Page 50 of Branded

Danielle, the bride-to-be, walks down the area that will be the aisle tomorrow with her father on her arm, and I see Christopher’s face light up. If he looks this proud and excited now, he’s going to be a crying groom tomorrow, and I love that.

Sometimes when I’m having a day and need a good cry, and let’s face it, we all need a cry occasionally, I’ll watch videos of grooms seeing their brides for the first time. It always hits me right where I need it to so I can cry out my bad day and move on from there.

It may be sad, but it’s what works for me.

They run through the ceremony, which seems rather quick, though I don’t really have any frame of reference. It seems short, sweet, and to the point. Given the venue, I would have assumed the ceremony would be much longer and involved, but maybe they just want to marry one another and call it a day. I appreciate that and think it’s incredible, if that’s the case.

I cross my legs and lean back against the bar, watching quietly as they run through one more time, and I can’t ignore the fact Isaac and I have made eyes at each other multiple times.

He’s caught me staring many times and I’ve caught him all the same. There’s a clear tension between us that is impossible to ignore. It’s so thick I’m shocked everyone around us can’t see it.

While I want to dive in headfirst and give in to the growing heat in my body so desperately wants to be kept alive by him, there is something so inviting and perfect about the chase.

If I’m honest with myself, I’m worried once we have sex, everything will change for us. Sex has a way of doing that to people. I want to wait, to see what this is between us before we take that step, but then I see him smile or feel the soft touch of his hand on my back.

I hear the way he speaks to me and makes me feel so powerful and amazing about myself, and I see the way people are able to hold a conversation with him that is intelligent and kind.

And those are just his nonphysical traits.

Don’t even get me started on those eyes of rich caramel, or those biceps I want to feel wrap me up completely. Then there’s his abs that remind me of someone who could be on the cover of a romance novel, coupled with the fact his face is absolutely perfect. His strong jawline with the coarseness of his short facial hair makes me weak in the knees. Sometimes, at night, when I’m alone, I think about what it will feel like when his stubbly cheek brushes against the tender skin of my inner thigh and my hands wander down my own body with him swimming in my mind.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

His deep, rich voice startles me out of the nice daydream I was having about beard burn and back into reality.

“Jesus, Isaac,” I place my hand over my heart. “You scared me.”

“I said your name a couple of times, but you were lost in space there. Everything all right?”

“Mmm hmm. Yep. Perfect.” I clear my throat a bit. “That went okay, huh? Seems like everything will go well tomorrow.”

I expect him to call me on my shit and force me to tell him I was thinking about his face between my legs, but he has some mercy and doesn’t push further.

“They kept the ceremony simple it seems. I have a feeling Christopher had something to do with that.”

“He isn’t into the big wedding?”

He leans next to me comfortably with one arm on the bar, “Nah, it’s not that. He just doesn’t like being the center of attention for longer than necessary, which is odd considering his profession, but that’s him. I think if he had his way, they’d be married at the courthouse and skip out of town for one hell of a honeymoon.”

“That’s what I would want. When I get married, I don’t need all the pomp and circumstance. I mean, it’s fun and it fits for some people, but it’s not for me. I want a small wedding, maybe even just the courthouse and a trip somewhere European with really good pasta.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all planned.”

“Every girl does, or at the very least, she’s thought about it and if she tells you she doesn’t, she’s a liar.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He reaches out and takes my hand before pulling me from the barstool to me feet. “I saw you staring at me, you know. You were beckoning me with those bedroom eyes of yours.”

“I have bedroom eyes?”

“Sawyer, you have bedroom everything.”

Three hours later, after a rehearsal dinner that was to die for, and many flowing drinks, we finally head back to our room.

My heels have long since been hanging from my index finger, and I’m absolutely exhausted. Between teetering in these shoes, being stuffed with so much food, and consuming far too much alcohol, all I want is to relax and to sleep.

“You know what sounds incredible right now?” I ask, as I lean against the wall by our door while he searches his pockets for the keycard.

“What?”

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