“Wow, I was going to say . . . sensitive, but OK, I get your point.” His smile warmed her up faster and hotter than the fireplace could.
Delaney Masterson had made a series of questionable judgment calls in her life, and this one might land right at the top, but . . . what the hell? “All right,” she said. “I’ll go.”
Although much of Bell Harbor had changed with the times, St. Aloysius Church of the Immaculate Conception hadn’t. The fragrance of candle wax, varnish, and incense filled Grant’s nose, triggering memory upon memory as he walked into the church vestibule with Elaine. He’d gone to school here, been an altar boy with Tyler, snuck sips of communion wine, and confessed to Father Lawrence all the unholy, impure, wonderful thoughts he’d had about Mary Elizabeth Boyer every time she wore her gym uniform.
In his defense, Mary Elizabeth had been the most voluptuous girl in the ninth grade, and he suspected she knew very well what happened to the boys every time she bent over to pick up a badminton birdie. His body reacted to the memory in much the same way it had when he was fifteen.
Damn. He needed to get laid, and soon, if walking into a church made him this horny.
He could just hear Father Lawrence’s required penance. “Say three Our Fathers, two Hail Marys, and keep your hands off yourself.”
Yeah. He was doomed.
“About time you got here,” Tyler called out from a doorway to the left. “Come on in here.”
“Brother of the groom. Oh, I love it! This has got to be the other brother of the groom,” said a singsongy voice from the left, and Grant turned to see a dark-haired man with a sharp-edged goatee bearing down on them. He wore a navy-blue suit with a pink rose in the lapel.
Grant halted in his steps and Elaine bumped into the back of him.
Tyler chuckled. “Yes, Fontaine, this is my older brother, Grant. He’s just arrived from the jungle.”
“Wooooooo, the jungle?” Fontaine tapped his fingertips together. “Hello, Tarzan. How delightfully primitive.”
“Grant, this is Fontaine, our wedding planner.”
“Wedding planner?” His brother had a wedding planner?
The dark-haired man preened. “Why, yes. I’m an interior designer by trade, and a professional organizer, but I love a good party too.” He gazed up at Grant. “I guess you could say I’m a Jacques of all trades.” And then he giggled.
Grant looked at Tyler.
“Fontaine is a good friend of Evie’s,” Tyler said by way of explanation. Because a Connelly man having a wedding planner required an explanation.
“Nice to meet you, Fontaine. This is Elaine.” Grant plucked her out from behind him, tugging on her arm as Goatee Man gave her the once-over. “Oh, honey, delighted, I’m sure.” He turned back to Tyler. “Now you, mister, off with your pants. We need to get you into that tux. Lickety-split.”
“Wait!” Another voice joined the conversation, and they all turned as a petite redhead rushed forward. She wore jeans and a white sweatshirt that said Bride, and when she smiled, Grant understood. Tyler was right. Now that he’d seen his future sister-in-law, the marriage thing made some sense. She was stunning.
He snuck a sideways peek at Elaine. She was beautiful too, especially in the firelight or with her hair up in a high ponytail when she did yoga, but at the moment, her dark-framed glasses hid those gorgeous blue eyes and made her look a little bookish, and the bulky sweater she was wearing hid all her wonderful curves. Not that it mattered how she looked. She wasn’t his date. Just his human shield. He needed to remember that.
In a few hours, he’d see some of his old Bell Harbor pals, and maybe a few old girlfriends too. Surely one of his old flames would be interested in a brief reunion of nudity? If he could release a little tension, he could think about things with Elaine more objectively. A tactical orgasm. That’s what he needed. Then he’d stop fantasizing about all those lacy bras she’d left back in his bathroom. She really needed to dry those someplace else. It had taken him fifteen minutes to take a leak this morning because the damn things were hanging up right where he—and his dick—could see them. It twitched in his slacks. His dick had a great memory.
The bride moved forward and wrapped an arm around Tyler’s waist.
“Shoo, shoo, shoo!” Fontaine exclaimed, flicking his hands at her. “The bride and groom are not supposed to see each other before the wedding. Don’t you know anything?”
Evie laughed. “You realize that incredibly antiquated custom was just so grooms of arranged marriages couldn’t change their minds once they saw the bride, right?” She turned back to Tyler. “Oh, no. You’re not going to change your mind now, are you?”
He shook his head. “Not a chance.”