Page 48 of Under His Touch

“I’m sure she does.”

“Do you want to take a look?”

“No, I trust your judgment.”

“Oh, okay,” I say. “I won’t let you down. This wedding will be talked about for years to come.” He nods, and I wait for a response. When none comes, I say, “I hope your week isn’t too busy. I’ve booked us for cake tasting, flower shopping—”

“Text me the times.”

“What about tuxedos? I scheduled an appointment. Will you and your brother want my help with that? Oh, wait. Sara didn’t tell me a color scheme. Her favorite color was always lavender, but I’ll have to double-check that. You’ll want your tie and cummerbund to match.”

“You’ll probably want to come to make sure we get the colors right. I know how you like to pick out my clothes.”

Wait, was that a hint of humor? If it was, his face certainly isn’t showing it.

“I have an appointment to look at dresses right afterward, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Sounds like you have everything under control,” he says.

“It’s what I do.” I stand and he stands with me. I walk around my desk to open the door, and his body brushes mine. Sparks arc between us, and I suck in a fast breath when he cups my elbow, a show of possession. I spin to face him. His head is dipped, eyes glossy, like he’s a million miles away as his gaze fixates on my mouth.

“Alec,” I say, my voice a breathless whisper.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

My entire body responds to the need in his voice. But we can’t do this. He’s engaged now. “I’ll text you that schedule,” I say in my best professional voice, and his head snaps up, like he’s just been slapped.

“Right.” He lets go of my arm and walks into the hall. I’m seconds from collapsing in a mess of hot tears and need when he turns back around.

“Megs,” he says softly.

“Yes.”

He opens his mouth, hesitates and scrubs his hand over his face. “I’ll be waiting on that schedule.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Alec

FOR THE LAST WEEK, I’ve been everywhere with Megan, and so help me fucking God, it’s been torture. Torturous not to kiss her at whim, not to pull her into my arms, carry her to my bed. I’ll be glad when this wedding is done and over with and I won’t have to spend every second with her. But will that stop me from spending every second thinking about her, fantasizing about her being in my arms, between my sheets.

Probably not.

Christ, I should have kept my mouth and hands to myself. Never should have given in to weakness. The last time she was in my bed, I was beginning to believe there could be more between us, but when I woke up and she was gone, it was the slap in the face I needed. I can’t be the man she needs.

As I stand in the dressing room trying on my tux, my brother, Will, in the room beside me, and Megan standing outside waiting, I think back over the week. Megan managed to get the invitation out in record time, considering the sizable crowd we’re having. Since I cared little about the details, we picked peonies for the flowers, and vanilla for the cake, a popular crowd-pleaser and both Sara’s favorites. I consider that a moment longer. I’m sure if it were Megs’s wedding she’d pick daisies for the flowers and lemon for the cake.

I tug on my jacket, and glance at myself in the mirror. I’m not in love with the lavender color, but in the end does it really matter?

“Almost done?” Megan asks.

I open the door and her eyes go wide as she takes me in. “You look amazing,” she says under her breath. Just then my cell pings, and I grab it from my pants on the chair.

“It’s Sara,” I say, and frown at the phone. “Shit.”

“What?” she asks.

“She’s stuck in Atlanta for the next couple days.”

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