Faery Wedding(8)

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t even demand a virgin sacrifice.”

Color hit her cheeks in a tidal wave. So he’d heard that scathing comment.

“In fact, I didn’t demand anything. I didn’t even want to get married. Not two weeks ago, anyway.”

A gasp of disbelief escaped her lips before she could stop it. First off, he demanded a virgin princess—well, someone had at least—and now he was telling her he hadn’t wanted to get married. Her fingers closed into a death grip on the handle of her bouquet as the temptation to shove it where the sun didn’t shine almost overwhelmed her.

“That’s it, darlings! Just hold it there. Perfect shot, perfect shot! That’s it, glower for me sweetheart. You look so sexy like that.”

The photographer, forgotten when he’d bustled off to snap the giggling bridesmaids, made an unwelcome reappearance, camera in hand and already clicking away. Not taking her eyes off her bridegroom, her body tight with tension, Ash turned her head slightly to address the photographer.

“Unless you take that camera and go get click happy somewhere else,” she ground out. “I will—and this is a promise, not a threat—go Fae bridezilla on your ass. Do I make myself clear?”

Reacting to her anger, the witching coiled around her. It whispered across every inch of exposed skin and lifted the loose strands of her hair into a tumultuous display. Dev chuckled as the photographer muttered his apologies and beat a hasty retreat.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” he said in a soft, warm voice that made her think of long summer afternoons in a hammock together.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but her anger was already abating, the witching-driven storm dissipating as though it had never been.

“You already pissed me off,” she pointed out as he drew her aside into a small alcove. With an indulgent smile, the few guests in their way parted to allow the happy couple some privacy.

“They don’t know, do they?”

She peeked around his broad shoulder at the crowded room. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear that this was a normal wedding. One where the bride and groom had met, perhaps at work, or someplace else, had fallen in love, and decided to marry. A celebration that was a sign of a commitment born of emotion, not financial necessity and contract.

Without realizing it, she had her hand on his upper arm, her fingers curled around the solid strength there. Under the fine fabric of his suit, she knew he was all hard muscle and satin skin. Goddess, help her, just the idea turned her on. As if on cue, her mind replayed their little tryst earlier and the images that had haunted her since last night.

He shifted, effectively blocking her view of the world beyond him and creating their own little world in the shadowed alcove. To his credit, he didn’t play the dumb male and pretend not to know what she meant.

“No. They don’t know.” He moved closer and ran a finger down her cheek in a gentle movement.

The barely there touch sent shivers through her, right down to her toes, shod in delicate ivory satin sandals.

“I wanted…I didn’t want you to have to deal with that. Not today.”

Another subtle movement and he had her cornered, the warmth of his hard body in front of her and the coolness of the wall behind her. The fragrance of the lilies in the floral arrangement almost covering the entrance of the alcove wove their magic, coiling around her and seducing her sense of smell. Under the heady scent, she could his smell his aftershave and the earthy smell underneath that was purely Deverell.

Tilting her head back, she looked him in the eye. “What do you mean, not today?”

He smiled, a devastatingly slow and sexy expression that caused her heart to stutter in her chest. He couldn’t look at her that way and not feel anything, surely?

“No bride should contend with malicious gossip and rumour on her wedding day. Even if this had been a true marriage of convenience, I wanted you to have this one day at least. Doesn’t every woman want to be a princess on her big day?”

She just nodded, unable to speak. His perception and the thought behind his words startled her. She’d had him pegged as the typical, arrogant fae lord. An impression that had only been reinforced by his actions earlier.

He cupped the nape of her neck. The calluses on his palm, another indication he was anything but the idle fae lord he appeared, rasped against the soft skin.

“Asharra. I’m sorry I lied to you. I thought you’d be relieved to see me at the altar. Let me make it up to you, sweetheart. Let’s start again. ”

He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers. The simple gesture, more a proto-kiss than an actual kiss, was innocent and not. In a touch, he begged forgiveness and offered a new beginning. Ash could resist all the pretty words in the world, but the simple truth in his kiss undid her.