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“Is this how you imagined your wedding day?” Emmett broke the silence, glanced in the rearview and changed lanes smoothly.
“Every detail. Right down to the mocha and a fiancé I had to beg to enter with me into holy matrimony.” She smiled and he returned it, holding her gaze for a beat before he put his eyes on the road again.
An odd ripple of comfort spilled down her spine. How was it that he made this outrageous situation seem normal?
And how strange was it that she was proud to have chosen him as her groom, and relieved that he’d said yes to her proposal?
Emmett had experienced many catered charity dinners as a kid. Up close and way too personal. More than a few times his father had dragged him to a local church that hosted Christmas dinners for the “needy.” Emmett had always hated that word. To him, it implied that he was taking what he hadn’t earned, even though the parishioners never made them feel anything less than welcome.
He remembered wearing his coat to fend off a draft in a dusty gymnasium and squeezing in with strangers and no elbow room at a battered plywood banquet table. Not that he hadn’t appreciated the efforts of the volunteers serving those dinners—he had. But the food had always been accompanied by a hefty dose of shame. He’d kept his ball cap pulled low and his head down, fearing he’d run into someone he knew.
He’d vowed, while eating many meals of oversalted vegetables and tough meat, that the very second he was old enough to find a job, he would. And he’d make enough money to eat Christmas dinner at his own table in his own house. He’d never liked being served, and it took him several years to warm to the idea of going out to restaurants.
But setting foot inside the venue Stefanie had prepared for her charity dinner didn’t bring back memories of those days. Mainly because the venue was nothing like the dusty gym packed with wobbly tables.
The former banquet hall and restaurant had been maintained by a private owner in Harlington for rental during special occasions. Unlike a YMCA or gymnasium, the room was outfitted with wide round tables covered with shimmery gold tablecloths. The entire setup—from the elegant white plates to the stemware and the regal centerpieces of pinecones and white flowers—reminded him of a fancy Ferguson affair.
“What do you think?” Stefanie looked up at him, her grin proud.
He nodded, and then figured that after her hard work she deserved an actual compliment. “I’m impressed.”
“Thanks!” She skipped off to the catering staff and another gaggle of people he assumed to be volunteers.
Hosting a party. Yeah, she was in her element all right.
The families had yet to arrive, but everyone else was in place. Volunteers dressed in T-shirts emblazoned with the words HARLINGTON CARES waited at the mouth of what Emmett assumed was the kitchen—no buffet setup here. Stefanie directed a few of the volunteers toward different points around the room. Three enormous trees dripped with ornaments and were surrounded by teetering stacks of wrapped gifts.
The air smelled of roasted meat and underlying scents of herbs and butter. Emmett’s stomach rumbled. Lunch had happened too long ago, especially now that his nose had caught a hint of what awaited him.
“Hey, this is where we’re sitting.” Stef grabbed his hand and tugged him to a table in the rear of the room, near one of the trees. A metal sign in the center read VOLUNTEERS.
“I’m here as your security guy, not a guest,” he said as his stomach clenched in protest.
“Hank and Albert over there are police officers, so you may stand down. Besides, what better way to protect me than sitting by my side?” She leaned in, her hand still warming his. “And it’s your last chance to eat and gather your strength before our wedding.”
At the reminder of what was to come tonight, his stomach clenched for an entirely different reason. Her beautiful blue eyes, flaxen hair and indelible smile hadn’t changed, but since he’d allowed himself to taste those lips, the way he saw her had changed. No longer was she the untouchable sister of the mayor. Not since she’d touched him and he’d touched her back. The idea of having her as his had taken root and, without his permission, had outgrown Jack’s bean stalk.
He’d felt the burn of lust for her since that unexpected kiss, and after they exchanged vows, he’d be damned if he’d back off.
There was only one way to go with this woman, and that was forward.
“You’re the one who’d better gather your strength.” He leaned in, his breath warming her ear. “Tonight I’m not sleeping on the cold floor alone.”
Her mouth dropped open but no words came out.
“What we do in bed is your call.” This close to her he could watch as her pupils darkened. “But we’re sharing the covers tonight.”
“I thought—” she blinked a few times until she found the rest of that sentence “—the kiss was a mistake.”
Yeah, well. He’d thought it was, too.
And then they spent the next two days together and all he could think about was taking her lips captive again. Running his fingers into her soft hair this time, tilting her head and stroking her tongue with his...
Easy.
Last thing he needed was to get hard at a charity dinner.
“There’s no taking it back now.” There wasn’t any forgetting it, either. Last night he’d lain awake in the chilled room wondering if Stef was awake, too, eyes on the ceiling, her mind on him. “You’ll have to kiss me one more time before we return to our room. Together. On our wedding night.”
