The Wedding Band by Cara Connelly Read Free Book Online

plane out of LAX.
    Then Em pointed again, toward the house. And Chris followed her finger.
    Big mistake.
    Onto the terrace strode Dakota, invading it with his presence, towering over the mere mortals in his sphere. Torchlight cast his Viking cheekbones in bas-­relief and glinted like fire off the streaks in his mane.
    Chris went wet everywhere. Her armpits, her panties. Saliva pooled on her tongue.
    Talk about mouthwatering.
    He’d traded his tux for a simple white button-­down, tailored to his gladiator’s frame. The sleeves were rolled to the elbows, exposing forearms snaked with muscle, and the tails were tucked into Levi’s that cupped an ass so fine his billboards sold millions of boxer briefs, mostly to women hoping to mold their man’s butt into something similar.
    Never gonna happen. God only made one.
    And the guy who owned it had gone to some trouble to lure her to his house. Meaning she could, if she wanted, get her hands on that butt.
    She wanted. Oh boy, she wanted. In fact, if she weren’t two weeks away from splashing his brother’s wedding across the Sentinel ’s centerfold, she might just blink her no-­celebrity rule for one night of anything-­goes sex with the hottest guy on the planet.
    But damn it, given the circumstances, that would be wrong. More wrong than simply spying on him and exploiting his family.
    Even her shaky ethics balked at screwing him, and then screwing him.
    Still, it couldn’t hurt to say a polite hello. To catch one last whiff of panty-­melting pheromones before morphing back into boring Christine Case.
    She let Em propel her toward the light.
    K OTA SCANNED THE terrace from his superior height. He’d gotten word from Mercer that Christy was on site. But where?
    Craning his neck, he almost tripped over tiny Danni Devine. “Hey, Kota.” She shook back silky blond hair and winked one amber cat’s eye.
    â€œHey, Danni.” Decency required he give her a minute. Just last month he’d carried her half-­naked body over his shoulder as they’d run from Colombian drug lords. They’d followed up the rescue with sweaty jungle sex—­on camera and off.
    She’d been angling for an encore ever since, and under normal circumstances, he’d be up for it. But these weren’t normal circumstances. Even when she laid the flat of her hand on his chest and cocked her head expectantly, he couldn’t bring her into focus.
    It was all Christy’s fault. From the first moment, she’d possessed him with her gorgeousness, her curves, and her irresistibly indifferent attitude.
    And then, sweet Jesus, she’d stepped onto the stage, and he’d lost his mind completely.
    The spotlight loved her, sparkling off sequins and glossy chestnut waves, catching her pale throat when her head fell back. She was pure sensuality, holding the mic like a lover, her body swaying like a palm tree on a sultry summer night.
    He’d seen nothing like her, ever.
    And her looks were just part of it. Her voice, Lord, her voice—­that’s what really undid him. Low and lush, it wrapped around him like velvet, conjuring dark, steamy bedrooms and hot, slippery bodies tangling in sweaty sheets.
    Standing at the back of the tent, gazing at her like a love-­struck groupie, he’d believed to his core that she sang just for him.
    He’d damn near come in his pants.
    Then she left the stage, and reality tipped an icy pail over his head as a quick look around showed him every man felt the same.
    Since then, nothing mattered except getting close to her and publicly staking his claim. And if he had to mow down every male in Hollywood to do it, somebody better call 911, because there’d be heavy casualties.
    Danni fingered a button. “The bride and groom look happy. But their best man looks out of sorts.” She slid her palm up and down, a suggestive stroke. “Bet I can put a smile on his