consequences. Now, everything felt too fragile, too real. There was a good chance I’d cling to Emma like a lifeline. And the humiliation of that prospect, when she would soon be moving on, was too much.
I had some pride left. I’d cling to that instead. And resist temptation.
Sure you will, Ozzy boy.
In an attempt to do right by Emma, I’d forgone my usual jeans and T-shirt and put on a fine-knit-collar top and wool slacks, the kind of thing I’d wear for interviews. I regretted the choice now. The collar, though unbuttoned at the top, still managed to choke me. And the slacks, while loose fit, felt clinging. Shit, everything clung and pulled. I needed air. Lots of it.
Emma still sat on the bed, one leg curled beneath her, the other hanging off the edge and slowly swinging like a pendulum. Every time her lower leg swayed, her toned thigh would bunch, then ease. The movement was hypnotic. I wanted to set my hand there and feel that firm golden flesh.
“What do you want to do now?” she asked. So very innocently. That leg kept swaying.
Devil woman.
“I need air.” Without waiting for a response, I fled the fucking room.
Emma’s soft laughter followed me. “Have fun exploring.”
Yep. She knew. This was going to be hell.
It was quiet in the hallway, abandoned for the moment. I leaned against the wall and tried to level my breathing. Didn’t help to kill the stiffness in my dick. It pushed out my pants in a bulge that even I thought looked obscene. Emma had to have seen it. And God, she was good at riling me up. I had absolutely no idea what she thought of it. I wanted to turn around and ask.
Hell, I wanted to turn around and show her. Beg her to give me some relief. I’d be good; I’d return the favor with interest. God, I wanted that. I just plain wanted.
No. That’s not what we’re doing this weekend. Behave, Oz.
Given that I now hated the voice in my head and still had a hard-on that would get me arrested for public indecency, I ran the heel of my hand down its rude length. Firmly. A grunt left me, and my abs clenched. I did it again, angling my body toward the wall, my free hand flat against the cool surface.
Damn it, I wanted to grind into something. No, I wanted her. Slick and snug. She’d wiggle so sweetly on my cock. I could picture it well, her riding my dick, those sweet little breasts bouncing for me.
“Fuck,” I hissed, blood surging, and my hips gave an involuntary thrust. I was in very real danger of coming in my pants.
The horror of that was enough to quell my erection. Blowing out a breath, I straightened. My abs ached like they’d been punched. But at least I could walk normally now. And I headed downstairs, following the sounds of activity and the scent of food into a well-equipped kitchen. I was surprised to find the bride standing in the midst of half a dozen catering staff. Her hair was in disarray, skin flushed. She huffed out a sound of sheer despair and clutched her cell phone like she was trying to squeeze the life out of it. It was too late to back out—she spotted me.
“You need something, Luc?” she asked, polite but tight in a way that made it clear she was silently hoping I’d leave. I empathized.
I held up a hand. “Just wandering. Don’t worry about me.”
She smiled—thin, pained—then nodded before her shoulders slumped. The woman looked wrecked. Then I remembered she was a chef. Apparently quite a good one. Maybe she’d thought to cook for her wedding? The idea sounded like madness to me.
Before I could say a word, Macon Saint strode in, the big guy’s expression drawn with worry. “What’s wrong?” he said to Delilah, pulling her close before she could answer.
Delilah made a protracted wail and clutched him. “There’s been an accident on the 101.”
Saint paled. “Someone hurt? Who?”
“No,” she said. “No injuries. Unless you count our wedding cake.”
“Jesus, Tot. You scared the hell out of me. I thought it was something serious.”
Delilah glared up at Saint. “This is serious!”
Saint cringed, and internally, I did too. Poor bastard walked right into that one. “I meant like death . . . shit, okay. It’s serious.”
Delilah squeezed the bridge of her nose and breathed hard. “My cake. Splattered all over the asphalt. How am I supposed to get a