Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Something flickered in his eyes—so brief I might have imagined it. "You could say that." His smile turned enigmatic. "Let's just say I'm here to make sure everything goes... according to plan."
"Mysterious," I said, trying to ignore the way his voice made my skin tingle. "Are you always this cryptic?"
"Only in castles." He checked his watch, and that flicker crossed his face again. "Speaking of plans, I should get going. I have a... meeting to prepare for."
"Right." I tried not to sound disappointed. "Well, thanks for being my bathroom bodyguard."
"Anytime." He started to walk away, then turned back. "Oh, and Emma?"
"Yeah?"
"Save me a dance at the rehearsal dinner tonight." His grin was pure sin. "Since we've already shared a bathroom, it seems like the natural next step."
I watched him disappear around the corner, my heart doing a weird little flutter in my chest. A dance. With him. At the rehearsal dinner.
The proper professional part of me said there was no way I could. I had a million things to prepare for the big day tomorrow. I was way too busy. Way too stressed. Way too…
Tempted.
2
EMMA
Iwas good at my job. Really good.
Which is why I noticed immediately when the wait staff started bringing out the wrong appetizers.
In the immortal words of Maggie: Oh, hell naw.
I didn’t care if it was the wedding itself or the Uber one of my bride’s second cousins took to get the venue—everything had to be perfect.
I was on my way to intercept the appetizers when I felt it—that electric awareness that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
James had just entered the room.
Don't look, I told myself. Focus on the tiny quiches that absolutely should not be served to Mrs. Harrison's seafood-allergic aunt. I had been assured the allergy wasn’t deadly to her, but the gas it would give her might be fatal to the rest of the room.
But my body betrayed me. My head turned like it was drawn by a magnet, and there he was.
He'd changed for the rehearsal dinner. The casual sweater was gone, replaced by a suit that looked so good on him it made my mouth go dry. The jacket stretched across his shoulders like it was spanning the freaking grand canyon with how broad he was. His hair was still artfully tousled, like he'd just run his fingers through it, and—
Oh god, he caught me staring.
I spun awkwardly, touching my fingertips to my eyebrow to halfway hide my face, as if that didn’t just make it more obvious.
Get it together, Emma! I carefully lifted my eyes to see if he was still looking.
His lips curved into that dangerous smile as our eyes met across the room. Heat bloomed in my chest and spread lower, making it hard to remember why I'd been so determined to keep things professional.
Right. The quiches. Allergies.
I forced myself to turn away, catching the nearest server just in time. I sent him back to the kitchen with the seafood and a reminder to double-check everything else from this point forward.
Once the crises were averted, I quickly scanned the room. Everything else seemed to be running smoothly, at least, even if I felt like a ball of chaos after seeing—
"That was impressive."
I jumped at the sound of his voice. He was right behind me. How did someone that big move so quietly?
"The save with the appetizers," he clarified, though I could hear the smile in his voice. He knew exactly what effect he had on me.
I turned to face him, trying to ignore how good he smelled. "That's what I do. Notice things. Fix things. Keep the magic alive."
"Magic, huh?" He stepped closer, just inside the bounds of propriety. "Speaking of magic… did you still plan to save me that dance?”
God, his eyes.... Up close, they were even more intense—deep blue with tiny flecks of gray, like a storm rolling in over the ocean. For an irrational moment, I thought I wouldn’t really mind being ravaged by a storm that sexy… a storm with such wonderful, muscular glutes…
"I shouldn't," I said, but my voice came out breathier than I intended.
His fingers brushed my arm, barely touching but leaving fire in their wake. "One dance, Emma. That’s all I ask."
Emma. The sound of my name coming so deep and gravely from his mouth was perfect. It was like honey in my ears, which actually would be really sticky and inconvenient, but still.
I wanted to record it and listen to that sound on repeat all night.
Then the band chose to switch to a slow and sultry song at that moment. James' eyebrow lifted in challenge. “The dance floor beckons, Emma.”
"Fine," I said, trying to sound reluctant. "One dance. But I need to check on the—"
His hand closed around mine, and the rest of my sentence evaporated. He led me onto the dance floor, then pulled me close—not inappropriately so, but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body.