Excerpt
“I can see you’re all having fun, but did you decide on any of the tuxes I picked out?” she said as she peered at Jonathan, Owen, and Andy, and wondered where Carlo was hiding.
Jonathan sauntered over, grabbed the last piece of sandwich, placed it on a plate, and handed it to her. “Eat. It’s way past lunch hour and you’re cranky.”
“I’m not cranky,” she said, but her stomach complained noisily, forcing her to add, “Just hungry.”
“More like hangry,” he teased. Grinning, Jonathan laid an arm over her shoulders and walked her to the leather wing chair beside a massive leather couch where Andy and Owen sat sipping beers. She joined them there and took a bite of the sandwich, nearly moaning as the flavors of the tender roast pork, bitter broccoli rabe, and sweet mozzarella cheese exploded in her mouth. Not to mention Carlo’s secret garlicky tomato sauce, the game-changer that had made him a champion on a network cooking show.
After swallowing, she glanced around the room at the men. “So what’s up? Where are the tuxes I left out for you?”
“We decided we’re not tux kind of guys. Well, Owen is, but the rest of us are just plain ol’ suit types,” Jonathan said as he sat on the arm of her chair.
She arched a brow. “And Carlo?”
Owen gestured with his beer bottle to the dressing room. “He’s in there.”
Wondering if Carlo needed help, she walked over and knocked.
“Come in,” he said.
She did only to find Carlo standing there in nothing but his tidy whities and a white shirt that was too small for his broad shoulders. The shirt hung open in front giving her a glimpse of what lay beneath the fabric.
Her heart did a little stutter at the sight of him, all lean sculpted muscle and smooth skin with the remnants of a summer tan. Heat suffused her and her face warmed in a blush.
If Carlo noticed, he did his best to hide it as he fought to pull the shirt closed and said, “I never knew that the buttons on your suit sleeve said so much about a man. If they’re real. Stitched. Horn. Who knew?”
She took a few hesitant steps until she was close to him and brushed his hands away as he struggled to button the shirt. “This shirt is absolutely the wrong size, but the style will suit you,” she said and smoothed the fabric across his broad shoulders and chest.
At his ragged sigh, she looked up and met his gaze. The desire there was impossible to miss and she should have stopped touching him. She should have moved away, but she couldn’t.
“You’re not playing fair, Emma,” he said, a rough grumble in his voice as he laid his hands at her waist.
“I’m sorry. It’s just so scary to think about changing what we are,” she said and finally stepped away from him and wrapped her arms around herself.
He raked his hands through his thick cocoa brown hair, tousling the ever-present waves. “I’m not your father, Emma. I would never hurt you. I respect you.”
“I know,” she said, but inside there was still too much fear and doubt. “I just need a little more time, Carlo. And you said you’re a patient man, remember,” she teased, trying to ease the tension in the room.
“I am, but I’m not a saint either. When you touch me . . . I want to touch too, Emma, but I can wait. Just promise me one thing.”
She was afraid to ask what she had to promise but fought back her fear. “I guess it depends on what the promise is.”
With another ragged sigh, he shrugged his shoulders, straining the fabric of the shirt. “I feel like a tool. Promise you’ll make sure I look okay because I’m not a suit kind of guy.”
She grinned and was about to reach out to smooth the linen over his shoulders again but jerked her hand away and locked it with her other hand behind her back to keep from touching him again. Meeting his gaze, she said, “I promise.”
You can purchase NEVER A BRIDE at the following retailers:
Amazon Kindle: https://amzn.to/2MLZRyK
Apple Books: https://books.apple.com/us/book/id1482927575
B&N: bit.ly/BN_Bride
Kobo: bit.ly/kobo_Bride
