One Funeral (No Weddings #2)(45)

And while I reflected on all the amazing facets on Cade’s inside, I got the visual pleasure of appreciating his outside. Sexy and dark, wrapped up in a decadent muscular package, he commanded the room in a tux, appearing relaxed yet devastating in a way that put James Bond to shame. His piercing electric-blue eyes were fringed with long lashes. A dark shadowed scruff lined his jaw above the open collar of his shirt.

My pulse raced as I imagined unbuttoning it further, sliding my hands along his chest. No chest hair peeked out, and I wondered if it was smooth or if he had a smattering of hair.

By the time the subject of my thoughts made it over to me, I’d nearly overheated from overexposure to all things Cade.

And he’d been clear across the room.

Now he stood in front of me, smiling. His fresh citrus and pure male scent filled my nostrils, making me shudder.

He put his hands on my shoulders, his brows furrowing a fraction. “You okay?”

Nodding, I took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“What were you thinking about? You look flustered.”

I stared down at the floor as my face flushed hot. “You.”

He dropped down, craning his neck closer to get in line with my gaze. “By the blush you’re wearing, I must’ve been doing something interesting. Was I naked in a cupcake meadow?”

I burst out laughing. “Where’s your pink cummerbund? Thought we were in this together.”

He groaned. “We are.” Then he arched a brow. “Where’s your dress? I was promised petticoats.”

I smirked. “You mean fluffy underskirt things?”

“If they’re up your skirt, and I get to investigate, I don’t give a damn what we call them.”

Tilting my head, I pressed a palm flat on his chest when he leaned in closer. I was already about to overheat; I didn’t need to melt down in front of witnesses. “You will get your petticoats. And yes, they will be all tangled between my legs, up under my dress.”

On a growl, he pressed in, ignoring my blocking hand. He wrapped his arms around me, burying his face into my neck. “I’m jealous of those petticoats already.”

Heat flashed between my legs as his lips brushed beneath my ear. I whimpered. “Cade, please. Someone will see us.”

He let out a heavy sigh as he leaned his head against mine. “I’m beginning not to care.”

I smiled, glad he finally felt that way. Trying to be strong, I pulled away from him. “C’mon. We both need to get dressed. And tonight will be way easier if we still keep all the business stuff business.”

He raised both brows. “Since when have we done that?”

I stared at him for a heartbeat. He was right. We hadn’t.

That still didn’t stop me from teasing him. I arched a brow. “Isn’t that one of your business rules: no fraternizing with employees? I’ve paid attention during our mentoring sessions.”

He waved a dismissing hand. “First of all, you are not an employee. We’re business associates.”

“Employer and subcontractor, to be contractually precise,” I corrected.

“Whatever. You’re splitting hairs with semantics. Secondly, you are the exception.”

Something warmed in my chest, pushing past my harassing him. “I am?”

Staring deep into my eyes, he raised a hand, brushing a lock of hair back from my cheek. “The only exception. You always have been.”

My throat went dry, and I swallowed. His gaze dropped to my lips before lifting to my eyes. His seriousness reminded me of all the times we’d connected on a soul-deep level, where words were deemed unnecessary because we felt the tether binding us.

“Everyone get dressed!” A familiar, sugary voice called into the room, followed by rapid handclapping. “T-minus thirty minutes. I want all of my attendants looking alive for my death!”

In wide-eyed panic, my gaze flew to Candie. She stood there in full makeup with big curling rollers on her head, wearing a bathrobe—a fluffy powder-blue-with-white-clouds number—that clung to her body. On her feet were the glittering silver Jimmy Choos that we would all be wearing with our outfits. The free kickass shoes were the only bright side to the upcoming bridesmaid-dress nightmare.

I flicked a glance back at Cade. “Please don’t make me do this. I’m begging.”

I took a deep breath, dreading going back into a dressing room with the other girls as we put on bridesmaid dresses. Although Candie’s faux funeral was far different than my almost wedding, I still needed to keep reminding myself of the fact.

He snorted, looking down at his tux. “That ship has sailed, Ms. Contractually Precise. We have inked obligations.”

Slumping my shoulders in defeat, I groaned and headed toward the bathrooms, leaving Cade standing there as he chuckled. A terrified part of me wanted to cry foul and insist that a bridesmaid dress was too close for comfort. Plus there was a nonnegotiable rule for “no weddings.” But I relented and played along. If Cade could carry on with his battle scars, then I would be strong and make it through the night too.

Five hours to endure. I mentally ticked off the time in my head, imagining the face of Big Ben. Only my clock had a clearly visible second hand, and I intended on speeding away in that pumpkin carriage at the first stroke of midnight, with both sparkling Jimmy Choo slippers.

Taking a deep breath, I felt better. If I pretended I’d been dropped into Tim Burton’s morbid idea of a party, I just might survive the night.