Miller’s words, the soft dip of his voice, and the way his gaze gently held mine—all of it shook me, rattled me deep in my bones where I’d buried the dream of true love. I’d thrown dirt over that dream. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. It lay six feet under in funeral clothes, clutching a dehydrated rose.
I would not resurrect that dream. I could not.
Managing a semblance of a smile, I put on an expression that belied how deeply Miller affected me. “I was hoping he’d have major food poisoning, but that works too.”
Miller’s thumb brushed the shell of my ear as he tucked my hair in place. “Do you know what I think?”
“That my grandmother will definitely make good on her claim to make out with you?”Ha, ha. Look at me being witty. I’m brushing off the attraction, kneeing lust in the groin. I’m immune to the charms of Miller James.
Miller grinned, probably completely unaffected himself. “I think you need to go in that church with your head held high. Act like you’re enjoying yourself, and pretend Ned isn’t even in the room.”
Right now I couldn’t even picture Ned’s face. All I could see was the man standing so close to me the humidity didn’t have room to squeeze through. Was Ned tall? Short? Did he have a beard? Brown eyes or blue? Who could recall? Visions of Ned were gone, a vapor. All I knew in this moment was that I had the insane urge to trace Miller’s near-perfect features with my finger, to touch that face and memorize its every texture and detail before I brought it to mine in one wild, catastrophic, nerve-singeing kiss.
Get a hold of yourself, Hattie!
Stand down, hormones!
“I do owe you one, if you recall,” Miller said, breaking through the haze that had rendered me immobile.
“W-what?” Was I now incapable of multisyllabic words? Were sentences beyond my reach?
“You helped me out with the girls a few weeks ago, and I said I would repay you.” He righted another piece of my molten hair, his touch achingly gentle. “I’m not one for subterfuge, but if you need to use me, so to speak, I’m probably not worth much tonight, but I am game.”
“What exactly are you proposing?”
Miller yawned, then scrubbed a hand over his five o’clock shadow. “I can pretend to be your date. Your arm candy. Your debonair decoy.”
A hundred lust-fueled scenarios flashed through my overheated mind. “Pretend.”
“Right.”
“Because you owe me one.”
That dimple made an appearance again. “I’m a man who pays my debts, Hattie.”
It was like God himself poured water right over my head and doused that lust haze. I was perfectly miserable, twisted inside with anxiety, and here Miller was havingfun. The nerve. Oh, the privilege of being a tall, dark, handsome, independently wealthy male. “I don’t need your help.”
“I think you might.”
“Help declined. Rejected. Return to smug sender, and no thank you.”
“Suit yourself. No shame in needing a wingman.”
“I don’t need your wings. And keep them off my grandmother.”
When I stepped inside the church, Miller’s deep laugh followed me inside.
I could face my ex-fiancé solo. I was an accomplished, independent woman.
I did not need a man.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Oh, crap. I needed a man.
Forty minutes later, the wedding was over, my lipstick required a reapplication, and my world stopped spinning once again.
“Hattie.”
