He stepped closer. “Do you really want me to?”
No. Yes. No. And why did he have to smell so good? “I want—”
“Jennifer,” the photographer called out, saving her, because she had no idea what she would have said. The photographer’s instructions continued. “Put your hand on Bobby’s upper arm and keep looking up at him exactly like you have been.”
Jennifer did as ordered, every touch, every connection with his body, electric. And he knew it. His eyes smoldered with awareness.
“Perfect,” the photographer declared. “Don’t move.”
“You look beautiful in that dress,” he whispered.
“Stop, Bobby,” she ordered.
“We’re back to ‘stop’ again?”
“Yes,” she hissed. “We’re back to ‘stop.’ Behave.”
“Turn and face forward,” the photographer called out. “Jennifer, in front. Bobby, behind her with your hands on her waist.”
Bobby’s eyes twinkled. “I’m betting he wants you to smile for this one.”
She ground her teeth. “Behave.” She faced forward.
Bobby framed her body with his, his hands settling on her shoulders as he leaned in and whispered, “But you like it when I misbehave.”
“I do n—”
He nuzzled her neck and a shivery, aroused sensation rippled through her body. Jennifer’s lashes lowered as the heat slid through, and for an instant, there was only Bobby.
“Now that’s a picture!” the photographer yelled. “I think that’s it. If the bride is happy.”
“Oh, yes,” Marcie said, wrapping her arm through Mark’s. “I am, indeed, happy. And now it’s time for the first dance. They’re waiting for us.”
Jennifer darted forward, out of Bobby’s reach and didn’t look back, weaving her way into the crowd and near the dance floor, but on the opposite side from the wedding party. She needed space. She eased into a chair, her legs wobbly.
Soon, Marcie and Mark were on the dance floor, in a lover’s embrace. But it wasn’t long until the music shifted to a fun country beat, and a mass of guests crowded in with them.
Jennifer was about to find some water, when she was tugged to her feet by Scott, the best man, and pulled to the dance floor, into the throng of dancers.
“No!” she yelled, but it was too late.
Scott grinned at her and pulled her in far too close. “Everyone knows the best man and the maid of honor have to dance, and we didn’t,” he said, his hand a little too low on her back.
A slow song came on, and Jennifer knew she was in trouble.
“This is my dance,” Bobby said, appearing by her side and towering over Scott by several inches. It wasn’t just that Bobby was big. He wore confidence like a second skin. The kind you didn’t have to announce or flaunt—it simply existed, and that made it, and him, all the more intimidating.
“No problem, Bobby man,” Scott said, making a quick escape.
Jennifer did, too; she darted away, not about to be molded close to Bobby for a slow dance. She quickly worked through the crowd and found a quiet corner.
Bobby appeared and slid his hand in hers. “You promised me we’d go back to that spot I showed you. I intend for you to remember every last second of this night. Meet me at our tree at midnight.”
A night with Bobby. Images of them naked, making passionate love, flickered in her mind and had her squeezing her thighs together. The idea of one last night—well, it was her heart squeezing on that one. She’d tried the big kiss-off nights before and failed. Now this?
She tilted her chin up. “We don’t have a tree.”
“The names carved in it say otherwise,” he reminded her. “You owe me this. You owe us this.” He leaned in closer and brushed his lips near her ear. “I’ll bring a blanket.” He kissed her neck, and then he was gone.
Several hours later, after Marcie had refused to throw the bouquet, handing it to Jennifer instead—with Bobby watching—Bobby was now nowhere to be found, and midnight was fast approaching. The bride and groom were gone. And it was time for Jennifer to decide. Was she going to lay her heart on the line and meet Bobby?
***
BOBBY STOOD UNDER THAT San Antonio tree, it’s location significant in so many ways. It was the place he’d felt he’d finally conquered his demons. The place he hoped Jennifer had fallen in love with him again. Never as nervous, he surveyed his watch—it was five minutes after midnight. She wasn’t coming. He’d been sure she’d come, sure she’d give them one last chance. And he’d planned. He’d changed into jeans and set the stage. A blanket on the ground, two lanterns and a few big surprises that he hoped would prove he planned to give her the world. But she wasn’t here.
Five more minutes and he was pacing. Another five, and he was on the blanket, sitting down, defeated, staring at their names carved in the base of the tree. His hands slid into his hair, mentally kicking himself for shutting down on her in the car.