by Maya Blake
The DJ struck up a saucy number as Thom, minus his jacket, got down on one knee before Elana. With a saucy smile of her own, Elana slowly drew up her wedding gown. Inch by inch, her legs were exposed. More wolf whistles flew across the room as she extended her right leg and planted it in Thom’s lap.
A slow hike of the dress to the middle of her thigh, and the white lace garter was exposed. A few exaggerated groans from the groomsmen triggered laughter.
A smiling Thom, now on both knees, slowly drew the elastic band down his wife’s leg. Once the garter was off, he took Elana’s hand and kissed the back of it before he stood up, twirling the garter around his forefinger.
“You ready, guys?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.
The catcalls stopped abruptly. The men scrambled to get out of his line of fire. With a wicked grin, Thom strolled around in a taunting arc, then lobbed the scrap of fabric over his shoulder.
“Oh, hell no!” Thom’s best man, Greg Dalton, jumped as if he’d been scalded with hot water, then tossed the garter that had landed on his shoulder into another group of men. The women burst into laughter as several men attempted to stop themselves from inheriting the garter.
* * *
Luc watched with detached amusement as the piece of silk traveled through the crowd. Beside him, Rachel laughed, her left hand splayed possessively on his chest as they watched the antics.
A waiter approached with a tray of champagne. He took one and handed it to Rachel. About to reach for another glass, he froze when the garter whizzed through the air and landed at the last place he wanted it.
Hell, no.
For a charged few seconds, Luc stared at the piece of silk lying on top of his polished shoe as if the thing was a snake about to sink its fangs into him. Sadly, that moment of immobility cost him dearly.
“Luc! Luc! Luc!” Relieved male voices urged him on.
He wasn’t sure what made him glance at Rachel in that moment. But there was no mistaking she was as pissed as he was stunned. Although he had to hand it to her for keeping a confident, smiling face, even while her eyes blazed blue murder at him. She really had a remarkable poker face when the occasion demanded it.
A sliver of unease whispered down his spine at the thought. He didn’t have time to dwell on the sensation, though. A crowd was gathering around him.
Which meant...
He raised his head, scanning the crowd until he saw her. Vanessa’s gorgeous eyes were filled with alarm, and she looked like she wanted to throw up.
Fuck.
Would it have killed her to look a little less terrified?
If it were any other wedding other than his sister’s, he probably would’ve picked up the fucking thing and tossed it back into the crowd. But he could feel the weight of his mother’s stare on him. The wedding everyone had stressed about for weeks had gone off with only a tiny hitch, and the last thing his mother needed was for him to fuck up the proceedings in the final stages.
He could also feel Rafe and Gabe watching him, wondering if he was going to be the dick who ruined everyone’s fun. Hell, even Joe was in on the don’t-fuck-this-up act.
Luc dragged his gaze away from Vanessa’s, slowly bent down to pick up the silk and lace. Absently, he noted its softness. Smooth. Just like her skin.
He clenched his jaw for a single moment, then inhaled a steadying breath.
“Come on, let’s get this show on the road,” someone shouted.
The galvanized crowd herded a stumbling Vanessa toward the chair his sister had vacated minutes ago.
“For fuck’s sake, Luc, you don’t have to do it,” Rachel muttered under her breath, her fingers clamping on his arm for a tight second.
Luc knew he had no choice. Already he was shrugging off his fiancée’s hold, and his feet were propelling him to where the woman who made his heart race with terrifying longing sat waiting.
Under the lights, she looked even more gorgeous than he’d first thought when he saw her dancing the fucking tango with that asshole. Her made-up face was flawless, if a little pale, as she watched him approach.
Her eyes, though...
Hell, she looked as if all her nightmares had decided to take the form of one Luc Marshall. His gaze dropped in time to catch the hands in her lap trembling before she tightened them into fists.
God, had he really read her and the chemistry he’d sensed between them that wrong? If so, why the hell was his blood thrumming in his veins as he stood before her? Why did he have an almost unstoppable urge to bend and bury his face in her neck, refresh his memory with the intoxicating scent of her?
He pulled himself back from the edge.
Get this fucking thing done already.
He dropped to his haunches and tried his best not to stare at her cleavage or her small, delicate feet framed by her spectacular heels.
“Lift up your skirt.” Shit. Could his fucking voice sound any more like a rusted drainpipe in a thunderstorm?
Her mouth compressed at the corners for a tiny second before she tugged up one side of her dress. At the sight of her long shapely leg, Luc swallowed. With mounting alarm, he felt his cock stir to life.
Great, all he needed was a boner to compound this hell he’d been flung into.
“Higher,” he instructed, his voice none too smooth.
She hitched the material higher until her upper thigh was visible. A deep tingle charged through to his fingertips as he fought the urge to glide his hand up the back of her leg, investigate for himself if her naked flesh was as smooth as it looked.
The knowledge that he was seconds away from developing a tent in his pants had him grabbing Vanessa’s ankle and pulling it toward him. And hell if her skin wasn’t as warm and silky as he’d known it would be.
He ignored her gasp, concentrated on shoving the damned piece of silk over her foot and up her leg with minimum contact.
All around him, the wolf whistles had started again, louder this time, perhaps because the guests sensed something more? Because he wasn’t the only man turned on by the sight of her exposed leg?
Another emotion—a hot, green, slimy one he recognized as jealousy—spiked through him.
Jesus, what was wrong with him?
Luc pulled the garter up and over her knee. The moment it reached the vicinity of her upper thigh, he dropped his hands and lurched to his feet.
Had it been any other woman, he would’ve held out his hand to help her stand. To accept the suggestive congratulations he was receiving with a smile.
But this was Vanessa.
The woman whose Keep Off signs were flashing as big as the Hollywood sign. Hell, she was already putting daylight between them by sidling away.
Awesome.
Luc turned away and stalked toward the nearest waiter. He grabbed a drink and downed it just so he wouldn’t have to make conversation with anyone just yet. He needed a moment to get his head—and libido—under control.
He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or resigned when he saw Rachel making a beeline for him.
He swallowed the last of his champagne just as she reached him. Her smile was still in place, but her eyes were edged in steel. As were the fingers she laced through his in blatant possession.
“I think it’s time we said our goodbyes, don’t you?” she suggested pointedly.
Luc discarded his glass, then gave a curt nod. “Sure. Lead the way, sweetheart.”
He didn’t mind that she all but dragged him through their hasty goodbyes and bossed him all the way out the door.
Like Vanessa, he was more than ready to put some daylight between himself and the unwanted feelings she drew so effortlessly from him.
Chapter Three
A few days later
Elana untied her white sarong, dropped it on
the lounger and dived into the blissfully cool waters of her private infinity pool. She swam a few lengths of the black-and-aqua-tiled pool before she slowed to a stop, braced her arms on the edge and basked in the view.
Their three-bedroom Balinese honeymoon villa was beyond spectacular. Perched on the side of a hill with a secluded bay beyond the extensive grounds, the tropical paradise was stunning enough to make Elana’s jaw drop. In the four days since they’d been here, their every wish had been catered to and exceeded.
Although she was reluctant to admit it, she felt miles better now that the wedding was behind her and she was a world away from Santa Barbara and the fraught situation with her dad.
She’d been pampered to within an inch of her life, and the first signs of stress relief she’d felt when she and Thom boarded her family’s private jet at Van Nuys airport had finally bloomed into full-blown relaxation. And the extra bonus was the disappearance of the nausea that had plagued her. It was enough for her to conclude that old woman’s comment in the bathroom before the wedding had been exactly what she’d thought it was at the time—complete crap! But, truth be told, she’d been seriously worried there for a while that she was pregnant. Hell, the thought had lingered long enough to ruin her drinking at her own wedding, save for a few sips of champagne to prevent any probing questions.
But just as quickly as it’d started, her nausea had abated. And now all of that worrying nonsense was behind her, she could truly enjoy her honeymoon.
Bali was truly beautiful, and their piece of heaven even more so.
A tiny part of her wished she and Thom could stay here forever. She didn’t want to go back to Santa Barbara and spend endless hours watching the worry on her mother’s face she tried so hard to hide, or witnessing Luc and Rafe skirt each other like cage fighters about to tear each other to pieces.
Above all, she didn’t want to go back to having Jarrod within tempting distance. In fact, she didn’t feel like thinking about or even seeing Jarrod again.
Liar.
She smothered the pang of guilt. Sure, she missed him. Missed the excitement he evoked in her. Missed the illicit thrill of their connection. Missed the unmistakable power of his cock inside her, pounding her to mind-altering ecstasy.
But this was her honeymoon.
She was married now.
Thom was a good, sweet man, if a little clueless at times. The sex wasn’t exactly setting her world on fire, but surely there was more to life, and marriage, than great sex, right?
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
She jumped at the voice that scattered her thoughts. “What?”
“You’re staring at your wedding ring and frowning,” Thom observed from his relaxed position on the lounger next to the one she’d been using.
Beside him stood a silver bucket with a bottle of Dom Pérignon chilling on ice. On the low, wide table, next to twin crystal champagne glasses, a platter of appetizing hors d’oeuvres prepared by their personal chef was ready to be devoured.
She quickly smoothed her features, suppressing thoughts of Jarrod and the toe-curling orgasms he’d given her the night before the wedding. “Am I?” she asked absently, weaving her legs in the water to cool her rising temperature.
“Yes. Should I be worried?” he asked with eyebrows raised.
She forced a laugh. “Of course not, silly. I... I was just think about my dad,” she lied blithely.
Thom sat up, tossed his gold-rimmed Ray-Bans onto the table and stared at her with worried eyes. “You haven’t heard anything, have you? Has he taken a turn for the worse?” he asked.
“No. At least I hope not. I’m taking no news to be good news.” She attempted to smile, a little regretful she’d spoiled the lovely atmosphere with lies and thoughts of her married lover. “I wish he could’ve been at the wedding, though.”
Thom rose and approached where she was clinging to the side of the pool. In his turquoise swimming shorts and the darker coffee tan he’d achieved in the few days they’d been in Bali, her husband’s sleek, athletic figure was eye-catching enough to capture and hold her attention. He had a six-pack most men would envy, he moved with an inherent grace and his face and soulful brown eyes were movie-star gorgeous.
He was a catch. She couldn’t deny that.
When he folded his tall length down beside her and dangled his legs in the pool, she looked up into his face, wishing he evoked the same thrill in her that Jarrod did.
She smashed the thought away as Thom reached out and gently cradled her cheek. “I wish your dad had been there, too. But I’m sure he’s being well taken care of. Try not to worry too much, okay?”
Sudden tears clogged her throat, his unfettered concern touching her. She wasn’t sure why she felt so emotional lately. Again that pang of guilt pierced her. She quickly blinked the tears away, blaming it on the final release of all the pre-and post-wedding jitters. She should be enjoying her honeymoon, not second-guessing the choices she’d made.
Thom cared for her. She wasn’t sure what she felt for him was love—maybe just deep friendship—but she truly believed they could make this work.
The smile she managed to summon felt natural, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief as she laid her hand over his and basked in his affectionate smile. “Okay, I’ll think only positive thoughts.”
“Good.” His hand traced her jaw then caressed down her neck to her shoulder. “Are you coming out to grab a bite to eat? The steak tostada bites are amazing, and you’ll love the cucumber and shrimp bruschetta.”
“Ah, so many carbs, so little time.”
“We have another few days. You can work it in,” he replied with a grin.
“I’m sure I can. But I need to work off some calories first.” Her wicked smile was all the warning she gave him before she grabbed his hand and yanked him into the pool.
He paid her back by diving deeper into the water, then grabbing her legs to drag her down to join him. They were both spluttering and laughing when they resurfaced.
It felt like the most natural thing in the world right then to link her arms behind his neck when Thom pulled her close and nuzzled her cheek. “Need to work off some calories, huh? What do you have in mind for that?”
Elana leaned closer and whispered in his ear, “I don’t know, Thom. I could continue swimming.”
“Or I could go for something even more stimulating,” she said.
“I might have a suggestion.”
“Do you? Fine. Surprise me,” she challenged.
When he hesitated for a moment, then reached behind her to free the ties to her white bikini top, Elana wished her heart would race as fast as it did when another set of hands touched her.
When Thom settled his mouth over hers and pressed his tongue into her mouth, she guiltily wished for a deeper, more carnal version of the kiss.
When he carried her naked out of the pool, laid her down on the double-wide cabana bed and positioned himself between her thighs, she closed her eyes and tried to steep herself in the moment.
And when her husband called her beautiful and slid deep inside her, Elana called herself ten kinds of fool for wishing for more pleasure, for wishing that her bliss didn’t feel so far out of reach.
Sex wasn’t everything. And hell, more often than not, it was overrated.
The inner voice that mocked her assertion was ruthlessly ignored as she redoubled her efforts to enjoy her husband’s lovemaking. She must have succeeded, because very soon Thom was moaning his release, peppering her face with kisses as their breaths resettled. And minutes later, he was dozing, sated, beside her.
She listened to his light snores as she stroked his smooth chest. And as drowsiness and the call of exotic birds drew her into sleep, she reiterated to herself that she would make her marriage work.
Somehow.
&nb
sp; * * *
Thom padded barefoot over the dark polished teak floor of the main hallway in search of the snack for his wife.
His wife.
He was beginning to get used to the term, maybe even getting comfortable with it. Any wish he harbored that the term was a different one now was suppressed beneath the acceptance that this was his life now.
From here on out, he would choose to count his blessings. For one thing, their honeymoon had gotten off to a great start. There was a naturalness between him and Elana that hadn’t been there before. For another, his secret was even safer now he was married. He didn’t doubt that leaving Santa Barbara and Gabe’s menacing threats behind had a lot to do with his calmer state of mind.
Or it could be the fantastic couple’s massage he and Elana had shared before lunch three hours ago, during which they’d had a lighthearted debate about their favorite moments on The Big Bang Theory.
He smiled to himself as he entered the immaculate chef’s kitchen.
“Mr. Scott, you didn’t have to come out. I was just about to bring this in to you,” the chef said, sliding two large bowls of popcorn onto a tray.
Thom waved him away. “It’s fine. I needed to stretch my legs. And my wife isn’t exactly known for her patience.”
He watched the chef sprinkle cinnamon on one bowl and extra butter on the other before he took the tray and made his way back across the sunken living room and through a series of hallways back to the screening room.
Second only to the pool, the villa’s sumptuous red-leathered upholstered private cinema had become their favorite place. And they’d been making vigorous use of it so far. Elana was sprawled on a lounger large enough to hold six people, her hair spread out on the cushion tucked beneath her head. She was scrolling through her phone, but she set it aside and smiled at him as he handed her the cinnamon popcorn.
She planted the bowl on her stomach and shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “Oh, yum. So good,” she groaned. “I don’t know what they put in this stuff, but I’m taking a suitcase of it back home with us.”
