by Angel Payne
Every step of the way, I’m his willing follower.
Every moment of every minute, I order myself to savor every last detail.
The balmy redolence of the early evening air. The glow of the lights as they flicker to life across the party area, coming from mismatched hanging lanterns. The more romantic glow from the vintage chandelier suspended over the dance floor, its golden tones playing with the dark waves on Reece’s head and the gorgeous stubble defining his jawline. The muted light becoming a perfect contrast for the silver currents in his gaze, as he turns and twirls me up against his formidable body, trapping me in the harbor of his steel arms.
And yes…I’m a willing captive, as well.
And am willing to bet I’m the envy of half the crowd here, women and men, eyeing my husband with the same open desire that must be plastered on my face. Like any of us can hold it back. I mean, look at him. Has a dove-gray tux been worn with more command by any other male? Has any pair of proud shoulders filled out the jacket better, or has any face of noble lines looked so beautiful in contrast to that regal fabric? Has any stance been so broad and confident and alluring, it’s just as easy to imagine him in a knight’s livery, ready to sweep his ladylove into a seductive dance in front of their whole court?
No. Not a knight.
A king.
Ready to start achieving the impossible.
And kicking off the effort with one hell of an astounding explosion.
As I watch the band take the stage—led by a figure I recognize only because I’ve watched his videos and purchased all his soaring, romantic music. Garrett Borns, known to the world as alt rock maestro BØRNS, is actually standing ten feet in front of my gawking face!
But Reece isn’t gawking. Of course not. Even as the singer throws a friendly wave toward my husband, Reece is the epitome of confident elegance, knowing damn well what kind of an enormous surprise he’s just pulled off for me. His full lips spread in a huge grin as the singer cues the band into a dreamy, slow remake of his hit “Electric Love”—and my gawk becomes full-fledged tears of joy. But before I can recover from that stunner, Reece scoots back by a few inches, catching his lower lip beneath his teeth, as I feel another presence behind me. I turn at the same moment that Lydia giggles, having secured a clasp at the nape of my neck. There’s no need to follow any instinct in figuring out what she’s done, since the bright diamond pendant at the hollow of my throat does the job just fine.
And just like that, I’m back to a gawk. And a sputter. And a gasp. And hardly daring to run my fingertips over the stunning tanzanite pendant lying against my skin, the round stone set in a dozen dazzling diamonds—fashioned into the shape of an eye-catching lightning bolt.
“R-Reece?” I finally manage as the song about louder thunder and lightning in a bottle becomes our swirling, enchanting, completely perfect song for our first dance as man and wife.
Man and wife.
It’s so much. Almost too much.
Yet it’s all I’ll ever need.
I jerk my sights back up to my husband, needing to tell him exactly that. But while the words are so full in my heart, they swell my tongue past capacity. How on earth can I really express how he moves me, fills me, enthralls me, completes me? And how I’d be struggling to formulate the exact same words, even if this was all just us in the middle of a field, dancing to cricket song?
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Richards?” His soft query reins my musings back in. All too quickly, the teasing glints in his eyes become somber again. “Everything okay?” He dips his head to look me more fully in the eyes. “You happy, Velvet?”
I burst with a sharp, fast laugh. Can’t be helped. The electric-eyed rogue already knows the answer to that one. Or does he? His gaze, growing more intense, accompanies the more serious angles of his jaw. He’s actually…studying me. But is he doubting I’m anything but happy?
I lift a hand to firmly frame the side of his incredible face. “Happy is just the start of this, Mr. Richards,” I whisper. “Just the start of us.”
He drifts his eyes shut. Releases a long breath, once more making me wish we weren’t in the middle of a dance floor with a hundred pairs of eyes and a couple of camera lenses trained on us. “I’m so damn glad to hear that, Mrs. Richards.”
I rock my head back. Past the lights over the dance floor, the stars seem to dance against the darkened sky. I’m certain they’re just as curious about the energy in the galaxy tonight. The fire of a love as bright as a lightning bolt thrown into the sun.
Now doesn’t that sound like fun…
But as I linger my gaze upward another moment, preoccupied with devious notions about sneaking my husband away from our own wedding celebration before dinner even drops, my groom’s dance floor game is dealt its first cut. Reece only makes our separation worse by being so damn debonair about handing me off to my father. But I can be as cool about this as he can, and I prove it by smiling at Father as the evening’s permanent band takes over for BØRNS and his guys. They start a more traditional R&B song, and I’m glad for the transition. I need the few moments to get my polite smile correctly plastered on.
I love my dad. I always will. That doesn’t mean I know what to say to him in a one-on-one situation, which we haven’t had since my fourth-grade father-daughter dance. The theme was Star Wars, and we’d won the costume contest with our Leia and Obi-Wan ensembles. Even Mother and ’Dia had helped with parts of our outfits. Those had been happy times, when the money was new and we were all simply happy we didn’t have to scrape by between paychecks anymore. The days before the flashy cars and the flashier country club memberships—when “family night” meant we got together and just played the “fancy” sports on the PlayStation.
I push the memories away but not fast enough so Dad doesn’t catch my wistful expression.
“Guess we’re a little better cleaned up than our Rebel Alliance days, eh?”
Okay, so someone was already on the wistfulness bandwagon—and has given me a leg up to join him.
“You tidy up nicely, Obi-Wan.” I’m relieved there’s real affection in the words, as well as my adjoining smile. While our relationship is never going to be the kind of stuff for a sappy sitcom and the man has pulled some douche moves over the years, he’s still my dad. The place in my heart with his name and face on it hasn’t, nor ever will, change. Besides, I’m speaking the truth. He’s dashing tonight, fitted in a trendy navy suit with a pocket square and tie that match Mother’s dress. His blond hair, edged with a little gray in front of his ears, is cut in what I call a classic Daniel Craig, with just enough of a roguish mess on top.
“Well, you’ve done more than clean up, little Leia.” Though he adds a chuckle, the mirth dies fast. His new earnestness makes me mushy and scared at the same time, with the requisite lump in my throat. I really don’t know this Todd Crist. Sharp Professional Todd? Got that one. Stern Homework Dictator Todd? Checked that box a lot of times. Newport Beach Society Party Todd? Check, check, and check. But Softy Daddy Todd?
Out with it, buster. What the hell have you done with the real guy?
“My God, Emmalina. You have just become something else.” And apparently, he’s become a smoker too—or has succumbed to the gruff growl of one. “No. Someone else.” He clears his throat as a distinct sheen develops over his blue eyes. “Someone I’m so damn proud of.”
“Dad.” I don’t withhold the soft protest from my voice. “Daddy. Really, it’s okay. You don’t have to—”
“I know that, damn it.” He dances at the edge of asshole this time though issues a quick apology with the pressure of his hold. I grant it with another tight smile. He’s uncomfortable but forcing himself to deal with the shit—for me. “I wish I could make this poetic for you, Lina-Bina.” The tender love has returned to his face, adding to the tenderness of his sweet gift to me—the treasure of this moment. His exclusive endearment for me is better than poetry, turning on a renewed faucet behind my eyes. “But plainly put, you’ve
just always been our little boundary buster.” He laughs again, slowly shaking his head. “Your mother and I should’ve taken the hint from the moment you wedged both arms and legs between the slats on your crib, wailing until we let you out.”
I dip my head, making an attempt to “cry down.” Sloshing Corinne’s handiwork any further might warrant the little woman striding out here to fix it. She’d never attempt such a thing with Reece in the vicinity, but he’s taking a second to pose for some “guys at the reception” shots with Sawyer, Scott Eastwood, and Tom Hardy. The move also enables me to answer Dad in a halfway coherent tone. “And I thought you were going to go straight for the room remodeling story.”
“Which time?” Dad counters with a snicker. “When you wanted to do a blacklight tromp l’oeil using Sharpie highlighters and nail polish, or when you and ’Dia thought it’d be cool to build secret tunnels to each other’s room?”
“And we thought there’d be no way you and Mother would hear us pounding on the walls.”
He spurts out a laugh. “At midnight.”
I flash my teeth, grimacing apologetically. “You remember that part too?”
“Ohhh, I really didn’t want to punish you two for that.”
I toss a quick shrug. “You were probably wise to.”
His gaze narrows. “You don’t mean that for a second.”
“Of course I do!”
“You didn’t understand at the time. You wanted to be closer to your sister, and you couldn’t understand why things like support beams and drywall should get in the way.”
Self-consciously, I drag some windblown hairs out of my face. “I was a brat.”
“No. You were a trailblazer.” Dad nudges a finger beneath my chin. “You always were, and you always will be, Emma.” A line of conviction takes over his lips. “You always needed to be.”
A heavy breath escapes me. I lunge my gaze up into his. “You’re…you’re serious, aren’t you?”
“As the harbor sea lions when a kid loses his chili dog in the drink.” He punctuates with his devilish smirk as I giggle from his reference to the shameless Newport Beach sea lions. But he erases the grin once he continues. “You’ve always gone after your goals and followed the truth of your heart with everything you are, rules and expectations be damned.” Despite the pride in his voice, his lips twist into a strange grimace. As I send back a quizzical gape, he explains. “Had either your mother or I been more like that, we probably wouldn’t have ended up in a marriage defined by all that bullshit—and we wouldn’t have chafed against all of it in the stupid ways that we did.”
His energy seems to close in on itself, growing quietly contemplative, though his intent stare doesn’t waver. Just a few feet away, my husband finishes his horseplay with the “guys” and clearly contemplates a cut back in on our dance. Still, Dad utters, “Emma. Listen to me.” His face tightens until his jaw is a pair of framing squares embedded below his skin. “I’m not proud of a lot of things I’ve done…things that I know have hurt you and ’Dia. But damn it, Lina, there’s nothing I’m more proud of than the stunning women you and your sister have become.” His lips part just enough so I can see the adamant grit of his teeth. Their brilliance is surpassed only by the fierce gleam in his eyes. “Nothing—nothing—will ever change that, either. You got that, Mrs. Richards?”
I swallow hard. My throat feels packed in painful cotton, but I don’t care. I may be incapable of words, but I know my eager hug tells him everything he needs to know. That I understand how rough it must have been to give me his honesty—about everything—but because of it all, I also believe him a hundred percent about his pride in me.
And yes…his love for me.
Reece has at last strode back over, bringing his strength back to my immediate atmosphere at the perfect moment. I’m positive his ability to decipher every corner of my thoughts will never stop being a miracle.
“Todd.” He nods politely. “Mind if I’m a selfish bastard and cut back in?”
Dad returns the nod. “Not at all. You certainly can’t be blamed.” He drenches me in the warmth of one more long gaze before pulling me close and pressing a fervent kiss to my cheek. “I love you, little bean.”
“I know.”
And this time, I really do—to the point that the wad in my throat loosens and becomes a torrent of mush.
“Tell me those are happy tears, Velvet,” my husband says in a ferocious growl disguised as a devastating smile, “or those photographers are going to get a juicy scoop on the Heir with the Hair kicking his father in-law’s ass out the door of his wedding reception.”
Knowing it’s not the wisest reaction, I laugh. For all the man’s adamancy about not letting Bolt bleed through into all this, my gorgeous ox of a husband has just given the guy a golden pass in. I only wish the result wasn’t so damn sexy—and timed perfectly to the band starting a soulful rendition of Enrique Iglesias’s “Hero.” As the romantic melody swirls around us, I softly scratch my fingertips against Reece’s jaw. “Nothing but happy tears, my love.” I sigh deeply. “As a matter of fact, I might have just gotten one of the best wedding gifts of the day.”
It feels good to mean every word of that—but also to know that I don’t have to explain everything behind it. Reece knows and accepts the dirty family details that had fed into my dysfunctions, just as I know all of his. We see each other; we get each other. We might have rebelled at different times and questioned the confines of our worlds in different ways, but the paths ultimately led us to the same place.
Seeking more. Needing more.
And finally finding it in each other.
A truth we’ve crystallized into the completion of now.
No. Not a completion.
A commencement.
Just the beginning of our more…
As demonstrated by the brand-new sparks in my man’s silvery stare.
And by new, I mean…
Wow.
It’s him but it’s not him, which would be freaky if he didn’t look so stunned, as well. But his shock is more a birthday surprise look instead of a holy-shit-there’s-a-monster-inside-me stare. As he yanks my body a little closer to his, with his scrutiny getting heavy and his full lips parting, I sense he’s ready to enlighten us both about the whole thing.
“One of the best, hmmm?” Reece husks it so close, his heated breath fans my forehead—and the core of my body grows hotter from the proximity of his, attempting to punch through the layers of his tux and my lace. “But not the best.”
More.
I tilt my head back to see all of his beautiful features. To bask in the full force of his laser-focused adoration. To let go as my senses ring with the intensity of him, acknowledging his presence at the powerful primordial level to which his senses have summoned mine.
At last, I smile. Drench him in the answering flow of my unhindered adoration.
How he moves me. How he utterly, brazenly bolts me.
“No,” I finally state with husky ferocity. “No…that’s definitely not the best.”
At first, Reece just gives me a savoring rumble from the middle of his chest. As I visibly shiver, he smiles like the dark wildcat that matches the sound. He presses on the small of my back to mold our bodies together with equally sinuous intent. No, the man did sinuous the first time we danced. He’s moved on to other words, which look ready to dance across his lips as he dips his head lower, whisking my cheek with the barest brush of his perfect stubble…and the determined cadence of his hungry breaths.
“Want to know what my best gift of the day would be?”
Against my will, a tiny groan breaks free. Thank God I can muffle the sound with the bulk of his shoulder. “You mean you’re not going to make me beg nicely for it?”
He chuffs out a laugh. “Not this time.” And then gives me another thick breath, flowing over the bottom of my ear as he adds, “Because I want it too damn much.”
The cotton’s back in my throat. Twice as dense as before. N
o way will it allow any sound past the barrier, so I angle back enough to let Reece watch me try to gulp around it—while making my eyes cry out with my reply. Tell me. Please, oh please. Tell me!
He secures my stare with the iron-bright shackles of his. Captivates my attention with the meaningful, sensual slide of his lips. “The best gift of my day will be seeing you in your new wedding jewelry…and nothing else.”
Chapter Four
Reece
To the day I fucking die, I’ll never forget a single detail of how she answers my ballsy proposition.
That sweet, aroused flush on her high cheekbones. That wild, hard pulse at the bottom of her neck.
“I’ll leave first. Wait a few minutes; make sure everyone’s settled with getting dinner. Then meet me on the back porch of the main house.”
And her girl balls—easily three times the size as my glowing ones.
And yeah, I’m pretty damn sure they are glowing by the time I get to the back porch, less than fifteen minutes after her cute little excuse about needing to fix her mascara, followed by her dash off into the house—
Landing her…where?
Because here I am, skulking across the back porch, behaving like a crasher at my own damn wedding—
With no bride in sight.
I jab a hand into one of my tux pockets but come up empty. “Damn it.” And grumble that out as soon as I realize where I purposely left my phone: on the head table, being guarded by Foley, who needed only one glance to interpret how Emma and I plan on spending the dinner hour. He sent me on my way with a wolfish smirk before turning back toward Lydia, engrossing himself in stealing all the candied walnuts from her salad.
I’ve got a different kind of candy on my mind right now.
