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Jillian laughed and the tension broke. “I appreciate that. I was worried about getting lost.”
“And me, with no GPS.”
She laid her hand on his sleeve. “I have faith in your sense of direction.”
“Outstanding wedding,” he said as they began to walk back up the aisle.
“It was.” Particularly this part, with his arm strong and steady under her fingers, their steps falling in sync.
“Outstanding bridesmaids, too,” Gil added. “Especially the first one that came down the aisle. The color of that dress does very nice things for you.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“And you do even nicer things for the dress.”
“Are you trying to make me blush?” Jillian asked as they passed the rows of people.
He grinned. “Is it working?”
“You’re dangerous,” she told him.
“Me? I’m harmless.”
“Oh, no. I don’t think you can be trusted for a minute.”
“I can be trusted for lots of things,” he countered as they reached the top of the aisle.
“Like what?”
His lips twitched as they reached the top of the aisle. “Let’s get somewhere a little more private and I’d be happy to demonstrate.”
“Oh, too bad we’ve got to go to the reception,” Jillian said lightly. “I guess it’ll have to wait.” She was flirting, she realized in giddy wonder.
“I can be a pretty patient guy when I need to be,” Gil returned.
And they walked through the front doors of the church into blazing sunlight and the pealing of the church’s carillon.
The reception was at a lovely courtyard restaurant on the river. The June afternoon was mild enough to make it enjoyable, and if there was any flaw to it, it was that Jillian had been seated on the opposite side of the head table from Gil. That simmering sense of expectation still bubbled, even as she worked her way through appetizer and salad, soup and main course, making polite conversation with her companions, waiting for the moment she’d be free to talk with him again.
Because she had to admit it, she wanted to. She wanted to talk with him, to laugh with him, to hear his voice, to feel that little shiver in her stomach when she looked into his eyes.
When Lisa and Alan took the floor for their first dance, Jillian applauded with the rest, but mostly she was trying to manage the rush of anticipation and excitement and nerves. Because something had been set in motion. She had no better way to think about it than that. Something had changed from the night before—or maybe she had changed—and she had no idea what came next.
Except that she wanted more.
“All right, let’s have the wedding party out on the floor for their dance,” the band’s lead singer said.
Jillian stood at the edge of the dance floor. For once in her life, she wasn’t feeling tentative or uneasy or at loose ends. He’d come find her, she knew he would.
And then she turned and he was there.
“I think this is my dance,” he said, offering her his hand.
Jillian stepped forward into his arms. The black fabric of his tux felt soft under her fingertips. She concentrated on that because it was safer than thinking about the way heat bloomed through her from his open hand pressed against her back, because that had her wondering just how that hand would feel smoothing over her skin. She shivered.
“Cold?” Gil murmured.
Jillian shook her head. How could she be, when she could feel the heat of his body just inches from hers? And even without that, there was the unsettling slide of his palm over hers, the disconcerting intimacy of having his mouth right at eye level, that delectable mouth that she found herself staring at even as she watched the corners of it turn up.
She raised her chin and found herself looking into his amused eyes.
“How am I doing?” he asked.
“Arthur Murray would be proud.”
“Wait until I trot out my really smooth moves,” he said.
“Is the world ready for that?”
“Come on, live life on the edge.”
“How do you know I don’t already?” she challenged. “I might be a daredevil.”
“Running with scissors? Mixing whites with colors?”
“Skydiving,” she countered. “Hang gliding. Bungee jumping.”
“Bungee jumping?”
“Bungee jumping,” she said triumphantly.
“Then this ought to feel familiar.”
And before she knew what he was about, he’d tightened his hand at her waist and bent her backward into a deep dip.
A chorus of whoops erupted from the crowd around the dance floor. Jillian’s heart hammered madly. He was bent over her, against her, pressing her tightly to him. And for a breathless, whirling instant, his mouth was almost touching hers.
Then he was standing her up again and bowing to the sounds of applause.
The edge, Jillian thought breathlessly, was getting closer by the moment.
The reception was over and the evening sky darkened to velvet black as Jillian and Gil walked out to the parking lot together. It was the first time she could remember that she’d danced until her feet ached. Now, she dangled her shoes from one hand and walked barefoot over the smooth pavement.
“So let me know if you want to go on tour with our dance-and-dip act,” Gil told her.
“I’ll have to take a look at my bungee jumping schedule,” she said, stopping beside her car.
“You do that.”
“Keep your smooth moves dusted off.”
“Always do. You never know when you might need them.” He studied her mouth. “You know, just because the wedding’s over doesn’t mean we have to go home. You want to go somewhere, get a drink?”
The idea appealed and alarmed. Taking a chance on him suddenly seemed like a far greater risk than merely jumping off a high platform. Yet the sense of anticipation that she’d felt all day suddenly intensified. “I’d like to but I’m meeting my brother and his family for breakfast early tomorrow.”
“Lucky brother. Maybe some other time, then.”
She swallowed. “I’d like that.”
“Yeah?” His eyes locked on hers. “So would I. Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll call you?”
She patted her small, beaded evening bag. “I don’t have a pen or anything. Do you have something to write on?”
He shook his head. “Say it. I’ll remember.”
“You have a photographic memory?”
“For the important things.” He reached out to trace his fingertips along her jaw.
Adrenaline surged through her. Her entire body, every nerve, every sense was immediately focused on that one place that his fingers touched. Warm, as they traced over her skin, just rough enough to give her gooseflesh. Her lips parted, seeking air.
“So tell me.” Gil leaned in closer.
“Tell you?” she said blankly.
“Your number. You tell me and I’ll repeat it.”
Jillian moistened her lips. “Two, two, five.”
“Two, two, five.” His gaze was hypnotic, overwhelming.
“Nine, three,” she managed. Her heart thudded in her chest.
“Nine, three,” he echoed.
Jillian hardly noticed when his arms slipped around her. “Two, one,” she whispered. She could feel herself trembling. She caught a breath and found herself inhaling his air.
“Two, one,” he murmured, his lips almost touching hers.
And then he kissed her.
Jillian had been kissed before. She knew what it was like to have a man’s mouth on hers. It had never been anything like this. It had never set her entire body humming with pleasure. It had never made her forget everything around her, exist only for the mindless wonder of mouth on mouth.
Warm and wonderful and wicked, the kiss flowed through her with the delicious decadence of the most sinful dessert she could imagine. His mouth was softer than she’d expected, and clever, so clever, touching, tasting, tempting her lips to part. Her head fell back, her eyes fluttered shut and she clutched at his shoulders to keep her balance as his taste overwhelmed her.
She’d imagined how it would be with him, how his mouth would feel on hers. But nothing had prepared her for the overwhelming immediacy, for the tempting slide of tongue that had her knees weakening as desire flowed through her like some intoxicating drug that only had her wanting more. When she made a small, involuntary noise, she felt Gil’s mouth curve against hers. His arms tightened around her, she could feel his body harden.
It exhilarated.
And it terrified. Without warning, her throat began to tighten up. Suddenly, she felt the old familiar panic, the one that had always dogged her, beginning to stir. Before she could protest, though, Gil released her. And then he was just smiling down at her and the panic was receding.
“Two, two, five, nine, three, two, one,” he repeated and leaned in to kiss the tip of her nose. “I’ll call you.”
“If you get any more pregnant, Eric’s going to have to rent a moving van to get you to the hospital,” Jillian said to her sister-in-law, Jenny Logan, as they sat out on the back deck of the couple’s house.
“Don’t I know it. These Logan men are healthy individuals.” Jenny leaned back on her chaise and rubbed one hand over her belly. “Why wasn’t I smart enough to be attracted to a short man?”
“She keeps staring at me like it’s my fault,” Eric complained.
“Well, you were a part of the proceedings,” Jenny pointed out.
“I had cooperation,” he said. “Some very enthusiastic cooperation, as I recall.”
“Too much information, guys,” Jillian put in.
“Cole, you come away from that fence,” Jenny directed her six-year-old adopted son.
Eric took two quick steps and hoisted the boy into the air before the rottweiler on the other side of the fence bounded up, barking. “Living life on the edge, my man.”
“I can walk,” Cole argued, squirming.
“No way,” Eric said, tucking the boy under his arm as if he was a newspaper and tickling him until Cole giggled delightedly.
“So how was your wedding last night?” Jenny asked, a contented smile on her face. “Another dress for the horror museum?”
“No. Beautiful dress. Beautiful wedding. And…”
And a stupefyingly wonderful, all-time champion kiss.
Jenny gave her an interested look. “And?” she prompted.
“Nothing.” Jillian flushed.
Eric was moving Cole through the air like Superman. “Look at Auntie Jillian turn tomato-red,” he said.
“Tomato-red,” Cole echoed gleefully.
“Nothing, eh?” Jenny observed. “I don’t suppose this nothing happened to be a wedding guest, did he?”
“I think I hear the timer going off on the pastries,” Jillian interrupted, hopping up.
“I’ll help.” Eric followed her into the house.
“You’re going to have to answer my question sooner or later,” Jenny called through the kitchen window.
Jillian pulled out the tray of bakery brioche and muffins she’d set to warm in the oven. “I can’t hear you.”
“You might as well give in,” Eric advised as he poured coffee from the press pot into three mugs. “She’s an expert at cross-examination.”
