Her blond hair was styled in soft, glossy spirals that rested against her upper back, which was bare to below her shoulder blades. Holding her as he was now, he could count the freckles dotting her ivory skin. The inconvenient thought occurred that she couldn’t be wearing a bra, and his mind leaped to weighing her soft breasts in his hands, how silky her skin might feel under his touch. What kinds of noises would she make if he closed his mouth around a nipple and sucked?
Stop the fuck right there.
He needed to regain control over his freight train of a libido. Still, he couldn’t resist brushing his fingertips along the graceful slope where her neck met her shoulder.
“My bad,” he murmured. He could have sworn goose bumps popped out along the trail where his fingers had been.
“Um, you can let go now.” Neve wriggled in his grasp, shocking him back to the room and the people in it.
Oh shit.He realized he had her waist in a claiming grip.
“Oh, sorry. Got carried away in the moment,” he blithered. “I guess being couple number three blew my mind.”And turned me into a complete idiot!Having little blood flow to the head on his shoulders might also explain his departure from sanity.
Five pairs of curious eyes stared at him.
Neve’s blue-gray irises were bright with champagne bubbles and seemed to convey a warm, reassuring smile as she pulled away.
She was like that, though. Kind, patient, always thinking of others.
Reaching a hand up, he smoothed the hair at his nape and puffed out a frustrated breath. Thank fuck the tuxedo jacket hid the evidence of him “getting carried away in the moment.”
“Let’s pop some more bubbly.”So I can pour it over my head. Maybe that’ll cool me down.
Neve lost track oftime and space. She was only aware of three truths. The first was that they stood on a sidewalk in Las Vegas in front of a white chapel with fuchsia bougainvillea clinging to its walls. A neon sign in the same shade of pink spelled out the words “The Chapel of Elvin.” Actually, everyoneelsestood; she swayed. After more cocktails that went down like decadent dessert on the limo ride over, she wobbled, both physically and mentally, which added the perk of constantly falling against Reece, who didn’t seem to mind holding her up. Which should have come as no surprise to anyone because he was, after all, a rescuer.
And ooh, he smelled good.
The second truth was that the sun had set, and the sky looked like an artist had painted a canvas with broad brushstrokes in pinks and purples. The colors were a little fuzzed, but she wasn’t sure if it was the sky or her. Lucidity was currently a hit-or-miss proposition.
The final truth was that looking at Reece Hunnicutt made her knees melt like butter in a sizzling skillet. Maybe it was the tux that made him so devastatingly handsome. Maybe it was the martinis and margaritas and champagne that had replaced the blood in her veins. Or maybe it was that this was a different Reece, a more playful version of the Reece she was used to. He reminded her of the boy from her childhood, who’d always worn a lopsided grin and carried a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
He was also unusually affectionate, giving her arm or shoulder reassuring, light touches to let her know he wasthere—when she wasn’t falling against him and smelling his neck, that is. And damn, she liked the feel of his warm, rough fingers on her skin. Probably too much. Each brush set off a chain reaction of chills and goose bumps. But what the hell, she was going to enjoy these rare moments while she could. They would never come again.
Oh, and there was a fourth truth: She was three sheets to the wind and could barely feel her nose or her toes. Good thing her supercharged red blood cells that came from living at ten thousand feet would metabolize the alcohol quickly. She’d be sober in no time. In fact, she was already halfway there.
And yet another truth struck. Was that four or five now? Six, maybe. Anyway, every time she looked in the mirror, she liked the reflection looking back at her. She had to pinch herself to make sure that soft, feminine reflection really belonged toher. The makeup artist and hairdresser had done a damn fine job turning Cinderella into a princess worthy of the prince at the ball.
She was one hot mama.
Thank you, Leo.Too bad he couldn’t see her looking all gorgeous. Oh well. He could look at the pictures later.
They entered the chapel and were greeted by a man with dyed black hair sporting a bright white suit. Beside him stood a plump woman in a purple dress with an orchid corsage pinned to her chest.
The man held his arms wide. “Welcome, children. Welcome to The Chapel of Elvin.”
“Wait. Where’s Elvis?” Hailey blurted. She swayed like Neve. Or Neve was swaying for both of them.
The woman shook her head gravely and placed her hand on the man’s arm. “This is Reverend Elvin, not Elvis. You are here as guests of Mr. Cantrell, yes?”
“Yes, but …”
The man beamed. “Then you’ve come to the right place.”
“Of course we did,” Neve scoffed, “because the limo that Mr. Cantrell hired brought us here. If it hadn’t, we’d either be letting one-armed bandits steal all our money or stumbling through the streets of Vegas without a clue where we were going right now.” She snort-laughed but was met with dumbfounded stares from everyone except Reece, whose chest thundered with laughter.
“That was funny, right?” She slapped his arm so hard he stumbled back a step. She reached for him with an apology.
“All good.” He offered her an indulgent smile and gave her arm a gentle squeeze.
