Rogue (Real #4)(31)

THIRTEEN




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TONIGHT


Greyson


The ceremony takes a million f*cking years.

I stand here armed with my SIG semiautomatic, just over two pounds of steel, but my cock feels twice as heavy and my chest ten times as much. I’m like week-old roadkill. Seeing her crying yesterday wrung me out. Now her gaze is stripped naked of emotion as she seeks me out in the crowd, and I can’t even process how I feel.

From the moment she stepped out of the limousine with the bride, I groaned at the sight of her. I’m still raging with the impulses to get close to her, touch her, smell her.

Melanie’s a bundle of contradictions in a bridesmaid’s dress. All smiles, but snapping out orders like a general. I watched her pull the train of the bride’s dress behind her so it “looked pretty” while a dark-haired girl with a frown passed a set of flowers to the bride. Melanie avoided looking at me. Maybe on purpose, maybe not.

Now that the vows are done, I’m on the sidewalk outside the church, impatient. There’s a chorus of people around, but above their noise, I can hear her laugh. I turn my head and see the priest saying something that delights her. God, I want to kiss that f*cking laugh to silence. Then I want to do something to wake it up again so it trails into my mouth, where I can trap it. Taste it. Play with it.

When a group starts to gather around the limousine, I don’t waste another minute. I close the distance between us, stopping a mere two inches behind her, taking a moment to enjoy the fetching picture she makes: loose hair tumbling over her shoulders, tight red silken dress down to her ankles, the open back dipping in a V that ends almost at the start of her round, perky ass.

“Are you deliberately ignoring me?” I murmur, sliding my hand around her waist.

“No.” She smiles down at the sidewalk as she tucks her hair behind her ear.

I drop my head until my lips are almost grazing that ear. “Good, because I’m not someone you ignore.” Using my grip on her waist, I pull her back against my front. I’m testing the limits, glad that instead of making any sort of protest, she leans against me.

Good f*cking sign, King.

Fuck, now I’m itching for more. Taking her by the elbow, I ease her away from the crowd and tuck her into an alcove near the entrance to the church.

Her breathing’s heavy, and that’s an even better sign. She wants you too, she wants you just like you want her.

I push her up against the stone wall using my body. Her breasts press against my chest, her thighs against mine. A low groan gets trapped in my throat as I slide my lips over the lids of her eyes. To say I’m starved is an understatement. I wish I had ten hands—two are just not enough as I run my palms up her sides, fingers cupping her butt and then pinning her to my hips so I can feel her, alive and perfect, safe and untouched.

She nuzzles my throat and takes a deep breath as if she craves my scent. I squeeze her against me, feeling her shiver in my arms.

I’m highly trained.

I can sense fear, arousal, excitement.

But the mixture I seem to produce in her intoxicates me more than anything ever has. I bring her tighter to me. A gasp leaves her lips, and it takes everything in me not to bend my head and take it. No. When I take those red-painted lips, I’m not stopping until she’s naked beneath me and I’m as deep as a curse inside her.

Tonight, I vow to myself.

I reach into my suit coat and pull the necklace I brought her out of a velvet bag.

“What is this?” She peers down at my fist.

I let her open my hand, and she looks down at the diamond necklace in my palm. It’s a high-quality tennis diamond necklace, simple yet extraordinary. Like her. “Something for my girl,” I murmur.

“Your girl?”

I lift the necklace and hook it around her neck.

“It’s too much, Greyson, I can’t take it,” she protests.

“I can’t take it back and it’s not my size.” I run my knuckles up her throat, and it’s warm and silky. “Besides, it’s meant for a queen, a princess.”

I adjust the sparkling strand so it rests against her collarbone, just beneath the flutter of her pulse point. I’m tempted to bend my head and slide my tongue in there. Hell, I’m tempted to do more. I dip my finger into the little crook instead, touching her pulse and lifting my eyes to hers. “Melanie, when you’re waiting for me to call,” I stroke the pad of my thumb over the diamonds one more time, “look at these stones and know for certain that that phone will ring.”

“Who are you?” she asks me, breathless and amazed.

My lips curl in a sardonic smile. “I’m the twisted version of your . . . Westley,” I say, holding her gaze.

We hear shouts outside and realize the bride has thrown the bouquet in the air. Melanie rushes out while I’m left behind, struggling to get a grip of my Neanderthal. She’s five feet and three inches of fun and she fills my entire being with shit I never intended to feel, let alone want.

I’m so f*cking f*cked.

I follow her into the crowd and stop right behind her, my front pressing against her back as I look down at her profile. Her nostrils flare. She’s smelling me again. I remain in my place, letting her get accustomed to me. My size, my scent, my height, me. I reach out with my glove to touch her hair, and she trembles. I shift to stand right beside her, dragging the back of my fingers along her bare arm. She starts breathing faster, and I hear her stop breathing when I lace my fingers through hers in a way that tells her—you’re with me tonight.