Unconditional
Page 7
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“Oh, hey, sorry.” The man stops, his blue eyes sweeping over me.
I tense. It’s one of Emerson’s friends, Garrett. I recognize him from earlier, a tall, bronzed-haired guy in a heavy jacket and boots. He was flirting with anything that moved, inside before the ceremony, and I heard my new sister-in-law, Brit, joke about what a man-whore he is. I didn’t think much of him then, just another one of those scruffy, charming guys who can’t even bother to shave to attend a wedding. But now he’s right here in front of me, larger than life: broad-shouldered and rugged, breath steaming from the cold, and pure masculinity radiating from every pore.
I can’t help feeling a shot of awareness strike through me, my pulse skipping, my blood shivering in my veins. He’s ruffled and gorgeous, but more than that, I see a flash of something in his stormy blue eyes, a deep melancholy sadness that calls out to the heaviness in my own heart, an answering ache of loneliness.
And somehow, without even thinking, I know.
This man knows loss.
Garrett’s forehead knits with concern, and he takes a step closer. “Are you OK?”
I flinch back, snapping to reality. “Fine,” I tell him, hearing my voice come out high and shrill. I do my best to pull myself back together, despite the fact my heartbeat has quickened, quicksilver in my veins. “What do you want?”
Garrett pauses, and in an instant, that look in his eyes is gone. Something smooths over his expression, so casual, I wonder if I imagined the sadness there at all; if it was real, or just a reflection of the dark ache in my own chest.
I wait for him to ask what I’m doing out here, or to make some comment about the wedding, but instead, Garrett gives me a brief smile. “You’re cold,” he says, shrugging off his jacket. “Here, you’ll freeze out here without a real coat.”
I blink. I’ve been so caught up in my emotions, I’ve barely noticed the chill, but now I realize the wind is whipping around, icy, carrying tiny wet snowflakes. “I’m fine,” I lie, not wanting his charity.
Garrett lifts an eyebrow. “Your feet are turning blue,” he points out, and I follow his gaze down to my gorgeous new heels, which are now stained and sinking into the snow.
His lip curls in an amused smirk, and I feel a stab of annoyance. He’s judging me, when he’s the one dressed to go chop wood, not attend a wedding?
“I didn’t realize they were serious about having this thing outside,” I protest, not liking the way I feel under his gaze. “Who gets married in the freezing snow when they can do it inside, like civilized people?”
I sound like a snooty bitch, and I’m not even surprised when Garrett rolls his eyes at me. “Either take my jacket, or get inside,” he orders gruffly. “It would screw up their honeymoon to have you die out here of pneumonia.”
What I want is to be left alone just a moment longer before I have to paste on a smile and pretend like everything’s OK. But Garrett is planted squarely in front of me, thrusting the jacket at my body, and I can tell from the stubbornly noble look on his face that he’s not letting me go.
I finally take the jacket, sidestepping past him to head back towards the house. The heavy fabric is still warm from his body, and I wrap it around myself like an oversized cocoon. I breathe in the scent of snow and cedar trees and a low citrusy hint of his aftershave, and for a moment, my senses are overwhelmed with the pure essence of him: comforting and true.
I catch a glimpse of what life would be like with a man like this. Safe in the warmth of someone who is secure in himself, rooted in the world instead of caught up in power plays and hierarchies. I may have sneered at Emerson, but there’s no doubting Juliet is the most important thing in his life, that he’d die for her.
I don’t rank first for Alexander. I don’t even come close.
“That’s it?” Garrett’s voice drawls.
I startle. He’s following behind me, a half-step away, and when I turn, I almost crash right into him. Garrett puts his arms out to steady me, but it’s too much to be so wrapped up in the scent of him, the sensation, and have him touching me too. I flinch back from him like I’ve been burned.
“A ‘thanks’ would be nice, darlin’,” Garrett adds, his gaze drifting over my body again, but this time, with a new appreciation in his eyes.
I know that expression. It’s hungry and knowing, and sends a bolt of feminine awareness through me; my skin prickling, tension knotting low between my thighs. Despite everything, I feel my body respond to him.
God, how long has it been since Alexander looked at me that way?
Don’t be so stupid, the voice in my head scolds me. Garrett saw you’re upset, and now he just thinks he can throw some chivalry your way and land a sure thing for the night.
I flush, self-conscious, hating that he caught me in my moment of vulnerability.
“I know just what kind of thanks you want,” I reply archly. “And trust me when I say it’s never going to happen.”
“Whoa there.” Garrett sounds indignant. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’ve heard all about you,” I give him a knowing look. “You’re the good-time man-whore who has his way with anything in a skirt. Well, I’m taken,” I tell him, holding up my hand to flash my princess-cut diamond. I should stop there, I know, but I can’t help myself; I’d do anything to wipe the memory of his sympathetic expression. “And even if I wasn’t,” I add, “I wouldn’t. Not in a million years.”
I tense. It’s one of Emerson’s friends, Garrett. I recognize him from earlier, a tall, bronzed-haired guy in a heavy jacket and boots. He was flirting with anything that moved, inside before the ceremony, and I heard my new sister-in-law, Brit, joke about what a man-whore he is. I didn’t think much of him then, just another one of those scruffy, charming guys who can’t even bother to shave to attend a wedding. But now he’s right here in front of me, larger than life: broad-shouldered and rugged, breath steaming from the cold, and pure masculinity radiating from every pore.
I can’t help feeling a shot of awareness strike through me, my pulse skipping, my blood shivering in my veins. He’s ruffled and gorgeous, but more than that, I see a flash of something in his stormy blue eyes, a deep melancholy sadness that calls out to the heaviness in my own heart, an answering ache of loneliness.
And somehow, without even thinking, I know.
This man knows loss.
Garrett’s forehead knits with concern, and he takes a step closer. “Are you OK?”
I flinch back, snapping to reality. “Fine,” I tell him, hearing my voice come out high and shrill. I do my best to pull myself back together, despite the fact my heartbeat has quickened, quicksilver in my veins. “What do you want?”
Garrett pauses, and in an instant, that look in his eyes is gone. Something smooths over his expression, so casual, I wonder if I imagined the sadness there at all; if it was real, or just a reflection of the dark ache in my own chest.
I wait for him to ask what I’m doing out here, or to make some comment about the wedding, but instead, Garrett gives me a brief smile. “You’re cold,” he says, shrugging off his jacket. “Here, you’ll freeze out here without a real coat.”
I blink. I’ve been so caught up in my emotions, I’ve barely noticed the chill, but now I realize the wind is whipping around, icy, carrying tiny wet snowflakes. “I’m fine,” I lie, not wanting his charity.
Garrett lifts an eyebrow. “Your feet are turning blue,” he points out, and I follow his gaze down to my gorgeous new heels, which are now stained and sinking into the snow.
His lip curls in an amused smirk, and I feel a stab of annoyance. He’s judging me, when he’s the one dressed to go chop wood, not attend a wedding?
“I didn’t realize they were serious about having this thing outside,” I protest, not liking the way I feel under his gaze. “Who gets married in the freezing snow when they can do it inside, like civilized people?”
I sound like a snooty bitch, and I’m not even surprised when Garrett rolls his eyes at me. “Either take my jacket, or get inside,” he orders gruffly. “It would screw up their honeymoon to have you die out here of pneumonia.”
What I want is to be left alone just a moment longer before I have to paste on a smile and pretend like everything’s OK. But Garrett is planted squarely in front of me, thrusting the jacket at my body, and I can tell from the stubbornly noble look on his face that he’s not letting me go.
I finally take the jacket, sidestepping past him to head back towards the house. The heavy fabric is still warm from his body, and I wrap it around myself like an oversized cocoon. I breathe in the scent of snow and cedar trees and a low citrusy hint of his aftershave, and for a moment, my senses are overwhelmed with the pure essence of him: comforting and true.
I catch a glimpse of what life would be like with a man like this. Safe in the warmth of someone who is secure in himself, rooted in the world instead of caught up in power plays and hierarchies. I may have sneered at Emerson, but there’s no doubting Juliet is the most important thing in his life, that he’d die for her.
I don’t rank first for Alexander. I don’t even come close.
“That’s it?” Garrett’s voice drawls.
I startle. He’s following behind me, a half-step away, and when I turn, I almost crash right into him. Garrett puts his arms out to steady me, but it’s too much to be so wrapped up in the scent of him, the sensation, and have him touching me too. I flinch back from him like I’ve been burned.
“A ‘thanks’ would be nice, darlin’,” Garrett adds, his gaze drifting over my body again, but this time, with a new appreciation in his eyes.
I know that expression. It’s hungry and knowing, and sends a bolt of feminine awareness through me; my skin prickling, tension knotting low between my thighs. Despite everything, I feel my body respond to him.
God, how long has it been since Alexander looked at me that way?
Don’t be so stupid, the voice in my head scolds me. Garrett saw you’re upset, and now he just thinks he can throw some chivalry your way and land a sure thing for the night.
I flush, self-conscious, hating that he caught me in my moment of vulnerability.
“I know just what kind of thanks you want,” I reply archly. “And trust me when I say it’s never going to happen.”
“Whoa there.” Garrett sounds indignant. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’ve heard all about you,” I give him a knowing look. “You’re the good-time man-whore who has his way with anything in a skirt. Well, I’m taken,” I tell him, holding up my hand to flash my princess-cut diamond. I should stop there, I know, but I can’t help myself; I’d do anything to wipe the memory of his sympathetic expression. “And even if I wasn’t,” I add, “I wouldn’t. Not in a million years.”
