Page 6 of My Best French Wedding

He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

“I figured one of your brides would have told you. Tricks of the trade. Especially with a backless dress.” When he said nothing, Hildy leaned closer, watching him with one brow raised. It felt like playing chicken, to see which of them flinched first.

“What are you doing, Hildy?”

“Waiting for you to run away.”

“That’s funny.” It wasn’t. “I could have sworn you were the one who runs.”

“Ha! I’m not scared of you.”

“Then why are you trembling?” He looked down at the smooth skin of her shoulders, with those whisper-thin straps.

“Rage, most likely.”

Walter draped his jacket around her shoulders, careful not to make contact with her skin. “There. In case it’s coldandrage.”

“I am known for my ability to multitask.”

He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling, offering a wordless, “Mmm.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing.”

He shrugged, keeping his mouth shut. Hildy watched him through narrowed eyes, as if she didn’t trust such easy obedience.

She edged closer. “Too bad you’re not wearing a tie.”

“Why?” Walter pressed a hand to the front of his shirt, suddenly insecure about the dress code.

Hildy wet her lips, maybe on purpose—or maybe she was nervous too. “Because I’d grab it.” She made a fist and held it under his chin. There was a reckless gleam in her eyes, as if she’d just changed the rules of engagement and was daring him to back down. But Walter was many years (and several shots of tequila) past that kind of caution. If she wanted to escalate their game of brinkmanship, he could kick down a few guardrails too.

“And choke me to death?”

She shook her head. “And pull—like a leash. Then you’d always be right where I want you. No running away.”

He lowered his chin, until he was close enough to whisper. “Who’s running?”

Her throat moved as she swallowed. “I promised Corinne I wouldn’t fight with you.”

“We’re not fighting.”

“Yet.”

“It’s your call.” He indicated the imaginary leash. If Walter were honest, he’d admit it had been there since the day they met: an invisible tether pulling him back into her orbit time and again. “Where do you want me, Hildy?”

When she lifted her hands, he figured the odds were fifty-fifty that she was about to shove him away. He held his breath as her fingers came to rest on his shoulders. Hildy’s palms skimmed his collar before traveling up his neck and over his ears until she’d worked her fingernails down to his scalp.

“Who taught you to do this?” she asked, kneading lightly.

“Do what?” How was he supposed to focus when she was touching him? It was like forcing yourself to climb out of a warm bed on a winter morning. He’d keep hitting that snooze button forever.

“This.” She smoothed his hair back from his forehead.

His jacket started to slip off her shoulders, so naturally Walter had to put his arms around her to hold it in place. “You did.”