Page 9 of Love and Loathing

The ceremony went off without a hitch, and four hours later, the reception was well on its way to finishing up. Jessie had been pleased with the footage she’d gotten, and she was already taking notes in her mind about how she was going to cut it and what music she’d put to what parts. When she was done, they’d have video of the ceremony, of the speeches, and of first dances, along with a compilation of everything to music. And the subject matter, the venue, and even the wedding itself had been so aesthetically pleasing that she just knew the bride and groom would love it.

Now, she circled the dance floor slowly, filming a few of the remaining couples. In all honesty, there wasn’t really a need for it—the bride and groom had already left, and she had everything she needed, but Caroline and Charlie—not an employee but the brother of the bride, apparently—had found a dark corner to chat, and they didn’t seem to be losing steam.

Unfortunately, Alexander Young hadn’t left either.

She’d been sure she was about to keel over from humiliation when Caroline had pointed out who he was. How many films had he been in? Dozens? And it hadn’t once occurred to her who he was. Not even a blip of recognition. It explained how he’d acted, but seriously, how conceited could he be to automatically assume she was filming him, that she wanted to kiss him …

Her gaze darted to the table where she’d last seen him. Roxy Beaumont, the blond bombshell actress and his on-screen love interest in at least a couple films—and, it appeared, in real life—sat beside him, leaning into his side. His expression was sour, but his gaze was onher. Jessie accidentally made eye contact, and those luscious lips of his quirked up on one side. Heat unfurled in her stomach. She tore her gaze away and went back to filming.

She’d almost made it to the other end of the dance floor when someone cleared their throat behind her. She jumped, having been on edge since she’d splashed Alex in the face with water, and spun on her heel. Alex stood there, almost too close—she knew because she could smell him. He smelled like mint soap. She took a small step back.

“I believe you owe me a dance.” He played with the buttons on his suit coat sleeve.

It wasn’t a request. It was a statement. And it kind of made her blood boil. Did he seriously think he could just make demands of her because he was famous? And that she would … what? Just do as he said?

She turned from him and fiddled with her camera. “I’m working.”

He snatched her camera up.

“Hey! Give that back,” she demanded, reaching for it.

He took a step back and held the device out of her grasp. “What else is there to film? The serving staff clearing tables? Drunk relatives doing questionable moves on the dance floor? Come on, there hasn’t been anything worth filming in the last half hour. The only reason you’re still filming is because my friend and your sister can’t seem to pull themselves away from one another.” He waved a waiter over. “Can you take this camera to that couple over there?” He pointed to where Caroline and Charlie sat, then handed off the camera.

Jessie glared at him and placed her hands on her hips. “You can’t just take people’s things.”

He shrugged. “Takeis a bit of a stretch. I simply removed it from your overworked hands so you can grace me with a dance.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t just demand that people dance with you either,” she snapped. “It’s ugly behavior.”

There came that stupid sexy grin again. “All right, then, Jessie. Would you be so kind as to dance with me?”

He was arrogant. And conceited. And hotheaded. But for some reason, she kind of wanted to dance with him. But that would be a horrendous idea. She didn’t like this man. She crossed her arms and glanced around the room, trying to come up with some excuse. Nothing came.

He held out his hand. “Come on, it’s the least you could do after drenching me in ice water.”

“Fine,” she said, adding as much grumpiness to her tone as possible. “But just one.”

Tentatively, she took his large and very manly hand, and she ignored the shudder that went through her. He led her to the floor, spinning her out and then into his embrace. Her breath hitched at the feel of his hand on her back, at the closeness of him and the smell of him. My land, he smelled good. He gazed down at her, and her stomach warmed. She quickly glanced away, looking anywhere but at him.

He was tall, really tall. Not as tall as Brandon Carroll, but maybe six foot two? The only reason she was able to reach his shoulder was because of the three-inch heels she had on, but she still had to stretch. The last thing she wanted to do was rest her hand on his bicep—or, heaven forbid, his chest. She remembered how ripped he’d been in that action movie he’d done a few years ago, and she did not need to be swooning over him now. Yet it seemed that was a real possibility. No matter how much her mind said this guy was a jerk, her body said yummmm.

Ugh, she sort of hated herself right now.

“About earlier …” he hedged.

“You mean when you accused me of filming you, or when you offered to kiss me to get rid of me, or when you summarily dismissed me from your high and mighty presence? Which moment were you thinking, exactly? Because there are so many fun ones to choose from.”

He chuckled. “I was thinking of when you doused me in water, actually.”

She quirked a brow. “Seemed like the appropriate response.”

“Maybe it was.” He straightened his spine, his chest pushing into hers. “You know, any other guest here probably would’ve had you fired for that.”

She pulled back from him. “Excuse me.”

His eyes gleamed down at her. “I wasn’t saying I was going to have you fired.”

“Right,” she said, and she stepped completely out of his embrace. “Apparently common sense doesn’t grow in everyone’s garden.”

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