Here Comes the Bride (4 page)

“I do.”

That was the second time he’d heard her say “I do” in the past ten minutes. It was too much. He had to get out of here before he lost all sense of normalcy. Somehow he managed to get to his feet again, and then bend over and grab Sam around the waist, lifting her into his arms and ignoring her protests as he carried her through the crowd.

She was as light as a bouquet of roses…roses with lots of sharp, pointy thorns. By the time he reached the limo and deposited her inside, Ben appeared. “Is she okay?”

He looked at Sam.

“I think so,” she said, wiggling one shoeless foot.

“We better get out of here,” Ben said, but before they could stop him, Dominic turned around and disappeared back into the growing mob.

Chapter Five

What was DeMarco doing?
Sam wondered.
Was he crazy?

Without a doubt. And she wasn’t any better. She’d married the playboy and she was now officially Mrs. Dominic DeMarco.

Dominic reappeared five minutes later, climbed in next to her, and shut the door. The limo merged into traffic and headed down Fifth Street.

Dominic DeMarco, actor, voted Sexiest Man Alive three years in a row, and now her husband, had returned. And dangling from his left hand was one white satin pump.

The man had gone back for her shoe.

She tilted her head so she could get a closer look at him as she tried to figure him out. Ben sat in the front passenger seat; a tinted window separated them.

“The world has gone mad,” Dominic said as he casually leaned over and scooped up her silk covered foot in his hand.

His long lean fingers felt warm on her foot, making her flesh tingle. DeMarco had no business making her shiver in places she’d never shivered before—like between her toes, for instance. She didn’t want to react to his touch. Conceited celebrities did not turn her on.

He smelled good though, woodsy and manly. He looked good, too. Not only had he saved her from being crushed by a mob, he’d carried her to the limo without breathing heavily or breaking a sweat. The tingling she was experiencing made sense. Any woman in her right mind would be tingling about now, especially a woman who couldn’t remember the last time she’d had sex. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. It had been three hundred fifty days, give or take a couple of hours. Not that she was keeping track or anything.

She tried not to breathe in his earthy scent.

Nothing to worry about, she told herself. She was in control of the situation as she watched him attempt to put her shoe on her foot like a regular Prince Charming.

She inhaled again and knew she had to put a stop to this madness. She pulled her foot away. “I can do that,” she said politely as she slipped it on her foot. “There.”

“You’re frowning,” he said. “What happened to happy thoughts, go with the flow, piña coladas and white sandy beaches?”

She pushed strands of hair out of her face. “That was before you kissed me like that in the church.”

“Like what?”

“You know—deep and long, and with all that passion.”

“Deep and long, huh?”

She nodded. “I figured we were just going to brush our lips together and pretend. I mean—I really didn’t see any reason for you to use your tongue.”

“How could I resist?”

Give me a break
. She’d seen the kind of women he dated—tall, thin, drop-dead-gorgeous. “Fine. Whatever,” she said with a huff.

“Why don’t you just say what’s on your mind and get it off your chest.”

She straightened her spine. “Okay, I will. You’re a charmer,” she said, pointing an incriminating finger at him. “I already knew you were a womanizer, but I never considered the charming part.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read, or should I say, everything you write.”

“I write what I see.”

“You write what you think you see.”

“That’s not true, but I’ll go so far as to admit there are some unscrupulous paparazzi and journalists. But I am always fair. I have integrity.”

“And will you also admit that for every immoral paparazzo there is one famous person whose character has been ripped to shreds by a reporter’s exaggerated words?”

“I see the relationship as a mutually beneficial alliance.”

“Sort of like this marriage of ours.”

“Not exactly.”

He let out a caustic laugh. “Let me guess. You believe you’re getting the short end of the stick?”

“No doubt about it.”

“And you think I’m some sort of playboy?”

“Duh.”

“And what have you seen with your own two eyes to make you come to that conclusion?”

“Hmmm, let’s see. Isabel Wheaton, Pamela Scott, Jennifer Visel, Tori Pinton, Carrie, Christie…shall I go on?”

“Although I don’t usually go out of my way to defend myself,” he said, seeming to choose his words carefully, “especially to a tabloid reporter, what would you say if I told you I never met Pamela Scott or Tori Pinton?”

“I would say hogwash.”

“Hogwash, huh?”

“That’s right. A picture is worth a thousand words.”

“And in the next three months, if I prove that a picture isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on, what will you give me?”

“What is it you want, DeMarco?” she asked, although she had a pretty good idea.

“The exclusive Ben promised you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought you might be trying to get me into bed.”

“First things first.”

She snorted. She knew she wasn’t a beauty like the women he kept company with. Her face was plain. She had okay lips, but she was flat-chested, did not have long legs, and was often referred to as cute, never sexy.

“You’re wound awfully tight, sweetheart. I don’t make you nervous, do I?”

“I’m completely unaffected by your charisma, DeMarco.”

“That’s too bad.”

“For you maybe,” she said.

“Definitely for me.” He sat back. “So does this mean we can’t be friends?”

“We can be friends.”

“Because you’re immune to my charm?” he asked.

“Exactly.”

“Why is it I feel I’ve been cut to the quick?”

“Because it’s probably very disconcerting for a man like you to find yourself trapped with a woman who already knows everything there is to know about you—a woman who wouldn’t sleep with you even if you were the last man on earth.”

His laughter bounced off the tinted windows. “You’re very funny,” he said. “Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Go ahead and laugh, but I’ll be the one who gets the last laugh because I know exactly how guys like you work.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said with a devilish twinkle in his eye. “But for some bizarre reason, I sort of like you.”

She shook her head, ignoring the tingles that continued to wash over her every time he looked at her with his dazzling eyes. For a moment, maybe two, she understood perfectly why so many women had fallen into his bed.

She shook off the thought. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” she went on. “I’m supposed to get all excited because you ‘sort of like me.’ You think you know exactly what to say to make a girl like me fall for a guy like you.”

He looked genuinely confused. “What do you mean by a ‘girl like you’?”

She snorted. “As if I’d give you the satisfaction of hearing me read off a list of my flaws.”

“Oh, I see. A ‘girl like you.’ It’s called insecurity, because I certainly don’t see any flaws.”

“Good one, Casanova.”

The limousine stopped at the light. To her left was the beautiful Waldorf Astoria, a landmark located in Manhattan where the reception was being held. She looked toward DeMarco, who appeared sullen. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“I’m an actor, a playboy,” he said. “I don’t have feelings, remember?”

“I didn’t say that—”

He chucked her under the chin. “You worry too much, sweetheart. Somebody must have really done a number on you.”

She shrugged off the remark, but he found a need to elaborate.

“Why would you be so worried about shielding yourself from me if that heart of yours hadn’t already been broken into a million pieces?”

“Who said anything about protecting my heart? It’s my pride, my morals, my dignity I mean to protect. Please don’t get any ideas about me being another notch on your headboard. Maybe I am a little insecure at times, but I have enough respect for myself to prevent you-know-what from ever happening.”

“You’re definitely a little zany,” he said with a chuckle, “but I think you should be commended for your honesty. You’re a very interesting woman—for a reporter, that is.”

This time she chose to ignore him completely. He was doing what he does best: piling on the charm by telling her that he liked her and she was interesting.

But DeMarco could lasso the moon for her, and she still wouldn’t allow herself to feel anything for the man, not one damn tingle.

Chapter Six

Three hours and too many martinis later, Sam was tingling like she’d never tingled before. The reception came to an end and once again security surrounded Dominic and Sam, quickly escorting them out of the ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria and into the lobby where they could make a hasty retreat to their honeymoon suite.

A tall blonde in a black, sequined, skin-tight dress screamed when she spotted Dominic across the lobby. Something red and shiny flew through the air and landed on his chest. A silky red thong dangled precariously from his bow tie.

Dominic removed the panties and tossed them back into the crowd. Women were popping out of every nook and cranny in the hotel, hoping to get a glimpse of Dominic DeMarco.

The hem of Sam’s wedding dress ripped some more as the crowd pushed forward. The chaos Dominic managed to cause was beyond anything she’d ever seen.

Ben, along with two beefy security guards, helped them inch their way toward the elevators.

Females of every shape and size shouted Dominic’s name as if Elvis himself were walking through the lobby. The whole scene was surreal. Sam was used to being shoved and pushed by other reporters trying to get the scoop, but she’d never been on the other side of the fence, so to speak.

The elevator door came open. A third security guard held the door until everybody was safely inside. With six people squished into such a small space, five of them large men, Dominic had no choice but to press close against her.

Dominic loosened his bow tie and undid the top buttons of his shirt. “I can hardly breathe in here. How about you?” he asked Sam, his chin brushing against the top of her head. “Are you all right?”

Swaying slightly, she nodded, breathed in and found herself wanting to snuggle closer to his chest.

He reached upward and positioned his splayed hands against the rich paneling on both sides of her head. She knew he was trying hard not to suffocate her, but she wouldn’t have minded if he pressed closer as she breathed in his heady male scent.

He’d been a gentleman tonight, making her feel safe and protected among a roomful of strangers.

“I would call tonight a success,” he whispered, his mouth brushing against her ear.

“I felt like a princess,” she answered, her head just foggy enough to make her wonder if she’d really just said that.

“You’re a great dancer,” he added.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

He smiled, making her wonder why she wasn’t wrapping her arms around his neck. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to let him do what he did best. The idea of being merely another notch on his headboard no longer sounded so horrible.

She closed her eyes and relived the night, one of the most adventurous, entertaining nights of her life. She hadn’t danced beneath the stars, but
with
the stars. So many famous people had attended she could hardly keep the names straight. Brad and Angelina had been there, along with Ashton, George, Tom, and Morgan. The reception had lasted three hours, and she hadn’t wanted it to end, especially when Dominic had sung to her. Right there in the middle of the dance floor with everybody looking on. If she hadn’t known it was all an act, she might have fallen in love with him right then and there.

She released a long sigh as she opened her eyes again and found her gaze zeroed in on his neck. Two more inches skyward and her mouth could very easily graze his warm skin. She swallowed the knot in her throat and tried once again to remember why she felt the need to resist one hundred ninety pounds of temptation.

A fine-corded neck it was, too—well-muscled and deeply bronzed. With the top buttons of his shirt undone, she saw a sprinkling of dark hair and just enough of his chest to see that he was all lean, hard muscle. And, temporary or not, he was her husband.

A sound erupted: a giggle.

Everybody looked her way as if the ridiculous noise had come out of her. The elevator kept stopping and starting, but nobody was getting off.

Dominic leaned his head low again and said, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She’d definitely consumed too many martinis. And a really nice lady, the one who played a big part on
General Hospital
, had bought her a Kamikaze. She’d never had one of those before. Her stomach gurgled. “I’m fine.”

He smiled at her.

She dropped her gaze and closed her eyes again, figuring it was safer that way. The elevator stopped. One of the men stepped out, but Dominic didn’t move.

The door closed. She counted to ten and hoped the tiny space in the elevator would stop spinning. Suddenly his lips were hovering close to her ear again as he said, “You looked beautiful tonight.”

She looked at him and made quick note of the devilish glint in his eye. Once again she wondered why she was fighting the attraction sizzling between them.

Screw it all. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted Dominic DeMarco to kiss her like he’d never kissed another woman before.

Chapter Seven

The sun crept through the thin space between the pleated silk drapes, across the plush carpet, and up and over the luxurious satin sheets, attempting to wake Sam from a deep contented sleep.