Ilya rolled his eyes. Family ribbing was all very well and good—to be expected under the circumstances—but he was getting impatient. Where the hell was his bride?
He’d recognized Yasmin Carter the moment he’d turned around. So many thoughts had crossed his mind, the first being how stunningly beautiful she was in her wedding gown. Who knew that beneath the flight suits or jeans and a T-shirt he’d seen her wearing at the airfield, she could be so incredibly feminine, or so vulnerably fragile. That first glimpse of her today had appealed to an instinct his family constantly teased him about—his need to protect and provide for those he cared for. He hadn’t expected to feel that for his bride immediately, but he had—deeply and viscerally. His response had made him want to follow her when she’d turned and left after her awkward pronouncement. It was only his grandmother’s hurried whisper that she would deal with it that had prevented him from chasing Yasmin as she’d bolted from the room, even though every cell in his body had called on him to do so.
He looked at his watch again and fought not to start tapping his foot in impatience. The women had been gone twenty minutes now.
“The natives are getting restless,” Valentin observed as he cast his eyes over the assembled family and friends who’d been able to make it on short notice. “It’s a good thing you have the champagne flowing, Galen.”
Galen was the head of Horvath’s hotel and resort chain. He’d automatically switched into damage control mode the moment the wedding had gone off the rails. Ilya refused the offer of a waiter passing by with a tray of beverages. He needed a clear head today.
A movement in the doorway attracted his attention and he started toward his grandmother before anyone else noticed her.
“Is Yasmin all right?” he asked as his grandmother tugged him into the hallway.
“You recognized her?”
“Of course I did. While I’m left wondering what madness possessed you to match her to me, I’ve learned to trust you. But does she? She’s more skittish than I would have thought.”
“And so you ought to trust your grandmother. I only ever have your best interests at heart,” Alice said, patting him fondly on the cheek. “We have a small problem.”
A small problem? He would have thought his bride running away from the ceremony was a bit more than that.
“She has a stipulation if the wedding is to proceed,” his grandmother continued.
“And that is?”
“She’s very protective of Carter Air. She will go ahead with this, provided that you two never discuss business together and that your companies remain two separate entities. Therefore, no mergers, no buyouts, no sharing of information.”
“And that’s it?”
In the grand scheme of things, it was nothing. Of course she’d want to protect her company. And though their families had bad blood between them, he wasn’t interested in Carter Air as a takeover target and didn’t wish Yasmin ill beyond the usual competition in the industry. It wasn’t his style. He’d never understood why the cold war that had raged between his grandfather and Jim Carter, Yasmin’s grandfather, had been carried on for generations. Ilya didn’t believe in holding grudges. But even so he did wonder if his grandmother had some other ideas cooking beneath her halo of perfectly coifed silver hair.
“You agree, then?”
“Of course I agree, Nagy. Show me where to sign and I’ll sign.”
He saw relief in his grandmother’s blue eyes. “Thank you, my boy. I think it’s best if we keep this a verbal agreement for now, don’t you? We don’t want anything to muddy the waters should circumstances change, and thanks to your exemplary reputation, Yasmin is prepared to accept your word. Now, go back inside and wait.”
“We’re going ahead?”
“We most certainly are.”
Yasmin fought the overwhelming sense of déjà vu that assailed her as she approached the double doors to the ballroom. This was it, her wedding day. She was actually going through with it. And now, hopefully, her problems would begin to fade away. Her business problems, at least. As for her personal ones, well, that was another story.
She hovered at the end of the carpet, sensed a movement at her side. Ilya.
“Yasmin Carter, will you marry me?” he asked, offering her his arm so he could accompany her down the aisle.
She looked up into his denim-blue eyes and saw only reassurance there. Strange that in business they were such fierce rivals, yet here he was offering her comfort, companionship. Marriage. It shouldn’t have made sense—she barely knew the man—but in this moment he was the key that would hopefully unlock the door to her future.
“Yasmin?”
“Yes, I will marry you,” she said in a voice she’d hoped would be firm and decisive, but that came out husky and with a faint tremor.
“Shall we?” He nodded toward the aisle.
She tucked her arm in his and together they walked slowly down the aisle toward the celebrant.
The ceremony itself passed in a blur. She supposed she said the right things at the right time, because before she knew it, Ilya was putting a blindingly brilliant wedding band on her finger and the celebrant was pronouncing them husband and wife.
Ilya leaned toward her. Oh my, he’s going to kiss me! she thought, her heart kicking up to double speed in her chest. Unsure of what to do, she stood there, watching him come toward her with a twinkle in those intriguing eyes and an expression of humor mixed with determination on his face.
As he drew closer Yasmin felt his warmth and took in the scent of his cologne, the tang of pine with an underlying hint of sandalwood. And then his lips touched hers. Sensation rippled through her whole body and her breath caught in her throat. Time stopped. All that existed was the sensation of his kiss. And then, just like that, it was over. Too soon and yet not soon enough.
As he pulled away, there was a polite smattering of applause together with whoops and hollers from Ilya’s groomsmen. He might not be touching her right now, but every nerve in her body continued to party as if he still kissed her. It was madness and it was wonderful all at the same time. A roaring sound filled Yasmin’s ears.
Her new husband leaned forward and whispered, “Breathe, Yasmin.”
She took in one shuddering breath and then another before turning to accept congratulations from the few members of her staff—pretty much her only friends these days—who’d made it to the wedding. All the while she tried to come to terms with the avalanche of emotion that swept her along on its tumbling course. She was married. To Ilya Horvath. And the man was dangerous.
One kiss had scrambled her synapses. One. That’s all it had taken. Was she so weak? So starved for male attention? Yasmin looked across at Ilya, her husband, and the tingle of desire he’d ignited in her dialed up a few notches. She felt a flush warm her cheeks as he turned from the person congratulating him and his gaze met hers. Yasmin swiftly averted her eyes.
Alice Horvath stood before her. Were those tears in the older woman’s eyes? Surely not. Before Yasmin could say anything, Alice stepped closer.
“Congratulations, my dear, and welcome to the family. You’re one of us now.”
Alice pulled Yasmin into a firm hug, holding her close for several seconds before letting her go. Her words, however, settled into Yasmin’s mind like a rock sinking in quicksand. Before she could reply, Ilya was back at her side.
“The photographer would like us to himself for a while. Nagy, will you excuse us?”
Yasmin