Page 35 of Coming Unraveled
The note is the only reason she planned to go to the reception, so she could see him, make her move, she just needed a little liquid courage beforehand.
“I did.”
“Good, I didn’t hear anything from you. I never want to hurt you, Everleigh.”
“I know,” she whispers as she focuses in on the red car in the distance with an animated female talking on her phone in the passenger seat. “She’s very pretty.”
And although he doesn’t respond, she notices the soft nod of his head in agreement.
“I guess I should head to the reception,” she adds as she moves to enter her car, grabbing the spare key she keeps tucked under her floor mat when she doesn’t want to carry a purse.
He grabs her hand as she steps away and that same current from earlier flows through her body, igniting in her veins, like a dormant fire.
“Everleigh, look at me, sweetheart.” As she follows his command and gazes into his green eyes she loses her focus, it resides solely on him. “You looked so beautiful up there. So God damned beautiful that my heart stopped beating in my chest.” Everleigh watches as he takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his styled hair, leaving it a bit messier in its wake. “I just wish it had been us up there. I couldn’t help picturing you in the white dress as I waited for you.”
Before she has a chance to respond Brooks turns around and retreats to his car. Everleigh stands stunned, but she also takes note of the hunched shoulders and bent head as he departs.
Maybe she still has a chance.
A whirl of activity moves around her as she steps into the kitchen of the pavilion and snags a newly poured glass of Champagne, the bubbles tickling her nose as she chugs it in one gulp.
Her sister Sydney arrives closely after, with Dylan, her FBI and chef husband, in toe and she inspects the cake she had delivered earlier.
“Hey, E. What are you doing back here?” she asks innocently as she manipulates a gum paste flower on the base of the four-tier cake.
No words are needed as Everleigh holds up her now empty glass of Champagne and Sydney nods in understanding.
As people start filing into the large room the photographer finds them and beckons them to the field next door for pictures.
Everleigh has kneeled, sat, jumped, and stood still far longer than one should be required while wearing four-inch heels. As the group mosies back to the pavilion for dancing and food after spending two hours taking pictures they all groan as the DJ begins to announce their arrival.
Everyone stands and claps at their entrance and they all form a circle around the couple as Cassidy and Harlan begin their first dance as husband and wife to the song Harlan has written and recorded for her sister. Everleigh loses herself in the music, swaying along to the melody and not noticing when the DJ calls for the wedding party to join the couple on the dance floor. Avery and Logan step up first, quickly followed by Sydney and Dylan, and her parents. Everleigh glances around the crowd aimlessly, watching as Jameson and Ryker pull their dates, a set of twins they had gone to high school with, out on to the dance floor just as Harlan’s parents join them.
Unattached and dateless Everleigh slinks back into the crowd as the ballad continues, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Unfortunately, Cassidy catches her eye as Harlan twirls her in his muscled arms. As she clutches her new husband reasoning dawns on Cassidy’s face and she mouthssorry. Everleigh shrugs her shoulders knowing it wasn’t her intention to leave her single sister out of the moment, but it hurts none-the-less.
“Where are you off to, beautiful?” she hears murmured into her ear as she tries to retreat back into the kitchen.
The feel of his breath against her heated skin causes her nipples to pebble beneath the soft satin of her dress, the friction causing her to want to arch her back and press her breasts closer to the material. Dance long forgotten.
Need and desire rush over her and she grasps Brooks’ hand, leading him down a small hallway, darkened by the lack of light, and into a small utility closet. She turns to face him and even in the obscurity, she has no problem making out his form resting against the door, his formidable body relaxing against the hardened piece, allowing her to have a moment of control.
“I need you,” she says as she reaches out and runs her hands down the muscled planes of his chest. Even beneath the suit jacket and dress shirt, she can feel each ripple of his skin.
“I know,” he replies gruffly, but with his hands never moving from their residence in his pants pockets.
Taking a chance, she begins to undo the buttons of his shirt. Each tiny fasten bringing her one step closer to confessing herself to him. “I want to feel you. All of you.”
“I know that, too.”
Once the exposed portion of his shirt is riddled apart Everleigh leans forward and presses her lips against his warm skin. A hiss sounds from between his teeth, but all she can focus on is the flash of memories flooding her mind. Visions of their night in Vegas, the laughter, the drinks, the vow, and the sex. No, making love; that was what had happened that night. And as if her body finally accepts the notion that she loves him it melts away the stiffness in her bones, the rigidness of her muscles, and allows her to fully embrace the man before her.
Sliding her hands up his chest, around his broad shoulder, and across the back of his neck, she twists her hand into his hair. “Love me, Brooks. Please.”
She can feel when he bends his head, but she doesn’t need to guide him to her, their lips meet one another as if they were tethered as one; each set knowing exactly where the other exists.
His lips are gentle at first, sampling her, tempting her, but the kiss grows rougher as her tongue peeks out to savor his taste. Everleigh loses herself in the kiss, their tongues dueling for command, their teeth smacking as they try to bring each other closer. She’s so lost in his taste that she didn’t feel his hand work the zipper of her dress on the side of her body. The strapless design sliding down her body at Brooks’ command, her skin feeling each caress of the textile as it strokes her to pool at her feet.
With her nerves on high alert, she shutters against his body as the light touch of a fingertip begins to trail up her back, beginning at the lowest point of her spine, right above the waistband of her thong.
