Page 47 of The Rented Bride

He pulled her into his arms. “You okay?” he murmured near her ear. Lavender fragranced her hair. He inhaled deeply.

“I feel like skin is the only thing holding me together,” she said.

Her skin. The silken softness beneath his fingertips. The warmth of her flesh. He shifted his hand to her hip, rocking her gently in time to the music.

“You look stunning.”

“More like stunned.”

With a slow tempo, he led her across the dance floor, his kilt brushing her dress.

“I still can’t believe we’re married,” she said. “It’s surreal.”

“Don’t worry. It’s only temporary. You won’t be stuck with me forever.”

She sighed and leaned her cheek against his lapel. “Nice kilt, by the way.”

He heard the amusement in her voice. “Granddad’s idea. He wore this kilt when he was married, as did his father.”

Cassie’s head snapped up and she met his gaze. “I’m so sorry. He’s a good man.” She stared for another moment, then lowered her head and again pressed her cheek against his chest.

Trent closed his eyes. He’d been right. She cared. That’s what his grandfather would feel, would remember when he left this world. They swayed. Words, along with everyone in the room, disappeared as he became aware of the soft crush of her breasts against his chest, the subtle shift of her hips against his. They danced well together. Her fingers absently tickled the pleat of his shirt. Heat surged along his spine and a slow stretch warmed his cock. Dammit, he hoped like hell she wasn’t aware of the affect she had on him. He didn’t need the complication of physical attraction. And what he’d seen of her personality, she was fire inside and out.

“Trent?”

Pulled from his thoughts, he noticed the music had changed and other couples had joined them on the dance. He kissed her forehead.

Grandfather appeared at their side. “My turn for a dance.”

“Don’t wear him out.” Trent smiled at Cassie as he handed her over to him.

Cassie cocked a brow. “I think you have it wrong. You should be worried he’ll wear me out.”

James gingerly spun. The mellifluous sound of her laughter floated over Trent as he walked away, confirmation that he’d made the right decision. She made his grandfather happy.

Tomas slapped him on the shoulder. “You work fast, my friend.”

Trent snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and downed a hefty swallow. “What can I say, I’ve always been a man who goes after what he wants.”

“And you wanted the caterer?” A note of surprise laced his words.

“I wanted a wife.”

Tomas glanced at Cassie. “She’s cute, but not what I’d call your usual type.”

And, that, he had to admit, was appealing. There was no misunderstanding about the duration of their association. But she held his interest. As an event planner she’d been competent, but as social hostess, playing the part of Mrs. Weston, she was unbelievable. Or maybe the better phrase was ‘totally believable.’

“I would’ve thought someone like Lindsey Fremont more your type,” Tomas said.

Trent clenched his jaw. “She’s too Hollywood for me.” She couldn’t tell the difference between playing a part and reality. He was just another leading man role.

Tomas grinned. “Time for the best man to make a toast.”

Trent snapped from his thoughts. “No.” He tried to invent a good reason but any legitimate objection should have been made before the I do’s were exchanged.

Tomas crossed to the buffet table, picked up a knife, then gently tapped the side of his crystal tumbler until the room quieted.

Trent moved through the small crowd and sidled up to Cassie. “Time for the toast.”