Lucy King – Bought: Damsel in Distress (страница 8)

‘Likewise. How are you? It’s been ages.’

‘Too long.’

‘Isn’t this fantastic?’ Felicity waved a hand around to indicate the magnificence of the church. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been to a wedding like it. I can’t wait for the reception. Marianne’s lovely, and doesn’t Tom look great?’ There was an awkward pause as Felicity’s expression of delight turned to one of horror. She clapped both hands to her face. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry. Sometimes I only open my mouth to change feet.’

‘Sorry about what?’

Felicity looked bewildered for a second. ‘Well, you know. Banging on about the wedding. When Tom is marrying Marianne.’

Emily glanced at Luke, but he didn’t appear to be listening. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she assured Felicity, who was staring at her with concern.

‘Are you all right with it?’

‘Heavens, yes.’ She could feel herself going red. She’d been so wrapped up in what was going on with Luke that she had barely given Tom a second’s thought. ‘I’m happy for him. Truly,’ she added at the sceptical look that crossed Felicity’s face.

‘I can well believe that,’ she said, leaning forward. She nodded in Luke’s direction and asked, ‘Who’s your friend?’

Emily caught the appreciative note in her voice and felt a stab of irritation. Whatever Luke was going through, he didn’t need to be subjected to a barrage of questions by an over-flirtatious female.

A rustling behind them saved her from having to answer Felicity’s question. ‘Oh, look, I think the bride’s arrived,’ she said brightly, as the organ boomed the opening bars of the ‘Bridal Chorus’ and everyone stood and turned to watch the entrance of Marianne du Champs.

The organist then launched into the first hymn, and Emily took the opportunity to survey the congregation. As she’d suspected, she didn’t spy many allies among the glamorous throng. Mainly she encountered expressions of surprise. One or two glimmers of sympathy, which she could have done without. And there was enough eyeing up of the man beside her to have her inching towards him in a distinctly proprietorial fashion.

She was just debating whether or not it would be a bit much to thread her arm through his when Tom’s voice poured through the speakers and jerked her head back. Had they got to that part already?

For the first time since the ceremony had begun, and with a faint sense of shame, she turned her attention to what was happening in front of her. Her gaze rested on the man with whom at one point she’d been planning to spend her future. Tall, blond, good-looking and familiar, he was smiling down at the woman in white—the woman who at one time could have been her.

She waited for her heart to lurch, for a stab of pain, perhaps, or regret, but as she watched and heard him say his vows all she could think of was Luke and that kiss.

Which wasn’t right, surely? Even if she was over Tom, shouldn’t she be experiencing some sort of inner turmoil at seeing him standing up there at the altar about to marry another woman, instead of lusting after another man? She frowned. Perhaps her mind had sent her into denial without her knowledge.

Emily emptied her head of all thoughts and forced herself to focus on Tom. He was looking proud, happy and relaxed. Unlike Luke. Oh, no. How could she examine her emotions for turmoil if Luke clouded the issue? She blinked and pushed him to one side.

Now, where was she? Oh, yes. Tom. He was sliding a ring onto Marianne’s finger and staring down at her with an awed expression on his face. Hang on, she thought with a frown. Did her heart just ping? And was that another one? Yes, it was definitely pinging. Thank God for that. Two tugs on her heartstrings was perfect. Just enough to reassure herself that she cared, not enough to cause her pain. What a relief. Now she could dally with Luke without any nasty insecurities popping up at inconvenient times.

And she did want to dally with him. Very much. She looked up at him. He was glowering at a window and a muscle was ticking in his jaw. Desire mingled with curiosity. Whatever the reason for Luke’s phobia of churches, it clearly went a great deal deeper than a simple fear of commitment.

Luke barely heard the music and words echoing through the church, and he wasn’t concentrating on the stained glass. No. He was far too busy gritting his teeth and fighting for control of his mind.

It had been three years since Grace’s funeral. Three years since he’d last stepped inside a church. Of all the things that should be going through his head, skin-prickling awareness of the woman beside him was not one of them.

Yet every time they stood or sat a fresh wave of her intoxicating scent hit his perplexed brain. The memory of her in his arms, her mouth and body moving against his, rolled back into his head and he had to clench his fists to stop himself from reaching for her.

Luke sat down and studied the painting above the altar. Exhaustion. That was it. That was why his mind hadn’t been working properly in the meeting yesterday and wasn’t working properly now. That was why his attraction to Emily was hitting him quite so hard. He should take a break—ease up on his insane workload before he burned out. And maybe he should indulge in the ‘fun’ that Jack kept banging on about.

Luke heard the rustle of people standing and automatically got to his feet. He had the feeling Emily could be a lot of fun. Emily was warm and vibrant and attracted to him. Her response to his kiss had been hotter than he could have imagined.

Her arm brushed against his, making him jump as if he’d been poked with a cattle prod. That was it. He’d had enough of only half existing. It was about time he had some fun. He tore his gaze from the cherub he’d been focusing on and turned his head to look down at her. At the same time she looked up. Their gazes collided, and the leap of desire he saw in Emily’s eyes decimated any remnant of doubt he might have had.

Emily nearly collapsed back down on the pew from the scorching heat of Luke’s gaze, but she couldn’t drag her eyes away. Her heart raced. If she combusted on the spot would it be hailed as a miracle? Her head went fuzzy. A flash of white cut across her vision. Didn’t some people see a bright light before passing out? She had to get out of there before she found out.

How much longer would this blasted service go on for? Summoning every ounce of strength she possessed, she wrenched her eyes away from Luke’s. And blinked in astonishment. Everyone was moving. The ceremony was over? Already? That look must have frozen them in time. And that flash of white must have been the new Mrs Thomas Green gliding back down the aisle. Nice to know Luke didn’t, after all, have the power to send her into a swoon.

But the dramatic change in his demeanour was odd. From tense and edgy to carnal and predatory. It wasn’t normal. Before she could analyse this any further, Luke took her arm, clamped her against him, and starting pushing them through the crush of people in the aisle.

‘Would you like to go in the car, or shall we walk?’ he asked when they finally managed to get out of the church.

‘Let’s walk,’ she replied. ‘It’s not far, and I love the smell of Provence in summer.’

Luke’s gaze slid down her body. ‘Will you be able to walk in those shoes?’

‘Nope. But I won’t have to.’ She pulled a pair of sparkly flats out of her bag.

‘Practical,’ said Luke, sliding a pair of sunglasses onto his nose.

‘Not a fan of blisters,’ she said with a rueful smile. ‘Can I borrow you?’

Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed his arm and quickly switched shoes. When she was back on her feet, sandals dangling from one hand, there was no reason for her other hand to still be on his arm. But for some strange reason she was reluctant to let him go. He was so warm and hard under her fingers, and she had to force herself to break the contact before her hand started doing something inappropriate—like creeping up his arm to his shoulder, to see if his muscles were as defined as she remembered.

Reluctantly she dropped her hand and lifted her face to smile her thanks. Without the added height of her heels, Luke towered over her. Now that she thought about it, yesterday she’d been wearing three-inch wedges and earlier today the sandals. She hadn’t realised quite how tall and broad he really was. It made her feel dainty and feminine—which, at a generously proportioned five foot seven, didn’t happen often.

‘Let me take your shoes,’ he offered.

She was hit by an image of those big hands holding her delicate shoes, and maybe offering to put them back on when they arrived at the château, his fingers circling her ankle, trailing up over her calf...She swallowed and blinked rapidly. ‘They wouldn’t suit you.’

A hint of a smile curved his mouth and he took her shoes gently from her. ‘Ready?’

‘Lead on.’

She brushed down her skirt and checked herself for dust, and then looked up to find him watching her, his expression dark and serious, the sunglasses lending him a sinister air. ‘What?’ she asked, her heart thumping. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Very wrong.’ His voice had softened, deepened, and it slithered over her like silk.