Yes, they would. He nudged her toward the back of the resort, keeping an arm firmly around her. At the back door, he kissed her, sliding his hand down her back, low enough to appreciate the curve of her backside. She arched into him, nibbling his neck and burying her nose in his hair.
By the time they reached the Barefoot Brides dressing room, they were both a little breathless with anticipation. She dropped the tuxedo jacket and one shoe while trying to get the door unlocked, laughing as they bumped heads picking them up.
“I don’t know about this…” she said.
“Yes, you do.”
As she opened the door, he dumped everything he was holding onto the floor and pulled Gussie into him for another long, hot, deep kiss.
With a soft moan, she kissed back, letting him walk her one step backward so he could latch the door and lock them in. He lifted his head, and she gave him a look mixed with uncertainty and desire. Her lips were wet from his, naturally pink since her lipstick had long ago worn off.
He searched her face, trying to see it without anything except lust brightening the color of her cheeks.
“C’mere,” he whispered, shaking all the things she held out of her hands until shoes and jacket hit the floor again. “But keep the veil.”
“I can’t tell if you’re planning to kiss the holy hell out of me or trying to get your final shot with that veil.”
“Neither,” he said, his mind already whirring with potential while his blood stirred with need. “I want you to do exactly as I say. Everything I say, okay?”
Her eyes were wide as she slowly shook her head. “I’m not into anything kinky,” she said.
He laughed. “You can trust me.”
But she stared at him. “I don’t think—”
He captured her chin with his hand, holding her still, quieting her. “Don’t think, Gussie. That’s how we’ll get the shot.”
“What shot?”
“The one that will transform you.”
“I’m the transformer in this room,” she argued.
“Not tonight. You’re trusting me. Okay?”
She started to argue, then let out something between a sigh of resignation and a slow gasp of anticipation. “Okay.”
He took her across the room, tossed the veil onto the ottoman, but continued to the makeup table, where all the tools of her trade were still spread out over the marble counter top.
“Sit down.”
“What?”
“What part of ‘you can trust me’ don’t you understand?”
“Pretty much every word, but carry on.” She slipped into the chair, and he looked around, spying a packet of makeup-removal cloths. He turned the chair a little and slid between the counter and chair, so her face was directly in front of his stomach.
“Let’s make you even more beautiful.” He snapped a cloth open, but she looked up with skepticism in her eyes. “You are, Gussie. How can you not realize that?”
“I am not beautiful,” she said simply, but her gaze dropped back to his midsection. “But that is.” She pushed her nose against his stomach. “So, if you’re going to take off my barriers, then you have to do the same.”
Without a word, he grabbed the bottom of his T-shirt and dragged it over his head, tossing it to the side. “There. Look all you want.”
“Look? I want to lick.”
“Knock yourself out.”
She flicked her tongue against his skin and then lifted her face to him, eyes closed to let him wipe the cloth over her skin slowly, taking off some color from her cheek. When he stopped, she took another taste. Inches below that, the blood started to flow, making everything harder. Concentration, control, and his dick. Everything was getting hard.
But he took the rest of her foundation off, not at all surprised to find a pale, creamy complexion below.
When he put that cloth down, she leaned forward, put her hands on his hips and kissed his bare stomach again, making him hiss. Then she smiled up at him.
“I could get used to this game,” she said.
“This game could get serious if you go any lower,” he warned. Then he put two of his fingers on the outside edge of her false eyelashes. “Why did you wear these today?”
“Habit.”
“A habit you should break.” He stripped it off with one quick pull. “You have nice long lashes.”
“And you have nice hard”—she nibbled on his stomach—“abs.”
He removed the other lash and went to work taking her eye makeup off, eager to see her face with no paint, only ivory skin and spring-meadow eyes.
“Damn,” he whispered. “Look at you.”
She held his gaze, but it wasn’t easy, he could tell.
“Why is it so hard for the girl who makes other people beautiful to see how gorgeous she is?” He tipped her chin to get another, even more attractive angle.
“Another old habit,” she said.
“Along with this one.” He slipped his hands into her hair, feeling the netting of the wig.
She winced for a second, then stilled as he slowly removed the dark red wig to reveal her natural hair. She’d pinned it up in such a way that nearly covered her bald spot.
He took out one pin, then another, and the hair fell in waves of soft, golden honey over her shoulders.
“And if I never turn around, I’m perfectly fine.”
“Even if you do, you’re fine. So, so fine.” He held her face in both of his hands, rubbing his thumbs over her cheeks, then her eyelids, then her mouth and jaw. Her face was small, heart-shaped, and precious in his hands.
“Has anyone ever seen you like this?”
“Few who have lived to tell the tale.”
He smiled, but didn’t reply as he appreciated her face.
“I thought you wanted a picture. Why am I letting you do this, again?”
“Why do you think?”
She narrowed her eyes, considering her response. “You know that this is more intimate than sex to me.” It wasn’t a question. And, yes, he knew.
Slowly, he bent forward so their mouths could meet. After the kiss, he pulled her up from the chair. “Let’s get that shot. Come on, over here.”
He led her to the white-satin hassock where the veil waited, the shot already forming in his mind. “Sit there and let me get my camera. All you’re going to do is hold the veil.”
He could feel her pulse kick up against his palm, her hands growing damp.
“Just tell me this isn’t going to be on Rhonda’s proof sheet.”
“It isn’t,” he assured her. “So don’t be uncomfortable.”
“I’m already uncomfortable. I feel naked.”
He smiled, then turned to get his camera. “I wish you were.”
“You do?”
“More than anything, but I’ve pushed you far enough for the sake of a great shot.”
He found the right lens, attached it, and checked the aperture before he turned.
Then he almost dropped thirty-grand worth of camera when he saw her shouldering out of her top. She gave him a sweet smile, almost as blindingly attractive as the cream lace bra that covered her beautiful breasts, sheer enough for him to see the outlines of her nipples. And there went his hard-on again.
He never got an erection while taking pictures. It was work. He was seeing a subject with an artist’s eye, not a man’s hungry gaze. But with Gussie, it was different. Damn it, with Gussie, everything was different.
Chapter Twelve
Tom’s reaction was instant, and real, and made Gussie fall a little deeper into the fantasy he’d created. He sucked in a slow breath, his gaze burning as walked slowly to her, taking the cap off the lens without taking his eyes off her.
“Take that veil and lay it over your chest.” The order shot more fire through her and left no room for argument or questions. “Lie back.”
“And you’re not going to use this in their wedding album?”
He laughed softly. “I’ve got the shots I nee
d for the album, but we’ll both like the picture. Consider it a bonus for a job well done today.”
His bonus or hers? Still, she did exactly as she was told, draping the lace over her bra, dropping her head back to the cushion, almost closing her eyes.
He snapped a picture. Then another. Then another.
With each click of the camera, her nerves tingled, little sparks of white-hot anticipation prickling her skin, tightening her muscles, stealing her breath.
This is what gorgeous felt like. Free and sexy and wanton and wonderful.
Holding the camera to the side, he reached under the lace veil, lifting her slightly, so close she could count his lashes and see his blue eyes darken with arousal. She bowed her back and let him easily unhook her bra.
“That’s what I want,” he murmured, like a confident photographer…and a needy lover.
Heat pooled between her legs as he dragged the bra off and let it fall, replacing it with the sheer lace of the veil. As he adjusted the fabric, he let his knuckles graze her budded nipples, staring at her, his jaw slack enough that she knew he wanted to put his mouth on her.
“One more shot,” he whispered, angling her face and arranging her hair over her shoulder and the ivory satin.
She inhaled, sucking in the fragrance of him mixed with the scents of her favorite room, the heady, crazy whiff of sex that suddenly oozed from every pore.
And she wasn’t scared. Or ashamed. Or…ugly.
He got down on one knee in front of her, so close his lens had to pick up every thread in the lace…and the bare breasts below.
She waited as he considered her pose, looked at her through his camera, scrutinized every inch. She waited for a wash of vulnerability and humiliation. She waited for the sense of lacking that had plagued her her whole life.
But all she felt was…desirable.
Finally, he put down the camera and looked at her.
“You don’t want to take a picture?” she asked, hating that little note of inadequacy that sneaked in despite her sudden sense of security.
“I want to kiss you.” He slid the veil to the side and lowered his head. “Everywhere.”
And, God, he did. First, her breast, sucking and licking until he pulled a moan of pure delight from her, then planting more kisses up her throat to settle on her lips.
Burrowing her fingers into his long, silky hair, she clutched tightly, pulled him onto her, and fell harder into the bliss of his body against hers. Her hips moved with a rhythm of their own, rising and falling as the world slipped away and took all her hang-ups along with it.
All that mattered was the two of them, their connection, their kiss, their insane heat.
Tom lifted his head, the blue of his eyes already disappearing behind arousal-darkened pupils. “This is how I like you best.”
She laughed a little, still holding his head. “Flat on my back, half naked, and helpless?”
“You’re anything but helpless.” He leaned over her, his hair falling around his face, nearly touching her cheeks. “I don’t like all that crap you wear.”
“Like tops and bras?”
“You know what I mean.”
Of course she did. She pushed the thought away and pulled him back to her. “Keep kissing.”
“With pleasure.” His kisses were hot and wet and warm, while his hands sent electrical impulses to every needy place, touching her with confidence and ease, making her writhe with an inner battle of contentment and desire, wanting more of both.
He lifted his head and stared at her breasts as he caressed them, circling her nipple with one sure finger. Then he stroked her throat, her mouth, her cheeks, and her eyes. “Why don’t you let go of all that and be yourself?”
“Easy for a man of physical perfection to say. Can we not talk now?” She punctuated the question by rocking her hips into his and getting the answer from a deliciously hard ridge of man.
Heartbeats passed. Slow, ragged breaths. Then he kissed her again, his tongue exploring with the same determination and power as his hand slid down her belly to—
“Gussie? You better still be in here!” The demand was accompanied by a hard rap that made Gussie gasp and an impatient rattle of the doorknob that made Tom stifle a groan. “Gussie! It’s Kayla! I left my phone in there.”
Seriously? This was happening now?
“Our maid of honor,” Gussie rasped, frustration clawing through her.
“Gussie!” Kayla banged again. “God, please don’t tell me you’ve left for the night.”
Tom put his finger over his lips and shook his head. He underscored the demand with a little more weight, pinning her on the ottoman.
“Her phone,” Gussie mouthed.
“Tough shit,” he whispered back.
“What are you doing back here, Kayla?” Another female voice came from the other side of the door.
Great, now half the wedding party was out there, and Gussie was in the dressing room draped in the bride’s veil.
“What are you?” The edge was clear in Kayla’s voice, but then she and Courtney had sniped at each other quite a few times that day.
“I, um, left something in here. What about you?”
“My phone,” Kayla said.
Gussie grunted. “Jeez, I told them to get everything when they left the last time.” Still pinned, she reached to the side to find her shirt.
“You’re lying,” Courtney said. “I know exactly why you’re back here.”
Gussie froze at the tone, looking up at Tom. Again, he shook his head to keep her quiet.
“I left my phone in here,” Kayla insisted. After a beat, they heard her say, “Oh, thanks. Where was it?”
“At the table. You came down to find the photographer, didn’t you?”
Gussie choked a laugh, but Tom put his hand over her mouth.
“Screw you, Courtney.”
“Or screw him, which would be better, but you’re wasting your time, because I’m pretty sure he’s boning the stylist. Didn’t you see how they looked at each other?”
Gussie bit her lip, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. He was not boning the stylist…yet.
“Are you kidding?” Courtney asked. “Her?”
Tom shot up instantly, but Gussie grabbed him. “Don’t. She’s drunk.”
Ignoring her, he marched to the door and unlocked it. “Get the hell out of here, both of you.”
Gussie pushed up enough to see the two shocked faces on the other side of the door. And then she met Courtney’s gaze as her eyes drifted past Tom and into the room.
Courtney grabbed the other woman’s arm. “Let’s go.”
But Kayla stayed riveted at the sight of Gussie. “Dude, really? Her over me?”
The words fell like lead on the floor. Tom slammed the door in their faces, but Gussie rolled over and snagged her shirt.
“Gussie!” He strode back across the room, but she waved him off with one hand.
“Not now.”
“Yes, now.” He knelt beside her, one strong hand stopping her next move. “Surely you are not going to let some plastered and pathetic bridesmaid bother you.”
She searched his face, digging for a quip, a comment, an out. Nothing. If she opened her mouth, God only knew what she’d tell him. So she clamped it shut.
“I want you.” He slid his hand into her hair, forcing her to face him. “And not just here and now. I want you…”
She shook her head, a hand on his chest to keep him back. “There’s only a here and now with a guy like you, Tom. And here and now just got ruined.”
He pulled her closer. “Don’t give them that power. Don’t give anyone that power over you.”
Too late. “Let me get dressed.”
“Gussie, you can’t believe her. You do have eyes, don’t you?”
She swallowed hard, arranging her thoughts like swatches of fabric that had to coordinate and make sense. “I don’t see myself…like you do,” she said. “I’m not saying that because I want pit
y or compliments or reassurances. I don’t see beauty. I see plain.” Worse than plain, but anytime she’d ever admitted that, she’d been told she was nuts, blind, or insecure.
She was definitely one of those three, and she didn’t like that, but couldn’t change it. Insecurities were cockroaches. They never died.
He pulled her up, shocking her with the force. “Come here.” Ignoring her reluctance, he led her to the mirror, making her stand in front of it. Naked from the waist up, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, her face clean of any color or enhancement, she could barely look. “Gussie.”
She looked down. “I can’t do this,” she admitted. Especially with him right behind her, facing her scar. But his eyes were on the mirror, and the woman in it.
“You can do this,” he said. He kissed her shoulder. “With me. Just me. No one else.”
The words were as tender as his kisses and had almost the same effect.
“Exercising your superpower, are you?” She tried for a tease, but it came out like the serious question it was. “Get your subject to reveal all?”
“No superpowers, Pink. I like you. I care about you. I’d like to hear the rest of your story.”
The fact that he knew there was more to her story stunned her a little, but it warmed her, too. She wanted to tell it.
Still, she had to take a few slow, deep breaths before she jumped off this particular cliff. And she needed clothes.
She walked to the ottoman and picked up her blouse again, and this time, Tom helped her slide it on, sitting next to her and silently closing a few buttons while he waited and she gathered her words.
“Luke,” she finally whispered.
He lifted his eyebrows in question.
“It all sort of begins and ends with my brother.”
“How?”
She sighed. “Well, he got blamed for everything that happened the night of my accident. And he carried the guilt—no, I imagine he probably still carries the guilt to this day.”
“But you were really in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
She closed her eyes and dug her fingers into a fold of satin and velvet. “It was all my fault.” The last word got trapped by the band wrapped around her chest.
“I thought there was a fireworks accident.”