“It’s weird, right?” Morgan holds a glass in front of his lips and pauses. “But the night’s early. There’s plenty of time for bloodshed.”
2
Daphne
My legs wobbleas I stagger away from the dessert table after consuming more cake than should be allowed for one human being. Walking gracefully is damn near impossible after the amount of whiskey I’ve already consumed and the ridiculously high heels Delilah made me wear.
I’m making my way through the sea of wedding guests, concentrating a little too hard on each step, when my heel catches. I start to tumble forward and let out a loud screech, knowing I’m about to face-plant onto the dance floor in front of everybody.
My arms flail around, and I’m cursing whiskey for making this all possible as I fall forward. Just as I brace myself for impact, trying to avoid smashing my face, strong arms wrap around my waist and haul me backward.
I blink a few times, staring at the dark green carpet a few feet in front of me where I was no doubt going to land with my dress flipped over my head, letting everyone know I didn’t bother with underwear.
My heart’s pounding as my back collides with a warm body, and I gasp. “Easy there.” The man holds me tightly, saving me from what would’ve been one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. His voice is so deep, my skin prickles the moment he whispers in my ear.
“Shit.” I grab my chest, trying to calm myself after my near-death experience. Okay. Maybe I’m being overdramatic, but at the very least, falling on the ballroom floor in front of the three hundred guests is something I never would’ve lived down.
“I got you,” he says, and this time, the deep honey sound of his voice sends goose bumps streaming down my skin as if a line of dominoes has been tipped over.
His arm is around me, hand gripping my hip on one side, holding me so damn tight I can barely breathe. I turn, glancing over my shoulder at my savior, wondering who the mystery man is, and praying like hell he isn’t a cousin.
That would be awkward.
But instead, I’m met by a pair of honey-brown eyes the color of sin and everything unholy. We’re face-to-face, his front to my back and his arm still holding me close.
My mouth moves, but nothing comes out. I’m too lost in the way his eyes seem to pierce my soul.
“Are you okay?” the dreamboat asks.
I gawk at him and do nothing to put space between us. All I can do is nod. I don’t trust myself to speak without sounding like a prepubescent schoolgirl, and I sure as hell can’t seem to walk without totally embarrassing myself either.
His cheeks rise, almost touching the bottom of his eyes, as he stares at me…laughing. Every ounce of mortification I may have felt vanishes instantly, and the dreamboat doesn’t seem as hot anymore.
“You can get your hands off me now,” I tell him as I narrow my eyes.
How dare he laugh at me.You can’t save someone and then laugh in her face at the hilarity of the entire situation.
“Don’t be that way,” he tells me, as if I’m being completely unreasonable, which I’m not.
“I’m not being any way. Thanks for the save, but you can let go of me now.” My teeth grind together, and my body goes rigid.
He tightens his hold and puts his mouth near my ear. “Bella,” he whispers. “Maybe I like the way you feel against me.”
My body betrays me as I practically shudder in his arms because, damn it, I like the way I feel in his arms too.
The deep musk of his cologne permeates the air around us, filling my senses with everything dreamboat. His thumb strokes just below my rib, slowly moving up and down, doing nothing to make pulling away from him any easier.
“Want to get out of here and find someplace quiet to talk?” he asks.
I turn my face toward him again, bringing our lips so close we’re almost kissing. I want to ask him if that line works for him, but I don’t. There’s no doubt in my mind his words sure as hell do work for him.
The whiskey doesn’t help me make a rational decision. I should say no. I know that. I should tell him to kick rocks and leave me alone because we’re celebrating my brother’s wedding and I’m the maid of honor. But tonight, with the way he’s looking at me and the heat his body is throwing, I quickly say, “Yes.”
Plus, there’s the whiskey.
Dreamboat smiles.
I pull away, getting a better look at his face. It’s sheer and utter perfection. His honey-brown eyes are only the beginning of what I’d call insanely hot with a dash of let-me-ride-that-face sexy. His square jawline is dotted with just the right amount of stubble to tickle my inner thighs, and his full lips are made for kissing.
