Free Here Comes the Bride by Gayle Kasper Page B

afternoon with her. Very much. He hated reality intruding, the reality of this wedding that he knew his little cuz would be all for.
    She and Auntie would have their heads together the minute she got there, plotting and planning down to the last orange blossom.
    Maybe he could get Camille alone for a moment, for a small family discussion, and make her see this matrimonial idea of Auntie’s for what it was—one big mistake.
    It was worth a shot, he thought, but given the fact that Camille saw the world through rose-colored glasses, he wasn’t holding out much hope of making her see reason.
    Maybe Fiona had the best idea after all. Set them down and talk turkey to them—each separately, of course. Together they tended to gaze besottedly at each other—and no amount of reasoning could win out over that.
    He glanced over at the two women as he made his way out of the parking garage and onto the airport road. Camille was relating some wild adventure about how she’d slept on the luggage rack in a train car and eaten biscuits out of a knapsack while she traveled into India’s remotest regions.
    Fiona was listening raptly. Every time he looked at her he remembered this afternoon, the reverence in her eyes when she’d touched the small jewelry box, the look of disbelief on her face when she realized he’d bought it for her. He’d never been in the habit of giving such gifts to the women who passed through his life, but Fiona was different. Fiona was special. He wished that realization didn’t strike such terror into him.
    But it did.
    He caught Fiona’s soft laugh of amusement at something his cousin had said. What, he didn’t know. He was content merely to listen.
    The traffic was unusually light on Sahara for this time of day. He leaned back into the Mercedes’s soft, plush leather, one arm draped over the wheel, while he breathed in Fiona’s hypnotic scent. She was muddling his mind, overloading his senses—and he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do about it.
    He didn’t know what the hell he was going to do about
her
.
    By the time they reached Auntie’s, the two women were fast friends, leaving Nick feeling like the uninvited guest at a wedding.
    A poor pun, he thought with an agonized groan.
    Furthermore, he didn’t like feeling unessential in Fiona’s life. It was a petty emotion and one that surprised him.
    The woman was usurping too much of his peace of mind.
    Everyone was gathered around the pool when they got there. Camille gave appropriate responses over the balloons tethered to everything stationary, and hugged Walter, already accepting the fact that he would soon be part of her mother’s life.
    Auntie had invited half of Las Vegas’s permanent population, it seemed. Guests milled around everywhere. Nick avoided them, hovering by a potted palm, and quietly sipped his drink.
    Fiona was being duly presented to friends,old and new. He watched her move gracefully through the crowd, her hair shimmering a glorious russet under the patio lights. It brushed the tops of her creamy shoulders, left bare by the shirred top of her iris-colored dress.
    Only two tiny straps kept the dress decent, he realized as his imagination played with the idea of sliding them down her arms.
    He’d undress her slowly, very slowly, until he could feast his eyes on every lovely inch of her. Their lovemaking would be fevered and fierce, then they’d play it out again. This time he’d take his time, the way it ought to be. He’d dreamed of making love to her, perhaps from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her.
    “She’s beautiful, cousin,” Camille said, apparently having escaped the group to come and interrupt his parade of thoughts.
    “Who?” he asked, feigning innocence.
    “The woman you haven’t been able to take your eyes off of all evening.”
    He took a hard swallow of his bourbon, the ice cubes clinking against his teeth. “Camille, you’ve been out in the sun too long.”
    “Oh, you’re smitten,