Chapter 1 #2
I knew I looked good. My hair was gathered at the nape of my neck, my face framed with perfectly imperfect tendrils.
My makeup was as expertly applied as usual.
It was fate’s cruelest prank that men found me beautiful and interesting and attractive until they got to know me.
Still, I had expected my groom to be pleased at the sight of me.
At least until I opened my mouth. So as Gideon’s eyes snapped back up to mine and flared, his lips flattening in displeasure, I was more than a little insulted.
The devil on my shoulder whispered, Wouldn’t it feel so good to make him pay for that reaction?
Unfortunately, the devil on my shoulder was only in charge of my impulses and not the reality of the world around me.
So when I gritted my teeth and put one foot forward, the shiny red bottoms of my shoes connected with the velvety red petals sprinkled all along the aisle.
I was so focused on returning Gideon’s glare that I didn’t notice until my beautiful satiny shoe slipped out from under me.
A startled yelp fell from my lips as I tried to overcorrect, stumbled sideways, and stomped the bottom of my other shoe on another flower petal.
I was flexible, so I didn’t injure myself when my legs did their best to split apart, but I sure as hell didn’t look very graceful doing it.
I jarred my tailbone on the hard tile floor as I finally landed, and the bouquet in my hands went flying a fair bit earlier than it was supposed to.
The comb holding my embroidered veil in place bit into the back of my head as I whacked it on the floor, and little twittering birds started circling my head.
What the hell. What the hell!
Gasps filled the space as the organ played a discordant chord and stopped.
Silence pulsed in the seconds that followed, alive and malevolent.
I looked up at the big iron chandelier from my spot on the floor, wondering if this was an omen.
A bad one. Another bad one, if you counted the groom’s reaction to my arrival and the general air of decrepitude that hovered over the town.
Then Gideon was there, looming over me, huge and broad and unhappy.
His presence tore out what little breath was left in me.
Hard, pale blue eyes scanned me from head to toe, and his jaw clenched a little bit harder.
He sure knew how to make a woman feel terrible on her wedding day.
The scarred side of his neck was tight and shiny, with some odd lumps here and there.
Burn scars, I guessed, before shifting my gaze back to the eyes raking over me.
He’d noticed me notice his wounds, and his cheek twitched as he ground his jaw.
I gulped. For once, I was speechless.
“You think it’s a sign?” he asked, echoing my thoughts from earlier, voice low and rough, gaze flicking down my body once more.
Heat flared where he looked. When I spoke my voice was hoarse. “A sign of what?”
“Maybe we should pull the plug before it gets any worse.”
“You sound a little too hopeful for my liking.”
“You hit your head pretty hard there,” he noted conversationally, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt as he finally stopped staring. “Maybe you’re not thinking straight.”
“I’m getting the impression that you don’t want to marry me.” I narrowed my eyes at him as I pushed myself up to my elbows.
He glanced over again, following the movement of my body with hostile eyes. His smile was cold. “Just trying to save you from making a mistake.”
“How altruistic of you. Forgive me for not quite buying it.” I made a show of looking around. “Someone got a gun to your head, or something?”
Gideon didn’t laugh. His eyes returned to mine. A resigned sort of grimness settled over his expression. “You want this.”
“You don’t.” It wasn’t a question.
His eyes skated over my curves again, a sharp, hungry movement, until he tore his gaze away and grimaced at himself. Like he hated that he’d checked me out.
And wasn’t I just a conceited little egomaniac for thinking he was interested in me at all?
Familiar shame and mortification simmered in my gut, burning up the back of my throat. Even a man who was supposedly algorithmically perfect for me didn’t want me. That was just great. But I’d come this far. I would be married by the end of the day. And no one—not even the groom—could stop me.
Yes, that was a ridiculous thought. If I’d been thinking clearly, I might’ve reconsidered.
What kind of foundation was this for a marriage?
At what point over the past six months had my brain actually leaked out of my ears, and why hadn’t I noticed the lumps of gray matter on my pillow every morning?
What the actual hell was I doing here? Living with Mom and Dad again wouldn’t be that bad, surely.
As long as I didn’t care about feeling good about myself, or anything.
But it would be bad. Like, really bad. Existential bad. Slow, suffocating death bad.
Gideon Mars was the better option every day of the week, even if he hated my guts. Besides, I wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. So instead of calling it quits, I straightened my arms and wiggled my fingers at my soon-to-be husband. “Help me up,” I commanded.
Gideon let out a quiet sigh, then wrapped his big hands around mine and pulled me to my feet.
I teetered slightly, catching myself against his chest, and inhaled the complicated, spicy scent of him.
Thoughts scattered from my addled mind. His hand landed on my waist, warm through the layers of silk dress and nylon shapewear.
I tilted my head up, startled at how good it felt to be this close to him.
Caught in the intensity of his cold, blue gaze.
Struck by the fact that despite his scars—or maybe because of them—Gideon was an exceedingly handsome man.
His jaw was emphasized by neatly trimmed stubble.
His inky hair curled enough to look unruly, and the dark slashes of his eyebrows made his eyes all the more striking.
He was muscular. I could feel the shift of his bulk under my palms, the strength that lurked beneath the suit jacket.
His grip tightened slightly on my waist, maybe to steady me.
Or maybe it was unconscious, and Gideon just liked the way it felt to have his hands on me, the way I liked having my hands on him.
His thumb pressed into my rib, a couple of inches below my breast. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.
His throat bobbed on a swallow. The scant few inches of air between us turned electric.
Little shocks jolted through me, every atom of my being focused on the warmth of his hand against my side and the feel of his chest beneath my hands.
Gideon’s eyes dropped to my lips. I licked them before I could stop myself, and his chest rose with a quick, silent inhalation.
My fingertips curled slightly, nails pressing against his lapels.
His thumb moved an inch. A millimeter. It barely qualified as a stroke, but the touch sent a blast of heat scorching through me.
Under the dress and the shapewear, my panties grew damp.
My thighs trembled and clenched, but not because they wanted to run away.
They trembled because they wanted to spread in desperate need.
And that’s when I remembered that I’d told an itty bitty lie on the application. A lie that had seemed inconsequential at the time. Something that I had thought would work out to my advantage in this marriage, and I was now realizing was actually a Very Big Problem.
Because my body was on fire, especially the spot where Gideon’s hand still gripped my waist. My pulse had begun to throb—in my fingertips and my throat and my cunt.
The worst had happened. A disaster of unrivaled proportions.
I was very, very attracted to my soon-to-be husband.
GIDEON
She was the kind of perfect that turned heads. From the moment I’d seen her at the end of the aisle, I hadn’t been able to take a full breath. I wanted to kiss her. Claim her. Possess her.
None of that could happen. I wrenched my eyes off her indecent, tempting lips. She would run, just like the rest of them. I wouldn’t let her take a piece of my heart when she did.