She shook her head and her temple brushed his smooth jaw. “I pin them on myself and Mae. For our business.”
He put a hand on her bare arm. “Are you sure you don’t want to ride with me to the reception? Virgil’s going to be there, and I thought you might not want to go alone.”
With the chaos surrounding the wedding, Georgeanne had managed to avoid thinking about her ex-fianc?. The thought of him now formed a lump in her stomach. “Did you tell him about Lexie?”
“He knows.”
“How did he take it?” She slid her fingers over one more invisible wrinkle, then dropped her hand.
John shrugged his big shoulders. “Okay. It’s been seven years, so he’s over it.”
Georgeanne was relieved. “Then I’ll drive myself to the reception, but thank you for the offer.”
“You’re welcome.” His slid his warm palm up to her shoulder, then back down to her wrist. The hair on her arm tingled. “Are you sure about those pictures?”
“What?”
“I hate waiting around to get my picture taken.”
He was doing it again. Taking up all the space and sucking out her ability to think. Touching him was both sweet pleasure and sheer torture. “I would have thought you’d be used to it by now.”
“I don’t mind the pictures, it’s the waiting. I’m not a patient man. When I want something, I like to get it on.”
Georgeanne had a feeling he wasn’t talking about pictures anymore. A few minutes later, as the photographer positioned them on the steps in front of the pulpit, she was forced to endure the whole pleasure/ torture experience again. Wendell positioned them with the women standing in front of the men, while Lexie stood close to Mae.
“I want to see happy little smiles,” the photographer requested, his soft voice suggesting that perhaps he’d gotten in touch with his feminine side. As he looked through the camera on his tripod, he motioned them closer together with his hands. “Come on, I want to see happy little smiles on your happy little faces.”
“Is he related to that artist on PBS?” John asked Hugh out of the side of his mouth.
“The oil-painting dude with the Afro?”
“Yeah. He used to paint happy little clouds and shit.”
“Daddy!” Lexie whispered loudly. “Don’t swear.”
“Sorry.”
“Can you all say ‘wedding night?’ ” Wendell asked.
“Wedding night!” Lexie yelled.
“That’s real good, little flower girl. How about everyone else?”
Georgeanne looked at Mae and they started to laugh.
“Come on get hap-hap-happy.”
“Damn, where did you get this guy?” Hugh wanted to know.
“I’ve known him for years. He was a good friend of Ray’s.”
“Ahh, that explains it then.”
John put his hand on Georgeanne’s waist, and her laugher stopped abruptly. He slid his palm to her stomach and drew her back against the solid wall of his chest. His voice was a low rumble next to her ear when he said, “Say ‘cheese.’ ”
Georgeanne’s breath caught in her throat. “Cheese,” she uttered weakly, and the photographer snapped the picture.
“Now the groom’s family,” Wendell announced as he advanced his film.