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Oh god. She inhaled and coughed, her throat burning as if someone had rammed a toilet brush down her esophagus and given it a few gleefully energetic scrubs.
Greer’s lids flew open to meet a single eye staring back with a hard, ocean blue glare. The strange man’s dark blond hair was long enough to fall over half his face but it couldn’t completely hide the high cheekbones, the broad, solid brow, or certainly the thick beard that covered his jaw, leaving only enough space for perfectly formed lips. It also couldn’t hide that the eye under that thick, straight hair was covered by a black, leather patch.
Her heart gave a couple of hard thumps before it all came rushing back. She’d taken one look at the tall, hairy, one-eyed Viking giant and screamed herself into an asthma attack.
Now she was sitting on said giant’s lap, practically nuzzled into his warm, solid chest with her fingers clutching his shirt like he was the only thing keeping her safe from the inside of her head. Sooo… this wasn’t embarrassing at all.
She breathed out slowly, feeling the air move roughly through her lungs. Her chest hurt, but she continued with the exercise anyway. Counting to four, she inhaled carefully, her throat protesting. For another four seconds, she held that breath, then exhaled slowly for a four count and held her lungs empty for four more beats.
He watched and breathed with her.
“Hi,” she finally said. Or tried to. The sound that came out was closer to a raven’s croak than a human word. Her throat burned from the abuse it had taken and she gratefully took the glass of water someone handed her.
Another giant. Even bigger than the one on whom she was currently sitting. But this one smiled gently and made sure she had a secure hold on the glass before he let go and stepped back to stand next to a man in a wheelchair.
“Thank you,” she mouthed without sound, and a faint blush rose up his throat when he nodded back at her.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” muttered her muscular seat. “If you scuff your boot and sayAw shucks, ma’am,I will beat you stupid.”
“Wouldn’t take more than a tap.” The one in the wheelchair joined the conversation, his black hair swept dramatically back from a movie star face. He was closer to eye level with her from his chair, but still big from her perspective.
Greer took a sip of her water and leaned into her seat-giant’s chest. His arms tightened around her waist as if he was protecting her. Guarding her. When was the last time anyone had bothered?
“Be less of an asshole. Don’t scare her,” said her Viking, then paused. “Any more than we already have.”
Now that she’d had a moment to get used to them and was encouraged by the echoes of worry in their voices, any trace of fear that might have lingered disappeared. She smiled shyly and wiggled her fingers at them before she tried her voice again.
“I’m not scared.” This time the words came out much more clearly, though still hoarse and quiet. She tried to hold in the cough that wanted to escape by holding her hand at her throat. “Ow.”
“Thank fuck,” whispered the Viking, and dropped his forehead to touch hers. “Scared the shit out of me, sparkles.”
“Me, too.” Out of nowhere, she teared up. Asthma attacks were terrifying, gasping for air that wouldn’t come, afraid against all logic that this would be the time the medicine didn’t work. Unable to stem the tide, she turned her face into his chest and tried to cry in a way that didn’t hurt her throat or make her want to cough anymore.
This day could not get anymore humiliating.
“There you go,” he murmured as he stroked her back in a soothing rhythm while his arms provided a safe barrier against the world. “Adrenalin dumps are no fun at all. Let it all out, sweetheart.”
From behind the bulwark of his embrace, she heard the other men say a few quiet words, then leave the room, one with solid steps, the other with a glide of wheels.
Finally, she calmed, her body relaxed and loose after the chaos of the last few… minutes? Hours? It seemed as if walking the door had instigated an entirely new timeline. One where she was the focus of a lot of male attention. Particularly the attention of a man who looked like he should be modeling manly Nordic fisherman's sweaters instead of watching one small, slightly squishy woman who had a fetish for pink.
“Sorry about that.” She sniffled and wished desperately for another tissue. Miraculously, one appeared before her eyes. As discreetly as she could while sitting on a man’s lap, she blew her nose and mopped up her wet cheeks before balling it up and tucking it into the pocket of her structured pink cardigan.
“No need to apologize, you haven’t done a damn thing wrong.” He smiled briefly, as if he wasn’t accustomed to the expression, before he turned serious again. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I nearly scared you to death. Literally.”
Greer chuckled lightly, even though it made her throat ache.
“Not your fault. I shouldn’t be so jumpy. I’d have seen you if I was paying attention.” Which reminded her that she’d come in here to do a job and that job wasn’t getting done while she snuggled with a strange Viking. With a soft sigh, she leaned forward and tucked her knees to the side.
She wished she was one of those graceful women who could rise smoothly to their feet, showing off their firm booties and slim thighs. Nope. Not her. She heaved herself onto her hands and knees, knowing that there was no hiding the way her ass and thighs jiggled. Her cute pink and white checked trousers provided a little camouflage to distract attention away from an hourglass figure with some extra sand at the bottom, but only if she wasn’t flashing it around. Blushing, she crawled a couple of steps before she found a chair she could use to haul herself up.
Super classy.
She thought she heard a groan behind her, but ignored it while she got her feet under her. Suddenly, a pair of large, hard hands molded themselves to her hips and provided some lift. His grip remained in place even after she was standing on her own.
Handsy grooms, groomsmen, and male members of the party had groped, pinched and fondled her at nearly every wedding she’d helped plan. When she’d complained to her former boss the first time it happened, the woman had shrugged and told her it was a hazard of the job. The higher the price tag for the wedding, the more people tended to treat everyone working the event like so much meat. Privilege above a certain level made for a very disturbing peek into the mindset of too much money, not enough soul.
She knew that most wedding planners, like her former employer, became jaded about romance and love. Too many spoiled bridezillas, too many disinterested grooms, too much interference from families could doom a marriage before it even began. It was hard to fight against the tide of negativity dumped on organizers, just so everyone in the wedding party could plaster on a smile and ignore the festering pain hiding under froths of white lace and pretty cake.
