She’d done it! She’d caught the bouquet!
Grinning, she glanced up, and her euphoria vanished in an instant.
Tommy was staring at her, frowning furiously.
Crap. Why did he have to be the first one she looked at? Why?
And why was he scowling at her like that?
She forced her gaze away and searched out Brody, who stood exactly where she’d left him, a triumphant gleam in his eyes as he gazed back at her. Stunned by the softly possessive look, she swallowed.
Slowly she made her way to his side, letting out a little squeak when one of his arms shot forward, yanked her to him, and gave her a tight hug. “Now that’s how a woman should catch the bouquet. In true MMA style.”
As guilt flooded her chest, she stared up at him. She might as well come clean now rather than later.
“Brody, listen—”
“My turn,” he interrupted, releasing her and strutting out to the dance floor as Dante led Cait to a chair, where she sat down. Dante slid his hands under Cait’s dress and waggled his brows, which made her throw her head back and laugh, then he slowly slid the garter down her leg. After he’d balled it in his fist, lingering long enough to give Cait a sweet kiss, he rose and twirled the garter above his head.
Her gaze slid to Tommy, who hadn’t moved to join the single men in the center of the dance floor.
Thank God. She really didn’t need him to be the one who caught the garter. Not that he appeared eager to win the opportunity to slide the garter up her leg.
Brody, on the other hand, looked more than willing to catch the garter. She didn’t want him to, which said a lot. They had to talk. Soon.
Dante used his fingers to slingshot the garter into the air. Julie followed the high upward arc and its fall back down, directly in Brody’s direction. Breath held, she prayed for someone else to grab it. Please, please, for the love of God, please.
Brody reached up. No! Right before his fingers closed around it, another hand shot up past his and snatched it from the air.
Air whooshed out of her lungs and she froze to the spot as she realized, in consternation, who stood there with a look of pure satisfaction on his face, the delicate piece of lace dangling from his finger.
Tommy.
The worse of two evils.
Oh, God. What the hell had just happened?
Dismay flooded over her. Be careful what you wish for.
Cait hurried over, grabbed her hands, and tugged her forward. The pull toward the empty chair knocked her right out of her daze. “W-What are you doing?”
“It’s your turn.”
“My turn for what?” She hated the high-pitched squeak that had entered her voice, but she knew exactly what was about to happen…and it scared the hell out of her. “We don’t have to do this, Cait! Seriously.”
“Oh, yes we do.”
When the bride pushed Julie into the chair, all she could do was sit there stiffly, hands gripping the satin fabric covering the chair, and stare wide-eyed at Tommy as he sauntered toward her, twirling that damn piece of lace-covered elastic on his damn finger.
This cannot be happening.
He dropped to one knee before her, his blond head bending too close to a part of her anatomy that had started throbbing with unbidden desire. She bunched her fingers into the satin, taking a short, sharp gasp of air. He slipped off one of her heels and inched the garter over her foot, up her calf, over her knee, and then beyond, until his hands were hidden beneath her skirt, heading straight for the stocking tops and garter belt she suddenly fervently wished she hadn’t worn on a whim.
Oh. My. God. This really was happening.
The tips of his fingers caressed her skin as he slid the garter into place in the middle of her thigh.
Between her legs, the throb intensified, and she bit her lip to keep a groan from emerging.
No, she told herself firmly. I feel nothing. She didn’t feel a damn thing. Tommy did not make her feel like this anymore. Damn it, girl. Get it together!
Snap. A slight sting hit her upper thigh.
Had he just plucked one of her garter belt ribbons?
She swallowed. No way. He wouldn’t.
Think of something else. Anything else.
Oh God, she couldn’t. He was consuming her whole being. His touch was burning her alive. When he lifted his head and she saw a cocky, knowing half smile on his face, she was certain she’d incinerate right on the spot.
Or drop straight through the floor in mortification.
He placed her heel back on, stood, and offered his hand. She did not want to touch him. All she wanted was to escape. To flee from that smug look on his face and the crowd grinning like a bunch of clowns. But she had no choice. She reluctantly slid her fingers into his hand, and he helped her up. But he didn’t let go.
She tugged. He held on. With an iron grip. They stared at each other.
Her face heated. “I need to get back to Brody.”
When she pulled at her hand again, his grip tightened even more. “But you’re coming home to me.”