a physical touch, one that strengthened with each inch she moved toward him?
The walk seemed endless, and yet Jillian was surprised to suddenly find herself at the end of the aisle. She took her place with relief and a sneaky little whiff of disappointment, as though a beam of sunlight had gone away. She was there for the wedding, she reminded herself, not a flirtation. Turning back to the aisle, she held her bouquet before her.
One by one, the other bridesmaids walked toward her and stepped into line. Including Ariel.
Who gave her a broad wink.
Jillian found herself stifling a giggle. Ariel just glided calmly and serenely into place. Only someone who was looking for it would have known that she was trying hard not to laugh, too.
And then the music swelled and there was a shuffle of feet as everyone stood for the bride.
She was, quite simply, lovely. As Lisa had chosen stylish simplicity for the bridesmaids’ dresses, so she’d gone with simple elegance in her own attire: an ivory satin sheath, a garland of freesia and periwinkle for her hair. She was shaking visibly when she drew nearer, Jillian saw, her face pale, eyes huge. Then she reached the head of the aisle, and Brian Summers passed her hand to Alan.
And the moment their hands joined, the shakes were gone. Alan bent his head to kiss Lisa’s fingers. Her smile bloomed, brilliant and beautiful as a sunrise.
Jillian found herself blinking back the sudden sting of tears.
Love. Honor. Cherish. Till death do us part. The words flowed, the phrases that had always been a part of the lexicon of love, but suddenly they were real. She’d never believed in auras and all that mumbo jumbo, but when Alan and Lisa looked into each other’s eyes, Jillian swore she could almost see their love for each other like a glowing nimbus that enveloped them both. It was real, this feeling, it existed. Blinking, she glanced beyond them.
Only to find her gaze pinned to Gil’s.
His eyes were hot and dark and unwavering. And suddenly it was as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. She couldn’t breathe. She felt light-headed, suddenly dizzy as though the floor had tilted and his gaze were the only thing holding her in place. Everything around her receded. There was only Gil, looking at her and through her and into her.
The sound of applause broke the spell. Alan and Lisa were kissing, Jillian realized. The ceremony was finished and they were turning to march back up the aisle, hand in hand.
She glanced back to Gil to see his lips quirk in amusement. The recessional had begun, the bridesmaids and ushers walking forward to pair up, two by two, first Neal and Ariel, then the next pair and the next.
And then Gil was standing before her, offering his arm.
“Let the record show that here you are at the altar and here I am, right on time and ready to escort,” he said.
Jillian laughed and the tension broke. “I appreciate that. I was worried about getting lost.”
“And me, with no GPS.”
She laid her hand on his sleeve. “I have faith in your sense of direction.”
“Outstanding wedding,” he said as they began to walk back up the aisle.
“It was.” Particularly this part, with his arm strong and steady under her fingers, their steps falling in sync.
“Outstanding bridesmaids, too,” Gil added. “Especially the first one that came down the aisle. The color of that dress does very nice things for you.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“And you do even nicer things for the dress.”
“Are you trying to make me blush?” Jillian asked as they passed the rows of people.
He grinned. “Is it working?”
“You’re dangerous,” she told him.
“Me? I’m harmless.”
“Oh, no. I don’t think you can be trusted for a minute.”
“I can be trusted for lots of things,” he countered as they reached the top of the aisle.
“Like what?”
His lips twitched as they reached the top of the aisle. “Let’s get somewhere a little more private and I’d be happy to demonstrate.”
“Oh, too bad we’ve got to go to the reception,” Jillian said lightly. “I guess it’ll have to wait.” She was flirting, she realized in giddy wonder.
“I can be a pretty patient guy when I need to be,” Gil returned.
And they walked through the front doors of the church into blazing sunlight and the pealing of the church’s carillon.
The reception was at a lovely courtyard restaurant on the river. The June afternoon was mild enough to make it enjoyable, and if there was any flaw to it, it was that Jillian had been seated on the opposite side of the head table from Gil. That simmering sense of expectation still bubbled, even as she worked her way through appetizer and salad, soup and main course, making polite conversation with her companions, waiting for the moment she’d be free to talk with him again.
Because she had to admit it, she wanted to. She wanted to talk with him, to laugh with him, to hear his voice, to feel that little shiver in her stomach when she looked into his eyes.
When Lisa and Alan took the floor for their first dance, Jillian applauded with the rest, but mostly she was trying to manage the rush of anticipation and excitement and nerves. Because something had been set in motion. She had no better way to think about it than that. Something had changed from the night before—or maybe she had changed—and she had no idea what came next.
Except that she wanted more.
“All right, let’s have the wedding party out on the floor for their dance,” the band’s lead singer said.
Jillian stood at the edge of the dance floor. For once in her life, she wasn’t feeling tentative or uneasy or at loose ends. He’d come find her, she knew he would.
And then she turned and he was there.
“I think this is my dance,” he said, offering her his hand.
Jillian stepped forward into his arms. The black fabric of his tux felt soft under her fingertips. She concentrated on that because it was safer than thinking about the way heat bloomed through her from his open hand pressed against her back, because that had her wondering just how that hand would feel smoothing over her skin. She shivered.
“Cold?” Gil murmured.
Jillian shook her head. How could she be, when she could feel the heat of his body just inches from hers? And even without that, there was the unsettling slide of his palm over hers, the disconcerting intimacy of having his mouth right at eye level, that delectable mouth that she found herself staring at even as she watched the corners of it turn up.
She raised her chin and found herself looking into his amused eyes.
“How am I doing?” he asked.
“Arthur Murray would be proud.”
“Wait until I trot out my really smooth moves,” he said.
“Is the world ready for that?”
“Come on, live life on the edge.”
“How do you know I don’t already?” she challenged. “I might be a daredevil.”
“Running with scissors? Mixing whites with colors?”
“Skydiving,” she countered. “Hang gliding. Bungee jumping.”
“Bungee jumping?”
“Bungee jumping,” she said triumphantly.
“Then this ought to feel familiar.”