Page 14 of Catch and Release Groom

Anything to avoid getting into the atrocity before them. Twinkling lights and construction paper hearts adorned the four-seater golf cart, and if that wasn’t terrifying enough, half a dozen cans on strings trailed from the bumper. Above that sat the scariest decoration of all.

In screaming, giant and glittery letters, a giant sign proclaimedJust Married!

The teenage driver slid across the front bench seat, uttering a greeting Easton couldn’t hear over the alarm bells screeching through his head. The kid gestured them toward the second row and made things a hundred times worse when he said, “Climb on in and let me know where I can drop the happy couple.”

Chapter Six

“Seriously?” It’d come out squeaky, with more volume than Imogen intended. But even hitching a ride required being one half of a pair?

If only she’d eaten a sensible amount and wasn’t painfully glutted. Or if the world would stop tilting, or if she hadn’t worn her sexy dress with the binding skirt, complete with skyscraper heels.

The man at her side paled, his misgivings clear.

Even with the straps around her ankles digging deeper and threatening to cut off circulation, she debated waving off the golf cart in favor of walking.

A sharp pain fired up her shin with each step, warning her it’d be an agonizing trip on foot. She’d nearly rolled her ankle on her walk over, completely sober and with the help of the sun to light her uneven path.

“I, uh…” Imogen hobbled closer to the vehicle, wincing and doing her best to cover. Not that it worked, since one heel sank into the dirt at the same time the other met the resistance of stone.

Easton appeared in a flash, the bulge of his biceps flaunting the strength she felt against his side as he steadied her once again.

“Anyway,” she said, desperately trying to maintain the thread of their conversation, “what I was trying to say is that I can ride back to the cabin by myself.”

Unless Easton would allow her to curl up in those big arms of his. Her feet would get a much-needed break, and she could soak in enough of his body heat to chase away the chill from the cool mountain air.

As the image of him carrying her across the threshold of the Chateau de Paramour superimposed itself over the image of a bride and groom, a bucket of ice water doused her happy, tingly vibes.

Strike that, along with a match, and set it on fire. Conflicting emotions surged, crowding her rib cage until her heart could scarcely manage a full beat. She’d disappointed so many people by not following through with her own wedding, and just like that, guilt took the lead.

The crunch of gravel and press of a firm hand against her lower back alerted her Easton was moving in the direction of the golf cart and propelling her toward it as well. “Safety first, I always say. In your case in particular, given that I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours and have already established you’re accident prone at best.”

Imogen ducked her head as he guided her into the back seat so she wouldn’t smack herself on the roof and inadvertently prove him right. She sat and slid, scooting far enough for Easton to fit beside her. “And what about at my worst?”

The question was meant to be a clever play on words, only now she was thinking that perhaps thiswasher worst. She’d gone on her honeymoon without a honey so she could discover herself, only to find that she struggled to tolerate her own company.

“A scary thought. I’d have to call the Talladega Search and Rescue Squad and request backup.” It wasn’t until Easton bumped his shoulder into hers that his words really registered. “Hey, that was supposed to be a joke.”

“It was very funny,” she said, andoh shit, her voice cracked a bit. Not because he’d teased her about her clumsiness—during theirTwilightphase, Mallory lovingly referred to any trip, fall, or other bizarre injury as “Bella moments” and Imogen had more than her fair share.

The Bella moment Imogen truly wanted—the one she’d dreamed of since she was a teenage girl falling for a broody vampire who sparkled—revolved around what’d happenedafterthe vows.

On his wedding night, Edward Cullen was beyond ecstatic and deliriously happy in the way only a hundred-year-old virgin could be. Not only did he take his new bride to bed, he broke the damn thing, and what a perfect demonstration of why one should never compare fictional males to those found in real life.

From the brink of tears to bemoaning years of boredom in the bedroom, her moods felt as if they were being determined by a colorful, spinning gameshow wheel.Round and round she goes; where she stops, nobody knows.

On a man who’d bite her nice and hard, evidently.

Imogen hardly expected splintered headboards and floating feathers. She simply longed for the passion that inspired those actions. Furniture knocking against the wall, the squeaking of bedsprings, bodies growing slick with sweat, and fists gripping sheets as she came undone.

Perhaps pleasure like that only came from tawdry, spur-of-the-moment sex. The type you had with practical strangers.

Say, someone you met on vacation.

Maybe even a grumpy, frustrating fisherman who also aroused her starving libido. A backwoods gentleman so tall and built that his thigh rested flush against hers as he gave the misleading name of her paramour-lesschateau, his voice so deep and gruff she longed to climb into his lap and revel in the vibrations.

Whether he reciprocated or rejected her advances, she could always chalk up her brazenness to alcohol.

Yep, all those squished, fermented grapes were to blame for the ache pulsing to life between her thighs. Plus, she’d had those sessions with a sex therapist—when Brett rejected the suggestion, she’d gone by her lonesome, so a lot like this trip, funny enough.

---