His low voice sends a shiver through me as desire gathers hot and fast between my legs. Needing to see him again, I turn around as he captures my hips.
“It’s not too much?” I ask uncertainly.
“It’s way, way too fucking much,” he rasps. Pulling my hips closer, his fingers dig into the silk. “There’s a butler’s pantry,” he says in acoarse rumble. “I just need five—no—fifteen minutes. No more than thirty. Please.”
His hands and lips are the world’s greatest salesmen, but the mention of minutes abruptly reminds me that hiking my dress up in a closet is definitelynoton today’s strict timetable of events.
“Jude, thecake,” I say, swinging so quickly from horny to anxious that my body feels like a torch dunked in ice water. “We have to get it to the caterer. Guests are already eating dinner.”
“Cake,” he agrees slowly, like all the brilliant brain cells that help him carry out complicated legal procedures have been reduced to swirling dust motes. “Should I not have brought it to the kitchen?”
I reach up and place a finger on the cleft of his chin like a reset button. “This isn’t where catering sets up—they have their own mobile kitchens parked in the back,” I say, wanting to kick myself for my oversight. Of course he wouldn’t have known that.
But apparently, his chin cleftisa reboot button of sorts, because his eyes are instantly less dazed. “Right. Okay, I know a shortcut, but I’ll need you to hold some doors open for me.”
“Of course.”
“And let me feed you cake later.”
“Sure.”
“And let me fuck up your pretty lipstick.”
“Jude, thecake.”
He makes a frustrated growl before grabbing the gargantuan wedding cake box on the kitchen island. Somehow, we make it to the catering vehicles without a single hormone-fueled mishap, but from the way I felt his eyes on my backside the entire time, it was probably a near miss.
The cake is delivered just in time. Sofia takes photos of Calvin delicately forking a bite of chocolate cake into Brooke’s mouth, and Brooke smashing Battenburg into Calvin’s. I’m able to spare Jude one heated look as memories of our first kiss ricochet between us before one of the babysitters hired for the event rushes up to me.
“Gracie, I’m so sorry, but one of the toddlers threw up carrot puree all over a rug.” Her eyes dart to Jude and then back to me as she panic-whispers, “A very fancy-looking rug.”
I turn to grab Kit, but Jude gets to it before I do. “There is no way you’re cleaning up orange vomit looking like that,” he says, slinging Kit over his shoulder like an old pro. As a server passes by us, he stops him with a hand on the shoulder. “Can you please bring this woman a plate of food and make sure she eats?” he asks. “She organized the whole event tonight.”
The young man looks from Jude to me with wide eyes. “Of course.”
“She’s going to need slices of both cake flavors, too.Bigslices.”
The man smiles. “You got it.”
Jude reaches into his inner breast pocket and takes out a silver money clip. “Could you also send up some food to the childcare providers?”
After the server accepts his tip and sets off, Jude looks toward me. “When I’m back from cleaning, do you want me to start distributing checks to the vendors first, or make sure everything is ready to go for the sparkler send-off? I could also check in with the chauffeur from the classic car rental place. I’m pretty sure he’s napping in the Rolls out front.”
For a moment, all I can do is stare at him. I know he’s asked me a question, but in the face of his sheer competency and willingness to show up for me, the dozens of plates spinning in my mind crash to the ground.
“Gracie?” he prompts, raising an eyebrow.
“Uh, yes. I mean, distributing the vendor checks would be great,” I say, hastily reassembling my thoughts. “Phoebe is already handling the send-off, but could you also talk to the lighting guy about the individual dances? Brooke specifically requested no blue spotlights to avoid ‘looking like a corpse,’?” I air quote.
“Got it. Distribute the vendor checks. No corpse lights,” he says, before looking at the babysitter, who’s been watching him, mouth slightly ajar. “Will you show me to the vomit?”
I guess I’m not the only one who gets hot and bothered by a helpful man, because she practically curtsies as she nods and begins quick-stepping away. Jude gives me a look that makes my heart flutter like the pages of a romance novel. “I’ll find you later.”
I nod, and then he’s gone.
Somehow, I do manage to pick at my heaping dinner plate between my final check-ins with Phoebe, the band, the videographer, the oyster shucker, and the portrait artist who will be painting the newlyweds’ first dance. Every time I pass Jude or Phoebe, I give them a fresh list of tasks, but I’m still a spinning top in constant motion. I don’t find a moment for a full breath until the lights lower and Angie from The Love Notes invites everyone onto the dance floor.
Sofia gives me a wordless high five as she quickly passes me with her camera, snapping candid pictures of the dancers. She knows the heavy lifting of the event is over. Unless someone breaks an ankle doing the Electric Slide (yes, it’s happened before), I can relax a little until my end-of-night tasks kick into gear.
