Page 32 of Beneath the Blindfold

I’d seen Logan in a tuxedo before, and it had made me weak in the ovaries, but now he incinerated them. They didn’t stand a chance against his perfect three-piece black suit, a formal black bow tied at his neck.

His focus was one hundred percent on me. There could be fireworks going off all around, we wouldn’t have noticed. They couldn’t compete with the fireworks between us anyway.

Logan’s lips parted and shoulders lifted in a deep breath. Had I ever seen him this stunned before? My perfectly controlled man seemed to be struggling. The thoughts he held were loud on his face. He wanted to storm up the aisle and whirl me into his arms. He’d like to kiss me hard, and probably fuck me harder.

Oh, God. I’d just thought about fucking while at church. I was going to hell.

The enormous skirt of my A-line dress swished as we ambled across the white aisle runner at a measured pace. My dad was rushing and I tensed my arm, trying to get him to slow down. There was so much to take in, I didn’t want to miss any of it. Every step brought me closer to the man I loved, and I wanted to celebrate them each as a victory.

As the distance between us shortened, the depth in Logan’s dark eyes grew. His expression filled with so much love, it was overwhelming. My bottom lip and chin trembled as I teetered right on the edge.

No, no, no . . . I did not want to cry. Why did people cry when they were happy? I fought to pull the corners of my mouth back into a smile.

“Ten, nine . . .”

Oh, good God, my father was literally counting under his breath. His stage fright was a welcomed distraction, and it was like a countdown to the moment I’d be with my groom.

“Five . . . four . . .” Logan straightened and his broad shoulders pulled back as he inched forward, as if he couldn’t wait and wanted to meet me halfway.

“Three . . . two . . . one.”

Logan’s hand was extended to my father and the men shook. I leaned in, tilting my head as my dad kissed my cheek.

“I love you, Evelyn. Your mother and I are so happy for you.” I closed my eyes, squeezing back fresh tears. “And I’m outta here.”

My eyes popped open, and I choked on my laugh as my dad scurried behind me, trying not to trip over my cathedral veil. My gaze turned back and found Logan’s. His hand clasped mine and our fingers laced together. We turned toward the altar and went forward, together.

It was a blur after that. Readings, vows, and the rings. I slipped the silver band on Logan’s left hand, and . . . yup, definitely going to hell. More impure thoughts at church. The band symbolizing his commitment to me was undeniably sexy. Our gazes and hands locked together.

The priest’s baritone voice echoed in the vaulted ceilings. “You may now share your first kiss as husband and wife.”

Even though I knew it was coming, the moment still caught me off guard. I wanted to lick my lips, which felt sticky from the long-lasting lipstick the makeup artist had applied this morning, yet Logan didn’t give me time. As soon as he had the go-ahead, his fingertips glided over my cheek, gently drawing me in. His mouth lowered to mine and stole my breath. Soft, warm lips moved unhurried, taking as much time as he wanted, teasing me with a hint of tongue. I melted against his kiss as I always did. It was as shockingly good as it had been our first time that wild, out of control night outside the blindfold club.

No, wait, this was better. A million times better because he was my husband.

His kiss left me woozy, and I swayed when his hands retreated, my body mourning their absence. It was momentary, because he wrapped his hand around mine, holding me steady. His dark, intense eyes sparkled, helping further to pin me back in place.

The ceremony drew to a close, and it was impossible to catch our breath. Pictures. The receiving line. The stretch limo that carried us with our bridal party to the Opulent Hotel where our reception would be.

We’d squeezed together to all fit in the limo, and with my enormous dress, I was practically sitting on Logan’s lap.

“You look amazing, wife.” He murmured it against the side of my neck, and I giggled.

“You look pretty amazing yourself, husband.”

Being in the limo with him was a dangerous reminder of our evening last Saturday, and I shuddered with anticipation. Dinner, dancing, and then we’d be upstairs in the honeymoon suite, completely alone. No more closet or bathroom doors shielding his gorgeous body from my eyes, and no more self-imposed rules of keeping it in our pants.

By the time we arrived at the hotel, cocktail hour was nearly over. Payton hurried to bustle my dress in the handicapped stall of the bathroom while I slammed a bottle of water.

“There you are,” Logan said when we emerged, as if we’d been in there for a century. “We need to line up for introductions.” He threw a pointed look at Payton. “You’re letting her fall behind schedule, McCreary.”

She snatched a glass of white wine off a server’s tray. “Yeah? I dare you to figure out the ribbons of her bustle faster than I did.”

“The only thing I’m going to concern myself with Evie’s dress,” Logan said, “is how fast I can get her out of it.”

I laughed, but it froze in my throat as my grandmother’s head turned our direction.Shit!A light smile breezed on her lips, and she . . .oh my God. She winked.

Logan and I scarfed down our dinners so we could spend as much time as possible mingling among the tables of our guests. I’d been to weddings where the bride and groom never once spoke to me and was determined not to have that happen at mine.

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