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With a gusted breath, Leo turned, and a belt jingled. Amelia averted her gaze from his broad back, blood rising to her cheeks. It was half humiliating, really, to be blushing at the mere sound of a belt buckle clinking. No wonder men saw her and took off running in the other direction. Middle schoolers had more poise than she did.
Leo spun around and spread his arms, a roguish grin holding up the corners of his lips. “Satisfied?”
Ugh. “Annoyed.”
His smile grew, as did the trembling in Amelia’s thighs.
Leo tugged his jacket sleeves and arranged his cuffs just so. He combed both hands through his hair, and the gently curled light-brown locks fell into the kind of perfect disarray that betrayed an expensive haircut.
Rings glinted on two fingers: the thumb of his right hand, and the index finger of his left. They were simple gold bands that shone in the low light of the room and drew attention to his hands. Beautiful hands for a beautiful man. He lifted his gaze to hers and arched a brow.
“Good enough,” Amelia grumped, even though the more truthful statement would bedrop-dead gorgeousorpositively edible.
“Do I get to learn your name now?” The gleam was back in his eyes.
Nerves gripped Amelia in a tight fist. Giving him even her name was handing over more power than was wise. A man like Leo St. James would take one look at her and crush her vulnerable heart. She felt the urge to protect herself, but Amelia was a rational being, and she knew it was only her name. He’d learn it eventually. She forced the syllables out. “Amelia.”
“Amelia,” he repeated, like he was sipping fine wine and detecting all kinds of hidden notes in it. Touching a hand to his chest, he said, “Leo.”
“So I’ve heard,” she said, and something undefinable flitted across his expression. His smile widened, but his eyes grew shuttered.
Amelia frowned. Odd.
No time to figure it out. She had a wedding procession to lead, and she wasn’t letting Leo St. James out of her sight for a second until Emory and Maggie were husband and wife. She reached out and grabbed Leo’s wrist, tugging him toward the room where the rest of the bridal party awaited, not trusting him to follow without physical encouragement.
Then he shifted, and his hand slipped against hers. She made to pull away, but he intertwined their fingers before she had the chance to escape.
He was… He washolding her hand.
It was a shock to the system, intimate in a way she hadn’t expected. That broad, warm palm pressed against hers. His long fingers curled and notched between her knuckles. The heat of it. The sheersizeof it.
She paused halfway to the side door and stared at their joined hands. His golden tan against her pallid skin looked…wrong. Foreign, somehow.
It made her feel very, very hot.
She was an enigma.A snippy, terse enigma that made Leo want to needle her. He knew she’d hate him holding her hand, so he made sure to grip it firmly. If, in the process, he enjoyed the soft give of her flesh against his calloused palm, well, that was only a happy coincidence.
She’d known about him; surely she was aware of his reputation. A smart woman would run in the other direction, unless she was looking for a hard ride with no promise of anything more. His name was synonymous with casual, no-strings-attached fun.
Buthername…
Amelia was a name suited to a soft flower of a woman, someone delicate and girlish. The creature staring at their clasped hands was anything but. She was all angles and frowns and pinched lips. It fascinated him, especially as she hadn’t reacted to his reputation in one of the familiar ways. Women were usually intrigued or disgusted by him—or both. At least until the light of morning broke over the horizon, and then women were usually gone.
Amelia only seemed irritated.
He wanted to push her. Just a little bit.
She stood in front of him, looking down at their hands, her brow wrinkled, and he was caught up in the sight of her. He wanted to smooth the line between her brows with his thumb. Instead, he lifted a finger and drew it across her exposed collarbone. Her skin was soft; it felt so thin over the protruding bone. Tracing the line all the way to her shoulder, he let his fingers memorize her shape. So angular. Hard and delicate all at once.
At his touch, she let out a gusting breath as a little shiver trembled through her body. Her eyes closed, briefly, like she couldn’t help herself.
“What about this?” Leo asked, gratified to see the flush rising up her neck to stain her cheeks. “You can’t criticize my suit when your dress is missing an entire sleeve.”
Her scowl was a thing of beauty. It made him laugh as an unfamiliar feeling shot through him. Bubbly—he felt effervescent at the sight of her glower. He wanted more.
“Come on,” she said in that husky, peeved voice of hers, and she dragged him across the room to a heavy wooden door.
She wasn’t beautiful, exactly. Her face was too pointed and her eyes too wide to be called anything but striking. Still, she captivated. There was something discoverable about her beauty, like it might reveal itself to him bit by bit, given enough time. Tall enough to reach his nose in her three-inch heels, she walked like she had no time to lose, dragging him along by the hand she’d allowed him to continue gripping. Pink gloss shone on her lips, and he wondered how they would taste to lick. He was caught like a fly in her grouchy web, and he had been since he’d opened the doors and seen her standing in a shaft of sunlight. She was so fierce. So…nettled.
