Page 10 of His Ring Is Not Enough

Heat assaulted her, starting at her cheeks, spreading to her ears. Oh, good. Now she was blushing. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she get a grip?

Why did this feel so real?

It’s not real. It’s just business. It’s for Leah’s Lollies. It’s for Holt. It’s not for you.

He took her other hand, too, turned her to face him. Terror streaked through her, and on its heels, an emotion so big, so real, she couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t push it down. It grew, it bloomed in her, alive, strong.

In that moment, reality melted away, and fantasy won out.

Surely this was only a fantasy. With her in a wedding gown and Ajax, looking like perfection in a tux, how could it be anything else? It couldn’t be real. This was a dream, the dream she used to have when she was a teenager. It wasn’t real.

He said his vows, his voice steady. Strong, without emotion, but then, that was how he was. She spoke hers without stumbling, and there was this strange, underlying conviction that each word was the truth. That there would be no one but him, forever.

There never had been, not for her. It was Ajax. Always.

She could feel the walls inside of her start to quake. Start to crumble. All of that supposed hard edge she’d cultivated. All of her defense.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Leah’s heart stopped, and for a moment, so did the world. Her focus dropped to Ajax’s lips. How many times had she thought about kissing those lips?

It was her last thought before he wrapped his arm around her waist and dipped his head, his mouth covering hers.

She hadn’t been prepared. Not for the heat, the flash of pure fire that raced along her veins. She found herself lifting her arms, curling her fingers around the lapels of his suit jacket.

She’d expected something chaste, something appropriate for a thousand pairs of eyes, for two people who had barely ever touched, but that wasn’t what she got. What she got was a real, full-on kiss.

He slid his tongue along the seam of her lips, and she opened eagerly, tasting him as he tasted her. She felt as if she was falling, but Ajax was there to hold her up, his arm a strong band around her waist, her fingers curled into his jacket like claws.

She’d never been kissed like this. Not ever. And she’d never felt like this, either. Like she would die if he stopped touching her, like her skin was on fire. Her breasts ached, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird. And the ache, low and strong between her thighs. An ache she knew only he could satisfy.

And all of her expectations about the marriage were blown apart. And all she had were questions. Well, questions, a thundering heartbeat and the feeling of being horribly, hideously exposed.

And then, suddenly, he pulled away and she nearly lost her balance. The guests were clapping, and the pastor was making his pronouncement, but she couldn’t pay attention. Her head was swimming, her legs shaking.

“Smile,” Ajax whispered in her ear, and it kick-started her brain again.

Never let them see you cry.

So she did smile, a bright, false smile she didn’t feel, and he led her down the aisle as the band played.

They went back up the stairs. Into the house.

The doors closed behind them, and Ajax started loosening his tie.

“Don’t we need... Should we... The photographer.”

“Do you honestly think I want pictures?” he asked, his voice rough.

“I...I had thought... It’s our... We paid for the photographer.”

“I’m sure the press in attendance got enough. I am not interested in posing for photos. What I would like is alcohol.”

“You don’t drink.”

“Not usually.”

Never. She’d never seen him drink. That wasn’t the best for her ego. That marrying her was driving him to drink.

“What about the reception?”

“I am far too eager to take you back to my villa and consummate the marriage,” he said, his tone dry as sand. “We’ll have to skip it.”

“Wh...what?”

“We’re leaving. Now.” She didn’t want to leave now. Not while she felt so...shaken.

But they were.

He took her hand again, and they went out the other direction, out the front doors, where there was a limo idling. He opened the back door for her and she got in. He gathered up the skirt of her dress and put it in behind her before getting in and closing the door.

He looked out the window and she followed his gaze to the photographer standing on the step. “Let’s give him a picture,” he said, his voice nearly a growl.

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