Roman-2(Lane Brothers, Book 5)(82)

“Why do you want to win this so badly?” I ask suspiciously, glad I’m still retaining enough annoyance to speak to him.

I know that once it’s gone I’ll be back to carrots and freaking yams. Story of my freaking life.

He doesn’t answer, but I catch his eye movements and spot a blonde head towering over the other wedding guests. When the guy turns, I almost swallow my tongue and turn my eyes back to a scowling Devon, watching the tick in his jaw increase as he grinds his teeth, never looking away from Dillon.

“What’s he doing here?”

Devon shrugs and turns back, pointing my hand towards my target, his hot breath fanning the fine hairs at my nape.

“The aim of the game is to hit the target,” he murmurs, pressing his front to my back in a way that startles me even as my skin heats and my limbs start trembling. “I like your sleep wear,” he purrs so close to my ear I feel the heat of his lips.

Okay, now I’ll never hit that target.

“Uh…”

“You weren’t wearing any underwear.”

I’m not even looking anymore because my eyes are closed, and I’m pretty sure my lungs are sitting in my uterus, which is throbbing. And begging me to do something.

His hand surrounds mine, helping me aim, twisting my wrists to line up the shot, but all I’m capable of seeing is the way his eyes had looked when he’d seen me.

I imagine that look and so much more, if lightning should strike and I should ever find myself the recipient of more than a lust-filled stare from this man.

“I could see your bum, and I thought…”

I’m not even listening anymore. All I can do is feel, and what I feel makes my breasts throb and a clenching start low in my abdomen.

I’m panting by the time he tells me to throw and so worked up I’m trembling.

“No bra either.”

I let go of the horseshoe, needing to be done so I can turn around and throw him to the ground and have my wicked way with him, when a shriek and yell shatter the bubble, pulling me rudely from fantasies of scorching hot kisses and naked, sweaty skin.

“She’s bleeding! Who threw that shoe?”

Um.

I turn around and see Diane Bing, Lila’s mother, sitting on the grass, a huge lump crowning the left side of her forehead, my misguided missile clutched in a white-knuckled grip as she glares around the hotel’s grassy yard and eyes everyone present.

Oh snap. I just brained the mother of the bride, and I did it in the presence of the man I am gaga for. Shit.

My face is flaming by the time I turn and peep up at him, and I’m so mortified I can barely force myself to look up and meet his eyes.

“Clumsy?”

He laughs and grabs my hand, towing me away from the field and the crowd that’s formed around a now screaming Diane.

“Have to apologize.”

I’m panting, trying to keep up with his long-legged stride and trying to kick him in the shin at the same time as he pulls me back inside and into the elevator, his shoulders shaking he’s laughing so hard.

“That’s not funny!

At least my mind is back, I think morosely, stamping my foot to get his attention. Seriously, I like a guy who finds a woman getting brained by a horseshoe funny?

“Devon!”

“Sorry, imp, sorry,” he gasps, collecting himself with an effort. “I’m just completely taken with the fact that you, you of all people, managed to throw a horseshoe at her head. Accidentally! Half the people involved wanted to do that exact thing, and yet you are the lucky bugger who got it right. Accidentally!”

I don’t laugh, even though I want to, a lot. Diane has been driving everyone crazy since we got here, forcing pairings and doing another rehearsal dinner—we’ve already had to suffer through the first one—while flitting around and making poor Lila’s life a misery.

“Still. I should go back and apologize.”

“Well, you could, but I reckon they’d be none too pleased that you ran away to begin with,” he crows, pulling out and into the narrow corridor.

He’s still laughing his ass off, and I’m so steamed by his attitude I could scream. I do.

“This is all your fault! You were the one messing around down there, not me. If you’d kept you lips to yourself—”

“Beg pardon, are you blaming me for that malarkey down there? If I recall correctly, you were the one who threw the shoe without looking,” he points out reasonably, unlocking his door and pulling me into the room.

“It’s not my fault! You had your lips on my neck…and, and your hand was…and then you whispered right in….and, and I couldn’t focus on anything. You said I had to throw.”