Page 68 of Conflict
Just as we get to the top of the stairs, Ari stops, glancing down. She brings her hand to her chest as if she can’t believe the sight she’s seeing. When I reach her and look down, I’m not surprised to see Branson standing at the bottom of the grand staircase, waiting there for her. He’s in a dark suit, with immaculate hair and just the hint of a five-o’clock shadow. He’s always been handsome, but the expression on his face right now? He’s never been more becoming.
“Daddy, he looks like Flynn Ryder!” Ava whispers behind us.
“Baby, you think everyone with brown hair and a chiseled jaw looks like Flynn Ryder,” Jeremy reminds her.
“What’s chiseled mean?”
I giggle, but Ariana doesn’t even hear. She’s too transfixed on Branson, and I can see why. He softly holds his gaze on her as she descends. I’m not sure if he’s even aware there are two women, a man, a toddler, and a baby behind her. In fact, I’d bet on the fact he has no idea Ariana has an entourage. He only has eyes for her.
“You are, by far, the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he croons—yes, croons!—when she reaches him, his hand cupping her cheek as his lips swipe across hers.
My inner romance junkie is swooning, even though I’m actually rolling my eyes, used to the usual display of affection. But it’s in my nature to tease, so tease I do. “Come on, Wellington. She’s already marrying you. No need to lay it on so thick.”
His eyes dance when they rise to me. He slips his arm around Ari’s waist and slides one hand down to the small of her back. Or, knowing Branson, said hand is now probably resting on the curve of her ass. Both of his brows rise and he gives me a pointed look. “I seem to recall a runaway bride situation…” he quips, causing me to laugh.
I wasn’t sure if Ariana’s previous rehearsal dinner experience would put a damper on this night, and Branson’s already tossing it out there like it’s nothing. Because he’s right. It’s nothing. Tonight is theirs, and I couldn’t be happier.
Ariana’s cheeks flush, but she laughs and swats at his arm before gazing up into his eyes, looking at the man as if the sun rises and sets solely for him. Which, for her, I suppose it does. “I may have run away, Branson. I’ll never regret it because I was running away to you.”
Gag.
Double gag when Branson once again shoves his tongue into her readily accepting mouth.
Ava’s squeals echo around the room. “Daddy, he’s kissing her like you kiss Mommy!”
Sigh. If anyone ever tells you romance dies after so long in a marriage, I’ll simply introduce them to Jeremy and Sierra Banks.
“Don’t look away. It’s a rare sight to see a Wellington so affectionate in the wild,” Shane whispers in my ear.
I want to shiver but I don’t want him to know one sentence affects me. Or, well, his nearness. “Apparently you haven’t seen those two together very often.”
I turn to face him, raising an eyebrow. All sense of self-preservation, however, is erased when my eyes meet his. He asked me once if I missed him. I was honest. I told him I did.
This moment, however? I realize I’ve missed him so much more than I let myself believe. Which is kind of silly, right? How can you miss someone you only knew for less than forty-eight hours?
Yet here I am, feeling just that.
I’m torn between wanting to throw myself into his arms and bring my foot between his legs for leaving me high and dry. I opt, instead, for placing my hands on my hips and glaring at him. Yeah, I’m really good at this whole foreplay thing. I’m joking, except when I see the way Shane’s mouth curves into a wicked grin, I realize that maybe this entire cat-and-mouse game really is what he’s going for.
A low chuckle emits from his lips. “Alas, you have me there.” He sighs as he watches Branson and Ariana suck face as if they aren’t going on a honeymoon tomorrow night where they could do that to their heart’s contents. “I never would’ve thought a coldhearted, son-of-a-bitch, workaholic like Branson would ever be so…gone over a woman. But it’s a good look on him.”
A throat clears. “Excuse me, young man, I heard that. Hmmph.”
We both turn and see a beautiful older woman with laugh lines trying to maintain an irritated look at her nephew. Amelia Wellington, the mother of the so-called son of a bitch, glares at Shane before turning her attention to her son, who apparently didn’t hear any of the commotion. She calls his name twice, and still he doesn’t come up for air.
Amelia crosses to him and raps him on the head with her tiny Coach purse, finally causing him to break away from Ari’s mouth long enough to curse and glower at his mother.
“What the hell was that for?”
“First of all, Branson Wellington,” she admonishes even though he’s thirty-three, “do not curse in the presence of ladies.”
“But—” he begins, but she holds a hand up, shushing him as if he’s still a child.
“You will have all the time in the world to ravish your wife tomorrowafteryou’ve said your vows,” she tells her oldest son in a no-nonsense tone.
Branson’s eyes twinkle at her words. “Uh huh. Because Dad waited until your wedding night,” he teases, causing a deep crimson blush to rise on Amelia’s cheeks.
“As if I could have ever done that,” a booming voice replies. “You know what they say. Like father, like son. And your mother knows how the father was.”
