Handing her a glass of sparkling pale liquid, he lifted his own and pointed toward the photographer, who had been turning her camera this way and that, catching one candid after another. “She wants our attention.”
The woman directed the group to one side of the living space. “Bride and groom, if you could stand right there.” She motioned toward a sleek fireplace in the middle of a wall of glass that looked out on glittering skyscrapers. Neve stood frozen, entranced by the view. “Groomsmen, if you would please line up with your ladies.”
“Neve,” Reece’s voice rumbled, breaking the spell she’d fallen under. Her mind was as scattered as confetti pieces on New Year’s Eve. “Over here.”
“Oh!” She glanced his way and was knocked off balance when she caught him staring at her with an intensity that could have parted a river. Or maybe her vision was a bit fuzzy and what she was really seeing was leftover disapproval from whatever he’d disapproved of earlier. Something she’d said to Henry Golding. Nonetheless, unbidden chills spilled down her spine.
She told herself she was definitely reading Reece all wrong. The cocktails and champagne were clouding her perception, along with that filter of hope she always strapped on when Reece was around and noticed her atall. She was peering through rose-fogged glasses.
Telling herself to shake off the ridiculous sensation, she teetered on her sky-high heels and stood beside him. While the others held each other tight, as one would expect of loving couples, Reece pressed in a little closer, resting his hand on her hip. The frissons rippling up and down her back became full-on shivers that tickled and tingled every nerve ending. He’d had his hands on her before, but never like this. This was different. This was intimate. It waspossessive.
And it confused the hell out of her.
“Oh, that’s nice,” the photographer cooed behind her camera. “Yes, just like that. Couple number three, keep that up. I love it.”
“Are we couple number three?” she mumbled under her breath. “Keep what up?”
“Shh.” Reece languidly swept his big hand from her hip to her waist and squeezed. The heat from his touch was going to brand her body.
Neve gave her head a slight shake, but the motion didn’t clear away the mist. It merely made her dizzier.
When the photographer ordered the women to look into their men’s eyes, Reece wrapped that hot hand around her waist and tugged her against his hard planes. Oh, that felt nice. He was so warm, so solid. She fought a pull to slide her hands under his lapels and run them over the pecs and shoulders straining his dress shirt.
Stop it!
“You really do look sensational,” he whispered against her hair, lips so close she could feel his breath warming her scalp. Rebellious goose bumps formed a peaked landscape on her skin that she prayed no one could see.
“Couple number three?” the photographer prompted.
Oh, right. Look deep into his eyes, said a voice in her head that sounded remarkably like a vampire in a campy movie.When Neve finally craned her neck and peered up at Reece, his expression was one she’d never seen before. Booze or no booze, what she read there was palpable and unmistakable. A combination of heat, determination, and possibly lust blazed in his mossy-green orbs. If his hand was leaving its imprint, then his eyes were searing scorch marks into her soul.
What was happening?
None of this made any sense.
Love the one you’re with.
Chapter 8
Where's Elvis?
Reece battled the urgeto yank Neve even closer and claim her mouth. He was also struggling to keep the activity south of his belt under control. What the hell was wrong with him? The fragrance drifting off her must have been messing with his mind. She smelled like citrus and honey and every delicious thing that set off a gnawing hunger low in his belly.
At least this pose they were locked into spared him having to look at the rest of her. He’d never seen her look likethisbefore. She’d always been the knobby-kneed tomboy chasing him across the rink, across the playground, shinnying up trees behind him, throwing rocks at him when she couldn’t catch him. But man, oh man, she didn’t look anything remotely like a tomboytonight.
Every inch of her was pure woman, mature and voluptuous and sexy as sin.
The trouble had started the moment the entire vision that was Neve had first glided into the room. She had stolen breath from his lungs, and he had been—there was only one word for it—awed.
Okay. Maybe I’ve had a little too much to drink.But Jesus, it felt so damn good to let go for a little while. On a logical level, he understood it was only the effect of the alcohol loosening the tight check he normally kept on himself. But an animal voice deep inside him was growing louder and more demanding.
Good manners dictated he should look at the bride, but he’d already fumbled that miserably. Besides, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Neve. She was wearing a deep blue velvet dress that skimmed her knees and crisscrossed her chest. It accentuated mouthwatering curves he rarely saw because they were usually hidden under a lab coat—or bulky hockey gear. A fold of fabric—he guessed they were meant to be sleeves—lay just off her shoulders, exposing marble skin he felt a pull to lick and suck. High heels showed off her toned calves with tiny straps that highlighted her slender ankles. He wanted to lick those too. Kiss them.
A simple silver locket—a bridesmaid’s gift from Hailey—nestled in between her delicate collarbones. When had collarbones become so damn sexy? And God, yes, hedefinitelywanted his tongue on those. He longed to taste them. Worship them.
On her arms were long, lacy fingerless gloves the same navy-blue color as the dress. An odd fashion piece to a guy who knew nothing about women’s clothing style, but it somehow worked. In fact, the whole package was smoking hot. Images of rolling that lace down her arms inch by inch streaked through his heightened and overactive imagination. Or seeing her in nothingbutthose gloves.
Knock it off, asshole.
