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Looking past Eli, who was the best man, he saw his brother standing ramrod straight. When the entrance music began for the bride, he looked only after he noticed tears shimmering in his brother’s eyes. They wouldn’t fall, he knew Livingston, but to see them there told him so much about this woman and how she’d changed his brother.
His own breath caught when he saw Daisy, and she wasn’t his bride. The off-the-shoulder dress had lace sleeves that formed points on the backs of her hands. It molded to her body, not hiding her slender silhouette in the slightest. The train only added to the complete vision.
Bradford looked across to Iris in her dress. Tears spilled from her eyes as she watched her sister walk down the aisle. He moved his gaze down and found her holding Violet’s hand.
She wiped her eyes before stepping forward to take the flowers from Daisy and fix her train.
He knew in that moment she wasn’t getting away from him again. That wasn’t anything he would be able to survive. He could see it clear as day—his wedding, and Iris Wentz his bride. The mother of his unborn children.
Chapter Ten
“You saved my brother’s life.”
“Anyone would have done it.” Iris looked up at the groom as they danced slowly on the floor.
The party was in full swing and honestly, she’d thought Bradford would have come after again. He hadn’t. She had mixed feelings about that but had stuffed them down. Tonight was about her sister. Family.
“I don’t think so. But you saved him in another way. He was different after he came back.”
“Your brother is an amazing guy. Lots of great things in his head. He’s more than the playboy he portrays.”
“I’ve always known that. He hadn’t accepted it though. Not until you.” He spun her in an expert circle.
“Take care of my sister and we’ll call it even.”
He shook his head. “That’s not how this works. Your sister, my wife”—he gave a goofy grin at that—“my wife said you were keeping your inherited property and opening up a place where children can learn about the outdoors. Once it’s fixed up.”
“That’s the plan, yes.”
“I’ll fix it for you. Whatever you need, you send the bill to me.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Not happening. I’m not starting out your married life with my sister by taking money from you.”
“She said you’d refuse.”
“We’re stubborn like that.”
He nodded as he turned them again and gave a look over the room. “So are the Rhodes men. He’s not letting you go, and I’ll just send you the money.” He kissed her cheek and stepped back as the song ended. Something with a much faster beat started, and she walked off the dance floor heading for the bar.
She needed a moment. This entire thing had been a test of her willpower. No one had told her that Bradford Rhodes would look so damn hot in a tuxedo. When she’d first seen him, the gasp that had escaped couldn’t have been stopped. The man wore the tailored tux in an indescribable way. At least for her.
He’d not been at the rehearsal dinner so she’d not been prepared to see him. Until he’d called her name from across the room, he’d just been her fondest memory. And biggest regret. Her very own fantasy, Bradford With No Last Name.
His black tuxedo had one button and damn if she hadn’t spent the majority of the wedding imagining undoing it, brushing the jacket off his shoulders then going to work on the pristine white shirt beneath.
Once she had a drink in hand, she closed her eyes and thought about making her escape. As it had in the house in Colorado, his warmth pushed over her bared skin before she saw him.
“What are you drinking?”
“The Playmaker.”
“May I?”
She didn’t hesitate to hand over her drink. His lips touched the highball glass, and she was mesmerized by his throat as he swallowed. It took her a moment to realize he’d stretched the glass back out to her. The smirk on his lips told her he’d noticed.
“That’s good. What’s in it?”
“Hennessy, lemon juice, cranberry juice and Sprite.”
Bradford stroked a finger along hers before he put the glass on the bar beside them. Then he kissed her. With a whimper, she opened beneath his touch. Their tastes mingled, joined, and she dug her short nails into her palms to keep from grasping the lapels of his tuxedo jacket in her hands.
All too quickly, it ended.
“Tastes better from your lips.”
She sagged against the bar and didn’t argue when he helped her onto a stool. He didn’t move away, keeping his body against hers so tight she could feel his hardness. All over.
Once his own drink had arrived, she thought maybe he would step back. He didn’t.
“Thank you, by the way,” he whispered in her ear.
