One Night Standards, page 4
I rush over to the DJ booth in the corner to make my request before hurrying back to join my wife beneath the glowing spotlight.
The smile that stretches across her face confirms she recognizes the opening notes to “Make You Feel My Love,” by Garth Brooks, and that she more than approves of my choice.
“This is perfect,” she says, linking her arms around my neck as she releases a dreamy sigh. “That was one of my favorite days.”
“Mine too,” I rasp. “Every minute I spent with you in that cave was a favorite, Li’l Bit.”
I grip her waist and pull her close, inhaling her sweet scent and relishing the warmth of her body pressed to mine. Bringing my lips to her ear, I serenade my girl, for old time’s sake, while taking her for a spin around the dance floor.
Her heart beats faster with every word I sing, the warmth of her breaths coming harder and more frequent into the crook of my neck.
I nip her lobe and trace the shell of her ear lightly with the tip of my tongue during the second chorus, eliciting a full body chill.
“Lyle…I—” She stops, contemplating whether or not to complete her thought.
“Yeah?” I urge.
“This…” she says, nodding between us, “It still feels right…” It’s a question as much as it is a statement. Her nerves are kicking into overdrive. She needs to be reassured that she’s not falling back into these old feelings on her own.
“Because it is.” I slide a hand along the bare skin of her back, up the nape of her neck, and trail it along her jawline until I arrive at her chin. Leaning in, I press a chaste kiss to her lips. “Time can’t erase feelings this deep, babe. We’re written in the stars.”
She nods, stroking her thumbs along the sensitive skin just behind my ears. “We’ve changed though,” she hedges. “A lot of time has passed, Lyle.”
“We’re the same in here…” I flatten a palm to her chest. “Where it matters.”
She brings a hand to my cheek, gazing deep into my eyes. “But what if love isn’t enough?”
“It’s more than enough,” I vow with a hard swallow. “It’s everything, Li’l Bit.”
Rising to her toes, she stretches her face toward mine. Without hesitation, I accept the invitation, meeting her halfway. My lips hover just a hair’s breadth from hers, twitching as they beg for her to close the distance.
Sammi doesn’t falter. Just like with our previous kisses, fireworks explode between us the instant our lips meet.
I wonder if it’s possible for it to always be so good between us. And if kissing her is this exhilarating, what it’ll be like when I finally bury myself inside of her. The mere thought has me hardening in my slacks.
I allow her to lead, holding myself back while she tortures me, peppering the softest whispers of a kiss across my mouth.
A groan slips out when she traces the seam of my lips with her tongue, ever so lightly.
“I wish this baby was yours,” she says pulling back, her voice weighted with regret.
“Hey,” I say, nipping at the tip of her nose. “This baby’ll be as much mine as I am my parents’.”
Having been adopted as an infant myself, I know better than most that it takes more than blood to make a family. I’ve never questioned my mom and dad’s love for me, and I’ll make sure this little one grows up feeling just as cherished as I did.
She nods, offering me a tense smile.
“I mean it. Biology doesn’t mean shit to me.”
“I know,” she says as the song draws to a close and our guests begin to celebrate with applause.
“It’s gonna be great,” I promise as her Uncle Bernard steals her away, pinning a crisp one-hundred-dollar-bill to her dress to commence the money dance.
Song after song, our partners switch out, each one pinning cash we don’t need to our clothing. It feels wrong to accept it, but you don’t mess with tradition.
It’s something my sister quickly learns when she adamantly refuses to dance with the broom my mother’s managed to find in a bathroom closet.
“You have to,” insists our Grandma Joyce, who came to live with them from Louisiana last year. “Your baby brother got married before you. Now you have to suffer the consequences like the rest of us had to.”
Mom swiftly agrees. “I had to do it when Uncle Bud and Aunt Sue got married.” She shrugs. “It’s bad luck if you don’t.” She narrows her eyes at her daughter. “Lord knows you don’t need any more of that.”
My family may not have had a thing to do with the planning of this impromptu wedding, but apparently, they’ve taken it upon themselves to infuse a little Cajun culture at the expense of my sister, and I’m here for it.
“Fine,” Liz grumps, snatching the broom from our grandmother’s hand. “But I’m choosing the song.” She gives Grandma Joyce a haughty glare over her shoulder as she turns to storm off.
“None of that bumping and grinding music,” the old woman warns.
“S’cuse me.” Liz pauses mid-flight. “Who’s the one dancing? Me or you?”
Grandma plants her hands on her hips and scowls.
“That’s what I thought… Just remember, this was your idea.” My sister leaves us with a wink before proceeding to sashay over to the DJ booth with the devil gleaming in her eye.
When I hear the words “Cash Money Records taking over for the ’99 and the 2000,” ring through the speakers, I picture my sister’s middle finger rising into the air and cackle.
There must never be a dull moment with those two head-strong women living in the same house. Thank God I don’t live there.
“I need a new mommy,” Annabelle says, appearing at my side. “This is embarrassin’.”
“Oh, she’s fun,” Sammi argues, shaking her ass beside me while cheering her best friend on. It’s crazy how close the two are, considering they’re five years apart. That hasn’t always been the case. But a lot has changed since I went away. These two are thick as thieves these days.
“I can’t believe you married her, Uncle Lyle. She’s embarrassin’ too!” She throws both arms out like she’s ready to just give up on life.
I choke. “But she’s really pretty,” I say, loud enough for my bride to hear.
If her answering smile is any indication, my message was received.
“I guess,” my niece grudgingly admits, folding her arms across her chest.
“And she’s a great cook,” I point out, continuing to sing my bride’s praises.
“Her spaghettis are pretty yummy,” she agrees, then squeals and slaps a hand over her face when her mother starts twerking on the broom handle.
“Where’s Pastor John?” my grandmother screeches. “Someone find that man and tell him to come douse this girl in holy water.” She snatches Annabelle’s hand, leading her and her brother away from the spectacle their mother is making of herself.
By the middle of the song, Sammi and her bridesmaids have joined Lizzie out on the dance floor and that broom is the envy of damn near every man in this room.
One after another, Sammi’s nosy family members begin to approach me, fishing for details on today’s switch up. But if my manager Anika has taught me anything over the last few years, it’s how to dance around uncomfortable topics. I’m well versed in the art of saying a whole lot without really saying much at all.
“Whoo,” DJ Vibe wheezes into the microphone. “Y’all got me sweatin’ over here, ladies,” he teases, fanning himself dramatically. “But it’s time for a little change in pace. Can we get the bride and her father on the floor, please?”
There isn’t a dry eye in the building when Sammi and Mr. Wayne take center stage.
Swaying slowly in place, they hold one another close while Celine Dion’s, “Because You Loved Me,” rips them wide open. The tender ballad is Sammi’s way of thanking her father for all that he’s given to her throughout the years—his love and wisdom. His unwavering support. It’s a promise that once he’s gone, she’ll be okay…and it’s because he’s instilled the best parts of himself into her. However unready she may be, he’s prepared her to face this world without him.
The urge to go to her, to wrap my arms around her shuddering body and promise it’s going to be all right, is almost too much to bear. But it isn’t my place…not yet. This moment isn’t about me. Besides, I’ve never lied to her before. And I certainly don’t plan to start now. Losing this man is going to tear her world apart.
There’s no way to protect her from it, no matter how badly I wish I could. All I can do is be here when the time comes, in whatever capacity she’ll allow.
“Where are we going?” I ask for the third time since the limo rolled out of the church parking lot. “I don’t know if I can handle any more excitement.”
Today has been awful and incredible. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced the depth of lows and the height of the highs I have today.
My emotions are off the chain.
“You can,” he insists, turning to plant a kiss to the crown of my head, which is resting on his shoulder. Lyle grips my knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze. “Trust me?”
My new husband was not too keen on the idea of staying in the suite Trent had booked for tonight, insisting he knew of a better place we could spend our wedding night than some hotel. What it might’ve lacked in luxury, however, The Winchester more than made up for in location, being minutes from my parents’ house.
Lyle’s never been a pretentious guy, despite our privileged upbringing. That’s why I’m convinced it had less to do with the place itself, like he’d made it seem, and everything to do with the person responsible for planning it, which is more than understandable. And really, after what that man did for me today, who am I to deny him anything?
So, recent case of separation anxiety aside, I readily agreed, trying my damnedest to hide my unease.
With every mile marker that whizzes by, the pit in my stomach expands.
“I do.” I smile up at him with all the faith I can muster. “I trust you.”
He bobs his head, taking my hand from my lap and holding it in both of his. “It’s just…despite how this marriage came about, I want to do what little I can to make it ours, you know?”
A highlight reel of the day’s events rapid fires through my mind giving me a wicked case of emotional whiplash.
Despite all the crazy—and there was so much of that—Lyle managed to make our wedding special in its own right. He had me smiling through the tears and swooning over his heartfelt words. That man did everything in his power to ensure I felt loved and cherished. And he did all of this on a day when—let’s face it—I didn’t really deserve it. I made my own bed, and he didn’t have to lie in it with me. Yet here he is.
“And you have,” I assure him, “from that epic proposal to those amazing vows.”
“Meant every word,” he says, brimming with pride.
“Except for the part about my being the most stubborn person you know, right?”
His obnoxious guffaw rattles my chest. “Especially that part.”
I jab a playful elbow into his ribs, and his answering laughter sets my soul on fire.
In this moment, he looks young and carefree, a vision that’s so reminiscent of the boy I grew up with.
I can’t help but pause to stare at him in all his beauty, which somehow seems heightened by the soft glow of the full moon filtering in through the sunroof above our heads.
Lyle Livingston is a stunning man. With a full head of caramel-colored hair that always looks sex mussed, and skin permanently kissed by the sun, no matter the season, he’s a treat to behold, turning heads wherever he goes. Gosh, even as a boy his jawline was pronounced, but now? As a full-grown man? It looks as if it was chiseled from the finest stone, his pert nose sculpted to perfection. And those pillowy lips of his were simply built for kissing. It’s no wonder, next to the front man, he’s the most lusted-after member of The Rhett Taylor Band.
There’s something in his eyes, though, that really gets me going. By most estimations they could be described simply as an unremarkable toffee brown, more almond than oval in shape. A little squinty at times, and his least remarkable feature. But one look from that man and I swear I’m ready to combust on the spot. It’s the way they sear into mine, like he can see past the surface, right down to my soul.
On second thought, maybe it’s not the way his eyes look at all, but the way they look at me…
“You okay?” he asks, drawing me from my stupor with an all-knowing smirk.
“Uh-huh,” I say practically swallowing my tongue. “So good.” My head feels light, and my heart is fluttering impossibly fast. I haven’t felt butterflies like this with anyone but this man. I’d forgotten how enchanting it felt just to be in his orbit.
“Great,” he answers, reaching over my lap for the door handle and popping it open, “Because we’re here.”
“Oh!” Giddy to see where he’s taken me, I fight the urge to squeal as I scramble across the seat, lugging the heavy dress behind. “I didn’t even notice when we stopped,” I say, glancing around at the enormous palms swaying in the breeze. The sound of their fronds rustling, paired with the waves crashing against the shore, is music to my ears. I take a deep inhale, filling my lungs with salt and sea…and happiness.
Maybe he was onto something in skipping that hotel. I had no idea such paradise existed less than an hour from home. Or how much I needed a break from the sadness. A chance to breathe fresh air.
“You were a little preoccupied,” he teases.
“Hey,” I say, swatting him in the chest with the back of a hand when he comes to stand beside me. “There’s no shame in admiring your husband—” I choke up on the word. Because while I’ve always hoped it’d be Lyle standing beside me on that altar, I never imagined I’d be a wife at only twenty-one. “I—is there?”
“Admire away, wife.” He tucks a windblown strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ll never tire of the way you look at me…not ever.”
“And how do I look at you?” I prod.
The corner of his mouth curls up in a sly smirk. “Like I’m still the hottie from next door.”
I slap a hand to my forehead. “I can’t believe I said that in church.”
“It was, without question, my favorite part of the ceremony,” he says, the picture of seriousness as he takes a moment to stare off into the distance, deep in thought. “It was nice…”
“What was?” I rasp, accepting his offered hand.
“Being seen as anything more than famous.”
“Well,” I tease, snuggling close to ward off a chill while he leads me up the lighted stone walkway toward a colossal beachfront mansion. “Don’t you worry, hotshot. I’ll make sure the fame doesn’t go to your big head.”
“How do you know it hasn’t already? We haven’t exactly spent much time together over the last couple of years.” His tone is playful, but my answer is anything but. His actions today were not those of a guy with an overinflated ego. In fact, they were the complete opposite.
“You just sacrificed your own freedom to save me from myself.” I gulp, trying not to become overly emotional again. Since we got the bad news, I’ve been living on the edge… and not the exciting variety. I’m one push away from a complete mental breakdown. “You kept a promise made between children. One you easily could have let slide. All so I could have my daddy walk me down the aisle before he passes. If that’s not selfless, Lyle Livingston, I don’t know what is.”
Never one easily accepting of praise, he’s quick to put a nefarious spin on the situation, but the gravel in his tone is all the assurance I need to know my words didn’t fall on deaf ears.
“Or, maybe I took advantage of a shitty situation to get what I’ve always wanted.” He punches a code into the door then knocks his hip into it to push it open, before quirking a brow my way. “Have you thought of that possibility, Jailbait?”
“And what you’ve always wanted…” I ask, batting my fake lashes fast enough to take flight. “Would that be li’l ol’ me?”
He shakes his head to himself, biting back a smile. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Always was when it came to you.” I brush against his chest deliberately as I slip past him into the foyer, admiring the double winding staircases to both my left and right.
He flips a switch near the door, bathing the room in a soft white light. The place is immaculate and expensively decorated, even by my standards. White and gray marble tile as far as the eye can see gives way to what appears to be the living room. I arrive at this assessment based on the white leather couches and stone fireplace now clearly in view.
“Whose place is this?”
“All of ours,” he says. The clang of his keys dropping into the shell-shaped bowl on the console table echoes through the open space. “Belongs to the band.”
“Impressive…” I say, trailing a finger along the curled end of the banister.
“So, you, uhh…want me to give you a quick tour?” Tall, tan, and sexy combs a hand through his hair while looking up at me from beneath his hooded lashes.
I shake my head, mustering the courage to saunter over to where he’s standing and flatten my palms to his hard chest. “Maybe tomorrow.”
Lyle sucks his lower lip into his mouth, scraping it through his teeth, his expression positively feral as he stares down at me like a mountain lion poised and ready to pounce. “What do you want to do, then?”
My body is a livewire, set to burst into flames at any moment. I no longer possess the required restraint to hold back, so I don’t even try. “You.”
Lyle wheezes at my shameless reply, but instead of capitalizing on the offer, his face becomes twisted with indecision. “Come here.”
Dejected, I trail behind him to the worn leather armchair in the corner, wondering what he could possibly be thinking so hard about.
He bends at the waist, dropping into the chair with a groan before hauling me into his lap.
“We don’t have to do this tonight.” With a tender caress, he brushes the hair from my face. “Let’s take things slow…get reacquainted. I’m not expecting anything.”
