Summer Fuck, fuckity, fuck. The floor comes up to meet me. This is it; I am going to fall and ruin every bit of impact I’ve created so far. Gonna make a fool of myself after all that effort I went to, to appear sexy and alluring. So damn clumsy. How could you do this, Summer? I squeeze my eyes shut, wait for the inevitable collision with the floor. A hard band fastens around my waist and I am tugged against a very hard, broad expanse of what seems to be pure, unforgiving, muscle. No, no, no. I hold onto the bouquet of flowers. Then scent of bergamot and expensive leather fills my senses. "You need to look where you are going." His warm breath sears my cheek. The hair on my forearms stands on end. "Open your eyes, Bird." I shake my head. "You can’t postpone it forever. You may as well acc ept your fate." Never. I’ll fight this... this thing between us, no matter that the attraction thrums at the edges of my nerves. All of my brain cells seem to have turned into mush. My knees tremble. His hold on my waist tightens. I peer up and my gaze collides with his. Silver flecks flare de ep in those indigo eyes. "You need to be careful about what you decide to take on." I tremble and he straightens me. I try to pull away. His grip on my chin tightens. He peers into my eyes, the intensity almost a physical caress. My thighs clench. Damn him and this overwhelming physical response I always have to him. I straighten my spine, hold his attention. Will not look away. Will not. One side of his lips curls. He tilts his head. In acknowledgement? An acc eptance of the battle lines that I have drawn? Why am I intent on making this difficult for the two of us? Why can’t I fall in line with whatever he has in his mind, toe the line, and then walk away unharmed? Because that is never going to happen. If I give in to him, he'll only want more. The only way to come out of this in one piece is to hold my own. To dig in my heels and show him that he can’t take me for granted. If that means I have to resort to grandstanding, then so be it. "I know exactly what I am taking on." I jut out my chin. "Oh?" I tilt my head back, not breaking our connection. "Question is, do you?" His nostrils flare; the skin around his eyes tightens. A cloud of heat spools off of his body and slams into my chest. I gasp. The weight of his dominance seems to intensify, pinning me in place. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t turn away from the heavy weight of his presence which seems to coil around me, squeezing my hips, my thighs. I gulp. A bead of sweat slides down between my breasts and his gaze darts down, then swivels up to my face. His lips curl in that infernal smirk. All of my nerve-endings seem to flare at once. Damn the man.
"Typically, you’d kiss the bride after the wedding, but perhaps you want to do the honors now?" A voice cuts through the tension between us. I stiffen. He leans in closer, drops his head until our eyelashes tangle. I part my lips. Do it. Please. My breath catches. Sinclair lets go of me so suddenly that I stumble, then right myself. Jerk. I clutch the stems of my flowers with such force that my nails bite through the tender stems and into the palms of my hands. Why did I think this day would be any different from the other times we’ve spent together, eh? He turns to face the minister. "I can wait." A hot feeling stabs inside my chest. I didn’t want him to kiss me anyway. So why is there a heaviness behind my eyes? I raise my head, stare forward. The minister’s lips move. I don’t hear what he’s saying. I stare past him at the wall at the far side of the property— the water rippling down the surface, the birds that fly off a tree to the side, taking with them, the last of my composure. My lips tremble. Damn the man. "Sinclair Amadeus Sterling, do you take Summer Cora West as your lawfully wedded wife?" "I do." I hear the words as if from far away. Above me, the wind picks up. A gust blows past me and I stagger. I can’t do this. I can’t. The world swims around me. The minister’s face fades in and out in front of my eyes. I. Can’t. A wide palm grips my fingers, coaxes me to loosen my grip. I watch as the bouquet slips from my fingers. He catches it midair, hands it to someone next to me. Sinclair tugs at my arm and I turn to face him. Indigo eyes fill my vision. Turquoise and cerulean and so many shades of cyan that they seem to reflect the skies overhead. "Summer Cora West, do you take Sinclair Amadeus Sterling as your lawfully wedded husband to love, respect and to obey?" I blink. Obey? Of course, he’d highlight that, huh? His gaze intensifies. Those dark pupils seem to swe ep away all barriers and tear right into my soul. He can see me naked. All of my fears and hopes and aspirations—he owns all of them. I’ve been his from the moment I set eyes on him. When he’d commanded me, the bartender, that I’d had enough. When he’d sw ept into my life with the force of a hurricane swe eping aside all protests. I never stood a chance. I’d added my yes to his every command. And yet I am here, standing in front of him, trying to make a last stand. A ball of emotion plugs my throat. I try to draw in a breath and my lungs burn. I shake my head. Open my mouth. His glare de epens. Then he drops his head and closes his mouth over mine. He thrusts his tongue between my lips, draws on any remaining air I had left. He sucks from me, drinks from me, buries his teeth into my lower lip with such force that I taste blood. Pain swe eps down my spine. My thighs spasm. All thoughts drain from my mind. A silence r eplaces the screaming echoes in my head. He softens the kiss, swipes his tongue across my lower lip. Once, twice. A trembling springs to life, low in my womb. A moan bleeds from my mouth and he swallows it up. His entire body seems to shudder. Nah, must be my imagination. The next second he pulls away. Searches my features. He must have found what he was looking for, for he nods.
"Ask her again." He addresses the priest without taking his eyes off of me. "Sin..." the priest’s voice has an edge of something hard to it. "Do it." He growls. Silence for another beat, then the priest asks the question. Sinclair doesn’t break the connection between us. He rubs his thumb over my wrist, a gentle circle that leaves a trail of sparks in his wake. I gulp. "Summer?" The priest’s voice coaxes me. Sweat beads my palms. "I do." My heartbeat ratchets up. My guts churn. A gust of wind blows my hair about my face and I shiver. He pushes the strands of hair away from my temples. "You did well, Bird." His lips quirk. Something warm coils in my chest. I can’t tear my gaze from his features. Those high cheekbones, that hooked nose, and the pouty thrust of his lower lip. "Do you have the rings, Sinclair?" His features harden. "Sin?" His jaw tics. "No rings." Oh! I blink. What had I expected? That he’d have rings for the both of us? I mean, I hadn’t consciously thought of it, to be honest. I’d assumed, though, that he’d surprise me. And he had, just not in the way I’d expected. His features harden and he scans my features again. If he wants a reaction, he’ll be disappointed. It’s better this way. No physical signs that there is anything between us... Nothing exc ept that piece of footage which he holds over me, which ensures that I’ll comply with his every demand. I firm my lips. "... I now proclaim you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride." He lowers his head, I turn my face, and his lips brush my cheek. He whispers, "Enjoy your last few seconds of freedom, for soon you’ll be caged." I draw in a sharp breath, peer up to find his lips curved in a smirk. He tilts his head, and the fire in those eyes switches off. How does he do it? Blow hot one second and cold the next. Why can’t I be that heartless, that single- minded in my quest? Because I am too human, too emotional. Too good for him. I am no match for his iron will, the sheer strength of determination that resides in every pore of his body. And I am wedded to him... At least, for the next twenty-five days. Anger floods my chest and my guts heave. I raise my palm. He shakes his head. "You’ll regret it." He’s right. The realization sinks into me, at the same time a trembling grips my body. The pulse thuds at my temples; adrenaline laces my blood. I need to get away from him before I have a complete breakdown. I pivot and rush down the path I had taken earlier, when a man st eps in front of me.
Tall, broad shoulders, gray streaks his temples. His green eyes with specks of gray similar to mine brighten with recognition. "Summer, look at you, my little girl, all grown up."