Butterface (The Hartigans #1)(2)
“Kiss! Kiss!” the crowd continued.
A guy in the back yelled, “Give her a smooch, Hartigan.”
“We’re celebrating love, you gotta kiss,” the bride called out as she lifted another tiny glass filled to the brim into the air as if she was giving a toast instead of making a drunken demand.
Yeah. There was a reason why Gina planned weddings for a living. One, she hated—no, loathed—being the center of attention, which a bride always was. Two, she got off on color-coded spreadsheets, checking things off to-do lists, and organizing like nobody’s business. Three, she was really good at it. Love, however, didn’t have a single thing to do with her career choice.
“Kiss!” the bride’s grandmother yelled out.
Again, Gina shook her head. Her voice seemed to be disappearing along with her last shred of dignity the more time that damn videographer kept his camera in a tight shot on her face. Taking the if-you-ignore-it-long-enough-it-will-go-away philosophy that sometimes worked when her washing machine started making that clunking noise that always eventually stopped, she dropped her attention to the very pointed toes of her tan kitten heels.
A whir of sensation tickled her ear and made her pulse pick up half a second before the man stuck in the Kiss Cam spotlight with her leaned in close.
“Let’s just get it over with,” Ford whispered, the low timbre of his voice edged with tension.
Her gaze snapped up to his too-handsome face, with its perfect square jaw, dark green eyes, and high cheekbones, and her flush of humiliation deepened. He’d probably never been teased a day in his life about anything and had no idea what being laughed at by a group of people was like. Meanwhile, she’d spent her formative years getting called rabbit because of her buckteeth. She’d thought that after the braces came off, all of that would be behind her, but that’s when she’d gotten a new nickname that was even worse: Butterface. Why? Because her body was okay, “but her face?” Not so much. Annoyance at the unfairness of it all made her prickle. Just get it over with indeed.
“Aren’t those the words that every woman is just dying to hear,” she shot back, keeping her voice quiet enough that only he could hear and not letting her fake smile slip a millimeter. “I’m not kissing you.”
Unlike her, while the wedding guests continued to call for a kiss, he didn’t bother to hide his scowl. Of course, that just made him look even sexier. “Why not?”
Reasons! She clamped her mouth shut before that inanity escaped and called it a victory. Knowing the right thing to say at the right time had never been one of her gifts, so the fact that she managed to keep her trap shut was a total win. When he raised one dark eyebrow in question, she scrambled to come up with something besides because you’re too hot.
“I’m working,” she said.
Ford cocked his head and gave her some premium cop face, that blank suspicious stare that all but screamed you’re full of shit. “You don’t think our fine groom, Porter, was on shift when he met Meg at the emergency room after a guy he was arresting took a swing at him with a two-by-four? It’s just a kiss, and then they’ll move on to the next victim.”
She turned her attention back to the big screen display of this horribly awkward moment rather than meeting Ford’s unwavering gaze.
“Do not disrespect the Kiss Cam, Hartigan!” someone bellowed out as the chanting crowd grew more restless. And louder.
“One quick kiss,” he said, his tone grim with a thread of something more vulnerable underneath. “Then, they’ll leave us alone.”
That’s when Gina’s gaze moved from her own face, blotchy with embarrassment on the screen, over to him. The tips of his ears were scarlet, and he was tapping the tips of his middle finger and thumb together like he was keeping rhythm for a ska band.
He was hiding it better, but the reality was he wasn’t enjoying this anymore than she was.
Glancing from the screen to the actual man himself, her lungs tightened. He was a big guy, and she wasn’t just talking about his broad shoulders that filled out his tux to a mouthwatering degree. He had to have at least four inches on her own five foot ten.
He glanced down, making eye contact, and for a second they weren’t the hottie and the nottie. They were two people stuck in a completely socially awkward situation that they had no control over.
She nibbled the inside of her cheek and considered her options before deciding that Ford was right. A quick peck would get the videographer out of their faces and divert the boisterous crowd’s attention to another couple happier to indulge in this bit of insanity. Then, she could finish up the last of her duties and go home to her peaceful, if totally messy, mid-renovation Victorian.
She let out a shaky breath, not sure she was making the right decision. “Fine. A kiss. Whatever.”
Gina had barely gotten the words out when his large hands cupped her face, sending electric shock waves through her that made her lips part slightly with surprise. He dipped his head down—and he kissed her.
The roar of approval from the crowd faded to almost nothing when he seemed to groan involuntarily. Her body approved and made an answering sound of its own. At her encouragement, his tongue slicked across her bottom lip, and her mind lost all reasonable thought. Teasing her senses and sending her heartbeat into overdrive, she softened against him, practically melting against his hard, muscular chest. Somewhere in the back of her mind she registered that people were cheering. She just couldn’t for the life of her care. The world turned electric and the air practically vibrated against her skin as he deepened the kiss. His tongue swept against hers in a brief but oh-so-potent move that had her clutching his lapel before she’d even realized she’d lifted her hands.