Even with my glasses askew, I felt everyone’s eyes on me. Excited. Expectant.
Adjusting my glasses so I could actually see, it brought into focus Laurel and Jules, along with Jules’ neighbor, Gwen, and a few other girls from town as they crowded me in excitement.
Before the swarm, I searched out his gaze. And it hit me harder than the flowers against my chest. Hot. Curious. Disinterested. And then he was gone.
“I knew you were going to get it!” Jules exclaimed, laughter bubbling from her lips.
“You moved so it came directly at me!” I returned, trying to calm my racing heart.
She shook her head. “I told you. Your happily ever after is coming for you.”
I wanted to believe her. I wanted so badly to believe her.
But I was afraid I wouldn’t know my Prince Charming when he got here because my butterflies were too busy wanting a man who wasn’t interested.
“I need to sit down,” I told her, letting her lead me off the floor as the music started up again.
* * *
I pressed my hand against the fitted waist of my bridesmaid dress. I was trapped.
I’d fled from the back patio just as Gavin Ross, Carmel’s most prominent attorney, was about to ask me to dance again. My destination had been the ladies’ room however, when I caught sight of Dex Covington, one of the owners of Covington Security, Carmel’s local security firm, as he stood chatting with his brother, Ace, at the end of the bar next to the bathrooms, I decided against that direction as well because I knew he’d repeat his request for a second dance, too.
They were both very nice, very honorable, and very good-looking men. And I was sure they would make some woman very happy someday. But I was not that woman, and today was not that day.
I wished it was. I wished I felt something for them. But I didn’t feel that feeling for them—the one that had the power to spin my butterflies into bursting fireworks that would heat my whole body with a fire that couldn’t be put out.
So, I’d returned to my seat next to Jules and Gwen, and let their conversation flow around me. And then I felt them, the army of flutters in my stomach that sent a cascade of electric tingles up my spine.
Looking over, I caught Miles’ gaze again. I didn’t know if it was the setting or the champagne, but since the moment he’d taken my arm to walk me down the aisle earlier, his eyes had been trailing me, playing catch and release. Especially as I danced with our friends.
“You should ask him to dance,” Jules said with a twinkle in her eyes.
I blinked, wide-eyed at her. “What do you mean? Who?”
“Oh, please, Eve. Everyone knows you and Miles have this, like, pile of dynamite between the two of you, and we’re all just waiting to see who’s going to be the one to light the match,” Gwen clarified before Jules could get a word in.
Jules would have told me the same thing, but Gwen was the one who always managed to make the point in a way that was inarguable. Maybe it was her buoyant energy or almost a decade as a nurse, but she could always manage to tell you an uncomfortable, unwelcome truth, and somehow make you comfortable with it.
I felt my cheeks burning. “I don’t know about that.”
My two friends looked to each other and then back to me, like denial was some sort of admittance of guilt or something.
“I know he has a rough exterior,” Jules said with a bit more calm to her voice, having spent the most time with the man in question—her future brother-in-law—out of all of us. “But I think he just needs someone soft to convince him to let go of all that angry armor.”
I gulped.
“We all think you should put the rest of us out of our misery and just flirt and dance and kiss and see where things go,” Gwen encouraged. “You are amazing, Eve. He would be so lucky—too lucky—to be able to snag you.”
“I don’t think he’s interested,” I blurted out.
They were some of my best friends, but honestly, with my candor, I probably would’ve admitted that to the priest had he been sitting here.
“You know how he is, Jules. It’s not just the cold shell,” I added more quietly.
Over the last couple of months, Miles had been breaking out of that shell—and not in a good way. There were numerous times I’d come into Roasters for my shift and Jules would tell me how Mick had to go pick up his brother from the bar again for doing something belligerent. The only time he seemed to escape that fate was when he ended up going home with one girl after another.
“I know that there’s more that’s hurting him, and I think he could use someone with a good heart to turn him around,” she encouraged with a small smile; Jules always looked for the best in everyone. It was a trait we shared and bonded over.
I sighed. That wasn’t the plan.
I wasn’t supposed to save Prince Charming. My head tipped to the side. Or was I?
“Evie, there is no question that he likes you,” Gwen broke in, wagging her finger at me. “I’ve seen a person be given life-saving medication who doesn’t look at it like Miles looks at you.” She groaned. “Okay, bad example. But regardless. The man wants you.”
My heart began to hammer to the rapid beat of hope.
“I don’t know,” I murmured, adjusting my glasses and flicking my eyes over to the topic of our conversation. I chewed on my lip. “I’m attracted to him. I’ll admit to that. But I don’t know if it’s a good idea…”
“It’s a wedding. Things like this are always a good idea at a wedding.” Gwen grinned deviously at me. “Now, go over there and put what he wants right in front of him, in his very nicely shaped arms.” She winked at me, flashing her mega-watt smile. “I promise, it’s the twenty-first century, the princess can ask the prince to dance in modern fairy tales.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Well, you have a point about that…”
Not quite believing what they’d talked my shy self into, I stood and set down my glass of champagne, wondering if those delicious little bubbles played any part in my agreement to put myself out there and chase the butterflies in my stomach—and their demands.
As soon as I began to walk toward him, Miles’ attention whipped to me. His gaze melted down my body, and I swore I could pinpoint the subtle shift in his irises as they followed the sway of my hips.
Later, I could tell myself it was the deadly combination of good friends and champagne that had me heading toward a man who might not really be interested in me.
Rather that than admit I desperately wanted to know what it would feel like to be held in his arms.
“Miles.” His name came out with my unsteady breath as I linked my hands in front of me.
“Eve,” he greeted me with a shadow of a smile.
My stare burrowed into his. It wasn’t often I got to stand so close to him, close enough to confirm the oomph in my stomach I’d tried for some time to construe as anything else.
But it definitely wasn’t anything else. Spoiler alert: it was all because of him.
“You alright?” he asked when I didn’t say anything else.
He pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against, like he’d been trying to fade into the background of the reception, and his mouth thinned into a firm line.
I nodded, adjusting my glasses that hadn’t moved when I realized I’d been standing there staring. “Yeah, sorry. Too much champagne.”
“I see…”
I licked my lips and caught the twitch of his jaw as he noticed. “I actually came over to see if you wanted to dance?”
His face might be a stone mask most of the time, but he wasn’t able to hide the surprise at my question.
“With you?”
Oh, God. This was a bad idea.
Still, there was no turning back now.
I nodded. “Yes. With me, I mean.”
His eyes narrowed, looking over every inch of my face as he took a step closer. For a second, the way his head was angled and how close he stood, I thought he might kiss me, and it felt
like the whole world stopped and tipped on its axis, bringing him as close as possible to me without the kiss actually happening.
“And if I agreed to only one dance, would you still want it?” he rasped, his voice like salted caramel over my skin.
“Yes…” I answered slowly, recognizing that he said the word dance but made it seem like he was talking about something else entirely.
There was a flash of white—a rare glimpse of teeth that I knew formed the perfect smile when set free—before his hand was on my back and he was leading me onto the dance floor.
I’d been the one to ask for the dance, but now it felt like I’d just said yes to so much more.
My mouth opened to say something, to blurt out some attempt at a question, but the words were sucked down deep into my lungs as his arms came around me, and the butterflies in my stomach spun themselves into knots when he pulled me close.
I was fairly tall. Not as tall as my older siblings who were somewhere in the room, but I was knocking on five-foot-seven. Still, Miles stood at least half a foot taller than me, his eyes locked on mine.
He didn’t try to keep his distance here. The hard planes of his chest were pressed against firmly against mine, leaving no space—and no room for questions between us.
I would’ve thought I imagined his low growl, except I felt the vibration from the noise rumble against my breasts that felt swollen and confined against the lace bust of my dress. My nipples rubbed against the fabric with each sway and shot sparks down to my stomach, setting those knotted butterflies on fire.
Heat pulsed through my body and oxygen grew distinctly harder and harder to come by.
I didn’t know how he could hold me this close without it shutting down half of his senses like it was doing to mine.
“Are you having a good time?” I asked dumbly, like I couldn’t tell he’d rather not be dancing at the moment.
He exhaled slowly, and I caught the faintly sweet and subtle whiff of good whiskey on his breath. Mingled with the scent of him—fresh wood and ocean breeze.
“It’s a wedding,” he replied, as though it implied an answer.
“I don’t believe you.” I sucked in a breath, wishing the words would go back inside my lungs with it.
They didn’t.
And it got his attention. His eyes dropped like golden stones to mine, daring me to repeat myself.
“You just… seem pre-occupied.” My shrug was a mistake because it rubbed the tips of my breasts against him once more, and I had to bite my lip to hold back my moan.
This had to be the champagne.
I caught the almost imperceptible flicker of his jaw underneath his beard, and when I saw that, I realized I was close enough to see the scar that ran down his cheek all the way to the edge of his jaw. Most of it was covered by his beard, the coarse hair serving a purpose.
Then the corners of his lips lifted in a small smile, and it felt like the sun peeking through the darkest of clouds. I bit into my cheek. I’d never gotten a look at his lips this close before. They were full—fuller than his brother’s when he let them out of the tight line they were normally kept in, and it made me want to lick them even more. And nibble.
Definitely nibble on them.
His words cut through my imaginings.
“Weddings aren’t my thing,” he informed me as we swayed through another turn.
“Oh? Why not?” I hid my wince.
Sometimes, I spoke before I really thought—a consequence of having two older siblings who I was always trying to get a word in with.
“Because nothing lasts forever.”
I stumbled over my dress, the only thing stopping me from tumbling to the ground and ripping the chiffon fabric in the process was Miles’ strong arms pulling me tighter against him.
And thinking… breathing… got even harder.
The John Mayer song faded in the background as my heart thumped in my chest. Even though this was the most I’d probably spoken to Miles since he moved, it still felt like a weight had crushed a hope I refused to admit I held.
He didn’t believe in forever, and forever was the only thing I was looking for.
“You alright?” he asked, his brow furrowing.
Even though I was steady again, his hold didn’t lessen. His hands were mitts on my waist, my skin burning underneath his touch.
The way his thumbs moved in small circles at that spot just in front of my hipbone was driving me crazy. I wanted that movement, I just wanted it lower, rubbing over the part of me between my thighs that ached when he was around.
I could feel every thick, muscled plane of his chest, the rhythmic rise and fall as it pushed into mine. Through the thin chiffon, I swore even the perfectly proportioned squares of his abdominal muscles imprinted into my stomach. And lower…
Fire flooded my cheeks.
As we moved around our small spot on the dance floor, I could feel the hard length of him begin to thicken against his pants.
“Yeah, sorry.”
His eyes narrowed on me, and he remarked, “You’re shorter than when we walked down the aisle.”
I groaned and without much pressure at all, confessed, “I changed my heels for my Keds. I’m not good in heels, which is surprising considering how much yoga and balance work I do, but for some reason—”
“You have sneakers on?” he cut me off.
I nodded sheepishly. “Don’t tell Laurel.”
Not that she would really care, but I didn’t want to advertise. Even Taylor, who ran the Lookout with her husband, Ash, was still in her heels while holding their new baby.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” he murmured with a chuckle that cut short as soon as my tongue darted out to lick my lips.
The hardness between us grew.
Air felt thick and heavy as it settled unsteadily in my lungs. It was hot in here. Not hot yoga hot. This was beyond that. This was too hot.
“Eve?” I heard him rasp as our movements came to almost a complete halt.
“I think I just need some air,” I said weakly, about to turn and make an embarrassing escape when I felt one of his arms slide possessively around my waist.
“I’ve got you,” he said firmly, and he held me tight as he led me toward the back door.
I tried to focus on keeping a smile on my face—and not the wall of hot male that was pressed against me—as we moved through the crowd toward the door that led out back behind the restaurant.
The back patio of the Lookout was draped with twinkle lights. Small tables and chairs were set up so guests could relax under the quiet of the stars. But I kept walking right past all of that, down the steps and onto the grass where the ceremony had taken place earlier. Here, the music and the people were only a distant hum, and the lights a glimmer in the background.
I dragged in a long, deep breath of the cool summer-night air like we’d been dancing underwater.
“Better?”
I rubbed my thighs together, the low rumble of his voice feeling like he’d reached right down and rubbed between them.
“Yes. Thank you.” It was better out here because there was more space, and the need I felt for him wasn’t crammed in a space that was too small to hold it.
But when I turned, I realized how close he still stood to me. Apparently, he thought I needed space from everyone and everything but him.
I pushed up on the bridge of my glasses and rambled again, “Sometimes, when I’m in cramped spaces and I’m standing, I get really hot and light-headed and pass out.” I held up a hand, assuring him, “I’m fine—better now. It just takes a minute.”
His head tipped to the side as he regarded me. Like in slow motion, both of his hands rose in my periphery to cup the sides of my face.
He’d never touched me skin-to-skin before. And if it wasn’t his hands holding me tall, I would’ve crumbled to the ground.
But that wasn’t it.
That wasn’t the end of the torture.
I inhaled a slow, steady
leak of oxygen as his fingers gripped the sides of my glasses and gently pulled them from my face.
As soon as the lenses were gone, so was the remains of my clarity—both sight and mind.
“So beautiful, Eve,” he whispered.
Even up this close, I couldn’t make out the fine lines of his face, my eyes were that bad. But I could see enough to get a sense of the way his lips moved and how the shadows of his eyes deepened.
“T-Thank you,” I murmured, wishing I could’ve watched him say the words, although I doubted it would’ve made any greater impact than the words already had.
“But I can’t see anything.” My voice quivered. It was unsettling to not be able to see. Unfortunately, it wasn’t nearly as unsettling as being so close to him.
I pulled my lower lip between my teeth, trying to give my mind something clear to focus on.
My heart rammed against the front of my chest, my lip popping free when his thumb began to rub over the hostage flesh. Back and forth. Soft and steady. The pad of his thumb rubbed tenderly over where my teeth had pressed into my flesh, massaging away any trace.
Like he was kindling a flame.
“Don’t need you to see me,” he said with a low, strained voice. “Only need you to feel me when I kiss you.”
My gasp was like a crack of lightning through the air. Silent but momentous all the same.
There were long seconds. Seconds when I could have said something, done something, called someone—protested in some way—had I not wanted him to kiss me.
But I did.
I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted his kiss more than anything.
I wanted to taste the lips I’d fantasized about. I wanted to see if his kiss would make better the desperate heat that pooled in the bottom of my belly. And the not-so-closeted romantic in me believed what every Disney movie had ever taught… that one kiss could break the spell, could break the curse, and change his mind about the idea of forever.
Because true love’s kiss had that power.
And when his lips finally touched mine, I knew I’d been right to believe in such a thing for so long—the magic of a kiss.
It started with the firm pressure of his lips against mine. Like the prelude to a symphony, the darkening of the skies before a storm, the foreshocks before an earthquake… nothing so powerful, so great, ever started at its peak. It laid a foundation, one that foretold of the utter devastation my body would experience at the behest of his.
Bespoken: An Opposites-Attract Standalone Romance (Carmel Cove Book 2) Page 36
