Wedding Party Collection: Once A Bridesmaid...: Here Comes the Bridesmaid / Falling for the Bridesmaid

Something that had been sneaking up on her.

Something to do with the way he jumped a foot inside his skin when she kissed him on the cheek. The little tic at the corner of his mouth that came and went, depending on his level of agitation. The slightly fascinated way he looked at her, as though he couldn’t believe his eyes. And listened to her as though he couldn’t believe his ears. The way he gave in a lot, but not always. And how, even when he let her have her way, the way he did it told her he might not always be so inclined, so she was not to take it for granted.

How bizarre was that? She liked that he gave in—and also that maybe he wouldn’t!

She even kind of liked the fact that he tried so hard never to smile or laugh—as though that would be too frivolous for the likes of him. It was a challenge, that. Something to change. Because everyone needed to laugh. The average person laughed thirteen times a day. She would bet her brand-new forest-green leaf-cut stilettoes that Leo Quartermaine didn’t get to thirteen even in a whole year! Not good enough.

Now that she’d acknowledged the attraction it felt moth-to-a-flame mesmeric, standing beside him. No, not a moth—that was too fluttery. More like the bat that had flown smack into the power line a block from her apartment. She’d seen it this morning, fried into rigidity, felled by a jolt of electricity.

Poor bat. Just going along, thinking it had everything under control, contemplating its regular upside-down hang for the night, then hitting a force that was greater than it and—frzzzzz. All over, red rover.

Poor bat—and poor her if she let herself get too close to Leo. Because she had a feeling he could fry her to a crisp if she let him.

Not that she would let him. She never got too close. That was the whole point of her ‘four goes and goodbye’ rule. Protecting her core.

Leo had managed to move a little away from her—which she rectified.

‘This is a simple fettuccine with zucchini, feta, and prosciutto,’ he said, clueless.

He moved once more, just a smidgeon. And Sunshine readjusted her position so she was just as close as before. Poor Leo—you really should just give up!

He managed another little edge away. ‘We’re going to fry some garlic, grated zucchini, and lemon zest, and then toss that through the pasta with some parsley, mint, and butter. Finally we’ll throw in some feta and prosciutto—again tossed through—with a little lemon juice, salt, and pepper.’

He was—gamely, Sunshine thought—ignoring the fact that she was practically breathing down his neck.

He cleared his throat. Twice. ‘This—’ he was showing her a container ‘—is fresh pasta from Q Brasserie. I thought about making it here, but that might have been too much for a two-minute noodler to cope with.’ He shot her a teeny-tiny smile—more of a glint than a smile, but wowee! Be still my heart, or what?

Sunshine watched as Leo started grating the zucchini with easy, practised efficiency. There was a long scar on his left thumb, and what looked like a healed burn mark close to his right wristbone. Assorted other war wounds. These were not wimpy hands.

And, God, she wanted his sure, capable, scarred hands on her. All over her. It was almost suffocating how much she wanted that.

She kept watching, a little entranced, as Leo set the zucchini to one side, then grated the lemon rind. Next he grabbed some herbs and started tearing with his beautiful strong fingers as he talked...

His voice was deep and kind of gravelly. ‘...into strips,’ Leo said.

Hmm... She had no idea what the start of that sentence had been.

He unwrapped a flat parcel—inside were paper-thin slices of prosciutto—and put it in front of her. ‘Okay?’ he asked.

‘Sure,’ she said, figuring out that she was supposed to chop it, and grabbed a knife.

‘No,’ Leo said, and took the knife away.

Lordy, Lordy. He’d actually touched her.

Sunshine felt every one of the hairs on her arm prickle.

She was staring at him. She knew she was.

He was staring back.

And then he stepped back, cleared his throat again. ‘Tear—like this,’ he said, and demonstrated. Another clear of the throat. ‘You do that and I’ll...I’ll...find the...cheese.’

* * *

She was humming again as she massacred the prosciutto.

And blow him down if it wasn’t a woeful attempt at Natalie’s signature song—the truly hideous ‘Je t’aime-ich liebe-ti amor You Darling’.

He started crushing garlic with the flat of his knife as though his life depended on it.

She was still tearing. And humming. Please tell him she didn’t have the same insane cheesy love song obsession as Natalie. Who was not going to be performing at his brother’s wedding! Once when he’d been mid-thrust, and Natalie had sung a line of that awful song, he’d choked so hard on a laugh he’d given himself a nosebleed; that evening had not ended well.

‘Done,’ Sunshine said, and looked proudly at the ripped meat in front of her.

Leo winced.

‘What do you want me to do next?’ she asked, with that damned glow that seemed to emanate from her pores.

‘Salad,’ he said, sounding as if he’d just announced a massacre.

Which it was likely to be—of the vegetable kind.

‘We’ll keep it simple,’ he said. ‘Give these lettuce leaves a wash.’

Sunshine took the lettuce leaves and ran them under the tap, her glow dimming.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked as he took them from her.

‘Salad. It’s so...vegetarian.’

She looked so disgruntled Leo found himself wanting to laugh again. He swallowed it. ‘It’s just a side dish. And there’s meat in the pasta, remember?’

She wrinkled her nose. Oh-oh. Convoluted argument coming.

‘I’ll do it with a twist,’ he offered quickly. ‘I’ll put some salmon in it, and do a really awesome dressing that doesn’t taste remotely healthy. All right?’

Her nose unwrinkled. ‘Okay, if you go a little heavy on the salmon and a little light on the lettuce.’

He choked. ‘Am I designing that boot for you? No? Then just shut up and see if you can cut these grape tomatoes into quarters. They’re small, so be careful.’

She mumbled something derogatory about tomatoes, but made a swipe with the knife.

‘Quarter—not slice,’ Leo put in.

She nodded, wielded the knife again.

‘And not mash, for God’s sake,’ he begged.