I look on as she ushers the journalists onto the lawns where the chairs are lined up in rows leading to the platform where the wedding will take place.
Their friends—among whom I recognize JJ and his girlfriend Lena, Sinclair and his wife Summer, Michael and his wife Karma, and Liam with his new wife Isla—take their seats. Abby smiles at one of the journalists, then straightens and heads in my direction.
I stiffen and watch her from under hooded eyelids as she approaches me. With each step she takes, the slit in the side of her dress parts to reveal the toned flesh of her thighs. Thighs that I squeezed and caressed, before I slapped her across that perfect pear-shaped arse of hers. And the dress she’s wearing stretches so tightly across her backside, it shows off her hourglass figure to everyone assembled here. How dare she allow anyone else to admire her gorgeous outline? I’m the only one who should be able to appreciate her contours. No one else.
She comes to a halt in front of me. The wind changes direction and the scent of her—cherries, this time, with a hint of rose that is both innocent and strangely erotic—teases my nostrils. The blood drains to my groin. My cock lengthens. If I look down, no doubt, I’ll see the fabric tented at my crotch. Fucking hell. It’s my sister’s wedding, and all I want to do is tear the clothes off her employee, throw her to the ground, force her thighs apart, and bury myself inside her. Right here in front of everyone else, so there’s no doubt who she belongs to. I’m losing all perspective, and she’s to blame.
I glare at her, and she pales. Her green eyes turn into alluring emeralds. My fingertips itch. Goddamn, I want to reach out and wrap my fingers around the nape of her neck and pull her close. Fuck me! I shove my hands into my pockets and widen my stance. "What do you want?" I growl.
She blinks, then gestures in the direction where Hunter is talking to another gentleman I don’t recognize. "Uh, Zara thought it would be a good idea if you caught up with Hunter and Edward Chase, the officiant for the wedding."
"And why would I do that?"
"You’re going to walk her down the aisle, so—" She clears her throat. "So, it would be useful if you spoke to them and arrived at an agreement on the sequence of events for the wedding."
I tilt my head. "And if I refuse?"
She seems taken aback. "You...you…you’re going to refuse?"
"Unless you agree to what I want."
"What you want?" She frowns. "I don’t understand."
"You want me to do something for you. I want something from you in return."
She opens, then shuts her mouth. "It’s your sister’s wedding. You’re about to walk her down the aisle, and instead of trying to find out how to make this the best day for her, you’re here negotiating with me?"
"So?"
"So? So, you’re an asshole."
“Do you know how many fucks I give about your opinion of me?” I pretend to glance around me, then back at her face. “Precisely, zero.”
Her cheeks flush. "I hate you," she bursts out.
"Finally." I turn my eyes heavenward. "Took you long enough to declare that."
"Is that what this is about? Is that why you’ve been so horrible to me? Because you want me to tell you how much I abhor you?"
"You call what I’ve done to you being horrible? I haven’t even started, Sparrow."
"Don’t call me that," she hisses at me.
"The little bird’s finally learning to fight back, hmm?"
When I reach toward her, she flinches. A burning sensation flares to life in my stomach. Must be because I pushed myself during my work out. I must have pulled a muscle. That’s all it is.
"Relax, I was only going to do this..." I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers touch the exquisite shell of her ear, and she shivers.
"Fucking hell, you’re so damn responsive. No wonder I’m losing my mind."
She jerks her gaze to mine, a crease appearing between her eyelids. "What did you—"
I interrupt her, mainly because I want to pretend I didn’t say those words aloud. Because accepting I’m vulnerable is one thing, but sharing that with anyone else? That’s out of character for me. More than I care to admit. It’s something I don’t want to examine closely. So instead, I bend my knees and peer into her eyes. "You’ll meet me after the wedding in the bathroom on the second floor."
Her gaze widens. "What?"
"Didn’t you hear me? Are you deaf? Bathroom. Second floor. After the wedding. You get me?"
She swallows, then nods.
"Say it aloud."
"Yes, I’ll meet you after the wedding in the bathroom on the second floor," she snaps.
"Good." I straighten. Then glance toward where Hunter and the officiant are deep in discussion. "Shall we?"
"Zara, you look—" I shake my head. For once, I’m at a loss for words. "You look beautiful." I lean forward and kiss her cheek. "I’m sorry Mum and Dad chose not to attend."
Yep, Zara invited our parents, but they chose not to attend. Their excuse? The shop they run couldn’t be shut for the day. Bad for business. And retail is so competitive. Their edge over the supermarkets is that they stay open 24/7, 365 days a year. One of them is always there. Yada, yada. Nothing we hadn’t heard growing up. All the time. Sometimes, I’m sure they didn’t notice when Zara and I left home, they were so busy building up their little corner-shop business. You’d think their daughter’s wedding would be more important than keeping the store open, but apparently, not.
She raises a shoulder. "They did message me to say I’m most welcome to visit and bring my new husband with me."
Her features are composed. My sister’s a trooper, and a consummate PR professional. She’s aware of the media being here, and all of her friends, so she’s not going to let her expression betray her feelings. But she’s unable to shutter the hurt look in her eyes.
I tuck her hand through the crook of my arm. "It’s not that they don’t love you."
"They weren’t happy about me becoming a teenage mother, and then turning my back on the legal profession to pursue what I love," she murmurs.
"They did support you, though. They were ready to adopt Olly as their own."
Olly was Zara’s little boy; she lost him when he was three.
"Not that I’d have allowed it." She shifts her weight from foot to foot. "You’re right, though. When all is said and done, they didn’t disown me. They were there for me when I needed them most. They’re just not happy with my life choices, that’s all."
I search her features. "Will you go visit them with Hunter?"
"When he’s won the election and becomes Prime Minister." She rolls her eyes. "He’ll probably be good enough for them as a son-in-law then."
We both laugh. She’s not kidding. My parents might be hardworking, working-class folks with not much working capital of their own, but they’re notoriously uppity when it comes to intellectual capital. It’s why they encouraged me to accept the scholarship at the private boys’ school. And why they were so proud of Zara when she chose to be a lawyer. And also, why they were so disappointed when she moved away from the legal profession.