Page 29 of 4 Weddings and a Feud

She hesitated for a long moment. Then another. Finally, she placed her rough palm on his.

He didn’t let her second-guess it. He tugged her toward him, into the circle of his arms, anchoring her with a hand on her waistband. He couldn’t hear the melody of the music in the club, but he felt the bassline in the soles of his feet, in the thudding of his heart, and he shuffled his feet to it.

She gazed up at him, her eyelids drooping and her blinks slow enough to tangle her thick eyelashes together.

Ever since she’d touched him earlier during their conference call, he’d been unable to think of anything but touching her again. And now they weren’t limited to a simple press of hands. His palm spanned the curve of her waist. Her fingertips rested on his shoulder, inches from his thundering heart. He clasped her other hand, wishing his palm weren’t sticky with nervous sweat.

This was what their senior prom should have been like. Well, not likethis,with drunk people catcalling as they stumbled past on the sidewalk. And the club’s jazz was much better than their class’s song, “Can You Feel the Love Tonight.” But the neon lights of the Strip glowed in her hair, and he could imagine they were stage lights scattered by a disco ball. Her scratchy polyester pants were nothing like a satin ball gown, but her curves were soft under his hand, and for a second, he let himself imagine tasting her plush lips as he skimmed his fingertips under her starchy white shirt.

He leaned in closer to chase the scent that teased his nose. Lemons. No, it was sweeter than that. Oranges. Like the polish he’d smelled on the limo’s upholstery. On Mary, it made him remember a citrus orchard he’d visited in Tuscany a few years ago, the delicate white petals falling around him like snow. He wished…

“What do you wish?”

He grimaced. He hadn’t meant to say anything out loud. He was not about to reveal that he’d been wishing he could whisk her away to Tuscany to see how her eyes would sparkle in the moonlight, away from the neon of the Strip. So, he said another thing he wished as he looked into her sleepy face. “I wish you didn’t have to work two jobs.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

She reared back. “I don’thaveto work two jobs. Iwantto build up my wedding planning business. And, as I recall, you’re the one who begged me to help with Rochelle’s wedding.”

“I know.” He tightened his grip on her waist so she wouldn’t spin out of his arms. “I only meant I wish you could spend more time doing what you love and less time doing that.” He tipped his head toward where the limo was parked.

Her chin jutted out. “I love working with my brothers too. They need me.”

If he still believed in any of the religious nonsense he’d been raised on, he’d have turned his eyes toward heaven in a prayer to the Archangel Gabriel to help him communicate better. He was skilled at getting his point across. Not tonight.

“You can’t keep burning the candle at both ends,” he said.

“Can’t I?” Her dark eyebrows lifted. “I bet you hustle all the time. Why is it okay for you to work hard but not for me?”

He closed his eyes. Took a long breath. “I was only trying to care for you the way you care for everyone else.”

“Well, stop. You suck at it.” But her lips twitched.

“Do I? Suck?” He curled the corner of his mouth into what he’d been told was a devastating smile. “Or do you secretly enjoy being cared for too?”

Was that the neon, or did her cheeks turn pink?

“I think you do,” he crowed. “I’m going to?—”

“Alex?”

A tall woman in a sparkly dress stood beside them. Caught up in the bubble he’d created with Mary, he hadn’t noticed anyone else on the sidewalk. This wasn’t a tourist. She was…Fi…no, Vi… She danced in one of the shows. And they’d fucked a couple of times, more out of convenience and boredom than from any genuine connection.

The woman flipped her blond hair over her shoulder. Her white teeth sparkled. “What a surprise to bump into you here. Are you going inside?” She stepped closer, almost between him and Mary, forcing his hand off her waist. Though he kept hold of her hand.

“Hi, V,” he said smoothly. “Let me introduce you to my date, Mary Forza.” This was nothing like a date, but it was easier to explain than that he was driving a limo and relieving their boredom by dancing on the sidewalk.

Mary’s eyebrows had all but disappeared into her hair. She stuck out her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Violette.” She scanned Mary up and down, her gaze lingering on her frumpy chauffeur’s suit. “Call me sometime, Alex. We’ll…dance.”

He gave a noncommittal head bob and turned his back to Violette. But Mary’s stare followed her into the club.

Her lips thinned. “Why do I not think Violette was complimenting your actual dancing skills?”

He stepped closer. “Why? Am I not a good dancer?”

“Oh, you are. As I recall, your mother made you take lessons. But I think she was referring to something more…horizontal.”

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