Page 122 of The Unwilling Bride
Briar tightens her hold on me. "You okay?" she whispers.
I have enough presence of mind to nod. But my gaze is fixed on James.
He’s watching me.
Not in a polite way.
Not even casually.
But with such intensity that the rest of the room seems to disappear. All I can see is him. He’s wearing a dark suit which his broad shoulders fill out easily. His pants emphasize his powerful thighs, and the blue tie brings out the color of his eyes. With his combed back hair and freshly shaved jaw, he is devastating. The devil incarnate. The Ice Commander who could freeze everything in sight. Only my insides are melting. My stomach is trembling. My heart feels like a hummingbird caught in a cage.
Freya reaches the front first and dumps the last of her rosebuds with dramatic finality before stepping aside.
When I reach James, Briar squeezes my hand and releases it.
I step up to stand close to him. I can’t resist another sideways glance. Up close, he looks formidable. And slightly stunned.
Damn, I’m enjoying that look. He hasn't taken his gaze off me. Not once.
The faint aroma of his dark male scent reaches me immediately. It’s familiar, infuriatingly comforting, and very arousing. A stutter of heat tightens my lower belly. I let it flow through me, warming me further, feeling very secure in my femininity.
I face forward. For a second, neither of us speaks.
Then his hand finds mine.
My breath catches.
His fingers close around mine with a firmness that feels almost protective.
The emerald ring presses lightly against my skin as our hands settle together.
His thumb brushes the side of my hand. His touch is possessive. Confident in a way that turns that heat in my belly into sparks of electric delight. I move my thighs gently, trying to squeeze that hunger which has erupted in my core.
As if he senses it, he squeezes my hand firmly. His touch bleeds into my skin, warms my blood, and calms me. It also sends another ripple of awareness through me.
I glance up.
His expression is controlled again. Composed.
As if that small moment never happened.
The registrar begins speaking.
Words about commitment. Partnership. The legal solemnity of the ceremony.
I hear them but they float around the edges of my awareness. Because James’ hand is still holding mine. And because I can feel the faint warmth of his thumb where it rests against my skin.
“James Hamilton.” The registrar’s voice cuts cleanly through the room.
“Do you take Harper Richie to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
My pulse jumps.
James doesn’t hesitate.
“I do.”
The words land in the room with quiet certainty.
