Five Alarm Lust

of the heavy public bathroom door opening preceded Barbara’s biting tone. “Gillian, don’t think I didn’t see you…”
An uneasy cringe escaped in spite of the relief at the shattered memory. Gillian squeezed her eyes shut. “Mother, can I not use the facilities without you harping at me?” Gillian smoothed her skirt down, rolling her shoulders forward in the hope of hiding her erect nipples. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
“Well hurry up, they’ve already got everyone seated. Goodness, child, you’d think you’d remember this was my wedding!” The bathroom door clicked shut on her mother’s tirade.
With a roll of her eyes, Gillian stepped out of the stall, shot a look at her reflection in the mirror, and inhaled.
“There’s no point in getting hot and bothered over the likes of him. He ain’t going to want you.” Gilli waved a hand at her reflection, a perfect imitation of her mother. “Horn-rimmed glasses, mousy-looking hair, no tits. Didn’t Mike teach you a damn thing, Gillian? Men don’t want a mouse, they want a sexpot, and you’re not it.”
With a quick shake of her head, she smoothed her skirt down, sucked in a deep breath, and pulled open the bathroom door. She glanced around carefully before darting into the hallway.
Pressed close to the wall, she took her place before her mother, feeling like an over-stuffed Easter egg as the Wedding March began to play. A smile pasted on her face, she gripped the flowers in her hand tighter and began the slow but steady shuffle toward the preacher.
Focused on getting there without falling, Gilli gasped at the man standing next to the altar. Laughing green eyes watched her, his lips turned upward at the corners. A slight shadow covered his square jaw. The dark suit he wore clung to his broad shoulders, tucking in at his waist. She wondered if beneath his suit coat, his ass was as good as the rest of him. Embarrassed, she stepped back, narrowly missing tripping on her own gown’s hem.
Her mother’s pointed clearing of her throat drew her attention to the woman sashaying along, the yards and yards of tulle and lace out of place on a woman in her fifties—who’d had six previous husbands and more lovers then Gillian thought healthy. The unspoken warning in Barbara’s eyes pierced clearer than any shouting match could be. There would be hell to pay if any attention slipped from the bride.
“Typical.” Gilli glared at the flowers, disgust rolling in her nauseous gut. She offered a prayer the ceremony would draw to a quick end so she could ditch the shoes, the flowers, and find a quiet corner to relax in, with the help of an expensive bottle of champagne.
She shot a glance across the aisle, heat suffusing her face when she caught sex in a cummerbund’s eye. Screw the wine—what she wouldn’t give to get lost in him. Maybe if she’d been different… Pushing aside the vague thought, she focused on the drone of her mother’s voice as she spoke her vows.
*
Jack caught the flare of desire in the eyes of the slim girl across from him before she ducked her head. He glanced up the aisle at the bride and exhaled. A sharp elbow to the side sent a shard of pain dancing up his ribs, drawing his attention.
“Behave yourself.”
“I am,” he grunted. His neck itched from the starch in his shirt collar, and the tie added to the discomfort. How he’d let himself get talked into this monkey suit he still didn’t know. It was obvious to anyone who knew him he was being a gentleman; hell, he’d have left hours ago, the minute he’d met the bride, if he’d been misbehaving. Although, the view from where he was sure made up for the monkey suit. She was cute, not out and out beautiful, but a knockout with her gentle curves and shy demeanor—it was the quiet ones who got you hooked. “Hey, who’s the kid?” His eyes traced over her again, the familiar curiosity dancing along his nerves as he wondered what the dress hid.
“That’s Gillian. She’s not a kid. She’s only six years younger than you are.”
“Yeah, but what does she do?”
“Something with dinosaurs, I think.”
“Dinosaurs, huh?” He whistled under his breath, his interest pricked.
Lenny shot him a quick look. “She’s the man-eating kind. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get married.”
“Man-eater my ass.”
Listening to the preacher drag on, Jack turned his attention to studying the bridesmaid. Her fingers plucked at the ribbon on the flowers and her brows were drawn down behind the horrible glasses she wore. Dark rims shrouded her eyes, sitting atop her little nose, seeming to mock him. The pale purple and yellow dress she wore clung to her body, her narrow waist flowing into slim hips. Her chest rose and fell, the material hugging her small breasts. Though not his typical type, Jack couldn’t help himself, the need to get closer a steady confusing pull. He wasn’t here to get laid—this wasn’t some bar or nightclub.
Besides, there was always Shelli—buxom, gorgeous, sexy, a woman who knew her way around a bed, like all of the women he’d dated. Career-minded, single, knew how to play the game—and as boring as hell—probably why he’d dumped her before coming to the wedding. Nope, not here to get laid, he reprimanded himself, although I would kill to see what’s under the hideous amount of fabric.
On automation, he followed the bride and groom back down the aisle. With every step, he snuck another glance at the woman ahead of him. Who the hell was she? Inching closer to her, he sighed, the faint scent of her soap drifting to him. The hint of flowers more of a turn-on than any perfume he’d smelled before. Determination filled him. He’d find out at the reception; someone had to know more than her name.
*
What a dish? Perhaps I was a bit too hasty. Still, there’s time. Though I am worried about his interest in Gillian. Man