Confetti Hearts (Confetti Hitched, #1)(5)

I’d noticed him earlier. He’d been with a younger man who’d hung off his words. The young man had been devastatingly handsome, but he hadn’t managed to captivate this one, who’d been at the centre of a big crowd and had hardly paid any attention to him. A couple of times I’d found him watching me, but I’d dismissed it as curiosity. Now I’m not so sure.

I put my plate of underwear down and take his hand. I go still as a charge runs through my fingers. His eyes meet mine, and they’re very dark. He raises one eyebrow.

“Joe Bagshaw,” I say briskly, removing my hand from his and offering him a quick smile. “Where’s your companion?”

“My companion?”

“Didn’t you arrive with a bloke?”

“Who?” Recognition dawns. “Oh, he was another guest. I wasn’t interested anyway.” Laughter lights his grey eyes, daring me to ask.

My heart starts to pound. “Not your type?”

“Something like that.” He leans close, and I catch the scent of musk and sandalwood from his cologne. “He wasn’t you.”

I gape at him. “I beg your pardon.”

He chuckles and signals the barman. “You heard me. What will you have?”

I blink. “You’re very full of yourself.”

“I will resist the inevitable joke.”

“Thank you so much.” He gestures at the waiting barman. “Oh, I shouldn’t,” I say, looking around. “I don’t drink on duty.”

“The party’s nearly over, Cinders. Come on. Drink with me. I’ve been waiting for you.”

I gulp. “You have?” I say tentatively.

He nods and asks the barman for two whiskies. He turns back to me. “Keep me company,” he says.

His air of command works like a charm. I slide into the seat next to him, and he smiles, passing me a glass of amber liquid and clinking his glass against mine. “Here’s to the bride and groom.”

“Oh yes. Those people who may require my services at any moment.”

“Mark will only require your services if you’re a spiritual medium.”

“What?”

He tips his head toward a nearby spot, and I turn to find the groom. I’d missed him on my earlier perambulation of the room. Mainly because he’s lying under the gift table.

“Oh dear. I’d better go and get him up.”

He puts a hand on mine, and I feel that same funny charge. It’s like having a sparkler under my skin.

“Leave him. His father is on the way.”

He’s right. Within moments Mark is being picked up by his dad and a groomsman.

“Probably best,” he says as they lead Mark away. “He’s no use to anyone after a beer. Daisy should count herself lucky tonight.”

“You sound like you have biblical experience of Mark.”

He winks at me. “Wouldn’t that involve a stable, a donkey, and three wise men?”

“Kinky, but you’d be hard pressed to find any wise men at this shindig.”

He chuckles. “I do have experience of Mark. Not one I’d want to revisit, though.”

I sip my whisky. “You rich people. It’s like the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills around here, but with more Botox.”

He throws his head back, laughing. His amusement lights his whole face and he looks suddenly younger.

“How old are you?” I ask. I’d put him at over forty, by the lines around his eyes.

He waggles his eyebrows. “Old enough.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” I say tartly, and he chuckles.

The music shifts to “You’re the First, the Last, My Everything” by Barry White.

“Tell me about yourself,” Lachlan commands.

I eye him contemplatively. He’s far too arrogant, so of course, I’m extremely attracted to him. Cocky fuckers are my kryptonite. Already my dick is half hard, and I feel hot and bothered.

The party is winding down, and there’s no sign of the bride and groom now, so I don’t feel guilty speaking with him. “Be prepared for a lengthy conversation, then. The life of a wedding planner is short but full of adventure.”

“Like a dying firework,” he says solemnly.

I smirk. “More of a damp, underpaid squib but we’ll work with your description. Let’s see. I’m twenty-six. Underpaid and overworked. A Scorpio, but let me reassure you there is no sting in my tail.”

He chuckles and leans closer, his attention inspiring heady feelings. His eyes stay on me as I talk, and we laugh, getting closer until I’m nearly in his lap.

When I next look around, I discover the room is nearly empty. Just a few stragglers and the weary staff clearing up. “Wow,” I say to Lachlan. “We cleared the room.”

He studies me. He’s loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, showing tanned, corded forearms. “Come to bed with me,” he says.

I choke on my drink. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Come to bed with me. I very much want to fuck you.”

As I look into his eyes, it feels like sparks should be flying all around us, like a firework show. I hesitate. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve hooked up with someone at a reception, or even the hundredth. It’s where I spend most weekends, after all.