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“What?” I push my hair from my face that’s on fire. It has to be because it has its own heartbeat at this point. “What are you talking about?”
He steps closer, his posture uneasy, the muscles in his chest flexing as he draws in a breath. “Let me see your hand,” he repeats, his voice hard, a perceptible strain in his eyes.
Dizzy and unstable, I flip him off with my left hand, but he notices what’s missing. “I couldn’t,” I cry, watching the relief flood through him.
That’s all it takes for him to yank me hard against his chest.
I let him. Completely exposed, vulnerable, never more true than I am now.
Breathing harshly, he cradles the back of my head with one hand and the other securely around my shoulders, holding me to his chest. Pressing my face into his shoulder, I listen to the sound of his heart beating. He smells like boy, like my boy, but it’s his heartbeat that captures my attention. It’s louder than mine. He’d been waiting since he left the ranch and up until now, hadn’t known I didn’t go through with the wedding. There’s a small part of me that gets a little bit of satisfaction that I made him wait, but it’s minimal. I cling to the feeling that only exists when I’m in his embrace.
Tucked against him, a wave of heat rushes through me. “I can’t breathe,” I tell him, trying to untangle myself, gasping for air.
He draws back, his hands on my shoulders. His eyes rake over my face. “Are you drunk?”
“No.” I huff, shifting from one foot to the next. “Yes.” I start fanning myself, thousands of tingles rushing through my body. “I’m really hot and I can’t breathe.”
“You need to take the dress off,” he says, amusement laced in his words.
“Then take it off me.” I spin around like I’m a ballerina. A drunk one who stumbles and has to have him pick me up off the ground.
He steps forward, his body heat radiating into mine. With his lips pressing to my bare shoulder, his fingers slide up my hip to the zipper of my dress. Slowly, he lowers it. “This will be the last time you wear a white dress for anybody else but me.”
When he has the dress off me, I glance at it on the floor. Turning, I plant my hands on my hips, my white lace bra and panties my only remnants of clothing left. “Are you going to set that on fire too?”
Making a leisurely pass over my body with his beautiful blue eyes, he doesn’t smile. He looks upset by something, but I can’t tell what. “Don’t tempt me,” he growls, picking me up by my waist. I tightly wrap my legs around his waist, and smile down at him.
My hands slide up his shoulders to his neck, into his hair, where I grip and tug. “I can’t believe you rode your dirt bike through my wedding.”
“Really?” He smirks, his lips on mine. “You can’t believe it?”
“Actually, I can. Why did you do that?”
“I had to make a grand gesture to get your attention.” Spinning around, he lays me on his bed in the center and then stares down at me. “How much did you have to drink?”
I sit up, or try to. It’s a half attempt and I flop back down on the black satin sheets. “Too much.” My hands fly to my face and I shake my head. “Way too much. Do you have any water in here?”
He disappears, momentarily, and then returns with a cold bottle of water. Unscrewing the cap, he hands it to me and waits for me to drink at least half of it. “When was the last time you ate something?”
I keep my eyes on the water. “Yesterday?” And then I giggle. “Actually, I had popcorn at the bar.”
“Gaslite.” Frowning, he tosses a shirt at me. “C’mon. You need to eat something.”
“No, we need to talk.”
“We already did. You yelled at me. I accept your apology and we’re all good now.” He yanks me up by my hands. “Now, you need to eat before you get sick.”
The idea of food is revolting to me but so is him thinking I was apologizing to him. I rip my hand from his. “What the fuck?”
Annoyed, he stops at the door to his bedroom and raises an eyebrow. “What now?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “What makes you think I was apologizing to you? You destroyed my wedding and lied to me!”
Immediately he’s in my face, covers my mouth with his hand and whispers in my ear. “Shhh, you’ll wake River and Berlin up.” And then, “I love you. We have a lifetime to decide who’s fault all this is. But first, you need to eat.”
I don’t have much of a choice, but I follow him downstairs. Lucky for me, no one is up yet and thankfully, my dad is nowhere to be seen. Roan motions for me to take a seat at the island bar in the middle of the kitchen.
Standing at the refrigerator, I notice music playing softly in the background. I smile. It’s “Acoustic” by Billy Raffoul. My eyes shift to Roan, the muscles in his back, the way his shorts hang low on his hips and when he turns, every sharp, defined cut line of his stomach visible.