Page 54 of One Wild Wedding Weekend

He took her hand in his and drew her out onto the dance floor. The crowd was less dense than at the beginning of the evening, but there were still enough people to preclude private conversations.

That was a good thing.

Tristan pulled her into his arms and held her with that masculine confidence she so wistfully admired. He was sure of himself. Relaxed. At ease.

Daley, on the other hand, was a mess. When his big warm hand settled at her back, she let him bring her close. To an outsider, they were perfectly matched.

“You aren’t being very kind,” he said. His breath was warm against her ear.

She stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He brushed her hair from her cheek. “It’s bad form to outshine the bride. You’re literally the most dazzling woman in the room tonight.”

“Don’t be absurd.” His over-the-top compliment rattled her.

“I’m only speaking the truth. Why does that bother you?”

“I’ve already slept with you, Tristan. You don’t have to do this.”

“You’re the prickliest damn woman I’ve ever met,” he muttered. “I’m not your enemy, Daley.”

She exhaled, sagged against him and felt his arms tighten to hold her up. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Thank you for the compliment.”

“Not a compliment. Merely a statement of fact.”

“Maybe we should just dance,” she said quietly. “That way we won’t get in trouble.”

He laughed softly and took her at her word.

The room faded away as they moved across the floor. She loved the feeling of lightness, of synchronicity. As if this moment were always destined to happen.

Tristan made her happy. Maybe that was why he scared her. To know such quiet peace when she was with him and yet at the same time to realize the ephemeral nature of their relationship was a painfully impossible conundrum.

Tonight, he had come to this party alone. Why? She was afraid to ask him.

She rested her cheek against his shoulder and let the music envelop her. Tristan’s familiar scent imprinted on her brain. Not only that, but the feel of his big taut body. The knowledge that he was aroused from holding her and dancing with her.

What did it all mean?

Love seemed such an intimidating word. Maybe it was simpler than she expected. Maybe she needed Tristan, and he somehow needed her. Could that explain their explosive sexual connection?

All her adult life, she had felt a little bit broken. As if she weren’t a woman who believed in fairy tales and thus would never find her Prince Charming.

Who wanted a prince, anyway?

Daley much preferred the fallen angel. The naughty sinner. Tristan Hamilton, rogue and lover.

She lost track of the music as it changed and changed again. Had they danced through two or four songs? Or half a dozen? She was dizzy. Weak. And yet filled with exhilaration. Could Tristan feel how fast her heart raced? Did he know he was seducing her without even trying?

When the band took a break, Daley was forced to return to earth. The air wasn’t scented with wildflowers. It was overly perfumed. With notes of sweat and liquor.

Even the white tulle and fairy lights someone had hung overhead—once so enchanting—now looked commonplace.

“I’m thirsty,” she said. “Let’s get something to drink.”

“Of course.” Tristan put his arm around her waist as they crossed the room.

“How long were you planning to stay?” she asked, not looking at him.

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