The Wedding Wrecker, page 2
He took a quick look in the stall and grimaced. "Fair point." Then he smiled, and oh my God, that smile should come with a warning label.
"I'm James," he said.
"Emma," I managed, very aware that my face was probably bright red. "And I don't usually meet men like this."
"In bathrooms?"
"That, or with my panties around my ankles. But, um… do you mind turning around again? Sometimes, when I’m nervous, I have to go twice.”
His laugh was rich and deep, doing dangerous things to my insides. "I'll wait outside and guard the door while you... finish up."
"My hero," I said dryly, but couldn't help smiling.
He gave an exaggerated bow and backed toward the door. "Take your time."
As the door closed behind him, I heard him call out, "Don't forget to wash your hands!"
I burst out laughing, then immediately regretted it as my bladder protested. Right. Focus. I had a mission to complete.
A couple minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom feeling Richardious, if slightly traumatized. James was leaning against the wall, looking unfairly attractive for someone standing in a medieval hallway. In fact, with a slight wardrobe change, I could’ve absolutely pictured him belonging in a place like this.
Prince James, Baron of Impeccable Genetics and heir to the throne of bedroom eyes.
"Successful mission?" he asked.
"Let's never speak of it again." I smoothed down my dress. "Though I do feel like I've really bonded with this castle now. Nothing says 'intimate connection' quite like peeing in ancient urinals."
"I'm pretty sure the bathrooms were added when they started using this place as a wedding venue. But don’t worry, I’m sure the castle still enjoyed the moment you two shared back there.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.
I opened my mouth to respond with something witty—or at least something that wouldn't make me sound like a complete idiot—when voices echoed down the corridor. A group of men rounded the corner, and I recognized them as part of tomorrow's wedding party.
"Oh, Emma!" Mr. Harrison Senior called out in his booming Irish accent. "Checking the facilities for tomorrow, are you? That's dedication!"
I met James' eye, saw the laughter there. "Absolutely! Just making sure everything is..." I gestured vaguely, "up to standard."
"And?" Mr. Harrison asked.
"The urinals are excellent," I said with complete seriousness. "Very... architecturally sound."
Behind the wedding party, James had to turn away, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
I imagined Maggie’s laughter when I told her this story and found myself smiling. I wouldn’t even have to embellish it like usual. The real version was plenty ridiculous. But I doubted she’d believe me when I told her how gorgeous this James guy was. I was looking at him and I hardly believed it.
After the wedding party passed, leaving echoes of laughter in their wake, I turned back to James. "So, what brings you to Ashworth Castle? Are you with the wedding?"
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.
Correction: simply being in the same room as a man like James felt inappropriate. My mind went to dark, dirty places the moment I laid eyes on him. My body hummed like it was some old generator that had finally been cranked into life after long years of inactivity. I was…
Being crazy.
Calm it down, Emma.
Technically, there shouldn’t be much for me to handle right now. The guests would be eating for the next half hour or so. Some of the family asked if they could give a few practice speeches. They wanted to dance and drink. None of it really required me, unless there were emergencies.
And what emergencies could there even be? It was just food, drinking, and dancing.
This is fine, I told myself. Calming it down is overrated, and why shouldn’t you get to live a little when the opportunity presents?
One of his hands settled on my lower back, the other still holding mine. My free hand found his shoulder, and I tried not to think about the solid muscle beneath my palm.
"Relax," he murmured, his breath stirring my hair. "You feel so tense."
“Sorry,” I said, letting him guide me through the music as the tension began to melt from my body.
The song changed, but neither of us moved to break apart. His hand spread wider on my back, and I had to bite back a gasp at how small it made me feel. How protected. How... wanted.
His thumb traced small circles against my spine, each touch sending sparks through my entire body. I could feel his heartbeat against my chest, strong and fast. At least I wasn't the only one affected.
"Emma," he said, his voice rough. "I should tell you—"
"Ms. Marshall?" One of the servers appeared at my elbow. "We have a situation in the kitchen."
Reality crashed back in. I stepped away from James, immediately missing his warmth. "I'll be right there."
I noticed him give the server a strange look, as if wondering why he was bothering me with problems in the kitchen.
Maybe he still didn’t realize I was the wedding planner? And why would he?
But I put the thought from my mind as I hurried toward the kitchen, my skin still tingling where he'd touched me. The kitchen crisis turned out to be minor—a dispute about wine pairings that took all of five minutes to resolve.
When I emerged, James was gone.
I told myself it was for the best. I had work to do. A wedding to coordinate. A career to build. I didn't have time for... whatever this was. Despite the still-lingering heat in my belly and the aching feeling of that magical potential fading, I got to work.
I threw myself into last-minute preparations, triple-checking details that definitely didn't need checking. As the dinner wound down, I found myself in the castle's wine cellar by myself, counting bottles I'd already counted twice.
"There you are,” a familiar, deep voice said.
I spun around to find James leaning against the doorframe, jacket off, dress sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. The dim lighting cast shadows across his face, making him look dangerous in a way that did nothing to calm my racing pulse.
"Here I am," I said automatically.
He pushed off the door and walked toward me. "It looks like you're hiding."
"I don't hide."
"No?" He was close now, too close. "Then why are you down here counting wine bottles at midnight?"
"It's my—"
His hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing my bottom lip. "I think you’re incredible."
"James..."
Something crackled in his eyes as he came closer. “Fucking. Incredible,” he said, voice a low whisper.
“You’re not so bad your—”
Then he kissed me.
Everything else disappeared. The wedding, the castle, my carefully constructed professional boundaries—all of it vanished in the heat of his mouth on mine. His tongue swept past my lips and I moaned, my hands fisting in his shirt to pull him closer.
He backed me up against the wine rack, bottles clinking softly as his body pressed against mine. One of his hands tangled in my hair while the other gripped my hip, fingers digging in just hard enough to make me gasp.
"Tell me to stop," he muttered against my neck as he trailed hot kisses down my throat. "Tell me this isn't what you want."
In answer, I pulled his mouth back to mine. He growled—actually growled—and suddenly I was in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist as he carried me to a nearby table.
"Here?" I managed between kisses.
He paused, breathing hard. "Anywhere,” he rasped, hands already greedily exploring me.
I rolled my hips into him, drawing a glorious groan from his lips. “Is this a bad idea?” I asked suddenly.
He paused, eyes practically smoldering in the dim room. “Only one way to find out.”
While I thought that wasn’t technically true, I was way, way past logic, so I shut up and kissed him like my life depended on it.
3
EMMA
His kiss was electric, consuming, the kind that made me forget everything except the way he felt against me. His hands explored my entire body with passionate urgency.
"You're wearing too many clothes," he muttered against my neck.
I laughed breathlessly. "You're one to talk."
His eyes met mine, dark with desire. "Fair point." He shrugged out of his shirt while I worked on his belt, both of us fumbling in our rush.
I ran my hands over his skin, tracing the hard planes of his stomach, reveling in the way his breath hitched when my fingers dipped lower.
Distantly, I wondered what the hell I would do if somebody happened to come down here and find us. Somehow, I couldn’t quite muster up the presence of mind to care.
James was consuming every spare inch of my brain right now, and I wasn’t sure I would’ve even stopped if I heard a bomb going off.
"Your turn," he said, voice rough as he reached for the zipper of my dress.
The fabric pooled at my feet, leaving me in black lace that made his eyes go even darker. "Christ, Emma." His hand skimmed up my side, thumb brushing the underside of my breast. "You're fucking perfect."
I pulled him back to me, desperate for another kiss. He obliged, pressing me against the table as his hands roamed my body with increasing urgency.
His mouth found my neck, alternating between soft kisses and gentle bites that made me squirm. "James," I gasped as he found a particularly sensitive spot.
"I love the way you say my name," he murmured, trailing kisses down my collarbone. His hand slipped beneath my bra, thumb circling my nipple until I arched into his touch.
When his other hand found its way between my legs, I nearly came undone right there. He smiled against my skin, clearly pleased with my reaction.
"Like that?" he asked, moving in slow, torturous circles.
"God, yes," I managed. Then, because two could play at that game, I reached down to stroke him.
He groaned, hips jerking forward. "Emma..."
"Yes, James?" I squeezed gently, loving the way his breath caught.
"You're going to be the fucking death of me."
I grinned. "I can imagine worse ways to go."
He captured my mouth again, and there was nothing gentle about it this time. His kiss was possessive, demanding, making promises his body was eager to keep.
Our few remaining scraps of clothing disappeared in a blur of desperate touches and heated whispers. He lifted me onto the table, stepping between my legs. His hands slid up my thighs, spreading them wider as he leaned down to trail kisses across my stomach.
"James, please," I whimpered, threading my fingers through his hair.
He looked up at me, eyes dark with need. "Please what?"
"I need you. Now."
He nodded, reaching for his back pocket. I watched impatiently as he dealt with the condom, then pulled him back to me.
"Now, she says…" His thumb traced maddening circles on my inner thigh. "You sure you don't want me to take my time?"
I tugged his hair in response, drawing a low chuckle from him. "Impatient," he murmured against my skin.
Then his mouth was between my legs, and all coherent thought vanished. I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out as he worked me with his tongue, bringing me right to the edge before pulling back.
"James," I whined, earning another dark chuckle.
"Something you want?"
"You," I said. "Inside me. Now."
When he finally pushed into me, we both moaned at the sensation. He felt incredible—perfect in a way that made me wonder if I'd been ruined for anyone else.
How the hell was I supposed to enjoy normal sex after… this? Normal sex with mortal men—men who didn’t look like freaking gods who just descended from Mount Olympus to rail me until I forgot how to breathe?
I decided not to care. Right now, I just wanted to be here in this moment. I wanted to savor it.
"Okay?" he asked, showing remarkable restraint despite the tension in his muscles.
I wrapped my legs around his waist in answer, pulling him deeper. His control snapped. He set a rhythm that had me seeing stars, each thrust hitting exactly the right spot.
"Fuck, Emma," he groaned, one hand gripping my hip while the other supported my back. "You feel amazing."
I'd never felt anything like this—this raw connection, this perfect sync of bodies and breath and need. It was overwhelming. Intoxicating.
His movements became more urgent, and I knew he was close. His hand slipped between us, finding that perfect spot, and I fell apart in his arms, crying out his name.
He followed right after, burying his face in my neck as he came. For a long moment, we just held each other, breathing hard, neither wanting to break the spell.
Eventually, reality crept back in. The cool air on my heated skin. The distant sound of music from above. The fact that I had just had mind-blowing sex on an antique table in a castle wine cellar.
