Flame

by Erin Noelle

  The minute I stepped into the hotel lobby of the Ritz-Carlton earlier this afternoon, it felt like I’d fallen down the rabbit hole, directly into Wonderland with Alice and the Mad Hatter. Pocket watches, top hats, and croquet sets adorned the brightly colored room, where wrought-iron patio tables were set up, each equipped with a vintage tea set. Twinkly white lights hung down from the ceiling, adding the final touch to the awe-inspiring ambiance of the space.

  And then, when I met Emilia in the bridal suite which was fully decorated like the inside of Alice’s cottage, she told me the lobby would only be used for the cocktail hour between the ceremony and the reception, and I couldn’t help the stupefied expression that fell over my face. Somehow, I managed to keep my manners and not ask what kind of investment this wedding was, but seriously . . . what the fuck happened when they left Breckenridge?

  Now, here I stand outside the grand ballroom, the fanciest hotel in all of Summit County, dressed in a cerulean blue, floor-length chiffon dress, holding a bouquet of fragile indigo orchids and delicate white lilies, waiting for my turn to enter the ceremony. Chuckling to myself, I think about what a whirlwind of a day it’s been, and the wedding is just beginning.

  When Emilia called in a hysterical panic this morning, I wanted to help her out in any way I could. Little did I know that she’d want me to stand in for her ill maid-of-honor, but since I was planning on attending the wedding solo as it was, I figured why not? It’d be a fun way to be included in all the excitement of the festivities . . . and Lord knows I’m never one to turn down a good party. Realizing that would also mean more time around Mr. Button-Fly-Best-Man himself, who I haven’t been able to get out of my head since our meeting, definitely didn’t hurt either. So, I figured I’d help the girl out—and I’m referring to both Emilia and my pussy with that comment.

  Inching closer to the grandiose oak doors, the scary wedding coordinator—I’ve yet to find out her name—grabs my elbow and pulls me up next to her. She remains silent as she listens to someone speaking in her earpiece and then gives me a nod.

  “You’re up next, fill-in,” she barks without looking over at me. Apparently, she didn’t bother learning my name either. “Remember, pause for a few seconds after entering for pictures, then slow and steady steps. Keep your vision forward and a smile on your face. There’s an X marked on the ground where you’re to stand. The bride will hand you her bouquet to hold during the vows, and I hope to God you’ve got the ring.”

  I lift my hand in front of her face and wiggle my ring-laden thumb. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve got the shackle of dominance right here.”

  Sighing with frustration, she pinches the bridge of her nose and looks down at her clipboard. My sense of humor is obviously too much for her, so I ignore her. I don’t waste my time dealing with people who have something stuck up their ass.

  Instead, I twist around to get one more look at Emilia in her stunning white gown, embellished with shimmering blue and silver crystals around the low-V neckline and along the bottom hem. Standing next to her dad—who’s a handsome older version of Gabe—her face radiates with anticipation and excitement. She’s the epitome of pure happiness.

  “Good luck, sweetie. I’ll see you down there.” My smile is so big, I’m sure my eyes are crinkling around the edges. Being around joyful people is contagious. And seeing her right now warms me to the core.

  Then, before she can respond or I can add anything else, I’m tugged forward by the arm again. “Showtime, fill-in,” crabby coordinator whispers as she opens the door and gives me a small shove inside.

  Flashes go off as I enter, the over-the-top, whimsical décor from the lobby spilling over into the magnificent ballroom, and I pause like I was instructed. Holy shitballs. There’s got to be like five hundred people here, maybe even a thousand. I have no idea. It’s a fucking lot . . . however many that is.

  My gaze quickly sweeps over the sea of faces in the crowd until it lands on the one I’m looking for, standing directly to the left of the groom in front of the vine trellis: Mr. James Levi. Oh, hell yes. Come to momma, big boy.

  When our eyes meet, he cocks his head slightly to the side, confused for a split-second before the flash of recognition lights up his face. He was obviously unaware of my substantial upgrade in the wedding hierarchy, jumping from common attendee to the bride’s right-hand-gal, but once he realizes who I am, he reacts. A subtle lick of his lips. A faint flare of his nostrils. Lust glazing over his eyes. Hands shifting to cover his crotch. The edges of my mouth curl upward in an impish grin as a shot of adrenaline floods my veins. Instinctively, I know playing with this one is going to be fun—my favorite kind of fun.

  Rolling my shoulders back and tilting my chin up, I slowly advance forward down the center aisle, our gazes locked the entire time. I’m not sure I could pull my eyes away if I wanted to. There’s something about him, something other than his drop-dead-gorgeous looks, that I find captivating. Enchanting. I can practically hear his every thought by simply staring into the depths of his sparkling baby blues, which is equally freaky as it is cool.

  Forced to look away from him when I reach the end of the walkway, I locate my X on the ground next to the other bridesmaid, Meghan, and focus on where I just came from for Emilia to make her appearance. The crowd rises to their feet as the music changes to an instrumental selection that I can only guess is from the Alice in Wonderland soundtrack, since it’s most definitely not “Here Comes the Bride.”

  An audible gasp, followed by the clicking sound of cameras all over the room, can be heard as the doors open, revealing the stunning bride and her handsome father. A forced pageant smile stretches across her face as they carefully step inside, taking a moment to soak in the overwhelming scene. When her gaze lands on Gunner, who’s beaming at her down the aisle, the smile relaxes into something natural and true, lighting up her eyes like I’ve never seen before.

  Feeling almost voyeuristic as I watch them share this intimate moment, I quickly shift my focus . . . directly onto Levi. He’s staring straight at me, not bothering to look away and hide the fact when I catch him. Lifting his eyebrows suggestively, he silently says, I’m dying to see what’s waiting for me under that dress.

  Snickering, I shake my head ever so slightly. A bit sure of ourselves, aren’t we?

  Abso-fucking-lutely. I mean, look at me. Who could refuse this package of awesomeness? He briefly glances down at himself, then back up at me, waiting for my reply.

  My eyes follow his, scanning his body from head-to-toe, and truth be told, the guy is absolutely mouthwatering in his tux . . . except for the fact I think he’s wearing someone else’s. Someone who’s three inches shorter and two jacket sizes smaller.

  I try not to laugh. I really do. The whole bridal march thing and all going on, but damn if a little titter doesn’t escape past my red-stained lips. Thankfully, he’s the only one who notices.

  Your ass is gonna pay for that outburst, he warns with a mischievous smirk.

  Calm down, Incredible Hulk. Don’t get excited and bust any seams over there.

  His broad chest quakes with concealed laughter, even more exaggerated due to the jacket pulled taut across his pecs. Pecs that clearly spend a good amount of time in the gym. I didn’t notice when we first met, or maybe I was too busy staring at his mesmerizing eyes and the buttons holding back his semi, but the dude is big. At least six-foot-three and an upper body that looks like he can bench press a few of me, he’s got to be bigger than any guy I’ve ever been with before. I’m usually attracted to smaller-framed guys, because I’m quite petite, the shortest and thinnest of all six Shavell sisters, but as I gape at his equally large hands and feet, I find myself wondering . . .

  Levi transfers his weight from one leg to the other, snapping me from my impure thoughts. Lifting my eyes back to his, the playfulness is replaced with something else. Something daring and daunting and promising, all at once. If I were wearing panties right now, they’d be soaked.

  I’ll go eas
y on you, Sunshine. You don’t have to be afraid, he taunts.

  Fiery rebellion flares to life inside me. I don’t need easy, and I’m not afraid. Of anyone.

  Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, Emilia reaches the front of the room and hands me her bouquet, thus ending the telepathic conversation between me and the pompous-ass brute. The minister begins to speak, and even though I pretend to pay attention for the duration of the vow exchange, my thoughts are . . . elsewhere.

  In a bed. Against a wall. Bent over a table. I can’t decide which elsewhere I want first.

  When Emilia and Gunner are finally introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Rhys “Gunner” Griffin, the entire room breaks out in applause, with several people making some weird noise that sounds like “Brraaap.” I don’t have time to think much about what it means before the bride and groom take off toward the double doors in the back of the room, which is my cue to follow. On the arm of Levi, of course. Somehow, we make it down the aisle fully clothed.

  Once outside the ballroom, we flock to Emilia and Gunner, hugging and congratulating the newlyweds. I, along with the bride and Meghan, get swept away several minutes later for a quick hair and makeup touch-up before pictures, which begin once all the guests have exited into the lobby for the cocktail hour.

  Photo after photo is snapped of the wedding party and the bride and groom’s families, in every different combination of people possible, which takes fucking forever. Levi and I never say a word to each other throughout the entire disorganized process, but my body is in tune with where he is at every moment. The magnetic pull I feel toward him is fucking bizarre, and I can’t decide if I like it or not.

  “Okay, folks, that’s a wrap,” the bitch of a coordinator announces to everyone as workers rush into the room and begin tearing down the platform we’d been standing on. “Go ahead and join everyone else out in the lobby and grab a drink. It’ll take the hotel about thirty minutes to get this portion of the ballroom set up to match the rest for the reception.” She motions her hand to the temporary wall currently being removed to open up the full space. “We’ll announce when we open the doors. At that time, I need the wedding party to meet me at the fountain so we can introduce you all as you walk in.”

  Everyone makes a beeline for the exit as soon as she stops talking, I’m guessing most of them more than eager to take her up on the “grab a drink” part of her speech. I know I’m parched as hell and could definitely use something wet and alcoholic. I somehow get sandwiched between Emilia and her mom as we shuffle out into the awaiting guests, where I’m then swallowed up by people trying to get to the bride and groom. Levi is somewhere behind me, and although I’m tempted to wait for him and actually have a normal conversation, my tongue is starting to swell from dehydration, and that weird gooey build-up is starting to form on the inside of my lipstick line. I need a drink. Stat.

  Slipping through the crowd, I luck out and find a bar in a dimly lit corner with no wait. I don’t have any money to tip the guy, seeing as though I was just standing in a wedding and my purse is upstairs in the hotel room I’m sharing with Meghan. I hope he recognizes and understands what the dress means as I make a mental note to escape and grab a twenty a little later.

  “Good evening, madam. What can I get for you to drink? Wine, champagne, or perhaps something stronger?” The bartender greets me with a charming smile, his wandering gaze dropping down to my cleavage before returning to mine.

  “The lady will have a glass of your finest Scotch whisky; Macallan’s if you have it. Two ice cubes. A water for me.” Before I get a chance to respond, a familiar, deep male voice answers for me, seconds before the heat from him penetrates my dress. He’s right behind me, not quite touching, but if I rocked back on my heels, we’d be pressed tight.

  The bartender glances up at him over my shoulder, then back down at me, cocking his head to ask my approval. I roll my eyes at the ego of the one behind me, but the bartender only chuckles and pours me the glass, knowing I’m going to accept it. Pretentious asshole!

  “You don’t strike me as a girl who fucks around with that frou-frou shit,” he rasps against the back of my neck, blanketing the exposed skin in goose bumps. He snickers at my physical reaction to his closeness, and I hate my traitorous body for a minute. Stupid nervous system.

  I inhale a deep breath, which is supposed to clear my head before I speak, but instead, it’s saturated with him. And God, him smells spectacular. The perfect mixture of new rain and leather. Clean, yet rugged. Soft, but rough. All fucking man.

  Shit, I’m in trouble.

  “Thanks for buying me a drink at an open bar. I love a guy who goes the extra mile, sparing no expense,” I test him, curious to how this conversation is going to go.

  Closing the small gap between us, he inches forward until the vibration of his low laughter resonates inside my ribcage. I grab on to the bar top, steadying my wobbly legs. The sexual portion of my brain fires into high gear as my near future, without clothes and filled with a best man, seems inevitable.

  “Still got the attitude, Sunshine,” he growls, his lips faintly brushing against the shell of my ear with each word. Wrapping his arm around the front of me, he splays his gigantic hand across my lower midsection, his thumb resting over my belly button and his pinky dangerously close to my sweet spot. He presses against me in a way that makes my back bow and my ass pop against his zipper. “I fuckin’ dig that shit.”

  My inner thighs clench together as the flood of desire surges to my pussy like hot fucking lava. He’s setting me on fire, and we haven’t even kissed. I’m not sure how to feel about my body’s overpowering response to him, but in typical Dakota-style, I’m not stopping it until I ride out the pleasure wave. This could be mind-blowing. Life-changing, perhaps.

  “Yeah, Hulk, I know,” I manage to say, holding my gaze forward toward the bartender, who’s doing a poor job of hiding that he’s watching the exchange between me and Levi. “You told me during the ceremony.”

  “I didn’t say a word during the ceremony,” he argues, stepping away from me as he drops money in the tip jar and grabs our drinks. I follow him over to one of the patio tables and sit across from him.

  After a long, steady drink of the chilled drink, I rest back in the chair and stare directly into his animated eyes, keeping my face neutral as I church my fingers in my lap. “You did. You told me you wanted to see what I was wearing under this dress, and when I laughed at your ridiculous too-small tux, you threatened to punish me.”

  He bends forward toward me, takes a long pull from the bottle of water, and lowers his voice. “And you told me you weren’t afraid of me, so why are you pulling back now?”

  I’m unable to back down from a challenge, never have been, ever since I can remember as a kid with my sisters. They could dare me to do anything and I would. I love the thrill. The adrenaline. It’s almost as good as an orgasm.

  His eyes twinkle with this knowledge as I lean forward to meet him nose-to-nose, less than an inch between our mouths. “You’re the one who should be scared, James Levi,” I whisper, a smirk creeping up my face. “I can be very addicting.”

  Then, I tilt forward just enough to feather my lips across his before standing up with my drink. “Thanks for the drink, Hulk.” I wink, lifting the glass in the air. “I’ll see you inside.”

  An hour later, I’m at the head table for the wedding party, which is me, Levi, Meghan, and a guy who I think is named Rhino. The dude has a blue Mohawk and every visible inch of his skin, from the neck down is inked, so I didn’t ask him to repeat that shit. I smile, shake his hand, and go about my merry way. Thankfully, he’s focused on chowing down on the steak and baked potato we’re served and not much of a conversationalist. Even though Gunner’s colorful neck tattoos are a bit intimidating at first glance, he always has this happy-go-lucky smile going and comes off as friendly and approachable. This guy doesn’t rock that same vibe. And yet, he’s still oddly sexy.

  Meghan is shamelessly throwing herself
at Levi, who is doing his best to make sure I notice that she’s shamelessly throwing herself at him. I pretend it doesn’t bother me while trying to carry on a conversation with the two of them about flipping dirt bikes.

  Apparently, Gunner, Levi, and Rhino are pretty big deals in the world of motocross. A world I know absolutely nothing about. Nada. Zilch. Zero. But if there are more guys who look like these three, even the one who probably glows in the dark, I’m interested in learning more. The way Levi’s face lights up when he talks about his sport, you can tell he really loves it.

  I excuse myself to the ladies’ room after I finish eating and end up running into Emilia’s brother on the way back to my seat.

  “Hey, gorgeous.” Gabe catches me from behind, grasping my hips and yanking me back into a massive hug. “You look more stunning than ever. Why did I ever go away to college and leave you here all alone?”

  I giggle and twist around to kiss his cheek. “I have no idea, handsome. I always told you that you had everything you needed right in front of you,” I tease.

  Gabe and I have an interesting history that involves me sneaking in his room when I used to spend the night with Emilia as a teenager. Having a guy a couple of years older introduce sex to me was a blessing. I was always curious, and though the internet can show you so much, it’s nothing like experiencing it physically and mentally. He never instigated anything between us but never turned me away when I’d show up full of questions either. I learned with hands-on training.

  Yes, I crushed hard on him for several years, but after he left for college, I moved on like most teenagers do. I only saw him once or twice after that, when he came home for holidays before their family moved away, and we always kept an easy-going relationship between us.

  “I can’t believe my baby sister just got married. We’re too young for this shit, right?” His expression remains good-natured as he takes a gulp of whatever he’s drinking. Something strong, from the looks of it.