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But the odds of that happening improve when one of them glances at Ainsley, and they both snicker like assholes. They improve greatly.
Michael stands in front of us and turns his back. “Ready, guys?” the DJ calls out. “One… two… three!”
The garter sails through the air, and wouldn’t you know it, I accidentally elbow one of Paul’s friends in the face while hip-checking the other guy hard enough that his drunken ass stumbles and almost falls into a table.
But I end up with the garter, which I hold overhead in triumph. Could I possibly have gotten hold of it without causing bodily harm? Perhaps, but the result wouldn’t have been half as satisfying.
And it’s all worthwhile once a very relieved, giggling Ainsley reaches me. She’s sparkling, breathless, and I know why. Her date went to bat for her in front of everybody. For once, somebody went to bat for her. “You were determined to grab that thing, weren’t you?”
As if I give a damn about some cheap piece of satin. “I’m not letting another man put his hands on you tonight.”
Her mouth falls open slightly. “Oh.” It’s barely a breath, hardly audible. For a moment—the length of a heartbeat or the time it takes to blink an eye—I wish I wasn’t here on a job.
“We all know what comes next!” The DJ is unaware of my personal bullshit and has a job of his own to get through. “Let’s put that garter where it belongs!”
Ainsley’s gaze darts around. “Oh, dang it.” Like she just realized what this means.
“Relax. Take a breath. I’ll be discreet.” Taking her by the hand, I lead her to the chair where Caroline sat only minutes ago. “For once, let the spotlight shine on you.”
“It’s not the spotlight I’m worried about. It’s the people on the other side of it.” Right, like her mother, loudly complaining to anyone who’ll listen about the tackiness of this tradition and how disappointing it is that her own daughter would participate. It’s enough to make me consider diving under those skirts of Ainsley’s and not coming up for air until her legs shake. Let them see it. Let them witness her being worshiped and pleasured. Maybe dear old Mom would be a little more relaxed if her legs shook on the regular.
I drop to one knee and slip the garter over her foot, then her ankle. Slowly, ever so slowly, I work it up her slim calf. Our eyes meet, and the flush on her cheeks deepens.
That doesn’t stop her from lifting her skirt a little, giving me more room. There are a few wolf whistles now, and any laughter ringing out behind me has lost its derisiveness. She giggles and ducks her chin but doesn’t stop me, either. Up, up, I slide the garter. Over her knee, then slowly up her thigh until I need to stop before I’m unable to.
I’ve never touched skin so smooth, and I’m sorely tempted to touch more. To find out if she’s that smooth elsewhere.
Instead, I stand and pull her to her feet. “I need some fresh air,” she whispers, shaky, laughing in relief now that it’s over.
Considering how much I’d like to take her here and now, in front of everybody, I think I could use some fresh air, too. I follow her outside again, where the deck is currently empty. I doubt it will be for long, but at least we have a few private moments away from the thumping music that’s started up again.
“Thank you for that.” She’s turned away from me, staring over the railing, down at the stream. “I thought this wedding would be another painful family event, but you made it special.”
“I hope I did.” I can’t help it. I have to touch her. After a moment’s hesitation—entirely unlike me—I place a hand on her shoulder, just above the fabric that wraps around her bicep and passes for a sleeve.
“You don’t have to feel sorry for me.” I can hardly hear her over the music behind me. There’s no choice but to move closer until her hair, stirred by the evening breeze, brushes against my face. I lean in slightly, soaking in the scent.
“I never said I did.”
“Nobody has ever been like this with me before.” She turns her head until her profile is in view.
“Then they were idiots.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Don’t tell me what I don’t have to do.” I turn her in place before taking her face in my hands and tipping her head back until our mouths are aligned. “I know what I’m doing.”
That’s a lie. I have no idea what I’m doing. This is more than simply kissing a woman—for me, that’s never been more than a means to an end. Step one, followed by step two, and so on.
This is something completely different. I can’t put a name to this. This is craving, needing. Needing to know what her lips taste like. Needing to show her what I mean when I don’t have the words to express it.
She sighs softly the instant my lips brush against hers, and I’m gone. That’s all it takes for me to cover her mouth with mine, to test the sweetness and firmness of her lips, to soak in the scent of her, the warmth, the smoothness of her cheeks under my thumbs.
Who am I? Not the guy whose head spins because of a simple kiss, but that’s how it feels. There’s nothing simple about this. Nothing simple about the way she melts against me, the way she stirs every protective instinct I possess.
I want this woman. I need her. My cock begins to stir by the time my tongue slips between her lips—but it’s when she moans in response that I go hard. I want more of her moans. I want to hear her moaning my name.
“Let’s go somewhere,” I whisper before kissing her again, driving my cock against her when I can’t help it. “Alone.”
