"Not sure what you're talking about."
He gave me a smirk before saying, "Go that way. Bill's coming from the other direction."
I gave him a nod of thanks, and let Emma tug me away from him. "Jesus." Down the alley she pulled and pulled. "What in the world were you doing?"
I tugged my hand free from hers. "What did you think I was doing?"
"You could have really hurt him."
"Yeah, that was the plan."
"You could have gone to the nik."
"I wasn't going to jail."
"Bridge, you would have killed him."
"Would I? Why would you care?"
"You have a stick up your arse, but you don't want to hurt anybody. You're Mr. Cool, Calm and Collected. You never have any emotions."
I stopped “What?" Couldn’t she see? The depths of what I was trying to hold back, for her? Because of her?
We're through the alley and on the other side of street, there are bars around us and restaurants. Way past the public garden. "Look, let's get you a taxi and get you home."
"Me? We have to get you home. You probably need to wash your hands."
I glanced down at the blood on them. And I reached into my pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.
Her brows knitted. “A handkerchief?"
The bite of cold, whipped through my shirt. "Time to go Ems."
"No." She held her ground.
Around the garden, there is a coffee stand and behind that, to the left, a water fountain. She stopped, and I let her take my hand and rinse it under the ice-cold water. But I didn't even feel it. All I could feel were her soft hands on mine.
"Why did you do that Bridge?"
She lifted her gaze to meet mine. And she had me gripped. Locked into position. Unable to move or think or do anything. "Don't you know?"
She shook her head. "No. I don't know."
"I would have been destroyed if he'd hurt you. I needed to make sure he was never going to hurt you again."
"Why do you even care?"
"You know why I care.”
Emma Varma was in my blood. She was under my skin, and there was no stopping it. But I couldn't tell her that. Because of her brother. I wasn’t good enough. "Doesn't matter. Let's get you in a cab."
But then Emma, true to form, lifted her chin and stared me down. "I'm not moving from here until you talk to me. I need to hear the words, Bridge Edgerton. Why would you do that for me?"
Instead of answering, I did the thing that I've been trying to avoid doing. In the absence of being able to use my words to tell her how I felt, I kissed her.
Chapter 6
Emma
I didn’t know why, but I expected Bridge to taste like beer or liquor or, at the very least, sin.
But he tasted fresh and clean, like mint and something so decadent, that I couldn't stop.
He was tall. A lot taller than me. And so I had to stand, even in my heels, on my tiptoes. I expected a brutal tug in my hair, but his hands were a gentle slide. And only when he gripped were his hands at all rough with me.
He waited. He waited for me to give over. Waited for me to give him my permission. And his lips slid away from mine. His gaze burrowed deep into mine.
I nodded.
Yes. God please, yes.
What happened next was more than what I expected. Brutal and harsh slamming back of his lips to mine with a deep groan. His lips owned me. Not just devoured, but completely consumed me until I had no breath that he didn't allow.
His hands were gentle in my hair, but commanding. I knew exactly how he wanted me to move my head, I knew exactly the response he demanded from me. He led and I followed behind. It was either that, or be left behind. Jump off the ride, never get to experience this.
I had thought about Bridge Edgerton kissing me since I met him two summers ago. There was something about that lush, cruel mouth that evoked images of stolen kisses and whispered poetry. He was so stiff, aloof. But there was something inherently sensual about the way he moved, if you could get him to smile, the man was a knockout. You had no choice but to stare at his sheer beauty. He looked like every tortured hero you'd ever been told about. But in this moment, I was being tortured.
My body was on fire. Straining, needing what only he could give it. But instead of giving it to me, his tongue slid over mine, coaxing, teasing, owning. Leaving a wake that no one dared to follow.
One hand slid over my shoulders, molding the curve of my waist, and then over my arse and pulled me close. And I could feel him. The steely, rigid, length of his erection pressing against my abdomen. And I shivered.
Holy hell.
All my mates talked about sex non-stop. It's what we did. We were fascinated, curious, scared, anticipatory. Because none of us had had any.
But the way Bridge was kissing me, was a prelude. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, but one day, Bridge Edgerton was going to be inside me. And I was going to be happy about it and just a little bit terrified. Because Christ, what was pressing against me was never, ever, ever going to fit.
But God, did I want him to try because something low in my belly was pulling taut and tight and tingling and it warmed my skin. I need it. I didn't even know why. But I knew I needed it from him.
He growled again against my lips. And his hips moved in this small circular motion that made me want to climb him.
I couldn't stop it. I needed it. I followed suit and he growled, his palms squeezing my arse. Bringing me tighter up against him. And then, just as I was getting into the rhythm, just as something was building inside me, something I couldn't name, but wanted part of so desperately that I would have sold my soul to have it.
He pulled back. Lips swollen, eyes wide, breath tearing out of his chest and ragged pants he glowered at me as if this was my fault. And then his cool mask slipped over his expression and he stepped back.
"That shouldn't have happened."
I was too dazed to think, too tired, too dizzy to focus.
But then it occurred to me what he'd said. "I don’t understand. Why would you say that?"
"Let's go. You need to get in the cab."
I blinked up at him. "The hell I do. You'll explain to me what the hell you mean? And first of all-"
I didn't get to finish what I was saying. Because before I knew it, his hands were on me again. And my heart leapt for joy.
But then, he picked me up and flipped me over his shoulder and carried me out of the alley out of the little garden. Next thing I knew his sharp shrill, whistle sounded, and then we were moving again, and a taxi pulled up.
He and the driver exchanged words. And he handed him some money. And then opened the back seat of the car, placed me inside, and shut it with him on the other side.
I tried to roll down the window, but it didn't roll. So I knocked on the window and he shook his head. Through the window from the driver's side of the taxi, he said, "You know where to take her."
"Bridge, what are you doing?"
"I'll see around, Emma."
And then as I drove off in the taxi, I stared at the silhouette of Bridge Edgerton as he walked away from me.
Forever.
* * *
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First Dance
By Amelia Wilde
Chapter 1
Dayton
I’m living a dead man’s dream.
Morbid as hell, isn’t it? But it’s true.
I check my tie one more time in the full-length mirror. It’s one of two, side by side in the groom’s suite in a New York City reception hall that Summer—or Sunny, as everybody calls her—fell in love with the first time she saw it. She loved the original wood molding and the natural light. Her face lit up when she caught her reflection in one of the windows. Beautiful Sunny, with our baby January snuggled tight to her chest in a carrier so soft that I would sleep in it.
A long time ago, when my best friend Wes’s house was the promised land, I still thought of myself as the kind of guy who would one day have a normal life. I didn’t anticipate getting my foot blown off on a mountain road in Afghanistan. I didn’t anticipate everything that came after. Certainly not this reception hall. Certainly not being married to Summer.
The moment the bomb went off was the moment I died.
No—not exactly true. The first moment I died was the last time I kissed Sunny before we deployed. That was the first small death, followed by a series of larger ones until I met her again and was reborn.
It sounds ridiculous.
It’s as true as the rest.
I didn’t know I was meeting with her that day. All I knew was that my missing foot hurt like a bitch and that I deserved the pain. A man like me always deserves the pain. It’s retribution for what he’s done.
That’s what I thought then. Summer showed me different. Even when her life was on the line she still loved me.
And I love her back.
I love her so much it makes my heart beat too fast. It was this way when we were younger, too. Once when I was fourteen she went down Suicide Hill on a saucer, hit the snow bank wrong, and went flying through the air. My heart hasn’t come down out of my throat since. I was the first to move, to run to her. It took her brother Wes too long. He watched me after, like I’d done something wrong in running to her side. How could I not? She was his little sister and gorgeous and funny and strong.
Then, after a while, she wasn’t a kid anymore.
If I let myself linger in my thoughts any more, I’ll daydream the rest of the day away. That’s not an option. I’m not going to miss a second of our wedding day.
Can’t say the same for Wes, who is my best friend after everything that happened and who is supposed to be my best man.
It occurs to me now, straightening my jacket, that I’m not supposed to be alone in this room. He was here in the morning, pressing a beer into my hand, but he’s been gone for some time. How long? I don’t know. We got dressed in suits bought special for the occasion. Then we discovered we had too much extra time and took the jackets back off. I finished the beer and brushed my teeth. I paced around. I re-read my vows.
That must’ve been why he stepped out. There’s nothing more boring than watching a guy read from a paper. I joked about a practiced run and Wes joked about throwing up. I still think there’s a part of him that doesn’t want me to marry his sister.
Too bad.
The other groomsman, Curtis, really did step away for a phone call. He’ll be back any minute. But Wes? No idea.
A light knock sounds at the door. Sunny’s mom, Linda, pokes her head in the door. “Hey, handsome.”
For a flash, I’m self-conscious about the prosthetic. Summer made me get a new one. The old one caused me nothing but pain. This one is so high-tech that I can hardly feel it, but I still know it’s there. Linda knows it’s there, too. I swallow down that old shame and smile at her. “Hey. Am I late?”
“Nope. I was coming to see if you guys were ready, but—” She scans the room with its clutch of low furniture and single long table for getting ready. One blink, and her face has pulled itself tight. “Where’s Wes?”
“I don’t know. He’s been gone for a while. I’m sure he’ll be right back.”
“We’ve got pictures in an hour.” Linda comes into the room like a general on a mission. “And you don’t know where he went...” She turns on her heel and moves quickly back outside. A sharp knock echoes through the hall, and then silence. “I don’t have his room number.” Panic is starting to set in. She’s the mother of the bride, sparing precious time to come check on the groom’s suite, and I can see the calculations running in her head. There’s no time to go up to his room. Not if she wants to help Summer with the last-minute preparations, whatever those are.
I cross the room to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll find him. You go be with Summer.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I swear to Christ, she’s about to dab away tears. It’s way too early in the day for all that to get started. “You’re a good man, Dayton.”
I open my mouth to argue. That’s an old habit, too. I’m not a hero, and I’ve never been one—I’m just a guy who did my best, and sometimes did my worst. In the end, I got lucky. In the end, I found Summer again and she saved me. There’s not much else to say beyond that. So I don’t say any of it. Instead, I escort Linda to the door and give her the biggest reassuring grin I can muster.
It’s my wedding day, and if there’s a problem, I’m going to solve it. Come hell or high water or god forbid another bomb, I’ll make this day perfect for Summer.
“I’ll go find the best man. Don’t worry about a thing.”
Chapter 2
Dayton
I’m not sure what happens next. I enter some kind of wedding-day fugue state on the way up to Wes’s room.
Ever since Linda came to find us, my heart has been ticking in time with the clock. I can feel the time draining away until I marry her and god, this has to be perfect. Summer is perfect, and the wedding has to be perfect for her. More than anything I want her to be mine. Officially. In front of everyone. In all the ways a person can belong to another person.
Mine.
There’s no answer at Wes’s room. Somehow I communicate this news to Summer’s best friend Whitney. Somehow her mimosa-bright grin translates into a series of events that end in Wes stepping to my side at the very last possible moment before our fifteen minutes of fame with the photographer. My mind is already on the ceremony, in the ceremony. I forget posing for the pictures almost immediately.
Then it’s time to take our places at the front of the reception hall.
For the first time since I proposed, the size of the wedding hits home. There are so many people here. People that love us in rows of chairs colored in cream fabric with sage green accents. I only know they’re sage green because Summer told me so. I didn’t care until this moment about the chairs and how they’d look, but now the sight squeezes at my heart.
This is Summer’s idea of a dream.
And I’m standing in the center of it.
The string quartet we’ve hired is playing something soft and beautiful. The melody is clean and anticipatory. Or maybe that’s just how I feel. I turn my head to peer at Wes. He’s staring down the aisle at the pair of double doors where Summer and her bridesmaids will emerge from. “What happened to you?”
“Don’t want to talk about it.”
“Put a smile on, asshole. It’s my wedding day.”
He shakes his head, seeming to snap out of whatever mood he was in. “What do you know about Whitney?”
I keep my face neutral in case the photographer is getting shots of us now. “Same stuff you know about her.”
“I don’t know anything about her.”
“She’s your sister’s best friend.”
The officiant—a lady with curly red hair whose name doesn’t come to mind—takes her place behind us and rests a hand on my shoulder. She seems to sense she’s interrupted something important because she b
ows her head and takes a few moments to collect herself. I don’t know anything about weddings, other than this one, but this is probably the kind of officiant a person would want. One who’s used to being part of the background. One who can pretend she’s not hearing any of this.
Wes gives her a smile and sighs, but his eyes still look dark. “I know they lived together. I know they’re best friends. That’s it. What’s her deal?”
“Do you think I go on their wine nights with them?”
“Dunno, Day. Maybe you do.”
“I don’t.”
Wes blinks and the last of the stormcloud disappears from his expression. I want to press him on what happened with Whitney. Something did—I’m sure of that—but a change in the music pulls all my attention to those double doors.
They’re opening.
Summer’s mother comes first, cradling my daughter in her arms. January is grinning, all gums and cheeks in a cloud of tulle. Her wispy curls are the same color as Summer’s. It’s all I can do not to take her from Linda’s arms and hold her myself, but this is a special honor for Summer’s mom. Plus, I’ll need both hands for the vows. That’s what I tell myself. Summer and I can hold our baby for the rest of the day.
Hazel, Summer’s coworker, is the first bridesmaid, making her way down the aisle with a shy grin. She’s pink-cheeked and happy, basking in the attention of all the guests, and breathes a soft sigh of relief when she makes it to the front, with us. Summer didn’t want over-the-top decorations, so there’s a table with a cloth for an altar and a simple canopy. The white edges of it fall down into my field of vision.
Then comes Whitney.
Whitney entering the room is like a thunderbolt to Wes’s stormcloud. He’s instantly tense—I can feel it without looking. Whitney doesn’t look at him, but the way she holds herself makes it clear that she knows she’s being watched.
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