The Rent-A-Groom Read Online Free Page B

was getting into a tuxedo. Where did that leave her?
     
    True to her usual organization, her honeymoon trousseau had been packed weeks in advance. She had only to grab the suitcase on the way out of the apartment. Regardless, nothing in it remotely resembled an evening dress. With Bradley, the most she had expected to need was an understated outfit of the kind she wore to church. Something told her that more would be required to keep up with Race. Besides, being an adventuress seemed to call for a drastic change of style.
     
    She’d noticed a boutique tucked into a corner near the hotel gift shop. That was her only hope. If she gave them her gold card and an option on her firstborn son, they might let her take a few things up to her room on approval. Face set in determined lines, Gina turned in that direction.
     
    : : :
     
    Race was standing in the middle of the sitting room when she let herself back into the suite. Dressed in a pleated white shirt that hung open over black tuxedo trousers, he was struggling with a cuff link.
     
    He glanced up with a flashing smile. “I wondered where you got off to.”
     
    Gina tore her gaze away from the section of muscle-wrapped chest revealed by his unfastened shirt. It was gilded with curling hair the color of old gold. A little breathless, undoubtedly from her haste, she gestured toward her burden of dresses draped in mint-green plastic. “Would you believe I didn’t have anything to wear—at least anything formal?”
     
    “We could have gone more casual.” There was a trace of concern in his eyes.
     
    “No way,” she returned as she headed toward the bedroom. “I’ll try not to take too long. When you’re done, help yourself to a drink at the wet bar.”
     
    Intent on watching her, he fumbled the cuff link in his fingers, dropping it. He bent in a swift, lithe movement to pick it up. “Could you give me a hand here first? I never have been any good at fastening these things.”
     
    To come that close to him didn’t seem like a real bright idea, but Gina could think of no way to avoid it. Draping the dress bag across the arm of a chair, she moved toward him. She took the plain gold link he held out to her and reached for his arm.
     
    His wrist was taut and strong, with its molding of muscle and sinew. He held it rock steady while she guided the post of the cuff link through the holes in both sides of his silk shirt cuff. It was her fingers that had a tendency to tremble.
     
    Standing so close, she inhaled the soap freshness of him, also the scent of a subtle aftershave that hinted of wild canyons and desert nights. The warmth of his body reached out to her like an invisible caress. Feeling it, her skin prickled with the sudden rise of goose flesh.
     
    “I called down for reservations at the Terrace,” he said, his voice slightly husky. “I hope that’s all right.”
     
    “Fine. I’m glad you thought of it.”
     
    “That’s my job, to make things easier for you.”
     
    She swept her lashes upward, searching his face. He was watching her, his dark blue gaze intent in its measuring curiosity. His pupils widened slightly, as if to better absorb her, while a pulse began to throb in the strong column of his neck.
     
    His hair, still damp from his shower, curled a little across the tops of his ears. The dark gold stubble of his beard was just visible under his smooth-shaven skin. A thin scar above the center of one brow gave it a small quirk that saved him from vapid perfection, lending an air that was quizzical and cynical by turns.
     
    The firm contours of his mouth were finely molded and finished at the corners with the small indentations of omnipresent humor. They deepened, reaching toward the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, as his lips curved in a slow grin. Voice soft, he asked, “Think you’ll know me next time you see me?”
     
    “Maybe,” she answered, lowering her lashes like dropping mini-blinds in a single, swift fall, “if I ever