The Four Groomsmen of the Wedpocalypse

Chapter 1

ONE

Amelia Darcy was ready to crawl out of her skin. Red ants marched through her veins, leaving burning anxiety in their wake. They traveled the length of her body in an unending loop, through every artery, vein, and capillary, around and around and around.

Because he was late.

Huffing in a failed attempt to clear her mounting frustration, Amelia spun on her heels and continued wearing a line through the thin red carpet of the church’s narthex. The single strap of her bridesmaid dress draped strangely over her shoulder. Why had her sister chosen an asymmetrical design? At least with two straps, the feeling would be mirrored on both sides of her body, which would be acceptable. Amelia hadn’t been comfortable since she put the thing on.

She wouldn’t even think about the color; that would only make her anxiety worse. Earlier, when Amelia had slipped on the lilac silk garment and caught sight of herself in the mirror, she’d fully recoiled. Against her pale, desaturated skin and her pale, desaturated hair, the pastel purple shade produced a distinctly corpselike effect. Even her eyes, which she’d always thought were her best feature, looked sunken, their pale gray irises turning dull as worn pewter. The makeup artist had tried to glue false eyelashes on her lids, cheerily claiming they’d brighten her face right up, but then Amelia had twitched and blinked so much the whole endeavor had been aborted. So she still looked like she belonged outside in the church’s graveyard instead of the bridal party, except now with slightly irritated eyelids.

But today was Maggie’s wedding day, and Amelia would wear a sparkly leotard and dance the cha-cha backward if it made her sister happy. It didn’t matter what color her dress was, or how many straps it had, or if that number was one too few.

Wedding planning hadn’t been fun, exactly, but Amelia had thrown herself into it. She’d made phone calls, coordinated vendors, ordered decorations, planned and attended a hellish bachelorette party, helped set up the church and the reception venue, and completed countless other tasks—all in the name of sisterly love. She’d taken her role as Maggie’s maid of honor seriously.

The best man, on the other hand?

Not so much.

He hadn’t shown up to the rehearsal dinner, hadn’t helped with any of the preparations, and now, the only time that actually mattered, he was late. Two more minutes, and she’d lead the bridal progression down the aisle on her own. He could slink in whenever he arrived and watch from the back pew, for all she cared. If he showed up at all.

The strap on her shoulder slipped, so she yanked it back up. Stupid thing.

She’d strangle him when she saw him. Months— months! —of planning, and now the whole wedding hinged on the arrival of some mysterious best man. Nerves morphed into anger, and Amelia wanted to scream. She’d make him sorry for being so late. That was a promise. She’d strangle him with his own tie and enjoy every gruesome second of it.

Her feet stomped as she made another lap. And another. And another. Her teeth gnashed so hard a headache started pulsing near her temples.

A door creaked open behind her. Amelia whirled, only to let her shoulders drop in disappointment.

A dark-haired man poked his head out of the room where the bridal party waited. He lifted a brow. “No sign of him?”

“No.” Her answer was curt. Her lips compressed, as if she could make the missing best man appear by drawing her mouth into a perfectly straight line. It didn’t work.

“All right. I’ll let them know.” Marlon St. James didn’t seem worried about his brother’s tardiness. He certainly didn’t seem surprised. Even the groom hadn’t worried when she’d scurried to the altar to inform him his best man was missing in action.

Emory had given her a little half-smile and said, “He’ll show. He’s flying in this morning, probably hit traffic.”

Amelia didn’t share Emory’s confidence. A scowl etched itself over her brow as she spun around to do another lap. She hadn’t been able to get a straight answer from her sister’s other bridesmaids when she asked about the best man. Sly looks and rolled eyes were the usual response to the mention of his name. Maybe a snort and a wry, “You know how he is.”

But she didn’t know how he was. She’d never laid eyes on the man. All she knew was he was late .

Murmurs swelled in the church as guests grew restless. She’d wait one more minute, and then they’d start without him. She’d apologize to Maggie and Emory afterward, but really, it was?—

Hinges groaned to her left. Amelia turned toward the sound, only to be struck dumb by the vision unfolding before her.

The church’s arched doors split down the middle, letting in golden sunlight through the widening gap. A man stood in the center, a hand on either door, silhouetted by the sun’s honeyed rays. He pushed the doors all the way open to step through them then straightened, standing as tall and proud as a king returning from war. Or maybe a fallen angel, seeking vengeance.

Or a missing best man, finally deigning to make an appearance.

Leo St. James stepped into the church, the sunlight limning the edges of his body in gold while casting the rest of him in black, impenetrable shadow. He looked impossibly large. For no reason at all, Amelia’s heart rattled.

The doors squeaked on their way shut and bit by bit, the best man was revealed to Amelia’s hungry stare.

Because that’s what was growing inside her—hunger. A ravenous ache pulsed in the very heart of her as she saw the strong lines of his face, his heavy-lidded green eyes, his softly masculine lips. There was a sort of disheveled grace to him, a quality that made him seem more than perfect. Like his appearance was a veneer her mortal gaze wasn’t supposed to penetrate, his flaws purposefully chosen to make him seem simply human.

Slowly, sunlight disappeared behind heavy timber doors until a final groan and a click sounded. The best man watched her, a brow quirking at her perusal.

Suddenly she realized she’d been gaping. Her spine snapped straight. “You’re late,” she clipped.

His gaze didn’t leave her face. “Am I?”

“And you’re a mess.”

Leo looked down at himself and seemed surprised to see the state of his clothes. “So I am,” he muttered. “Got changed at the airport.”

Edging dangerously close to mania, Amelia tried to wrangle her fleeing wits. She felt lightheaded and strange. He was very beautiful. But—so what?

He was also late, and that was nearly unforgivable. It was Maggie’s wedding day, and nothing—especially not him —would ruin it. Even if this was “how he was.” Whatever that meant.

Stomping toward Leo, she ignored the incessant thumping of her heart. He looked even worse—better?—up close. Rumpled. Deliciously so.

Before she could divine what they were doing, Amelia’s hands rose to the bow tie hanging undone at Leo’s neck. She couldn’t fasten the bow until the top button of his shirt was clasped, so she clicked her tongue and pulled at his collar. He rocked forward when she yanked the fabric, letting out a short, low grunt.

From the corner of her eyes, Amelia caught the curl of his lips.

Smiling! At a time like this! Strangling him would be too kind. He deserved to be tickled to death. Or stretched out on a medieval rack and submitted to the most horrid water torture imaginable. Or…or…have every one of his long, full eyelashes plucked out.

Her fingers trembled as they dipped near the hollow of his throat to do up the button. Stubble rasped against her knuckles, and a sharp jolt of heat traveled through her middle.

“This is…unexpected,” he said, voice dropping to a low baritone that did interesting things to Amelia’s inner thighs. Amelia’s inner thighs needed to get ahold of themselves. “Are you sure we should be doing this in a church? You haven’t even told me your name.”

Fury was a rocket launching in her chest. Explosions created a cloud of dust and debris in her veins as anger took off inside her, because he didn’t even seem sorry for being unforgivably late. He was flirting , at a time like this! Leo St. James, professional annoyance. Who did he think he was? Showing up at Amelia’s sister’s wedding, looking like a disheveled prince, then joking about it!

The. Nerve .

The man couldn’t even dress himself, and he was trying to be cute with her?

“Oh, please,” she hissed. “Spare me.” She scowled at him, flicking her gaze upward to meet his eyes. It was a mistake. As soon as her gaze clashed with his, she saw the gleam that lived in his emerald-green irises. It promised everything dark and dirty, and Amelia wanted to let herself fall into those promises and never emerge again. Her anger was snuffed out in an instant as a wave of unfamiliar lust took over.

Strange. It wasn’t like her to feel this way about men—not even the pretty ones. Flustered, yes. Anxious, definitely.

Aroused? No way.

Her body’s reaction swung her back to anger, and she gripped the feeling with both fists. She was angry at him for being late. Angry at the bridal party for putting her in this position. Angry at herself for finding him attractive.

Maybe the stress of her sister’s wedding was getting to her. Or it was the lack of sleep over the past six months. Her work had been intense, after all. Starting a business usually was.

A small shake of her head, and her mind felt slightly clearer. Today was her sister’s wedding, and this absolute lump of a pretty boy was threatening to throw the whole thing off-schedule. He needed to get himself together, then she’d hold his arm and walk down the aisle ahead of the rest of the bridal party with a smile plastered on her face. Nothing else mattered.

She tugged the collar to straighten it, then set herself to tying the bow tie. It was the same soft lilac as her dress, but against his tawny skin, the color looked rich and creamy. Of course it did. Her frown deepened, and Amelia used the moment to settle her unstable emotions. She tied the fabric carefully, straightening the corners until a perfect purple bow stared back at her.

All the while, Leo’s gaze pressed like a weight. He stood very still to endure her ministrations, arms at his sides, chin lifted out of the way. But she felt it—the heaviness of his stare. He didn’t have anywhere else to look but at her, she reasoned, but it still made her want to squirm.

It was no surprise that Amelia would feel put out by a beautiful man’s gaze. She wasn’t exactly beating men back these days. She’d been focusing on her career; she hadn’t had time to date. Never mind the fact that being this close to a man made Amelia feel like she had a bird trapped in her chest and noodles for limbs. Best to avoid these sorts of situations altogether. She wasn’t known for being a man-eater. More like a man-evader.

Sipping in a short little breath, she frowned at his vest. It, like the jacket and pants, was a navy so dark it was nearly black. His white shirt bunched awkwardly between his vest and pants. He’d have to re-tuck it.

She pointed at the offending area. “Fix this. It looks like a deflated muffin top,” she blurted—and there was the other reason she hadn’t had much luck with men. Words sometimes fell out of her mouth without warning, and often they weren’t exactly delicate. She’d come to learn that her lack of filter wasn’t an attractive trait. There were many, many data points from failed dates and awkward interactions to prove it.

But Leo didn’t seem bothered. In fact, he leaned ever so slightly closer to her, so she could smell the scent of soap rising from his skin. “I was led to believe that fixing my clothing was your job,” he answered, and for a moment, Amelia felt off-balance. It was the velvet quality of his tone and the way his scent wrapped around her like a drugging cloud. Then she registered the laughter in his voice.

Despite herself, Amelia’s eyes snapped up to his once more. He was mocking her. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Amelia knew it was her temper.

She just wanted this day to go right. For Maggie. For beautiful, kind Maggie with the luminous smile. Her sister deserved this. She’d found Emory, and they’d fallen in love, and now they’d have a perfect wedding day. Amelia would make sure of it.

This was what she did . She identified problems, then parsed the data into something useful. Whether it was a complicated data set for a client, or a wedding venue scheduling for today’s event, or ordering supplies for seventy intricate handmade centerpieces (which included twenty-five hundred and ninety individual components, ordered from four different vendors), Amelia could sort any problem into a tidy, efficient solution.

She’d made sense of the wedding preparations, and now it would all go off without a hitch. No matter what the man before her did or said.

Leo narrowed his eyes, seeing something written on her face. What, she didn’t know. Maybe he could hear the thunder just as clearly as she could. Ozone crackled in the air between them, like that breathless, heavy moment before a strike of lightning.

With a gusted breath, Leo turned, and a belt jingled. Amelia averted her gaze from his broad back, blood rising to her cheeks. It was half humiliating, really, to be blushing at the mere sound of a belt buckle clinking. No wonder men saw her and took off running in the other direction. Middle schoolers had more poise than she did.

Leo spun around and spread his arms, a roguish grin holding up the corners of his lips. “Satisfied?”

Ugh . “Annoyed.”

His smile grew, as did the trembling in Amelia’s thighs.

Leo tugged his jacket sleeves and arranged his cuffs just so. He combed both hands through his hair, and the gently curled light-brown locks fell into the kind of perfect disarray that betrayed an expensive haircut.

Rings glinted on two fingers: the thumb of his right hand, and the index finger of his left. They were simple gold bands that shone in the low light of the room and drew attention to his hands. Beautiful hands for a beautiful man. He lifted his gaze to hers and arched a brow.

“Good enough,” Amelia grumped, even though the more truthful statement would be drop-dead gorgeous or positively edible.

“Do I get to learn your name now?” The gleam was back in his eyes.

Nerves gripped Amelia in a tight fist. Giving him even her name was handing over more power than was wise. A man like Leo St. James would take one look at her and crush her vulnerable heart. She felt the urge to protect herself, but Amelia was a rational being, and she knew it was only her name. He’d learn it eventually. She forced the syllables out. “Amelia.”

“Amelia,” he repeated, like he was sipping fine wine and detecting all kinds of hidden notes in it. Touching a hand to his chest, he said, “Leo.”

“So I’ve heard,” she said, and something undefinable flitted across his expression. His smile widened, but his eyes grew shuttered.

Amelia frowned. Odd.

No time to figure it out. She had a wedding procession to lead, and she wasn’t letting Leo St. James out of her sight for a second until Emory and Maggie were husband and wife. She reached out and grabbed Leo’s wrist, tugging him toward the room where the rest of the bridal party awaited, not trusting him to follow without physical encouragement.

Then he shifted, and his hand slipped against hers. She made to pull away, but he intertwined their fingers before she had the chance to escape.

He was… He was holding her hand .

It was a shock to the system, intimate in a way she hadn’t expected. That broad, warm palm pressed against hers. His long fingers curled and notched between her knuckles. The heat of it. The sheer size of it.

She paused halfway to the side door and stared at their joined hands. His golden tan against her pallid skin looked…wrong. Foreign, somehow.

It made her feel very, very hot.

She was an enigma. A snippy, terse enigma that made Leo want to needle her. He knew she’d hate him holding her hand, so he made sure to grip it firmly. If, in the process, he enjoyed the soft give of her flesh against his calloused palm, well, that was only a happy coincidence.

She’d known about him; surely she was aware of his reputation. A smart woman would run in the other direction, unless she was looking for a hard ride with no promise of anything more. His name was synonymous with casual, no-strings-attached fun.

But her name…

Amelia was a name suited to a soft flower of a woman, someone delicate and girlish. The creature staring at their clasped hands was anything but. She was all angles and frowns and pinched lips. It fascinated him, especially as she hadn’t reacted to his reputation in one of the familiar ways. Women were usually intrigued or disgusted by him—or both. At least until the light of morning broke over the horizon, and then women were usually gone.

Amelia only seemed irritated.

He wanted to push her. Just a little bit.

She stood in front of him, looking down at their hands, her brow wrinkled, and he was caught up in the sight of her. He wanted to smooth the line between her brows with his thumb. Instead, he lifted a finger and drew it across her exposed collarbone. Her skin was soft; it felt so thin over the protruding bone. Tracing the line all the way to her shoulder, he let his fingers memorize her shape. So angular. Hard and delicate all at once.

At his touch, she let out a gusting breath as a little shiver trembled through her body. Her eyes closed, briefly, like she couldn’t help herself.

“What about this?” Leo asked, gratified to see the flush rising up her neck to stain her cheeks. “You can’t criticize my suit when your dress is missing an entire sleeve.”

Her scowl was a thing of beauty. It made him laugh as an unfamiliar feeling shot through him. Bubbly—he felt effervescent at the sight of her glower. He wanted more.

“Come on,” she said in that husky, peeved voice of hers, and she dragged him across the room to a heavy wooden door.

She wasn’t beautiful, exactly. Her face was too pointed and her eyes too wide to be called anything but striking. Still, she captivated. There was something discoverable about her beauty, like it might reveal itself to him bit by bit, given enough time. Tall enough to reach his nose in her three-inch heels, she walked like she had no time to lose, dragging him along by the hand she’d allowed him to continue gripping. Pink gloss shone on her lips, and he wondered how they would taste to lick. He was caught like a fly in her grouchy web, and he had been since he’d opened the doors and seen her standing in a shaft of sunlight. She was so fierce. So… nettled .

Leo wanted to find all the places on her body that would make her soften for him. He was just imagining drawing the zipper of her dress down to the base of her back—wondering if she’d shiver again if he traced his fingertips down her spine—when they reached the door at the side of the church’s anteroom.

She opened it with a violent tug, and he was confronted with a pack of familiar faces.

Suddenly, he remembered who he was. Who she was.

He dropped her hand.

She went still beside him for a short second, then clapped her hands together. “All right. Places, people!”

“Leo.” His brother Marlon nodded as he came to his feet off an uncomfortable-looking, straight-backed chair. Marlon tugged his suit jacket down and ran a hand through his jet-black hair.

“Leo,” Tori said with distinctly more venom. She hooked her arm through Marlon’s and pointed her nose in the air, the same expression she’d worn for him since their two-week tryst in college years before. It bored Leo that she still cared enough to hate him. She’d known what she was getting into when she knocked on his door that first night, and it wasn’t wedding bells and happily-ever-afters.

Tori, Rinn, and Lauren were the three bridesmaids in Maggie and Emory’s party—and they were definitely in the “disgust” camp when it came to Leo. They made it obvious with their sniffs and slitted glances. He’d endured years of this, and in some corner of his mind, he thought he should be insulted, or at least amused. It only bored him. But could he blame them? He’d earned their disgust with his own actions. He didn’t deserve any better.

Still, it was Emory’s wedding day, and rumination wouldn’t help anyone. He did what he always did when faced with the consequences of his reputation and painted a sly grin on his lips. Spreading his arms like a showman at a circus, he pitched his voice in just the right way to get a reaction. “Hello, ladies.”

Three sets of eyes rolled in unison, and the men snorted. Beside him, he felt Amelia’s curious gaze, but, coward that he was, he couldn’t face her. He should never have touched her.

Marlon, looming taller than everyone, gave him an impenetrable stare. Leo’s brother was quiet, and he might see too much. Leo averted his gaze just in case. Behind Marlon, Cormac and Archer attended to their assigned bridesmaids after giving him a slight chin nod in greeting. They wore the same navy suit as Leo. The women were dressed in the same shade of pastel purple, those silky asymmetrical gowns that hugged their chests and flared out at the hips, fluttering down just below the knee.

Tori, Rinn, and Lauren all looked distinctly more comfortable in their dresses than Amelia did, but he still thought she wore it best. He had the impression the dress vexed her, which delighted him. That probably made him an ass. Well—more of an ass than usual.

Behind the group, a vision in white appeared. Maggie’s beautiful face split into a smile at the sight of him. She extended her arms and wrapped him in a hug, brimming with her usual mothering energy. It was one of the things that made Maggie so special. Not only was she a vision, but she was also incredibly kind . In other words, not the type of woman Leo would ever pursue. He’d always known she was too good for him.

“Glad you could make it,” she said, as if he’d ever miss the occasion. Her voice utterly lacked the hot, raspy quality that Amelia’s had. But that made sense—Maggie had no angles and hardness. She was all gentle curves and soft femininity.

She squeezed him again and turned her lips to his ear as she continued, lower, “If you hurt my sister, I’ll lobotomize you with a fireplace poker.”

Ah. So she’d noticed that he’d walked in holding Amelia’s hand. Leo gave her his most dazzling smile as she pulled away to meet his gaze. “Aye aye, Captain.”

Her answering smile was more of a baring of teeth. So, the mother hen had spurs, and after all these years, he was finally discovering how sharp they were. Good for Emory; he needed a woman who could keep him honest.

Mothers and fathers of the bride and groom rounded out the party, and everyone did one final primp before the procession began.

“Here,” that maddeningly raspy voice said from behind his shoulder.

Leo turned to see Amelia holding a single white rose, its stem trimmed short. She motioned to his suit jacket, then met his gaze. Her eyes were liquid mercury. He wanted her desperately.

“Thanks,” he grated as she pinned the rose to his pocket. Her fingers were long and slim, dexterous as she worked the pin’s mechanism. She gave his chest a little pat. Pat, pat . Like she was knocking against his heart with the very tips of her fingers.

Then Amelia curled her fingers into her palm and hesitated only the briefest moment before she took his offered arm.

They had a wedding to celebrate.