by ANDREA SMITH
From behind, Jill nudged me to move as I walked to the center where Easton was with his dazzling smile, hooking his arm into mine as we followed the bride and groom down the aisle.
“Smile,” he whispered to me, “This is a happy occasion.”
“Maybe for them, not for me,” I hissed quietly, making sure I tensed my arm so he knew I wasn’t enjoying him touching me. I forced a smile at all the wedding guests who were turned sideways, taking pictures of the wedding party.
I’d been in enough wedding parties to know that the freaking picture-taking right after the ceremony dragged on for eternity. Plus, I was sure I’d be stuck in a picture or fifty with just Easton and me as best man and maid of honor. Fuck me.
Once outside the church, the photographer directed all of us to the church basement, where we could freshen up for the pictures. We were to meet back upstairs in ten minutes.
As it turned out, it wasn’t as miserable as I thought it would be. Easton and I had several pictures taken together, most everything else we were in involved the whole wedding party, so I kept my distance. The final picture was the wedding party, boy-girl, boy-girl.
It was Taz and Lindsey in the center, Easton and me next to each other with Easton standing next to Lindsey, and me standing on the outside. Jill was next to Taz with Gabe on the outside. The photographer had to tell me twice to scoot closer to Easton so that he could center the photograph properly and get everyone in. I grudgingly obliged. The girls all held their wedding bouquets for this shot.
Once he had everyone lined up, smiling as instructed, the camera had a malfunction. Shit, I wish he’d get this done. He was working on it when I felt a warm hand caress my ass. I immediately squirmed to the outside, not daring to look at whom I knew was the culprit.
“There now,” the photographer said, once again taking aim. “No, no, Darcy, you need to move back in closer to Easton. You’re out of alignment again.” I scooted back over, purposely elbowing Easton in the side as I did.
“Okay, one…two…three…everyone say ‘cheese’,” he instructed in an ironically cheesy way. Just as we all complied, I felt that hand once again on my ass, squeezing my right cheek firmly.
“Shit!” I hissed, louder than intended as the flash went off. Lindsey looked over at me with a puzzled expression.
“All finished,” the photographer announced. “We’ll take more at the reception.”
Thank God!
Lindsey and Taz left in the wedding limo, heading to the reception taking place at one of the banquet rooms at the St. Regis in the heart of D.C. Eli and I had a room reservation so that we could party responsibly at the reception, where the live band would be performing an ensemble of mixed genre music.
Apparently, Easton had rented a limo to transport his parents, along with Slate and Sammie to the reception. Lindsey’s grandmother was going to be taking all of the children home to stay with her, forgoing the reception. I could tell Constance was having a difficult time parting with baby Harper.
As Eli and I got into my Mercedes to start over to the reception, he could tell I was pissed.
“Okay, spill,” he said. “What the hell happened back there?”
“I’ll tell you what fucking happened. Easton grabbed my ass twice during pictures. How fucking inappropriate is that?”
I saw a smile flicker across Eli’s face.
“Oh no,” I said. “It isn’t funny. After what he did with bringing Lacee to the rehearsal dinner last night, and the incident with the both of them doing whatever in the restroom, he’s a freakin’ piece of work.”
Eli patted my arm gently. “Hey Darce? This is Taz and Lindsey’s day, so I don’t have to remind you to keep your temper in check, right? You already know that photographer’s going to be snapping pictures and videos all evening long, so please, just chill? She’s your best friend, too.”
The thing about Eli, I was coming to realize, is that the guy knew how to drive a point home.
“You know I wouldn’t do anything to ruin Lindsey’s special day.”
He gave me a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smile. “I know sweetheart. That’s why I admire your restraint. There’s nothing quite like it.”
“Smart ass,” I snipped, turning to look out the window.
“That’s my girl,” he replied with a smirk. “I just know you’ll come through. But listen, did you notice Lacee isn’t here?”
“Yeah, I noticed at the church.”
“I’ll just bet you did,” he chuckled. “So, what does that tell you?”
“It tells me nothing. She’ll probably be at the reception all hanging out of her dress and fucking him in the restroom.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Eli replied knowingly.
“What do you know?” I asked.
“Well, we were in the locker room before the ceremony and I happened to ask about her. He claims he sent her back to New York last night. Said he had pressing business for her to attend to back at the office that couldn’t wait ‘til Monday.”
“So?”
“So, get a friggin’clue. He wants to focus on you this weekend.”
“Fat chance,” I scoffed, feeling a slight tingle in the pit of my belly.
chapter 9
Finally the freaking picture-taking by the pain-in-the-ass photographer was over. He had pictures of the wedding party eating at the front table, the multiple toasts to the bride and groom, the bride and groom sipping champagne with their arms locked, the traditional smashing of wedding cake in each other’s faces and their first dance as husband and wife.
I had tossed back quite a few Royal Fuck’s—that was Crown Royal, peach Schnapps, cranberry juice with a splash of pineapple juice. It was my new favorite cocktail, I decided. I watched as Eli was on the dance floor with Jill. I fought back a smile as I watched him playfully dip her, hearing Jill laugh at the sudden move.
Sitting there in a pretty dress in the middle of a wedding crowd with a healthy dose of Crown running through my veins, I couldn’t help but wonder, what with Jill getting married in the fall, whether marriage was in the cards for me. I’d never really considered it with Darin. I wasn’t even sure if marriage was a dream of mine.
As another song was ending, the front man announced that the next one was a classic Joe Cocker song, “You are so Beautiful.” I felt a hand touch my shoulder.
“They’re playing your song, Nicole.” Easton had leaned down, his words caressed softly against my ear, causing me to shiver. “Would you do me the honour?”
I turned abruptly, trying to cast a frown, but it was impossible as I gazed into his molten gray eyes that locked on mine.
“I—I think you know by now, my name’s Darcy,” I replied brusquely, “E.J. is it?”
“You sound injured,” he replied. “I see no harm, no foul. My initials are, in fact, valid. At any rate, I prefer to call you by your middle name, Nicole, so that’s what I intend to do.” Before I could react, he had taken my hand, and led me to the dance floor where the lights had dimmed for this very sexy, very romantic song.
Damn, his closeness still unnerved me. He pulled me close and I had no choice but to wrap my arms around his neck. His arms encircled me, his hands gently massaging my lower back.
God this feels so fucking good.
I wanted to fight that feeling, I swear. But just the feel of him, the nearness of our bodies and the way he smelled—just a faint scent of cologne had me almost forgetting that I kind of hated him.
“You grabbed my ass during photos,” I said, looking at him with a smile forced on my lips meant for onlookers.
Easton returned the smile. “I did,” he said, quietly. “And do you know what I think, Nicole?”
I nodded at Lindsey’s mom, dancing with Slate, nearby, the smile still plastered to my face as I waited for him to continue.
I felt Easton lean in, brushing his lips to my ear. “I think you have a fantastic ass,”
he whispered.
I had to fight the urge to friggin’ glare at him, right then and there. I promptly decided to step on his foot. Hard.
“Sorry, I have a tendency to try and lead when slow-dancing,” I warned him. His lips twitched, and amusement glimmered darkly in his eyes.
“You have no worries there. I don’t intend to allow that,” he responded softly. “You’ll learn to follow, I promise.”
I looked up at him to see if he was serious. He quirked a sexy brow, as if challenging me to argue. I lowered my head back to his chest, feeling his hold on me tighten infinitesimally, and it made me feel secure.
What the hell is this about? Do I have some unconscious need for strictness?
After the song ended and my nerves and power of will were probably completely shot, Easton led me back to my table.
“I’d offer to fetch you another drink, but I think you’ve had enough alcohol for the moment. Perhaps a night cap later is permissible,” he said, lightly brushing a lock of my hair from my face.
“Where in the hell did you come from?” I asked, my voice coming off a bit more belligerent than intended. That managed to elicit a glare from him.
“I beg your pardon?” he replied.
“I mean where were you raised that people talk the way you talk, act the way you act, behave the way you do? I’m really curious.”
“I was born in the U.S., raised primarily in Europe from the time I was a year old. I only visited the States during summer holidays from school. I received my education at boarding schools, prep school, institutions of higher learning. I was educated in Europe, Darcy, where diction, manners, social graces and protocol are deemed as important as math and science. Perhaps they don’t embrace that so much over here.”
Umm? Ouch!
“Well, pardon me for asking, but I guess this illiterate colonial was simply curious. It certainly explains a lot,” I retorted. He gave me a dazzling smile and, just as quickly, my irritation disappeared.
“Are you booked here at the hotel tonight?” he asked, swiftly changing the subject. “I don’t think you’re in any condition to drive.”
I nodded, looking up into his gunmetal eyes.
“Good girl,” he said approvingly. “I’m in the Presidential Suite. Would you like to join me for that nightcap there around midnight?”
Okay, let’s freeze-frame right here for a moment. You need to know something about Darcy Nicole Sheridan, and that is, I have one of those invisible angel/devil conscience creatures that are, of course, polar opposites. This was one of those annoying times of conflict where they’d perch on each shoulder (right where Easton’s hands happened to be) and argue back and forth with each other. I could actually picture them in my mind; one looked like an innocent, golden-haired cherub, the other a red devil with an evil moustache and pitchfork, forever prodding me with the damn thing to go in his favor.
I contemplated in my mind as to whether I really should go to this man’s suite where I was fairly certain I’d have some long-awaited, fan-fucking-tastic sex, or keep a teeny bit of dignity and tell him to have Lacee service him like she had in the restroom the night before. I could practically feel the devil on my shoulder plunging his pitchfork into it indicating I should go for it, and that I’d forever regret it if I didn’t. As it happened, the little devil was perched on the same shoulder Easton was now massaging gently with his long, talented fingers.
I should have given him a flat “hell no.” Of course, you know what I did.
“See you then,” I whispered huskily, still locked in his gaze.
“Splendid. Don’t keep me waiting.”
God, he’s fucking arrogant.
I didn’t really have a chance to mull over what I’d just agreed to before Eli pulled me back up so that we could join some train dance called the ‘Locomotion’ which was now starting up. Apparently, it was vintage group dance where people held on to the person’s waist in front of them; bobbing up and down, kicking each leg out alternately, while some old Motown tune with the same name as the dance played. It had already started, and the line was growing, pulling people up from their comfortable sitting positions to join in as they snaked around the banquet room.
I begrudgingly obliged, still thinking about Easton and how his closeness made me feel. Let’s be honest: the guy knew how to work a woman’s body. That much was obvious. But there was also something else about him. It’s like, whenever he and I were in the same room together, this livewire of sexual awareness descended upon us. And I know the guy being totally sexy, gorgeous and having the ability to do wicked things with his hands was part of it, but I still had no clue as to why he’d pretty much taken up residency in my head. It wasn’t as if I’d only been with one man in my whole life (like Lindsey).
While I didn’t proclaim to be a prude, at 22 years-old and having had my V-card swiped at 17, I could still count the guys I’d been with on 5-1/2 fingers. (The 1/2 count was a guy named Tim, who I’d let sink himself into me long enough to give me an orgasm, then told him I didn’t feel right about it, asking him to stop). I know—not one of my proudest moments, for sure. But hey, I was 18—So, hold off on the judgment, capisce?
Regardless, I wasn’t one to shy away from a good thing. At the moment, I found Easton Matthews to be totally fascinating, with a hint of danger. I wanted some of that, certain I could hold my own with what experience I possessed. What with my frayed willpower and all, Easton Matthews seemed like a damn good thing. Plus, I kind of totally wanted to show him what I was made of…both inside and outside of the bedroom.
All these thoughts went through my head as I held on to Eli’s waist, listening to the music and following the line of people doing the locomotion. They had already dragged Lindsey and Taz into the mêlée; my parents were near the head of the line. Imagine that. Finally, it was over, and Eli grabbed my arm and pulled me out into the hallway outside of the banquet room.
“Okay, spill,” he ordered, wiping his brow from the exertion of the dance.
“Spill what?” I asked innocently.
“Don’t play with me,” he replied, giving me a shit-eating grin. “I saw you slow-dancing with E.J., or Easton, or whatever the fuck we’re calling him now. And then I saw you get that ‘I think I need to buy more lacy/black/crotchless lingerie, preferably with sequins’ look on your face when he walked away from your table.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “What are his plans for you?”
“Okay, first of all? It’s Easton. We’re calling him Easton now, because, guess what? That’s his actual name. Second of all, I don’t own lacy, crotchless panties, but I do like the sequins idea. And last but not least, there are no plans, per se. He invited me to the Presidential Suite for a drink later, that’s all,” I shrugged for added effect.
“Oh right, that’s not all and you know it. Be careful, sweetheart. I have a feeling you’re not treading in the shallow end anymore. And I don’t want to see you come out of all this with your heart a lot more damaged then when you went in.”
“It’s hardly going in that direction, Eli.”
He offered up a smile that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. “Just be careful, okay?”
“I always am. No worries.”
Several minutes later, everyone was throwing rice at the newly married couple as they descended the steps of the St. Regis into the awaiting limo, heading off to the airport where they were going to honeymoon in Montego Bay. Lindsey hurled her bouquet straight at me. Luckily, Eli intercepted it before it smashed against my forehead.
It was going on midnight, so I hurried up to the room Eli and I had booked and peeled my wedding garb off. I grabbed a quick bath, dressing in a short skirt with a v-neck sweater, pulling on a pair of boots, and brushing the curls out of my hair. My buzz was still going strong as I brushed my teeth and gave myself one final appraisal in the mirror.
Just as I grabbed my handbag and key, Eli came into our room, totally blitzed.
“I
think I’m in love,” he said, falling on his back, spread eagle on the bed in his tuxedo.
“Really?” I asked, searching for my lip gloss in my handbag. “With who?”
“Don’t you mean whom?”
“Spit it out, Eli. No time for a grammar lesson right now. With any luck, I’m getting laid tonight.”
He looked up at me in a fog. “You’re seriously going through with this.” It wasn’t a question.
I rolled my eyes at him as I brushed a thin layer of lip gloss over my lips. “No, Dad—I’m on my way to a pajama party at Gidget’s house. Don’t wait up,” I replied sarcastically.
Eli now stood up, albeit drunkenly, and confronted me. “Darcy, I meant what I said to you earlier. I don’t want to see you get hurt. You can convince everyone else that you’re some totally emancipated woman who enjoys responsible, casual sex with no strings, but babe? That ain’t you. And the vibes I get from Easton? It’s all about variety with him.”
“Men do it all the time.”
“Yeah, and most of us are fucking assholes for it.”
“I don’t intend to have my heart broken or anything else for that matter, now tell me who you’re in love with, please.”
He shrugged, walking towards the bathroom. “Only the hottest guy at the reception. We’re meeting in thirty for a drink at the bar. His name is Cain Maddox. Sexy, right?”
“Cain?” I replied. “I hope that’s not indicative of anything dark. Was he a guest?”
“No-no, he was the great looking guy that was overseeing the catering for the reception. You know the one? He has that younger version of Antonio Banderas’s look going on?”
