Page 9 of Guilty as Sin

She’s not about to burn me down.

“And now for the handfasting,” the priest says. “Both hands each, please.”

Cora’s been clutching her bouquet like she’s trying to wring its neck. The strip of lace around the stems has a small horseshoe tied in its loops, but the lucky token is sideways from how much she’s been fiddling with it. All the luck in the horseshoe has spilled out.

If you believe in such things.

I don’t.

But I do find it amusing that she’s messing with our traditions. Another sign of the disobedience I’ll have to school out of her.

My bride realizes she has no place to set down her bouquet. No bridesmaid to give it to either. She looks ready to toss the flowers on the floor. Then Mam steps up to take them from her. Cora looks like she’s struggling against appearing grateful, but then clenches her jaw and gives Mam a nod of thanks. A concession. Excellent.

Mam doesn’t react. She simply takes the bouquet as she sits back down, and resituates the horseshoe.

When the priest arranges our hands, Cora’s palms are shockingly hot against my skin. Her face may look cool and composed. But her fidgeting hands and sweaty palms give her away.

My smirk widens.

I have her.

With her bouquet out of the way, I get the full view of her body directly in front of me. And damn. That dress doesn’t just hug her curves. It showcases them. So much so that I’m tempted to make her wear my tux jacket. No one else should get to see what’s mine. Knowing those curves are mine now, mine to undress and run my hands over, mine to squeeze as my wife screams my name. It’s intoxicating.

Once again I’m glad we’re not in an actual church.

As the priest binds us together, I give my bride’s hands a little squeeze between mine. A preview for her of what’s to come. Her palms get even hotter.

When it’s time for the rings, Cora slides a simple platinum band over my knuckle. She’s not gentle about it. I present her with a ring that’s both engagement ring and wedding band in one.

A platinum Claddagh ring with a sapphire heart, flawless diamonds all along the band.

I selected it for her myself. The sapphire is for her eyes. They’re ice-blue and piercing, with dark blue rings around her irises that match the ring now on her finger.

The ring that tells the world she’s mine.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest says.

My lips are on Cora’s before he’s finished speaking.

I can tell she’s going for a light peck.

But I demand more.

I press my mouth to hers so firmly that she bends back slightly. The way she inhales sharply tells me she feels the same reaction I do.

An overpowering want.

It’s so strong I have to force myself to break away. When I do, we’re both a little breathless.

Cora’s lips are parted as she stares at me. Not the burning glare of before. It’s the shocked expression of a woman whose entire perception of her world just changed.

There’s a full beat of silence before the crowd breaks into applause. There are only fifty people or so, but their cheers feel thunderous in my ears. It’s like I’ve just gotten my sense of hearing back. I could’ve gone temporarily deaf for all I know. My overwhelming need for my bride could’ve easily stolen my senses.

When I take her hand in mine, she lets me. I reward her with a kiss on the back of her hand, and there’s more cheering from the crowd. Her palm is sweaty against mine as we walk back down the aisle.

But I don’t let go.

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