Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“Of course,” I reply, a touch silkily. “There are no coat closets in the resort.”
She scowls, which just makes my smile a little wider.
I am so gonna make the most of this experience.
I know what the issue is. She’s embarrassed. Caught off guard and wondering what I’m doing here. What she’s doing here. I could see it earlier as she negotiated with Oliver, her fingertips white as she clung to elbows and her composure.
But I’m also aware of the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention. And when I arrived, I saw her initial expression before embarrassment and reality set in.
So yes, I shaved. I shaved for her. And I’m counting on her being impressed (at least, on some level) that I have. I’d also settle for her guilt that I have, and I absolutely would take that guilt-ridden kiss.
Fuck, this is so trippy! Not just that she’s here, but this experience. One I never thought nor sought to have. A marriage means nothing. Changes nothing. Is nothing . . . but an experience.
And I’m always down for new experiences.
A few muttered words, a kiss. Maybe a dance or two and an opportunity to make this gorgeous woman laugh again. And who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky. I tend to get lucky at weddings. Who wouldn’t get lucky at their own?
Mila’s brows knit. It looks like she’s having a whole conversation with herself. “I’d really rather you wouldn’t mention it again,” she says stiffly.
“Oh? Well, that’s kind of a shame, because I remember how soft your mouth is.” My hand lifts almost of its own volition, my thumb pressing her bottom lip in an echo of something I did all those months ago. I see she remembers too. I feel it in the sharp inhalation of breath—experience the sensation all the way to the marrow of my bones.
I swallow over a sudden tightness in my throat as something nudges me. A feeling. Not a hunch or premonition but something that feels more tangible. Inevitable somehow.
“This is nothing but a job for me,” she whispers.
“Sure.” I know that’s what she’s telling herself.
The priest murmurs something low, and we both turn to him, the white of his dress momentarily dazzling. He wears no cassock or chasuble. Just a plain white shirt, a sarong, and a folded udeng headdress, but he’s no less devout. No less serene, and though his face is creased with age, he seems to shine from within.
“What did he just say?” Mila whispers, her tone low and sweet.
“I don’t speak the language.”
I sense her gaze and turn to find her staring at me, her expression unimpressed.
“I thought you owned the resort?”
“I also have shares in a sushi franchise, but I don’t speak Japanese.”
“Stop bickering,” Sarai hisses, appearing by the priest’s side. Hands together, she ducks a quick bow in his direction, murmuring something with a low deference. “You’ve been invited to kneel by our priest. So get low,” she adds with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “Time to bond with the earth.”
“On the floor?” Mila sounds alarmed.
“That’s generally where the earth is.” The younger woman points to the royal blue pillows set at our feet. “But you get one of those. She’ll need your arm,” she adds, her gaze cutting my way.
“My hand?”
“Arm. Like an anchor. Her dress is a little—”
“Constricting,” Mila puts in as her fingers fold around my forearm like pale-pink talons. “What’s one more unanticipated aspect of this piece of foolishness,” she mutters.
“That’s the spirit,” I say through a low chuckle.
Mila angles her head my way with a glare. “I hope you’ve got decent upper body strength.”
“Something wrong with your memory?” My words are a treacle-dripped drawl.
She pauses in the act of adjusting the hem of her dress, but she doesn’t look up. Not that this hides the delicious hue that flushes across her cheeks. Then, using my forearm as a counterbalance, she begins to lower herself.
“Thank you,” she mutters.
“You can use me however you want,” I murmur under my breath. I’m never going to complain about a woman getting on her knees in front of me.
“Do you two know each other?” Sarai is narrow eyed with suspicion.
“No.” Mila sends me a warning glare. “Only from earlier.”
I seem to forget to reply as I stare down at her. That view. I’m so ridiculously aroused and maybe just ridiculous, because I’ve never been jealous of a dress before.
Movement catches my eye. Sarai folding gracefully to her knees.
“What are you doing?” Mila whisper hisses.
“I’m gonna translate.”
She’s an enterprising girl, this one. I bet she’s getting paid for this, along with the money Oliver offered her to help Mila. To keep an eye on her, more like.
My gaze moves back to Mila. My bride, the picture of innocence dressed in virginal tones and a veil. She’s the image of serenity, her lashes lowered in a dark sweep, her cheeks and lips rosy.