And Greg’s.
PLASTIC, METAL, AND breasts. Greg mentally inventoried everything he felt against his skin. His bare skin. It’d taken several seconds to process that he was standing in his underwear. With Faith’s body pressed against his chest. His Faith. Her fingers twisted around the camera to secure it and her long fingernails scraped against his stomach.
“I have it,” Faith whispered, as the pressure of her body against his began to wane.
Not so fast.
His fingers caught her elbows holding her in place. The bottom of his chin brushed against the top of her head. Everything he would have said to her in the last ten years flew out of his head. Along with all the blood, as it rushed southward.
Her head tipped back. Months of distant glances all crashed down in to a full-on eye-locking stare. Smokey colored eyeshadow swept across the lids of beautiful blue eyes he’d gazed at for so
many years. Those pink lips had kissed the sense out of him. That mouth... What he’d done with that mouth. Before and after he took her virginity.
Then one day, uncontrollable tears had fallen from those eyes. Astonishing words had tumbled from those lips and mouth. They still burned in his memory after all these years: Greg, I can’t marry you.
He’d been too proud to beg and was raised to respect women. His father always warned him that a gentleman doesn’t raise his voice to a lady. There were so many restless nights where he’d tossed and turned in his bed hating himself for dismissing Faith’s strange behavior a few weeks before the wedding as jitters.
The white-hot anger had melted away years ago, and even the mild taste of bitterness diminished.
All he had now was a burning curiosity. She’d given a reason why. The truth behind it was still up for debate. It was how she could leave him, regardless, that still left him bewildered and questioning everything.
An assignment in Iraq had been scheduled to leave two days before the wedding. Annoyed, he’d been polite enough to hear her out. Until she dropped the bomb how it was a three-year assignment!
Hashing out those nitty-gritty details, however, didn’t seem appropriate at the moment as he held her in his arms after a damn decade.
Greg took a breath to speak, but Skye stood in the doorway with wide eyes and an open mouth.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” he repeated, but this time over Faith’s shoulder.
She spun around. “Oh my God.” Faith broke away and hung the camera around her neck by the strap this time. “I just came in here for water.”
“A big tall glass of it I see.” Skye smirked with her arms crossed.
“What’s taking so long? Son of a—” Gwen gasped, rushing into the room.
Standing in tight boxer briefs in front of his two sisters and the woman he almost married was enough to have a breakdown over. He dropped his hands to cover the nervous erection that stormed to life from holding Faith.
“My father’s getting too many calls, we have to get this moving.” Andrew came up behind Gwen and glanced at Greg. The panic he felt must have been all over his face because Andrew took immediate charge of the situation. “Ladies, let the man get dressed. Come on. Out. You too,” he said to his wife tapping her on the behind.
That’s my sister.
Andrew closed the door, but stayed inside the room. He took the garment bag off the coat rack.
“I’ll give you a hand.” The man ran fashion shows and had seen both men and women in all stages of undress.
Still, Greg felt unnerved to have Andrew there while he was half naked and battling intense emotions with an erection.
“I know how to put a suit on,” he said gruffly.
“Prada suits can feel awkward at first. I wish you would have given me your exact measurements.
I could have had it altered for you.”
“That’s not necessary. I doubt I’ll wear it again,” he said not thinking, then realized he may have just insulted the man’s livelihood. Great.
Greg admired Andrew’s sleek sophisticated look, but he preferred jeans, flannel shirts, and work boots. A Glock tucked into his waistband always made him feel secure. Not that he’d brought his gun with him tonight. He had a feeling Gwen didn’t want him packing heat in her engagement photos, though.
“Gwen filled me in on what happened with uh...that woman.” Andrew handed him a tan dress shirt, breaking the awkward silence. “I’m sorry. That must have been very difficult.”
Difficult? Greg thought of a sarcastic reply, but remembered Andrew had been widowed before he met Gwen.
“Yeah. Well. Shit happens.” He tugged the dress pants to make them fit over his thighs.
Andrew smirked, touching his chin. “I have the same problem with Prada’s slacks.”
Greg turned toward the mirror. The fabric stretched tight across his butt. But the waist fit nicely, and the length was perfect. He buttoned up the shirt and stuffed it into the pants.
His eyes rolled at the tie. “Purple?”
Andrew opened his arms. “Your sister made me wear a lavender shirt. You’re lucky you only have to wear the tie in that color.” He smoothed his sapphire blue tie that matched Gwen’s eyes.
A knock pounded on the door until it opened. “Seriously, we have to... Oh my God!” Gwen squealed as her hands flew up to her face. “Greg! You look so handsome.”
Considering he stood next to a former model, Greg took that as a huge compliment.
“HOLY MOLY!” SKYE BLURTED, stopping mid-pour of a glass of white wine.
Faith turned around and almost dropped the camera...again.
Greg crossed the room in a suit that everyone in the tasting room had been buzzing about because Gwen had convinced him to wear Prada. That man could make the Antarctic ice shelf melt faster than global warming.
“I think we’re ready, Faith.” Gwen dragged her from the thought of Greg laying naked on a piece of ice. “Thank you so much for your patience.”
Faith swallowed and spoke to the crowd avoiding eye contact with her ex-fiancé. “Okay. Gwen would like some action shots. Pair up with someone and act natural. Talk, have a drink, and I’ll just walk around. Don’t look at me unless I say so.”
She stepped to the corner to take some practice shots and glanced back at the screen to check the lighting. After resetting the picture mode a few times, she returned to the group to find them all standing awkwardly watching her.
This will take a while. She remembered why she hadn’t considered wedding photography as a career choice. The gritty battlefields were much more interesting. Unless they threatened her life.
She panned the room, taking in all the faces, reaching Greg last. Her stomach tickled from the inside, absorbing his smoldering grin.
Faith released a frustrated breath, adjusted her camera, and said, “How about I start with just some shots of Gwen and Andrew. Guys, come stand over here.” She pointed to a display of wine bottles sitting in diamond-shaped mahogany cubbies.
Andrew strolled toward her adjusting his tie. One foot in front of the other, as his hips swayed with manly swagger. On his arm, his beautiful wife wore a white dress with a saddle leather trim collar and matching sleeve cuffs that left just enough room in the waist for a burgeoning baby bump.
Faith lifted her camera and snapped a few shots catching them off guard, gazing at each other with the crowd looking on. She would blur the background later.