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“What if someone comes,” I whispered, imagining one of Aimee’s prim out-of-state aunts wandering down this hallway, catching me with my dress halfway up and Dale’s hands roaming over my bodice.
“I don’t care.” His words were muffled in my cleavage, his breath hot against my skin. I slid my hands through his hair, still marveling at how short it was now. He was like a different person without his ragtop shock of dark hair always falling over his eyes. Now I could see the dark heat in them when he lifted his face to mine, capturing my mouth again in a kiss that sent hot, white tingles through me, like shooting stars, traveling like lightning through my veins.
He forced me harder against the wall, reaching down and grabbing me by the hips, lifting me so our bodies were matched, even, his pelvis pressed into mine. I clasped his waist between my thighs, hanging on for dear life as if his kiss was a wild roller coaster and I the only rider. This was the energy he gave out on stage in front of thousands—soon to be hundreds of thousands—of people. But here, it was all for me and I drank it in like sweet liquid after a thousand mile trek across a desert.
“Oh God, Sara, I want you so fucking bad,” he whispered against my lips. I felt how much he wanted me, in spite of all the fabric between us. “Can we please just go now?”
I moaned, feeling his hips shift, pressing harder, if that was even possible, between my open thighs, and almost gave in. But I glanced down the hallway and saw someone coming out of the dining room, where Aimee and Matt’s reception was still going on.
“After she throws the bouquet.” I could barely get the words out—he had his full weight against me, and it was alarmingly delightful.
Now it was his turn to groan. “You promise?”
“Well, Matt has to throw the garter,” I replied, smiling as he lifted his head, his cheeks as flushed as mine felt. I touched that sweet little dimple in his chin, remembering the very first time I’d done that, and how long I’d thought about doing it before it ever happened—before Dale had been mine. “And then the guy who catches it has to put it on the girl who caught the bouquet.”
“Haven’t they outlawed that tradition yet?” His gaze had dipped down again to my cleavage. I wasn’t outrageously blessed in that department, but the dress, and the bra underneath it, did wonders. “Didn’t Carrie and Wendy say it was sexist?”
I laughed, remembering that conversation. Both girls had been adamant that it wasn’t so much the bouquet and garter throwing part—whoever caught it, according to superstition, would be the next person married—it was the girl who caught the bouquet sitting in a chair in the middle of the dance floor and the guy who caught the garter sliding it higher and higher and higher up her leg while the DJ played some sort of stripper music. That last part was sexist, they insisted, and should be outlawed. Dale obviously agreed, although his reasoning wasn’t quite the same, I was sure of it.
“Aimee insisted. It’s really just harmless fun” I felt him letting me go, relenting, and I planted a soft kiss on his cheek as he set me on her feet again. I clung to him anyway. I was still too dizzy to stand up straight. Dale took a deep breath, kissing the top of my head, all arranged in curls.
“Let’s go see if we can move them along.” He took my hand and led me back down the hallway, head down, like a bull charging a matador. I stumbled after him, trying to keep up—he was in an awful hurry! I was out of breath by the time we turned the corner and went back into the room.
“Dale!” I laughed, tugging on the sleeve of his coat. I still couldn’t get over how handsome—and different—he looked in a tux. “Slow down!”
He stopped so abruptly I almost ran into him. Then he turned and took me into his arms. The moment our eyes met, everything else melted away in a sea of white and pink around the edges of my vision. Aimee had made sure her pink and white theme carried through from the church to the hall. There was a huge display of decorative pink and white balloons behind the head table, near where they stood. Dale had teased Aimee all night that he was going to use them for dart practice.
“If I don’t get my hands on you in the next hour, I’m going to take you right there on the head table.” Dale whispered this into my ear and I felt a deep, crimson heat fill my cheeks. I laughed nervously, feeling his arms tighten around me. “I’m not kidding.”
“Okay, Mr. Impatient.” I smiled, twisting out of his arms and twirling away. Like I was any more patient? But I didn’t tell him that. “I’ll go see what I can do.”
I reached the head table, where Aimee and Matt sat, heads bowed, talking. It was such a sweet, intimate moment, I didn’t want to break it up. Then I remembered Dale’s whispered words and they propelled me forward.
“Hey, Aims.” I leaned on the table in front of them. “Are you guys doing the bouquet toss soon?”
“In a hurry to get somewhere?” Aimee looked up, raising her eyebrows, but she was grinning. She knew exactly why I’d asked.
“Well… you know…” And I thought my cheeks couldn’t get any more red.
“I’ll go find the photographer.” Matt stood, looking down at his bride. She looked stunning in all that white satin, her cheeks rosy from dancing. Even with her veil slightly askew—the headband securing it had slipped—she was just gorgeous. “I think he’s out there mingling and taking candids.”
“You look gorgeous,” I said, voicing my thoughts as I came around the table, taking the seat Matt had vacated. The rest of the bridesmaids were out dancing to Cyndi Lauper’s Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. As always, I scanned the room for Dale. He’d been waylaid by his father. John leaned his head in close to Dale so he could be heard over the music.
“You look like you’ve been making out in the hallway.” Aimee reached up and straightened her veil. “This damned thing.”
I gaped at her, the blush spreading down my cheeks to her throat.
“Wendy saw you leave.” Aimee laughed, seeing the shocked expression on my face. “She peeked.”
“Oh God.” I reached out to help Aimee secure her veil because no self-respecting maid of honor would let the bride walk around like that. I finally got the veil straight—there were little combs with teeth that grabbed onto her hair. “Did anyone else see?”
“I don’t think so.” Aimee shrugged. “Besides, who cares? Everyone’s drunk and having a good time. I can’t wait to get into the hot tub.”
I laughed. Aimee and Matt were staying at a hotel for one night. Their flight to St. Bart’s left in the morning and they would be gone for a full two week honeymoon. Matt knew the boss, so he’d been able to get the time off—he worked at his dad’s accounting firm.
“So what are you and Mr. Rockstar going to do tonight?” Aimee smirked like she knew exactly what we were going to do. And she’s probably right. Aimee and Matt were going to have wedding-night sex, but I thought nothing could beat homecoming sex. Every time Dale had to travel for an extended period, the sexual tension between them built up, like a pressure cooker, the temperature rising and rising until it finally burst the moment they touched again.
“He says he can’t wait to get me out of this dress.” I blushed at the memory of his words, meeting Aimee’s eyes.
