Page 22 of Mating Theory
Harper blinks, taken aback for a moment. Then she looks at me—searching, searching. For what? Whatever she finds makes her grin, lopsided and unrepentant. “I have a wedding to get to, you guys. What are we waiting for?”
She hops up, almost tripping over her white frothy gown. I lean down to yank lace out of a splintery clutch. On her way out of the steeple, she gives me a sly glance. Then she leans to whisper something to Ashleigh. A second later she’s whooshing down the rickety stairs.
I frown at Ashleigh. “What did she say to you?”
“Nothing.”
“Ashleigh…”
She pushes up on her toes and gives me a kiss on my cheek, the warm brush of her lips unbearably soft. It feels impulsive and caring. Affectionate, when there should only be filthy sex between us. “Don’t worry,” she says, her mouth an inch from mine. “I’m not going anywhere. For I have promises to keep.”
“And miles to go before I sleep,” I say, reciting the poem.
“And miles to go before I sleep.”
That’s when I realize I’m grasping her wrist. Only intense willpower forces me to let go of her, finger by finger. Then she’s skipping down the stairs. I follow her, bemused and hungry, wondering why I’m more focused on getting Ashleigh naked again than the woman I love walking down the aisle. She’s like some addictive substance. The more I have her, the more I want her. The more I need her.
Chapter Eleven
Ashleigh
Sutton leads me back to his friend Hugo, the charming man who’s now holding a small child. A woman with pale skin and a wild spray of red hair leans against him. She looks like a fairy sprite with a dark satyr. “Hugo told me we had a guest,” she says to me, smiling.
My stomach clenches. What would she think of me if she knew the truth? There are so many people here, it feels like at least someone might recognize me. I should probably be struck by lightning for entering a church, except I stopped believing in God a long time ago. My father was a religious man. He donated money. The priest called him a close friend. It stopped feeling like a betrayal when I accepted that it was all make believe, as real as fairy sprites.
“Hi,” I say, feeling shy. “I’m Ashleigh.”
“Beatrix. You can call me Bea.” The child squirms, and she takes the little girl with a soft clucking sound. “Darling. Won’t you relax? Teething,” she confides to me. Her friendly manner makes it easy for me to calm down. No one will recognize me.
“I’m sorry. Can I do something to help?” Except Hugo has already produced some half-frozen toy from his suit jacket, and the toddler grabs for it greedily. She sucks on the blue plastic with an expression of intense relief. “Honestly, I need one of those.”
Bea laughs. “I think we’ll get along fine.” She glances at Sutton. “You can go.”
A queen couldn’t have dismissed someone better. Still, Sutton doesn’t leave right away. He turns to me, a notch between his golden brows. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
He’s beautiful. It’s like looking up at some old Roman statue made flesh and blood. The fact that he’s also kind and smart… how did Harper leave him? The fates always liked to play tricks. “What will you do if I say no?” I murmur. “Insist that I stand next to you at the altar?”
A slow smile. “Maybe so. You don’t think the priest would mind, do you?”
“No way,” I say, feeling breathless. “I’m sure he’d let me pass out communion, too.”
“So you were raised Catholic,” he murmurs to himself, and I realize I’ve let something slip past my defenses. While we were talking—or would that be flirting?—he saw through me.
“Of course,” I say with forced nonchalance. “All the good Catholic girls are slutty. We’re rebelling against authority and all that.”
He frowns. “You aren’t slutty.”
I turn away, embarrassed and babbling. “Aren’t I? It doesn’t matter. Shouldn’t you be with Christopher already? The ceremony will start without you.”
“Hey.” When I don’t quiet, he lifts my chin so I’m facing him. Stormy blue eyes study me. It feels like he can see right through my secrets, past my religion and my profession, into the broken heart of me. God, the irony. That’s what Harper whispered to me. Don’t break his heart again. Again, because she knows what she and Christopher did to him. I don’t have that kind of power, but I think he might break my heart.
He leans down and brushes his lips against mine—once, twice. A third time, which sends sparks of latent pleasure through my limbs. He’s going to pull away; I feel the intention in his hold. I’m not ready to release him. I press my mouth fully against his. It’s a clumsy, childish kiss, but it’s one I’m giving freely. He stills, as if I’m a wild animal. Yes, yes, that’s me. A doe. Why are they made so defenseless? All we can do is run. We stand together in unnatural stillness, connected only by the kiss. His breath brushes my skin. When I step back I feel dazed. His hand steadies me.
