Amber's Wedding

The bed looked welcoming. But, strangely, so did he. Her urge to throw herself into his arms was rather unnerving. ‘I think I’d better keep going,’ she said thinly. ‘I’ll spend a little time with our guests and then perhaps we can leave.’ She took a few unwilling steps towards the door.

‘Wait a minute. You can’t go like that,’ Jake said in a kindly tone. ‘Your veil is crooked and you look very wan with no make-up on your face.’

‘Oh!’ Amber heaved a sigh. ‘I am a bit of a mess. I forgot. Thanks.’

‘You’re not a mess. You’re very beautiful. Rather fragile and ethereal,’ he said quietly.

She blinked in surprise, at a loss for an answer. Nervously she picked up her skirts, rustling her way to the dressing table, and sat down to make the adjustments. Her hands were stiff and awkward and she couldn’t make them do what she wanted them to.

While she fumbled in her make-up bag for a lipstick, her attention kept straying to Jake, who was reflected in the mirror. The warm slide of his encouraging smile made her drop the lipstick on the floor. She bent down for it and knew the minute it was in her shaking hands that she’d never be able to use it. She’d end up looking like a clown.

‘Try the powder,’ he suggested.

‘I was going to.’ Hastily she dabbed at her face with a sable brush. ‘Look, I’m edgy. Do you have to watch?’ she muttered, uncomfortable with his intense scrutiny.

‘I think I ought to stay with you,’ he replied.

His voice had deepened to a husky growl that reached all the way down to her wriggling toes and all the way up again, doing odd things to her body on the way.

She slammed the powder-compact down. ‘It’s no good! I can’t face the guests,’ she said in dismay, dreading the thought of having to pretend to flirt with Jake.

‘Yes, you can,’ he said firmly. ‘Like some help with your lipstick?’ he offered.

She froze. He took two strides towards her. She felt her heart soar to the roof of her mouth, and before she could drag it back down again he’d dropped to his haunches in front of her, picked up the lip pencil she’d been agitatedly fiddling with and was holding her chin firmly between his finger and thumb.

‘I’m quite good at this,’ he said reassuringly.

‘Not as good as me!’ she squeaked.

He smiled in amused disagreement. ‘Have you seen your hands? Hold still.’

The velvety whisper kept her paralysed in the chair. Jake slowly brought the pencil towards her mouth. Amber held her breath and watched the lazy flutter of his incredibly long eyelashes as they lowered almost to the sword-blade cheekbones. His concentration was spellbinding and she was its prisoner, captured by the sensual beauty of his face.

Quite irrationally afraid, she let the pencil softly shape the full curves of her mouth. It felt deeply erotic, having Jake do that for her, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, didn’t dare to speak. Because she knew that she’d croak like a frog and he’d misinterpret her confusion.

‘Open,’ he coaxed, smiling charmingly.

Her lips had parted for him before she could stop them. She closed her eyes to shut out his handsome face. It was too sexy, too dangerous and too near. The faint drift of his breath lifted all the tiny hairs around her mouth. Next she felt the stroke of the creamy lipstick around the high arch of her mouth and then it was gliding over her full lower lip very, very slowly. Too slowly.

And then it stopped. Jake’s breathing rasped louder. Somehow she forced her eyes open. He was looking at her as though transfixed.

So quickly did he jump to his feet that she jerked her head around to check her reflection in the mirror and see what had startled him. Two hot spots of colour burned on her cheeks. Her mouth seemed to be pouting an indolent invitation. She peered closer. Was that because of the way he’d painted it? Or had her apparent allure startled him?

‘Here.’ Apparently quite detached, Jake passed her a tissue to blot her lips. ‘Anything else you want me to adjust?’ he asked lightly. ‘Corsets, false leg, suspenders?’

‘I can manage!’ she said, hastily fixing her hair, lifting her arms in a graceful arc.

‘Ready for our dance, then?’ he murmured.

Somehow she managed to smile, her lips a bright splash of colour in her white face. But she gazed in growing consternation at his compelling face with its wickedly expressive mouth and come-to-bed eyes. No, she couldn’t dance with him, let alone look as if she’d die for him. Nor did she want to go back to the cottage with him. Caught between a rock and a hard place...

To her dismay she began to cry.

‘Oh, darn it!’ she mumbled furiously.

‘You’re in an emotional mess, aren’t you? I thought this might happen,’ Jake said sympathetically. He lifted her hand from where it clutched the dressing table and watched it trembling limply, dwarfed by his large palm. She hoped that he hadn’t seen how white her knuckles were. ‘You’re exhausted,’ he said with a frown. ‘I think you ought to call it a day. You’ve got a lot ahead of you yet.’

Amber scowled at the ominous prediction. ‘You’d be exhausted,’ she said sulkily, ‘if you’d been fighting off nausea for the last few hours.’

Abandoning her hand, he came to stand behind her and lightly rested his fingers on her tense shoulders. Amber gritted her teeth because she wanted to risk throwing her arms around him. Their eyes met in the mirror and she watched his frown deepen.