Flame (Fire on the Mountain #2) (6 page)

I want to drag this little charade out a bit, make Gunner squirm to the point he’s so relieved when I do pull it out that he’ll coast right through the ceremony unfrazzled. However, I’m afraid female Adolph may actually kill me later, so I bend down and retrieve the ring from my black trouser sock—my sock that can be seen without even hiking up my pant leg, no less.

Lifting it in the air, I hold it in front of my cousin’s face and stifle back the laugh threatening to escape. “Calm your tits, yo. I may feel like ass and look like a clown, but I’m not a fucking assclown. I’d never let you down, especially not something like this. Now, let’s go get you hitched.”

At six o’clock sharp, the three of us follow Lady Hitler out of our dressing room and into the ballroom, taking our places at the front of the grandiose room, next to the minister. A sea of faces mixed with enough blue and white flowers to start a small nursery greets us when we turn around to wait for the ceremony to begin.

I try to scan the crowd, looking for familiar faces of our friends from the motocross tour who are here to celebrate with Gunner, but before I make it to the third row, the music begins and Gunner’s parents start making their way down the aisle to be sat in the front row. Following my aunt and uncle is Emmy Sue’s mom, escorted by Emmy’s brother, and then the music changes as Meghan, the first bridesmaid, begins to make the trek toward us, exactly like we all rehearsed last night.

Once she’s in her designated spot, I refocus my attention to the back, aware it’s Tori’s turn to strut down the aisle next. Except when the big wooden door opens, a familiar sassy-mouthed blonde appears in her place, wearing the dress Tori was supposed to be wearing, carrying the maid-of-honor bouquet.

Sucking in a surprised breath through my teeth, her bright blue gaze locks on mine immediately and a wicked grin skirts around the corners of her mouth. Then, she lifts her chin proudly in the air and glides forward with the grace of a ballerina, every eye in the room staring at her. But hers never leaves mine.

I shift as my clown pants become uncomfortably tighter and drop my hands casually in front of my crotch to hide the evidence.

Her grin morphs into a smirk.

Today might not be such a bad day after all.

SATURDAY, JUNE 16

BEING IN SOMEONE’S WEDDING THAT
you haven’t seen in five years is strange, to say the least. Forty-eight hours ago, I wasn’t even invited to this lavish affair. And by
lavish,
I mean oh-my-God-Emilia-I-knew-your-parents-had-money-but-this-is-fucking-off-the-chain kind of affair.

The minute I stepped into the hotel lobby of the Ritz-Carlton earlier this afternoon, it felt like I’d fallen down the rabbit hole, directly into Wonderland with Alice and the Mad Hatter. Pocket watches, top hats, and croquet sets adorned the brightly colored room, where wrought-iron patio tables were set up, each equipped with a vintage tea set. Twinkly white lights hung down from the ceiling, adding the final touch to the awe-inspiring ambiance of the space.

And then, when I met Emilia in the bridal suite which was fully decorated like the inside of Alice’s cottage, she told me the lobby would only be used for the cocktail hour between the ceremony and the reception, and I couldn’t help the stupefied expression that fell over my face. Somehow, I managed to keep my manners and not ask what kind of investment this wedding was, but seriously . . .
what the fuck happened when they left Breckenridge?

Now, here I stand outside the grand ballroom, the fanciest hotel in all of Summit County, dressed in a cerulean blue, floor-length chiffon dress, holding a bouquet of fragile indigo orchids and delicate white lilies, waiting for my turn to enter the ceremony. Chuckling to myself, I think about what a whirlwind of a day it’s been, and the wedding is just beginning.

When Emilia called in a hysterical panic this morning, I wanted to help her out in any way I could. Little did I know that she’d want me to stand in for her ill maid-of-honor, but since I was planning on attending the wedding solo as it was, I figured why not? It’d be a fun way to be included in all the excitement of the festivities . . . and Lord knows I’m never one to turn down a good party. Realizing that would also mean more time around Mr. Button-Fly-Best-Man himself, who I haven’t been able to get out of my head since our meeting, definitely didn’t hurt either. So, I figured I’d help the girl out—and I’m referring to both Emilia and my pussy with that comment.

Inching closer to the grandiose oak doors, the scary wedding coordinator—I’ve yet to find out her name—grabs my elbow and pulls me up next to her. She remains silent as she listens to someone speaking in her earpiece and then gives me a nod.

“You’re up next, fill-in,” she barks without looking over at me. Apparently, she didn’t bother learning my name either. “Remember, pause for a few seconds after entering for pictures, then slow and steady steps. Keep your vision forward and a smile on your face. There’s an X marked on the ground where you’re to stand. The bride will hand you her bouquet to hold during the vows, and I hope to God you’ve got the ring.”

I lift my hand in front of her face and wiggle my ring-laden thumb. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve got the shackle of dominance right here.”

Sighing with frustration, she pinches the bridge of her nose and looks down at her clipboard. My sense of humor is obviously too much for her, so I ignore her. I don’t waste my time dealing with people who have something stuck up their ass.

Instead, I twist around to get one more look at Emilia in her stunning white gown, embellished with shimmering blue and silver crystals around the low-V neckline and along the bottom hem. Standing next to her dad—who’s a handsome older version of Gabe—her face radiates with anticipation and excitement. She’s the epitome of pure happiness.

“Good luck, sweetie. I’ll see you down there.” My smile is so big, I’m sure my eyes are crinkling around the edges. Being around joyful people is contagious. And seeing her right now warms me to the core.

Then, before she can respond or I can add anything else, I’m tugged forward by the arm again. “Showtime, fill-in,” crabby coordinator whispers as she opens the door and gives me a small shove inside.

Flashes go off as I enter, the over-the-top, whimsical décor from the lobby spilling over into the magnificent ballroom, and I pause like I was instructed
. Holy shitballs.
There’s got to be like five hundred people here, maybe even a thousand. I have no idea. It’s a fucking lot . . . however many that is.

My gaze quickly sweeps over the sea of faces in the crowd until it lands on the one I’m looking for, standing directly to the left of the groom in front of the vine trellis: Mr. James Levi.
Oh, hell yes. Come to momma, big boy.

When our eyes meet, he cocks his head slightly to the side, confused for a split-second before the flash of recognition lights up his face. He was obviously unaware of my substantial upgrade in the wedding hierarchy, jumping from common attendee to the bride’s right-hand-gal, but once he realizes who I am, he reacts. A subtle lick of his lips. A faint flare of his nostrils. Lust glazing over his eyes. Hands shifting to cover his crotch. The edges of my mouth curl upward in an impish grin as a shot of adrenaline floods my veins. Instinctively, I know playing with this one is going to be fun—my
favorite
kind of fun.

Rolling my shoulders back and tilting my chin up, I slowly advance forward down the center aisle, our gazes locked the entire time. I’m not sure I could pull my eyes away if I wanted to. There’s something about him, something other than his drop-dead-gorgeous looks, that I find captivating. Enchanting. I can practically hear his every thought by simply staring into the depths of his sparkling baby blues, which is equally freaky as it is cool.

Forced to look away from him when I reach the end of the walkway, I locate my X on the ground next to the other bridesmaid, Meghan, and focus on where I just came from for Emilia to make her appearance. The crowd rises to their feet as the music changes to an instrumental selection that I can only guess is from the
Alice in Wonderland
soundtrack, since it’s most definitely not “Here Comes the Bride.”

An audible gasp, followed by the clicking sound of cameras all over the room, can be heard as the doors open, revealing the stunning bride and her handsome father. A forced pageant smile stretches across her face as they carefully step inside, taking a moment to soak in the overwhelming scene. When her gaze lands on Gunner, who’s beaming at her down the aisle, the smile relaxes into something natural and true, lighting up her eyes like I’ve never seen before.

Feeling almost voyeuristic as I watch them share this intimate moment, I quickly shift my focus . . . directly onto Levi. He’s staring straight at me, not bothering to look away and hide the fact when I catch him. Lifting his eyebrows suggestively, he silently says,
I’m dying to see what’s waiting for me under that dress.

Snickering, I shake my head ever so slightly.
A bit sure of ourselves, aren’t we?

Abso-fucking-lutely. I mean, look at me. Who could refuse this package of awesomeness?
He briefly glances down at himself, then back up at me, waiting for my reply.

My eyes follow his, scanning his body from head-to-toe, and truth be told, the guy is absolutely mouthwatering in his tux . . . except for the fact I think he’s wearing someone else’s. Someone who’s three inches shorter and two jacket sizes smaller.

I try not to laugh. I really do. The whole bridal march thing and all going on, but damn if a little titter doesn’t escape past my red-stained lips. Thankfully, he’s the only one who notices.

Your ass is gonna pay for that outburst,
he warns with a mischievous smirk.

Calm down, Incredible Hulk. Don’t get excited and bust any seams over there.

His broad chest quakes with concealed laughter, even more exaggerated due to the jacket pulled taut across his pecs. Pecs that clearly spend a good amount of time in the gym. I didn’t notice when we first met, or maybe I was too busy staring at his mesmerizing eyes and the buttons holding back his semi, but the dude is big. At least six-foot-three and an upper body that looks like he can bench press a few of me, he’s got to be bigger than any guy I’ve ever been with before. I’m usually attracted to smaller-framed guys, because I’m quite petite, the shortest and thinnest of all six Shavell sisters, but as I gape at his equally large hands and feet, I find myself wondering . . .

Levi transfers his weight from one leg to the other, snapping me from my impure thoughts. Lifting my eyes back to his, the playfulness is replaced with something else. Something daring and daunting and promising, all at once. If I were wearing panties right now, they’d be soaked.

I’ll go easy on you, Sunshine. You don’t have to be afraid,
he taunts.

Fiery rebellion flares to life inside me.
I don’t need easy, and I’m not afraid. Of anyone.

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, Emilia reaches the front of the room and hands me her bouquet, thus ending the telepathic conversation between me and the pompous-ass brute. The minister begins to speak, and even though I pretend to pay attention for the duration of the vow exchange, my thoughts are . . . elsewhere
.

In a bed. Against a wall. Bent over a table. I can’t decide which
elsewhere
I want first.