted out a laugh before reaching for her ankles and swinging her legs sideways onto his lap. She had to grab hold of the back of the chair so as not to fall off. He brushed off the sand from her feet before slipping her heels on. “You’re pretty much difficult about everything, aren’t you?” He placed her feet on the ground. “Your average woman would’ve said, ‘Hey, Tony, you think you could help me with this?’ Instead you almost tore the back of your dress trying to bend down.”
Francesca stood, ran her hands down her dress, and let out a breath. “Guess I’m not your average woman, honey.” She winked and headed toward Slade’s house.
No, she wasn’t your average woman. She was one fucking complicated woman, and she’d probably send his life into a tailspin.
—
The music was playing softly when Francesca entered the tent set up in Slade’s backyard. Everything was decorated in simple yellow and blue tones. “Looks like we’re seated at the same table,” Tony said as he handed her the card with her table number. He smiled and led her to the table, where a few other people, including Cain, Violet, JL, and Travis, were already seated. The group laughed and drank champagne as they waited for the newlyweds to finish taking pictures. The breeze coming from the ocean made the warm night tolerable, and the company made it memorable.
When Chrissy and Jack finally arrived, they shared their first dance as a married couple. Then, since Chrissy and Slade’s parents were deceased, instead of the customary father-daughter dance, Chrissy danced with her brother. The song they’d selected was beautiful, and more than once Slade had to brush a tear from his sister
’s eyes. And for the last few seconds of the song, Slade hugged Chrissy tightly as he whispered something in her ear. Estranged for nearly a decade, they had recently found their way back into each other’s lives, and it was a beautiful sight.
By the time they finished their dance, which was followed by Jack dancing with his mother, Francesca was famished. She leaned toward Tony. “If they don’t serve food soon, I swear I’ll chew your arm off.”
He laughed and handed her his arm. She waved it away with a giggle and took a sip of champagne.
“Watch it with the drinking if you haven’t eaten anything,” he suggested.
“Oh, don’t worry ’bout me. I can handle my alcohol.”
“If you say so,” he said with a raised eyebrow.
“That sounds like a challenge, honey.”
Tony held his hands up. “No. No challenge. Just sayin’, most women can’t drink on an empty stomach. But we’ve already established you’re not like most women, haven’t we?”
“Most definitely.” She tipped her flute toward him, and he clinked his glass against hers.
After dinner, the music changed to a faster tempo. Tony stood and extended his hand to Francesca. “Come on.”
“Uh…”
“Don’t tell me you can’t dance, cariño.”
The term of endearment made her heart pulse faster. She had Googled it months ago, when he’d first started saying it to her, and had found out that it meant “sweetheart” in Spanish. “I can dance,” she replied.
“Then don’t tell me you’re afraid of dancing with me.”
“I’m not afraid of anything.” She gulped down the rest of her champagne, took his hand, and headed to the dance floor.
Without hesitation Tony wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her tightly into him.
She yelped in surprise and put both palms against his chest for balance. “Maybe it’s you who doesn’t know how to dance—this is a fast song.” She tried to distance herself, but he just tightened his grip and chuckled.
“I’m Hispanic. We dance close—even to fast songs.” His hips began to sway against hers, and Francesca followed his lead. In no time they were dancing in sync. She turned in his arms and gyrated her backside against him. On some level Francesca knew she wasn’t acting like herself. She never let men touch her this way; normally she wasn’t even comfortable with men touching her at all. She didn’t feel drunk, but maybe she had had a little too much to drink.
His hips continued to sway and his arm never relented. His palm was now against her stomach and his mouth was close to her neck. “You smell so good.” She ignored his comment, or at least tried to ignore it, but both of them were beginning to sweat, and his hands began to get a little looser, hovering a little higher on her stomach, his thumb brushing under her breast. His breath on her neck became a soft tickle against her skin. She felt drunk on lust.
“Time for the bouquet toss! I want all the single ladies front and center!” Chrissy yelled, breaking the moment. A few very eager women jogged forward, JL being one of them. Violet and Francesca took some coaxing but finally made it up front. Chrissy did a few pretend throws for the photographer’s sake before actually tossing the bouquet.
Bam! Francesca had been so deep in thought that the bouquet hit her smack in the face. She winced and wiped away the petals that were stuck to her lips as the crowd hollered and whistled. The last thing Francesca had wanted to do was catch the flowers. Marriage was the furthest thing from her mind. Hell, dating wasn’t even on her list of things to do!
Then, amid hoots and catcalls, Jack removed Chrissy’s garter, and it was the men’s turn to line up. Francesca prayed Tony wouldn’t participate, but the man was front and center. She closed her eyes and held her breath as the garter flew across the room. She opened one eye to see Tony practically tackle all the other men. When he had the garter in his grip, he winked at Francesca, and her heart plummeted. She knew enough about him to know he was going to have fun with the opportunity to touch her.
Jack placed a chair in the middle of the small dance floor, and Chrissy called her over to sit. For a brief second she hesitated, but then she straightened her back and walked confidently to the chair. If there was one thing she never did, it was look weak in front of people. This wasn’t going to be any different regardless of who was about to have his hands all over her legs.
She sat down and crossed her legs, which made the slit rise even higher on her thigh.
—
Tony had the blue garter in his hands and couldn’t wait to place it on Francesca. He wished he was alone so he could really explore those beautifully toned legs of hers. Dancing with her had been a heady thing. She had been so soft against him and had moved sensually to the beat, rubbing her ass over and over again against his dick. He’d almost come in his pants like a horny teenager. It had taken all of his will to play the suave, experienced guy she’d come to expect. With Francesca he became a fifteen-year-old kid about to explode over the smallest of touches.
The music changed to a familiar Latin beat, and he chuckled. The song was as sexy as the goddess in emerald green seated in front of him. She looked confident, with a small smile on her face, but her fidgety hands and the red flush slowly creeping up her neck to her face told a different story. She wasn’t as confident as she wanted everyone to think.
Tony slowly walked around her. He loved making her nervous and uncomfortable. She looked over her shoulder, and he imagined she was wondering what he was doing. From behind her he put both hands on her shoulders and bent down so only she could hear. “Are you drunk?”
She swallowed and shook her head.
“Good. I want you to remember everything I’m about to do to you.”
She startled and ran her hands through her hair, trying to put it up, but had to let it go when she realized she didn’t have anything to tie it up with. A knowing smile crossed his face as he walked in front of her. He spun the garter on his index finger and looked into her big hazel eyes, then knelt down in front of her. There were a few catcalls from behind him, but this close to her he barely noticed them—all he could hear was her breathing, all he could smell was her scent, and all he could feel was the warmth radiating from her body.
First he took her ankle and lifted it to uncross her leg, careful not to flash everyone sitting in front of her. As his fingers lingered on her skin he looked up at her and saw that she was transfixed by his grip on her body. He carefully put his hand on the back of her knee and with the other hand removed her right shoe, his thumb pressing against the sole of her foot. Then he moved closer to her and placed the garter around her foot. The guests chanted, “Higher. Higher.” He smiled up at her, and she shook her head slightly as if pleading for him to stop, but he just continued to slide it higher. When he passed her knee, he noticed her eyes had become hooded, her skin warmer, and her scent muskier.
She closed her eyes, and he took the opportunity to go higher. He stopped when he felt the edge of her stocking. His grip on her thigh tightened and he whispered, “Are you wearing a garter belt?”
She nodded, and he closed his eyes for a moment. He slipped his finger under the edge of the sheer stocking and lifted it a little before releasing it, along with his grip on her thigh. Then he brushed his hands against his leg, stood, extended his hand to her, and helped her to her feet.
The music changed once again, and most of the guests moved back to the dance floor. She tensely smoothed out her dress and was about to walk back to her chair, but he pulled her to the opposite side of the tent, toward the exit.
“Where are we going?” she asked, but he didn’t answer.
Once they were on the soft sand, he reached down and took her shoes off and threw them aside unceremoniously. Then he did the same thing with his shoes and tugged her toward the water. She laughed a little unsurely.
“You better not throw me into the ocean, Tony.”
“The cold water may be the only thing that can tame my dick right now.�
� They reached a lifeguard station, and he climbed up first and then reached out for her. She bunched her dress up and climbed the few steps. “Thank God it’s open,” he said as he pulled her in and closed the door behind them. “I really hope you’re not drunk. You’ve been different tonight. Unusually complacent and sweet.”
She shrugged in response. “I could say the same thing about you. Normally you’re a cocky bastard, but today you’re kind of…not a cocky bastard.”
He chuckled. “Is that the best compliment you can give me? That I’m not a cocky bastard?”
“When I can actually understand what you’re saying with that accent of yours, you’re kind of funny.”
“I love how you can wrap a compliment into a criticism,” he said with a laugh. Then he turned his gaze on her and matter-of-factly said, “I want you, you know?”
“I know. You haven’t exactly made it a secret. But you seem to forget—I don’t want you.” Her hands were on her hips, and he could see she was trying to hold her ground. He could tell by the shallow breaths, the red cheeks, and the way her throat moved as she swallowed that she was lying. “I don’t date, Tony.”
“Ever?”
“Never ever. And if I did date, I’m not dating you. We work together.”
He took a step forward. She turned around and tried to retreat, but she was caged in the small room with her hand on a desk, and a small mirrored medicine cabinet hung at eye level. The only light was from the moon, but it was so brilliant that it might as well have been a floodlight. “I didn’t say anything about dating.” He pressed closer, his mouth by her ear. “I want you. I need to know whether you’ll be this feisty when your pussy’s wrapped around my cock.”
“You’re such a fucking pig,” she hissed, but she didn’t pull away, and the blush had spread to her ears and part of her neck.
“And you love it.” They’d just had two hours of foreplay at the wedding. Hell, if he was being honest, they’d had five months of foreplay with the verbal sparring that both pissed him off and made him hard. He pointed to the mirror in front of her. “You’re breathtaking. Look how you blush.” He pressed against her back. “You want me as much as I want you.” He kissed her shoulder. “Look at us.”
Below the Belt Page 3