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“How could you show any loyalty to that prick?” he sneered.
“My brother gave it to me.” I yanked my hand away. “It has nothing to do with our father.”
My bruises had finally faded, but a phantom ache circled my wrist at the reminder.
“Your brother is proud of the name and everything it represents. How does that not involve your father and the reputation he’s created?”
“Because Sante is different. He’s sweet.”
“Naïve.”
My lips thinned, unable to contradict him. “I can’t hate him for what our father has done,” I explained, my defenses lowering. Dropping my gaze, I suddenly felt self-conscious and turned toward the door. “We should probably go look for the photographer.”
Conner’s right hand reached around to press flat against my belly and pull me back flush against him. My gown was practically backless, allowing the scalding heat from his chest to encompass my body like a plush velvet drape. Still, it was his hard cock firm against my backside that turned my veins into liquid magma. My internal temperature skyrocketed so quickly that I had to be seconds from breathing fire.
My new husband’s lips came to my ear, his left hand delicately drifting down my throat. “You’re so fucking sexy when you’re angry.” The coarse restraint in his voice scraped across my skin, teasing my nipples into tightly pebbled pearls.
I arched into him on a shaky exhale, unable to help myself. The hand at my throat traced over my collarbone to the neckline of my dress, sliding the tip of one finger underneath to drift maddeningly slowly down to the bottom of the V between my breasts.
“I’ll be tasting every square inch of this after the reception. I suggest you get used to the idea before then.” He punctuated his proclamation with a rumbling exhale that reverberated from his chest into mine and pooled deep in my core.
How was I ever going to resist such seductive masculinity? I couldn’t.
Even worse, I didn’t want to.
And where my body went, my heart would follow. I was already dangerously close to developing feelings for my new husband. A few more tender words and protective gestures, and I was a goner. I had to ask myself whether the battle was even worth fighting. If defeat was a certainty, I should at least enjoy the fall. Then when things turned ugly and something inevitably came between us, I could at least say I tried. That I’d given my husband my all.
It was a scary new perspective. One I equally feared and relished. Could I open myself up to such vulnerability? I had approximately two hours to figure it out.
* * *
We sat nextto one another in total silence in the limo. Conner looked out one window while I looked out the other, both lost in our own thoughts on the short drive to the reception.
“Wait there,” he clipped quietly to me before circling the car and helping me onto the sidewalk, but not before eyeing the area to check for threats. His guard was always up, and I appreciated how safe that made me feel.
Hands again clasped, we walked into the hotel lobby and around the banquet hall, smiling and nodding to a flurry of congratulations from staff and random strangers. The wedding coordinator waited for us outside the ballroom entrance. She initiated the announcement of our arrival, and when we heard our names called, we opened the doors and swept into the room. Hundreds of people cheered. More than that. There had to be almost a thousand people gathered in the ballroom. An ocean of watchful eyes studying us, ready to scrutinize our every movement.
At least at the ceremony, all they could do was observe. Now, they moved in on us like pigeons when a handful of birdseed hit the ground. I didn’t even realize Conner had leaned in until his whispered words ghosted past my ear.
“Breathe, Noemi.”
I forced my hand to release its death grip on his. It was no wonder he knew I was freaking out. I’d practically cut off circulation to his fingers.
I tried to let go of his hand entirely, but he clamped down, refusing to allow the separation.
For the next half hour, we received a constant flow of people offering their congratulations. Conner did most of the talking. I remained passive at his side, more than happy to let him take the lead until I caught sight of the woman at my bridal shower—the one who had called me a demure mute.
My spine shot ramrod straight.
Logic dictated that I shouldn’t give a flip what anyone thought and that if my marriage was only a front, I didn’t need to be jealous, but the primal side of me told logic to fuck off.
I inched closer to my new husband while we greeted an older couple and slipped my hand into the crook of his arm affectionately. As though my actions were perfectly natural, he reached his arm around my back to pull me into his side, his hand resting possessively on my hip. When the bathroom woman stepped forward next, Conner’s hand squeezed me.
“Ivy, it’s been a while. How have you been?”
The beautiful blonde flushed, suddenly suffering from an unexpected bout of shyness. “It’s been way too long! I’m doing well, but we should grab lunch sometime and catch up,” she said with a feline grin.
Conner chuckled, placing a kiss on my cheek. “Think I have my hands full at the moment. Have you spotted Shae in the mix? I’m sure she’d love to meet up.” Then he turned his gaze to the next person in line, effectively dismissing her.
