He had a hard, masculine, handsome face: strong nose, strong chin, strong cheekbones, straight black brows over thickly lashed dark chocolate eyes, a firmly carved mouth with very sensual lips, hair as black as her own, a cowlick at the side part making it dip attractively over his high, broad forehead. He was the tallest man in the line-up but there was nothing remotely weedy about his body. Every man looked good in a formal dress suit, but his perfectly proportioned physique filled it with superb class.
Her smile must have still been fixed on her face because he smiled at her, revealing a flash of straight white teeth. And was that a sparkle of interest in his eyes? Did he find her attractive? Was he pleased she was his partner for the wedding? Her mind was giddy with hopeful anticipation as she reached the end of the aisle and turned to take her place as the fifth bridesmaid at the side of the altar.
She was definitely looking her best today. Normally she paid very little attention to her appearance apart from being clean and neat, having determined not to let it be of any critical importance to her. Today was different because it was important to fit in with Celine’s vision for her wedding.
A beautician had been hired to do everyone’s makeup, and Tammy had hardly recognised her own rather ordinary face when she’d finished. Subtle highlighting had made her pansy-violet eyes appear more vivid. Different shades of blusher had lessened the roundness of her cheeks and given colour to her fair skin. Her mouth looked positively lush and dewy—temptingly kissable?—from expertly applied lipstick. As for her slightly tip-tilted nose which had caught the sun all her life, its sprinkle of freckles had been miraculously creamed into non-existence. On top of this, her long hair, usually straight, had been curled into a sexy cascade of loose ringlets by the stylist who’d done all their hair.
She actually felt pretty—a strangely new and pleasurable experience, which gave her some inkling of why her mother was obsessed with needing to feel beautiful. And this incredible rush of excitement at having a man as spectacularly handsome as Fletcher Stanton view her with interest…yes, she could see why it might be worth all the trouble. Though it was terribly superficial, she reminded herself, trying not to feel so…unhinged…by the prospect of having this connection with him.
In real terms it was an enforced connection—bridesmaid and groomsman. It wasn’t a matter of choice for Fletcher. With his looks and billions, he would have to be accustomed to really beautiful women vying for his attention. Pretty probably made their partnering for his sister’s wedding more acceptable than if he’d been loaded with someone he found totally unattractive. And she shouldn’t forget that Celine had called him an arrogant pig, undoubtedly with good reason.
Was it because of his brain or being spoilt for choice where the opposite sex was concerned? Both factors would have to contribute to a sense of superiority compared to the rest of the human race.
Tammy decided not to worry about any of that. He was hers for the rest of the day and she was going to make the most of having his company, happily feeding any spark of interest he showed in her. After all, having expected nothing from him, she had nothing to lose. At the very least she would have the novel experience of having the most gorgeous guy here at her side, as well as satisfying her curiosity about him.
The wedding ceremony started and she forced her mind to pay attention to it. Celine deserved her full support—the first of her friends to get married. Maybe I’ll be next, she thought, imagining Fletcher in the role of groom. ‘To have and to hold from this day forth…’ but that was definitely a wild flight of fantasy. She didn’t even know the man yet.
Soon…
Celine and Andrew were finally declared husband and wife. The marriage certificate was signed. The organist started playing a triumphant march, and the bride and groom headed the parade back down the aisle, their attendants linking up in turn to follow them. At last Tammy came face-to-face with Fletcher Stanton, and close up he was even more breathtaking. The sheer impact of him made her rush into speech to stiffen up her melting knees.
‘Hi! I’m Tammy Haynes.’
He tucked her arm around his and inclined his tall head to a more intimate angle. ‘I know,’ he said in a low sexy voice. ‘Celine worded me up on you.’
‘Uh-oh!’ She rolled her eyes, her heart sinking at the many and varied descriptions Celine might have employed in summing her up for her brother—hopefully not the female equivalent of arrogant pig. ‘What words did she use?’
He looked amused by her wary tone. ‘I was warned that you’re a precious friend and I’m to treat you kindly.’
‘Well…that’s nice.’ Relief poured into a smile.
‘And I’d better watch what I say to you because in the famous gang of six, you have the smartest mouth.’
Her mouth dropped open in surprise at this, and his gaze slid down to her glistening lips. ‘Such a luscious mouth and wit, too,’ he drawled teasingly. ‘I’m looking forward to getting acquainted with it.’
Tammy scooped in a quick breath and turned her gaze straight ahead while she regained her wits. Fletcher Stanton was scattering them to the winds. All she could think of was how much she wanted to get acquainted with his mouth. They’d drawn level with the last pew in the church before she managed a curious thought that had nothing to do with being kissed by him.
‘How did you come by the name of Fletcher? It’s quite uncommon.’
And rhymed with lecher. Which demonstrated her mind was still stuck in a sexy groove. Being consumed by lust was a terrible thing. Embarrassing, too, if he was only playing with her.
‘My mother was smitten by Marlon Brando’s portrayal of Fletcher Christian in the movie of Mutiny on the Bounty. She actually loaded me with both names, just as Celine copped Celine Dion after the singer. What parents inflict on their children out of some personal fancy…’ His grimace was loaded with nasty memories. ‘Why don’t they think of what other kids are going to make out of them?’
A stab of shame hit her. She’d just been thinking lecher and no doubt he’d been subjected to that at school. ‘What would you name your children?’ popped out of her mouth. ‘If you had them,’ she hastily added, not wanting him to think she was fancying the idea of being their mother.
‘Paul, Steven, John…’ he reeled out with a shrug.
She slid him an arch look. ‘No girls’ names in there. Aren’t they important, too?’