Page 101 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife

32

Summer

Fuck, fuckity, fuck.

The floor comes up to meet me. This is it; I am going to fall and ruin every bit of impact I’ve created so far. Gonna make a fool of myself after all that effort I went to, to appear sexy and alluring. So damn clumsy. How could you do this, Summer? I squeeze my eyes shut, wait for the inevitable collision with the floor. A hard band fastens around my waist and I am tugged against a very hard, broad expanse of what seems to be pure, unforgiving, muscle. No, no, no. I hold onto the bouquet of flowers. Then scent of bergamot and expensive leather fills my senses.

"You need to look where you are going." His warm breath sears my cheek.

The hair on my forearms stands on end.

"Open your eyes, Bird."

I shake my head.

"You can’t postpone it forever. You may as well accept your fate."

Never.I’ll fight this… this thing between us, no matter that the attraction thrums at the edges of my nerves. All of my brain cells seem to have turned into mush. My knees tremble. His hold on my waist tightens.

I peer up and my gaze collides with his.

Silver flecks flare deep in those indigo eyes.

"You need to be careful about what you decide to take on."

I tremble and he straightens me. I try to pull away. His grip on my chin tightens. He peers into my eyes, the intensity almost a physical caress. My thighs clench. Damn him and this overwhelming physical response I always have to him. I straighten my spine, hold his attention. Will not look away. Will not. One side of his lips curls. He tilts his head. In acknowledgement? An acceptance of the battle lines that I have drawn?

Why am I intent on making this difficult for the two of us? Why can’t I fall in line with whatever he has in his mind, toe the line, and then walk away unharmed? Because that is never going to happen. If I give in to him, he'll only want more. The only way to come out of this in one piece is to hold my own. To dig in my heels and show him that he can’t take me for granted. If that means I have to resort to grandstanding, then so be it.

"I know exactly what I am taking on." I jut out my chin.

"Oh?"

I tilt my head back, not breaking our connection. "Question is, do you?"

His nostrils flare; the skin around his eyes tightens. A cloud of heat spools off of his body and slams into my chest. I gasp.

The weight of his dominance seems to intensify, pinning me in place. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t turn away from the heavy weight of his presence which seems to coil around me, squeezing my hips, my thighs. I gulp. A bead of sweat slides down between my breasts and his gaze darts down, then swivels up to my face. His lips curl in that infernal smirk. All of my nerve-endings seem to flare at once. Damn the man.

"Typically, you’d kiss the bride after the wedding, but perhaps you want to do the honors now?"

A voice cuts through the tension between us. I stiffen.

He leans in closer, drops his head until our eyelashes tangle. I part my lips. Do it. Please. My breath catches.

Sinclair lets go of me so suddenly that I stumble, then right myself. Jerk.

I clutch the stems of my flowers with such force that my nails bite through the tender stems and into the palms of my hands. Why did I think this day would be any different from the other times we’ve spent together, eh?

He turns to face the minister. "I can wait."

A hot feeling stabs inside my chest. I didn’t want him to kiss me anyway. So why is there a heaviness behind my eyes? I raise my head, stare forward.

The minister’s lips move. I don’t hear what he’s saying. I stare past him at the wall at the far side of the property—the water rippling down the surface, the birds that fly off a tree to the side, taking with them, the last of my composure. My lips tremble. Damn the man.

"Sinclair Amadeus Sterling, do you take Summer Cora West as your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do."