A Beaumont Christmas Wedding by Sarah M. Anderson Read Free Book Online Page B

woman—no matter what name she went by—did not pull this wedding off message. That she did not pull
him
off message. That was what he had to think about. Not the way the dress skimmed over her curves or the way her dark hair made her stand out.
    Before he knew what he was doing, he said, “You look beautiful in that dress.”
    This time, she didn’t roll her eyes. She gave him the kind of look that made it clear she didn’t believe him.
    “You can see that, right? You’re stunning.”
    She stared at him for a moment longer. “You’re confusing me,” she said.
    She had a sweet smell to her, something with warm vanilla notes overlaying a deeper spice. Good enough to eat, he thought, suddenly fascinated with the curve of her neck. He could press his lips against her skin and watch her reaction in the mirror. Would she blush? Pull away? Or lean into his touch?
    She looked away. “I could change my hair.”
    “What?”
    “I could try to dye it all blond, although,” she said with a rueful smile, “it didn’t turn out so well the last time I tried it. The white streak won’t take dye, for some reason. God knows I’ve tried to color it over, but it doesn’t work. It’s blond or nothing.”
    “Why on God’s green earth would you want to dye your hair?”
    He couldn’t see her as a blonde. It would be wrong on so many levels. It’d take everything that was fine and delicate about her and make it washed-out, like a painting left out in the rain.
    “If I’m blonde, no one will recognize me. No one would ever guess that Whitney Wildz is standing up there. That way, if I trip in the shoes or drop my bouquet, people will just think I’m a klutz and not assume I’m stoned. Like they always do.”
    Shame sucker punched him in the gut. “Don’t change your hair.” He reached out and brushed the edge of her bangs away from her face.
    She didn’t lean away from him, but she didn’t lean into him, either. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.
    “But...” She swallowed and tried to look tough. She didn’t make it. “I look like me. People will
recognize
me. I thought you didn’t want that to happen.”
    “You say that as if looking like yourself is a bad thing.”
    In the mirror’s reflection, her gaze cut to him. “Isn’t it?”
    He took a step closer to her, close enough that he could slide his fingers from the fringe of her hair down her neck, down her arm. He couldn’t help it, which was something outside of his experience entirely. He’d
always
been able to help himself. He’d never allowed himself to get swept up in something as temporary, as fleeting, as emotional attraction. He’d witnessed firsthand what acting on attraction could do, how it could ruin marriages, leave bastard babies behind—leave children forgotten.
    With the specter of his father hovering around him, Matthew managed to find some of the restraint that normally came so easy to him. He didn’t slide his hand down her bare arm or pull her into his chest. Instead, he held himself to arranging the shoulder of the dress. She watched him in the mirror, her eyes wide. “You are
beautiful
,” he said. It came out like something Phillip would say—low and seductive. It didn’t sound like Matthew talking at all.
    She sucked in a deep breath, which, from his angle, did enticing things to her chest. He wanted to sweep her into his arms. He wanted to tell her he’d had a crush on her back in the day. He wanted to get her out of that dress and into his bed.
    He did none of those things.
    Focus, damn it.
    He took a step back and tried his hardest to look at her objectively. The heels helped, but the hem of the dress still puddled around her. She’d need it hemmed, but they had to settle on the shoes first.
    “Let’s see how you walk in those.” There. That was something that wasn’t a come-on and wasn’t a condemnation. Footwear was a safe choice at this point.
    She stood for a moment, as if she was trying to decide