Mister Wrong(7)

“Jacob Adams speechless?” She did a little spin, making the hem of her dress float into the air. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.”

My arm wound around her waist, incapable of heeding my warnings to look and not touch. I pulled her toward me until her body was fitted as tight against mine as I could get it. “I can’t breathe around you, Cora.” My forehead creased when her mouth parted. “Let alone form words.”

She stared at me for a moment, then her hand molded around the side of my neck. “Thank you.”

“For what?” My eyes dropped to her mouth. Control yourself. Although I supposed it was a little late for that.

“You promised me that you’d work on some things if we got married.” She bit her lip. “And you have. Thank you for that.”

My heart broke a little more right then. Because she was wrong. Jacob hadn’t changed any—or maybe he had, but for the worse. She’d always held this blind faith in my brother, and it had been for nothing. Because he’d betrayed her. Again, and again, and now on their wedding day.

She was waiting. And I was a fool.

So I kissed her forehead and dropped my head beside hers. “You deserve more than ten times the man I am. The least I can do is make a few improvements to this unfit one.” After holding her close for one more moment, I wrangled both of our suitcases into my hands and followed her down the stairs.

“Should we say good-bye to everyone first or . . .” Cora looked hesitantly out at the back lawn swarmed with people.

“Or let’s get out of here before anyone sees us.”

I’d already pulled the front door open and was waiting for her. Cora didn’t like crowds or big affairs. That had been one of our few common bonds growing up. So when Jacob would sneak off to whatever party was the biggest and best that weekend, we’d hang behind and order cheese pizza and watch movies until we both passed out on the couch.

She beamed as she rushed through the door, taking light steps so her heels wouldn’t make any noise in the marble foyer. The house I’d grown up in was closer to the size of a hotel than the average house, and maybe that was why it had never felt like home. Nowhere had ever really felt like home actually, not even the condo I’d been in for several years.

The driver who had escorted us from the church back to the house for the reception was waiting out front to take us to the airport. When he saw us rushing away from the house, he folded up his newspaper and reached for one of the suitcases in my hands.

“Little excited for the honeymoon?” He gave me a knowing look as I tucked Cora’s bag into the trunk beside mine.

I answered with a reserved smile because, yes, had Cora been my actual wife and I was the husband she’d planned on marrying today, I would have thrown her over my shoulder and left as soon as the cake had been cut. But she wasn’t my actual wife and I wasn’t the husband she’d planned on marrying today so what was there to look forward to? Because I couldn’t . . . we couldn’t . . . I couldn’t let her . . . without confessing . . . fuck, I was in such a bad spot.

After I slid into the seat beside her, the driver closed the door.

“Buckle up,” she said, already winding the belt around my lap.

A better man might have taken the belt from her and clicked it into place himself. I think I’d already proven that I was not that better man.

“We’re in a limousine. Don’t think we need to worry about buckling up.”

She blew out a breath after she’d snapped the buckle into place. “And limousines can still get in accidents. I’d like my husband in good working order for our honeymoon, please.” Her hand dropped to my stomach as her voice dropped. “I’ve got plans for him.”

My head was already drowning from her words and her touch, but when her hand moved lower, curling around my . . .

“Cora!” I jolted, sounding like a pubescent boy. A moment later, after I’d sort of regained my senses, I glanced at her to find her giving me an odd look. Like she was confused.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .” Her head turned away, and she leaned back into her seat.

Tell her, Matt. Tell her now. Perfect segue.

“No, it’s fine.” It’s really fine. “You just surprised me. It’s been a long day, and I’m not feeling like myself.” I tried not to think too much on the irony of that sentence.

I found her hand and pulled it into my lap. More toward my knees than my package though, because damn, Cora’s touch was not something to underestimate. If she so much as brushed her hand around my general zipper region again, I would be in a predicament. An I-just-got-off-from-a-woman-barely-touching-me kind of predicament.