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“Boys,” Scarlet warns. I think it’s a warning, but it could also be a plea for them to come and figure out the situation.
The brothers gather around Alden’s prone form.
“A rancid fart would probably do the trick,” Atlas suggests.
Scarlet groans. “Be serious here.”
“Well, we don’t have any smelling salts do we?” Orion says, backing up his brother. “I vote for the fart. Who hasn’t wanted to fart directly on Alden’s nose at some point in their life?”
The JP literally gasps. I wonder if he’s going to go down and be out cold next. No, he wouldn’t dare. He can see and hear what’s happening right now, so I doubt he wants a good old granny smacking like Alden just got. There’s literally a red print on his cheek. Ouch.
Lennox is still clutching his glass. He waves it under Alden’s nose, and magically and miraculously, Alden’s left eye twitches. Then his right. Then his nostrils flare. He groans, long and loud, as Lennox hooks an arm around his shoulders and helps him sit up. He immediately lifts the glass up to Alden’s lips and pours it straight down his gullet.
“There you go. Nice and tidy. Straight up three fingers for you. Now, on your feet, and let’s finish this thing.” Lennox glances at me. “I mean, get you married to the love of your life. Isn’t that right? Butterfly kisses, smoochy missus, snookums, mushy gushy stuff, and all that.”
Alden growls. He makes a sound in his throat that comes up and out like a feral dog. The JP gasps again, and the brothers send anxious looks each other’s way. I’m confused about that growl too. Maybe Alden’s confused. He was just revived. The only person who doesn’t seem confused? Well, Scarlet is giving Alden a strange look, but it’s not exactly a look of confusion. In any case, it’s Lennox. He releases Alden’s shoulders and backs away quickly, getting to his feet in a rush.
“I’m just going to go stand over here,” he says.
Alden manages to sit upright for half a second before he keels straight back, his head hitting the hardwood floor with a thump. He groans, and Lennox laughs over his shoulder. I start forward, my heart hammering, but Ransom is there. He gathers Alden up like an oil spill and gets him on his feet in no time. The twins flank Ransom on either side for support, even though he probably doesn’t need it because he’s a beast of a man himself and looks like he has no problem lifting all of Alden’s considerable muscular bulk. As soon as he’s upright, I step forward and grab his hand on impulse. Yeah, impulse. It’s not for show, just because I’m supposed to be a doting, loving fiancée.
Alden’s fingers are cold, so I bring my other hand to his and chafe it quickly to get the blood flowing back into his digits. Whatever. It doesn’t mean anything beyond the fact that I’m a nice person, and if Alden’s fingers fall off from being so cold, how is he going to make a living, help Scarlet, or continue helping the world? It’s nothing more than that. My worry, I mean. I’m just a kind, caring person by nature, that’s all. It’s definitely nothing personal beyond that. The electricity that buzzes through my fingers is just because I’m wired about actually having to get married for real. It’s just a bit of nervous butterflies in my stomach.
To distract myself, I look somewhere innocent, which happens to be Alden’s throat. I didn’t realize before, especially since I was so taken by the sight of him wearing a black tux with a black dress shirt and black accents and the way it fit him to a dang old tee, outlining every bit of his broad, male muscles that I overlooked, but the buttons of his dress shirt are done all the way up to his throat.
I doubt that was what was cutting off the flow of oxygen, and darn it, but I already know his passing out is going to be cause for hilarious jokes between his brothers for years to come. Nope, I don’t feel bad about having to miss those. That’s not a twinge in my solar plexus or a dip of disappointment in my stomach.
My fingers work quickly, undoing the two buttons. I’m struck by the heat that Alden is emanating and the way my fingers dance over his bare skin—the intimate skin of the column of his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs crazily, but at least with his shirt undone, it’s no longer impeded.
I feel Alden’s scorching gaze drop to my face, and I raise my eyes to meet it. It’s no longer ruthless or frightening. Is it my imagination, or are his eyes warmer than they ever were before? It’s probably because his vision is off after that fall. Or maybe it was the smack that did it. Either way, it still hits me in the chest and causes a secondary storm of wild butterflies.
