by Snow, Nicole
“Aw, Stace,” I whisper, shaking my head, truly feeling bad for her.
I wish there was something I could do. If I could give either of them some hours at Midnight Morning, I would, but it's no place for a pregnant woman. And I doubt a full day there would even make a dent in the fee for the delivery room.
I'm stuck in my own head, struggling for words, when I realize Hunter is talking.
“Where'd you work before, Josh?” he asks.
Josh tells him all about how his company was bought out. It's a familiar sad tale.
Seems the IT department he worked for moved its headquarters overseas to save the company money. He just finished the last few weeks training his replacement.
I keep one ear on their conversation, just the two of them talking about software and such, while Stacy fills me in on how her other two children, both girls, are doing. Up until Rochelle announces that dinner is ready to be served and everyone needs to return to their assigned seats.
“She’s at her finest tonight, isn’t she?” Stacy whispers.
“You think?” I answer. “Well, maybe now that the pressure's off...yeah. She does seem happier.”
Josh, a guy I’ve always liked, says, “I’m just trying to figure out who’s gonna be the first one drunk enough to swallow one of her goldfish.”
“Oh my God.” Hunter catches me as I bend over laughing so hard it hurts my face. Perish the very thought. “They wouldn’t dare.”
“I don’t know,” Josh says. “There're a few here who might. You see Marco's cousin, Eddy, over there?”
As if anyone could miss him. He's a second-generation Cuban-American kid with a smile like he owns the world and gold rings on each hand. I think he's hit on everything female here at least four times in the space of an hour.
Hunter pulls out his billfold and hands Josh a bill. “A hundred bucks to the first guy you convince.”
“Hunter, no!” I'm grabbing at the bill.
Stacy reaches in, stealing it first. “Come on, Wendy. Lighten up. Doubt there'll be any takers but...wouldn't it be hilarious to try?” Her green eyes are twinkling. “Give your big sis something worth remembering. And a small payback for all the shit she’s done to us over the years.”
“Stace, we aren’t seventh graders anymore.”
“Maybe. But I haven't exactly forgotten that summer in Grand Rapids. Remember?”
Oh, God. How could I ever forget? It was right before our junior year, at a camp up north, and poor Stacy had a crush on Mickey, the lifeguard. Rochelle thought it'd be a lark to dare us into skinny dipping. Funnier still to run off with Stacy's clothes, leaving her stranded with barely a towel long enough to cover her as she ran square into Mickey coming out of the activity center and screamed.
My protest falls on deaf ears, and honestly, I can't find the energy to put up more of a fight.
As we're walking to the table, I tell Hunter, “Now you've done it.”
He shrugs. “Had to, Sugar. Whatever else happens was coming anyway, one way or another.”
I let it go. What’s the worst that can happen?
Someone gets kicked out. Rochelle throws a fit.
Those things are probably already scheduled to happen. Maybe he's right.
We sit down and eat our dinner while listening to a plethora of speeches that I have no doubt Rochelle wrote, or at least edited. We watch the bride and groom kiss so many times, I’m getting a headache from the sound of forks clinking glasses.
The folding wall behind the cake is finally pulled open, revealing a dance floor and bigger stage for the band. Rochelle was adamant about not having a DJ. Thankfully, these guys are skilled, and they're ready to rumble with their instruments after a quick break for their own dinner.
Naomi is officially in charge of the cake cutting. She makes a show of leading Rochelle and Marco to the cake table.
A low murmur rolls around the room, and finally makes it to our table. People are complimenting me on how lovely the cake is. As quietly and humbly as possible, I accept their praise, but not before Rochelle takes notice.
She and Naomi are whispering, both of them shooting haughty looks our way. My stomach sinks even as Hunter puts an arm around me. “Ignore her, babe. You deserve every damn word.”
I try.
Then Rochelle takes the microphone. “Thank you, thank you, everybody! Yet again, my little sister is busy trying to steal my thunder.”
She laughs, and so do others, but I cringe.
She’s not joking. Her tone is too real.
Unbelievable. It’s a freaking cake! No one's stealing your anything. I want to shout.
I'm already seething at the unbelievable when the unthinkable hits me in the face.
“It appears,” Rochelle says, leveling a slow sneer on me, “our little Wendy has not only baked my wedding cake, but she’s gotten herself engaged. I just want to be the first one to say – here at my wedding – congratulations, sis.”
What. Is. Happening?
I'm going to be sick, for one.
The room goes silent as all eyes turn my way.
As I’m slinking down in my chair, wishing I could turn invisible, Hunter stands calmly. He's like a tall guardian angel protecting a woman whose spine just evaporated. And who's confusion may just set the whole room on fire.
Even worse, he's clapping. His huge hands slam together several times in quick, fierce staccato applause.
“Very good, Rochelle. I'll admit I'm not certain who's stealing whose thunder, considering I haven’t officially asked her yet. But if that’s what you'd like while we've both got an audience...”
Oh my God. Oh, dear Lord. Oh, crap.
I grab his arm, sitting up again, clutching at him like I'm about to go down a cliff.
“No,” I hiss. “No, no, no. Don’t. Not here. Please.”
He pushes his chair away and starts to lower himself like he’s going to kneel before me.
I grab both of his arms, stopping him from going any lower, and shake my head. Is this real life?
Not even the merriment, the strength, the determination in his eyes calms the absolute terror inside me.
He cups my shoulders. “Not now? You sure?”
“No. Not now.” I can barely mouth the words.
Without taking his eyes off me, he says, “Sorry, Rochelle, but Wendy wants me to wait. For just the right moment. Fair.”
Seriously. I'm going to die.
He runs a knuckle under my chin, ever so slowly, turning the slow blush on both cheeks into an inferno. “And what she wants is the most important thing of all.”
Then comes the kiss.
Fire. Angst. A million different ways to drop me on my head in one fusion of lips and chasing tongues.
I meld into Hunter Forsythe and officially lose my mind.
The kiss fires up a deafening round of applause and more than one rowdy cheer. God.
I’m trembling from head to toe when we sit back down. My wine glass is empty, so I grab my mother’s and chug it. So fast I nearly choke.
My parents know the truth, and the empathy in their eyes is enough to gut me.
It shouldn't, though.
Not when Rochelle always believed the way to look better is to make others look worse. She’d done that for years. Not only to me, but Stacy, our parents, her so-called friends. Everyone.
And now she'd finally been served by this beast of a man who's helping me back into my own body with a squeeze of his massive hand around mine.
“Congratulations in advance!” Uncle Sam says cheerfully.
“Wow. Naomi told me you hinted at being engaged,” Aunt Charlotte tells me. “But I told her she must've been mistaken. Now...”
She doesn't finish that thought. It's as much for herself as it is for me. She's just staring in disbelief.
I hold my breath, waiting for Mom or Dad to let out the truth, to save the family from a total disaster.
“I'll tell you what,” Dad says with a grin. “I guarant
ee Wendy’s wedding will be a hell of a lot easier than this one.”
Mother elbows him. “Will!”
“And there won’t be any goldfish,” Hunter adds across the table.
The entire table busts a gut, and the subject changes as plates of cake appear in front of us.
Once again, I accept the compliments, but cake is the last thing on my mind.
Engaged. To Hunter Forsythe. Nearly.
Too nearly. And all for show.
My brain can't even process what just happened, or where it even goes from here.
* * *
I stand. “Excuse me.”
Hunter gets up, too, and puts his hand on my back, following me as I weave around the tables. Once in the hallway, I whisper, “What the hell were you thinking?”
“That your sister finally got what she deserved.”
“That didn’t mean –” I stop, catching myself as someone walks out of the restroom door, peering our way.
They pass by, and I lean against the wall, sighing. So ready for this night to be over. Hunter plants a hand on the wall behind me and leans closer. I catch a flash of some sharp, seductive ink on his muscular wrist.
“Don’t worry, Sugar. I've got everything under control.”
I blink. “Worry? Oh, you’ve done enough. I’ll take care of it from here.”
“Sure, but not tonight.”
I shake my head as my stomach sinks. “Whatever. Anything I say tonight will just make it worse, probably.”
He puts his other hand on my stomach. The warmth of his palm penetrates my dress, heat welling deep inside me.
“Then let’s play it up. Have some more fun.”
Fun? This is his idea of fun?
Is he out of his mind?
Sigh. This would be so much easier if he wasn’t so flipping good-looking.
If he didn’t smell so good.
If his every touch didn’t ignite my insides as surely as striking a match.
He steps closer. My mouth goes dry.
It's too much. The heat inside me is spiraling out of control. He knows it, too.
That devilish grin on his face says so. He moves in closer still, pressing me up against the wall, all fire breath and beard grazing my throat.
Then there's his body. So hard. So firm. So sexy it hurts.
I can't even stay mad. I can't stay anything when he's got my panties drenched at the thought of what's coming next.
“You hear me, Sugar? That thing I said about fun?” His breath is a whisper, equal parts husky and erotic.
“You're insane.” I tilt my head up, giving him a gentle shove. He doesn't move an inch and his smile only grows.
Frick.
“I did you a solid, babe. Your sister was trying to embarrass you, call you out as a fraud. Right in front of the whole family.” His mouth is so close, mere inches from my total destruction. “Let’s prove her wrong.”
Like hell.
But my thoughts aren't on Rochelle, or anyone, but him.
His rough hand slides around my waist, then lower, cupping one of my butt cheeks. I moan so loud, it surprises me. It also makes that incessant burning so much more intense.
Unable to take much more, I arch into him, looping my arms around his neck. “Hunter...be careful. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”
“Nah, I do.” His breath mingles with mine for the faintest second. “Let me show you exactly what I'm into.”
And he does the instant our lips connect.
Stars. That's what I see as his tongue sinks against mine, hot and possessive and oh so right.
Every ounce of my frustration fades as Hunter deepens the kiss. Our tongues play a game of hide and seek. Command and conquer. Wolf and sheep.
Determined to win, I tighten my hold on his neck. It’s like I can never get close enough to this man. Never get enough of him.
His hand on my ass tightens, adding a forceful, satisfying pressure to my skin. Then I feel his teeth, and my slow burn moan becomes a gasp.
Hunter breaks the kiss but plants several smaller ones on my lips before he leans back.
His smile is all I can see. That smile that's everything.
He licks his lips slowly. “Fuck. You taste like wine. Mulled wine. Love the sugar, Sugar, but now it's time you gave up the spice.”
“Probably because I’ve already had four glasses.”
I tell myself that's why it's so hard to fight. Why the after effects of his kiss leave me so euphoric, I really don’t care how many glasses of wine I’ve had anymore. “And you know...I think I could use one more.”
He laughs and leads me to the bar. The cake table has been pushed aside in our absence. The meal plates are cleared and people are dancing. We get our drinks, put them on the table, and then hit the dance floor.
Dancing with him is so fricking amazing. What else?
I let him lead, pressing myself closer with every song, and I give up a few more kisses he's happy to steal. A piece of paper couldn’t fit between our bodies, and it’s heaven.
Somewhere in the soft music, I shed my fears, my worries, all the thoughts of shame or ridicule.
I just enjoy the moment, being in Hunter’s arms.
His thick, strong, gorgeous arms.
He kisses me as the next song ends. I return his kiss, lip for lip, tongue for tongue.
We dance several more times over the next hour or more. When we aren’t on the dance floor, we're arm in arm or hand in hand.
It feels like a new day. I’m literally having the time of my life.
Not even Rochelle’s off and on glowers get to me.
If she’s not having a good time at her own wedding, that’s her problem. Not mine.
We return to the dance floor several times again. We're in the middle of this slow, velvety jazz tune, my nose in the crook of his neck, breathing every bit of him and loving it, when commotion erupts near the tables.
A crowd gathers. I think they're chanting?
“Ricardo! Ricardo! Ricardo!”
Marco’s brother, Ricardo, the best man, suddenly jumps up on one of the tables. He has a vase in his hand and reaches in, scoops out a goldfish, and then, head back, drops it into his gaping mouth.
“Oh, no!” I whisper, scanning the room for Stacy and Josh.
I don’t see them anywhere, but Ricardo is still on the table, beating his chest like Tarzan as everyone erupts in doubled-over laughter or pearl-clutching horror.
The crowd, mostly the younger, drunken guys, are still chanting his name. Then, to everyone’s amusement, he scoops out another goldfish and swallows it, too.
“Look over there,” Hunter says, gesturing toward the side of the room.
It's Rochelle. Both hands pressed to her cheeks, a look of awesome disgust on her face.
Beside her, Marco claps his hands, chanting his brother’s name along with everyone else, belting it out across the room.
If anyone thought the groom would restore order, it ain't happening.
Ricardo goes for his third fish.
I'm doubled over in disbelief, somewhere between laughing hysterically and bawling like a baby. It's the craziest insanity I've ever seen. And if my sis hadn't been so vicious earlier, maybe I'd feel bad for her.
But right now, in Hunter's arms, I'm just too busy feeling good. Reveling in the absurdity.
Hunter spins me around. “You heard the crowd. That's our sign to exit.”
I agree. Rochelle is about to go ballistic any second.
Her ear-splitting wail fills the hallway just as we reach the elevator. The door is open, several other people are stepping in, and we join them.
“Holy shit. I wouldn't want to be Marco right now,” one of the men says as the elevator door closes.
“Or tomorrow morning,” the woman beside him says. She grimaces then, looking at me. “Um, sorry.”
She looks familiar, some relative of Marco’s, I think, and obviously knows I’m Rochelle’s sister.
/> “Don’t be,” I say firmly, flipping my hair over my shoulder. “I wouldn’t want to be Marco either. Now or in the morning. It's his funeral.”
Hunter’s back is to the elevator wall, and his arms are around me, holding my back up against his front. I can feel his hard-on, and a thrill shoots through me.
“Glad we agree. I damn sure don’t want you to be Marco, either,” he says, pulling me in tighter.
Everyone laughs and the conversation continues, but stays focused on Ricardo and his freak ability to swallow live fish. We listen to them chatter back and forth until the elevator stops and the woman says, “Enough already! Before I throw up...”
She’s laughing, a little tipsy, but shoots out of the door as soon as it opens. Another couple steps out on that floor, too, leaving just Hunter and me.
He twists me around and captures my lips with a long, drawn out kiss that nearly makes my knees buckle at the same time it leaves me wanting more. So much more.
When the door opens again for us, we practically run down the hall.
Once we tumble into his room, he traps me up against the door.
To say I'm on fire would be the understatement of the year.
He’s had me wet half the night, and I’m dying to have him do something about it.
I want his tongue. His fingers. His guaranteed huge cock.
Everything he promised before we headed down, the world's greatest virgin antidote, if there ever was one.
I slide my hands inside his jacket while our tongues twine around each other again, and then tug his shirt out of his pants so I can feel his skin.
The heat of it against my palms sends a jolt of delight through me.
He breaks the kiss and swoops me into his arms like some hero in an old-fashioned movie.
My shoes fall off my feet as he carries me into the bedroom.
There, he sits down on the bed, still holding me, running those massive hands of his through my hair before going lower. His movement shifts, fingertips up and down my side, as he looks at me for what feels like eternity.
“Before we go any further, I have to know it’s what you want. Say the word, Sugar. Tell me you're ready.”
My heart leaps into my throat at how soft his whisper is.
I'm touched. He's equal parts barbarian and guardian angel. Slowly, it's my turn to brush the hair away from his forehead, loving how it feels between my fingers. “Is it what you want, Hunter? What you're ready for?”
