1. Chapter One
Chapter One
Ali
“Chris and Nancy sure know how to throw a wedding huh.” Gabby whistles, taking in the incredible decor and features at the Plaza Hotel.
We sit at a large round table, a mixture of our circle of friends and a couple of guys who have been hovering round Gabby and I like a bad smell. Sure, they're cute and will do for a hookup, but weddings always bring out the worst in me. It’s just another occasion to solidify that I never want to marry. I will never give myself to someone wholeheartedly.
I have watched too many marriages fall apart and people get hurt and never recover. However, the only exception to this would be Jack and Ria. Looking at the way they stare at each other would make the blackest of hearts turn red and beat. But lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place. No, I am fine just being me.
Ria has been to hell and back though; she hasn't waded the storm completely. I can say with certainty, she and Jack will weather it together now. I am taken away from my thoughts by a hand caressing my bare shoulders. I turn and it's one of the guys who’s been talking to us.
He's hot. Blonde hair, chiseled jaw, and from the cut of his suit and the Rolex on his wrist, he’s rich, so he’s ticking every box for a possible hookup.
I turn and smile, sensing his need for my attention.
“Did you want some more wine?” he asks, giving a megawatt smile that would be worthy of a toothpaste advert.
“I'd love some… Thank you.”
Damn, his name has left my head.
Our meals are served, and we fall into comfortable conversation. He tells me he works in the stock market and is flying out to Dubai next week and if I was free, I was welcome to join him.
Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, Mr. Wall Street. I can’t even remember your name.
“Paxton, I've got Dan on the phone, says it's urgent,” the guy who sits next to Gabby says.
“Please excuse me,” the man, apparently named Paxton says, getting up. I nod, taking a sip of my wine.
I watch as he walks away with his friend and heads towards the main doors.
“Oh my god, how fucking hot is Paxton,” I squeal, biting down on my lip.
I hear an annoying scoff come from the man next to me who I have tried to ignore with all my might. Thanks to Nancy’s great party planning, she sat everyone in boy-girl order like we are in kindergarten, and I`ve been sat next to none other than Harry fucking Walker. The bane of my existence.
If I am being completely honest, the man may be one of the hottest guys I have ever met. Six foot four, if I was guessing. Dark hair, blue eyes, the perfect amount of stubble, strong jaw, and a smile that would have most girls dropping their panties in seconds. But for some reason, he gets under my skin and not in a good way.
“Is there a problem?” I turn, looking at him with as little emotion as possible.
“What kind of a name is Paxton? It sounds like the name of a fucking wardrobe from IKEA,” he grumbles.
Gabby laughs, choking on her drink, and Brad starts patting her on the back. I turn, glaring at Ria after the most unladylike snort just escaped her.
“Sorry, but he’s not wrong,” she laughs.
“And how long did it take you to come up with that remark?” I challenge him.
He takes a sip of his Champagne, looking at me for a beat longer than necessary. “You know you sound better and look so much hotter when your mouth’s closed,” Harry quips back.
“I’d agree with you but then we’d both be wrong, wouldn't we?” I say quickly.
“You know what, you are the walking version of a migraine,” he retorts.
“Well, pop some aspirin baby because it’s about to get painful,” I bite, draining the last of my drink.
“Please save your breath, you'll probably need it to blow up your next date, or ‘Paxton’.”
“I don't know what your problem is, but I’m guessing it’s hard for you to pronounce,” I bite back.
God, he infuriates me.
“Remember that time I said I liked you?... I lied,” Harry says, staring at me dead in the eyes.
I press my hand to my chest to stress my outrage. “What, are you saying you don't like me?” I say dramatically. “Please give me a few moments whilst I recover from this tragedy.” I roll my eyes.
“Fuck me, you are…” he grumbles before throwing back the remainder of his drink.
“You know, as tempting as that is, I don’t know where that little dick of yours has been, so I—”
“Right, that’s it you two, enough,” Ria shouts, startling us all, but her shout is instantly followed by a drunken giggle.
“You two are like a pair of children. Don't make me put you in a time-out in your rooms.”
Harry and I both turn away from each other, reaching at the same time for the bottle of champagne. Like the gentleman he clearly isn't, he snatches the bottle and drains it into his glass, giving me the most sarcastic smile as he places the empty bottle back in the champagne bucket.
I scowl.
“Now then, this is a wedding. It’s full of love and happiness and I love this song, so we are going to dance and you two are going to kiss and make up. Come on,” Ria demands, slightly slurring her words. She takes Jack’s hand and pulls him out of his seat towards the dance floor, a little unsteady on her feet, but Jack is there, always ready to catch her in case she falls.
Nothing warms my heart more than seeing her or Gabby happy. But I’ve already accepted that this kind of love isn't on the cards for me and I’m okay with that.
Harry rises from his chair, fastening the button on his tux jacket. “Come on then, let's get this dance over with before Momma Maria comes back and bashes our heads together for not doing as we’re told.”
“Well, since you asked so nicely, how can I refuse?” I deadpan.
He takes my hand like I'm a petulant child and all but drags me onto the dance floor.
L-O-V-E by Joss stone is being sung by the woman in the band.
Fabulous, had to be this song.
Harry keeps a tight hold of my hand, squeezing it so hard I wonder if he is actively trying to break my fingers or if he fears I will do a runner. Both likely possibilities. He tugs me into his body, placing a hand at the base of my back, and I drape a reluctant arm around his neck. We start to sway to the music, and his grip tightens around my fingers.
“Wanna ease up on the grip there Lennie, I'd like the use of my fingers after this dance, thank you.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles, releasing his tight hold, but never letting go of my hand.
“Was that an apology?” I lean in, whispering into his ear.
He doesn’t reply, instead pulling me closer. My breasts press up against his firm chest and I have no doubt that under that well-fitted tux is a mass of perfectly sculpted muscles. Harry may get on my nerves, but I’m not blind. He would usually be my type, but I can't pinpoint why he gets under my skin the way he does.
His breath dances across my skin as he leans in, his lips grazing the top of my ear. Goosebumps scatter across my skin as my breathing hitches.
“Sure was. I’m a big enough man to know when I need to admit I'm wrong,” he purrs softly.
That's a normal statement to make, but my thoughts go straight to the size of his dick.
You're just horny, maybe you need to screw Paxton.
We don't speak for the rest of the song. We move around the dance floor, or rather, Harry glides us around.
Damn, the man can move.
I sink into his touch and his cheek rests on top of my head as my face presses against his chest. We sway to the slow, sensual sounds of the band as the lighting dims and sparkles cascade across the dance floor.
The song now playing sounds like an Elvis track, but I am too lost in Harry's touch and his spice-scented cologne to really take notice.
His hand drifts up my back, stroking my exposed skin. Every stroke of his fingertips ignites a fire in my belly. I let out a slow breath and an unfamiliar feeling washes over me. I can't put my finger on it. My eyes flutter shut as I let myself get lost in the music and his touch.
The song ends abruptly, and the band’s singer announces that it’s nearly time to cut the cake. I let go of Harry's hand as if he were burning my skin and step back. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I avoid his gaze. He clears his throat and I glance up, not liking the expression on his face. His brows are furrowed as if he's trying to work out what that was happening between us just then, the same way I am.
Anxiously smoothing out my dress with my hands, I say, “Well, thanks for the dance. Punishment is over.” I stride past him, heading for the bar at the side of the room, needing something to numb this feeling that's bubbling inside me. I don't have time, nor do I want to think about what that moment meant.