The Wedding Affair (The Affair Series Book 2) (20 page)

“Zip it, Alianna,” Hannah Sommerfield bit back. “Unless you’d care to explain why your assistant is pretending to give a rat’s ass about her date, who I am told is the pilot your publisher uses. Odd, don’t you think?”

Seriously? Ryan looked at Ali, saw the beginning of an embarrassed blush, and bobbed his head with approval.
You go, girl,
he cheered silently from the sidelines. His sister could use a little romance in her romance author life.

Their dad choked off a snicker just in time.

Then the attention swung back his way.
Shit.

“It would have been nice to know my son was involved with someone before everyone else did.”

Knee-jerk reaction. “What are you talking about, Mom?”

“Why you and that girl, of course. Don’t play dumb with me, Ryan. You and Samantha Evers are not strangers at a wedding. I’d give that cousin of yours a piece of my mind about keeping us in the dark, but it’s his wedding day, so he gets a pass.”

“Oh, uh, Mom. No,” he stammered. “We just met. Like for real.”

Hannah Sommerfield’s radiant look of maternal triumph lit up her face. It took him a few seconds to realize what he’d just admitted. And then he laughed.
Moms.

She pounced, and he tried to withstand the emotional onslaught. “I’m surprised you remembered we were here,” she slyly goaded, “when clearly you only have eyes for Samantha.”

He literally gulped and swore it was so loud they all heard it.

Of course, she didn’t stop there. Not when the opportunity for a full parental critique presented itself. He settled in and let it happen. After all, moms have certain rights when it comes to this stuff.

“She’s lovely, sweetheart. And I liked her before the hint of a romance with my only son was revealed.”

Oh, god. The only son riff.

Ali tittered quietly.

“Your cousin speaks of her with warmth and praise. Apparently, Andrea thinks of her as a sister. How amazing, don’t you think? Just like you and Kyle.”

“They’re quite close,” he muttered. What else could he do but agree?

“So you’ve just met, hmm?”

Glancing at his dad and hoping for a lifeline, he found him avidly following his wife’s free-form endorsement with a comical grin.

Ryan decided right then that a new sport was needed at the Olympics. Parent Tag Teaming.

For some jaw-droppingly insane reason, instead of attempting to deflect his mom’s line of questions, he fiddled with the strap on his watch and rolled a shoulder. “What can I say? She’s fantastic.”

His parents automatically reached a hand toward the other and held on tight. Now that he’d met Samantha, he viewed the familiar action through different eyes. Eyes that were open to the sort of unshakable bond he’d always known they had but had been nonchalant about before now.

It was like a light went on in a dark room. He got it.

“Inconveniently on the other side of the country,” Ali reminded all of them.

The Sommerfields did not pussyfoot around. They got straight to the point and wrestled all obstacles to the ground.

“We’re not there yet.”

His mom, dad, and sister eyed him sympathetically and nodded.

Quickly standing, Ryan put out his hand and winked at his mom. “Come on, Hannah. Time for you and me to show these folks how the cool kids dance.”

Proudly beaming as if she’d just be crowned Miss America, his mom slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and let him guide her onto the dance floor. As they moved away, he heard his sister snicker playfully, “Well played, butthead.”

“For heaven’s sake, Kelly! Stop squirming or we’ll be here all night.”

“Oh, shut up, Lisa.”

It was good-natured ribbing done bridesmaid style. Sam threw an arm around Andi’s shoulders and hugged her. “Well, Mrs. Sommerfield,” she said, “you can’t say we didn’t have a great time.”

“Ladies, ladies, please,” implored the harried photographer. “We’re almost finished, but you have to take direction.”

Andi leaned into the hug and giggled. “Take direction?” she snickered. “Who is he kidding?”

“Julie! The girls are escaping,” Sam hollered.

Andi sat up and looked at the group of friends jockeying for position. “Oh, my god,” she muttered with a snorted laugh and jumped up to run a blocking maneuver in order to save Julie’s dignity.

“Holy shit,” Julie barked. Her throaty laugh rang out as she scrambled to tuck her fugitive boobs back into the halter-top that did little to tame her enormous assets.

“Mrs. Sommerfield, please,” the photographer grumbled. “Just one or two more.”

Realizing that their antics weren’t amusing to everyone, Sam stepped up and cracked her maid-of-honor whip.

“Assume your positions,” she snapped with a firm clap of her hands for emphasis. Pointing at each of the women, she moved them into place behind Andi. “Look at me,” she commanded. Like synchronized meerkats, all eyes swung to her. “Smile check girls. Give me a big one and I’ll look for picture-ruining food stuck in your teeth.”

Once she was satisfied no broccoli bits or wobbly boobs would mess up Andi and Kyle’s wedding album, Sam slid into place, and within five minutes, the grumpy photographer had his shots and moved on.

Lisa sidled up alongside her as she gathered the stray lipsticks and makeup supplies they’d left scattered on a table. Without any setup or introduction, her longtime childhood pal fired off a surprising comment.

“I feel sorry for Tara.”

Now, there was an opinion come straight from left field.

“Look, Sami, I know you have your differences with her, and that’s perfectly understandable. But when you take out the personal and look at it objectively, I can’t help but feel bad for her.”

“Why? Because she has a great job and runs her own life?”

“It’s all window dressing.” Lisa sighed. “At the end of the day, I think she’s just scared and not sure what to do about it.”

Not looking at Tara wasn’t an option so she swung her eyes to the left and checked her out.

It was difficult not to examine her with a critical eye. They’d been silently sharking around each other since the unfortunate altercation at dinner, and though she wanted to be sympathetic—she really did—knowing how the woman behaved behind-the-scenes made grading her on a curve next to impossible. And she certainly wasn’t about to let her guard down.

When it came to posing effectively in a tantalizing sarong, Tara took the prize. Though each of Andi’s bridesmaids had some input into the garment’s fit, only Tara opted for pushing the less, less, less button. She wanted less coverage and more tit. Less fabric and more leg. The bride put her foot down when it came to blingy navel rings and exposed tattoos. She wanted classy tropical not hula girl wobbly doll on a dashboard.

Not for the first time, Sam eyed Tara’s exhausting insistence on vamping it up twenty-four seven as a tedious affectation. She lived in Hollywood, for Pete’s sake, where the me-me-me culture was the norm. So she knew a little bit about these things.

It always struck her as kinda desperate. She liked the occasional reality TV table-flipping, vulgarity-laced altercation just as much as the next person, but she understood it was all for show.

Oh, my god. She just thought of something so damn funny. With upfront apologies to all Native Americans for the slight, she decided All-For-Show had to be Tara’s Indian name.

Giving a half shrug, she looked back to Lisa. “She forced me into an unbreakable vow, ya’ know,” she told her with complete seriousness. Lisa would get it. “Andi. She made me promise not to start any shit with Tara.”

Pfft.
“Not surprised. With Dolores’s broom parked out of sight, some sort of throw down seemed inevitable. I’m sure the last thing Andi wanted was Tara stirring the pot too.”

“Look,” she interrupted. “We’re being waved over. I think it’s time to do the garter.”

Lisa laughed. “That’s all on you, girl! Us married ladies get to sit this particular indignity out. But hell’s bells, let’s get close and give Kyle all kinds of shit.”

Linking arms, they sashayed into the crowd and proceeded to make as much trouble as possible.

“
I
feel pretty. Oh, so pretty. I fell pretty and. . .what?”

Ryan shook his head as she stopped singing, blinked once or twice, and looked at him like she had no idea how funny this all was.

“Nothing, nothing,” he assured her.

They were walking along the beach—ostensibly to clear their fuzzy champagne heads—but he was pretty sure they both knew the real reason. If he couldn’t kiss her, and kiss her soon, he wasn’t sure if his sanity would remain intact.

“How’s that garter treating you? Want me to readjust it or anything?”

Giggle-snorting, she planted her feet in the sand, cocked a hip, and did an effortless Angelina Jolie leg pose. The purple and white garter decorated with sparkling crystals peeked out of the slit in her sarong.

“You tell me,” she joked. “Does it need adjusting?”

His insides warmed. She was being cheeky, and he was eager to keep on playing.

“Well, it does if I can make the adjustment with my teeth.”

He wanted to laugh when the champagne slowed her response. “With your teeth? What the hell does. . .oh, my god!” she shrieked. After swatting him on the arm, Samantha crossed hers and glared at him.

She gave as good as she got even though he could have taken a nap in the amount of time it took her to come back at him with a comment.

“Does that actually pass as a pickup line in your world? ‘Cause seriously, dude, not impressed.”

Dropping to his knees in the sand, Ryan clasped his hands together like he was praying and whined, “Please, please, please.” He wondered what she would do.

“If that’s a challenge, Mr. Charming Man, your bluff’s about to be called.” Taking a few steps closer, she offered her thigh and laughed.

She was in for a serious shock if she thought he wouldn’t take up the sexy offer.

Not giving her time to reconsider and shift away, he reached for her ass, took hold, and moved her into position. And then he stuck his face between her legs and all but lost his shit in spectacular fashion.

Desperately trying not to react to her enticing smell, he nibbled along the top of the garter until his mouth was on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

Despite going still when he grabbed her, she wasn’t pulling away.

Latching his teeth onto a section of the ruffled ribbon, he tugged at it until the damn thing shifted upward about an inch. Good enough. Then he kissed and nibbled his way to the outside of her thigh, calmly bit her, and then tugged the garter higher.

With his hands massaging her bottom, he looked up at her and grinned. They were in a very provocative position.

Briefly shoving his face close enough to inhale her mouth-watering scent, he sat back and innocently inquired, “How’d I do?”

“Charming Man on his knees. Hmm. I could get used to this.”

Jumping up like a jack-in-the-box, he dipped his shoulder and hoisted her until she was trapped caveman style. Then he let out a roaring whoop-whoop and started tribal dancing around an imaginary bonfire. She was laughing hysterically when he finally put her back on her feet.

Her laugh made him a million times hornier than he’d been five minutes ago.

Wanting to kiss her—badly—he didn’t ask, didn’t stop, and didn’t pull back. At all. Grabbing her hair in his fist, he pulled her head back until he loomed over her as she arched over his forearm.

“Open your mouth, golden goddess.”

His tongue slowly traced the soft fullness of her lush lips until she trembled in his arms. He moved his mouth over hers and heard a sigh so deep he was sure it came from his soul.

He took her mouth with savage intensity and fiercely crushed Samantha’s lush body against his. She returned his kiss with hungry urgency.

What was this sensation of mystical ecstasy swirling inside him? How could one woman actually affect him so deeply? He didn’t have any answers. All he knew was what he felt.

Samantha Evers was changing his life.