Wedding Favors by Sheri Whitefeather Page A

kiss, either. It was deep and hot and involved his tongue, and it took her totally by surprise.
    “There,” he said when he let up. “That should put a stop to the designs every other man here is having on you.”
    “How dare you!” she began.
    “Another? My pleasure.” He kissed her again, this time pulling her body up against his.
    It was all she could do not to surrender to it and climb the man like a favorite tree to get to the sweet, sweet fruit. Mercy. The man kissed like a freaking god. Okay. He did every thing like a god. That was the whole problem. When he touched her, her brain simply ceased to function.
    He raised his head and smiled down at her, putting his thumb to her lip as though he were fixing a spot on her lipstick. An intimate gesture that did not fail to have everyone in the entire vestibule staring at them. The women, all with envy. The men? Who knew? She could only see one man in the whole freaking place. The one preventing her from sliding to the floor because her knees had suddenly stopped working.
    “What do you think you’re doing?” she quietly demanded, trying to pull away subtly, so as not to attract any more attention. And not end up on her butt.
    “Just claiming what’s mine,” he said matter-of-factly and walked her toward the place where the wedding party was gathering for photos.
    “I am not yours.”
    “That’s not what you said last night,” he reminded her, the beast. “I believe your exact words were—”
    “Stop it,” she hissed. “You made it very clear this morning what our relationship was based on. So just stop pretending—”
    He halted and looked down at her. “Is that what the frost was all about? Because I said I’d pay you? That was our agreement, cher . And I’m nothing if not a man of my word.”
    “I told you I didn’t want your damned money. And another thing—” But she wasn’t able to ask about Laura’s role in their encounter because the photographer beckoned them, and fifteen minutes of staged photos ensued.
    To her irritation, he insisted on muscling his arm around her in every single picture.
    Okay, maybe she wasn’t irritated as much as ... All right, fine. She liked it. To be honest, regardless of how they’d met, it thrilled her to have a man as ridiculously attractive as Shay keep his arm firmly around her, willing to show the world that he wanted her so much that he’d go down through posterity in Laura and Etienne’s wedding album coupled with her.
    Not even Laura’s worried glances and concerned whispered, “What have you gotten yourself into, girl? We need to talk,” could make her come to her senses—though it seemed to answer the question of her friend’s involvement.
    Still, there was no way she’d let him know his actions were making her cream her panties. She knew a player when she saw one. Hello , they’d met in a bordello! Oh, excuse me, a maison.
    Thank God he’d made that unthinking remark about money this morning and reminded her that their relationship—and she used the term very loosely—had zero future. And there was her problem with men in a nutshell. She was far too quick to involve her heart, when almost always the man’s only interest was in a short-term good time. She wanted more than that. She wanted a dress and a ring and a happily ever after, the whole nine yards. She wanted a man to sweep her off her feet and take command of her in bed and treat her like a lady out of it. Yeah, she wanted a man to look at her the way Etienne was now gazing at his new bride. But all she ever found were men who were only interested in having fun. Their fun.
    When would she ever learn?
    She’d tried last night. Really, she’d had every intention of using Shay as he was obviously using her. As a temporary sex object and nothing more.
    But then he’d been so ... compelling. Gently leading her to do things she’d never in a million years believe she’d do. Subtly urging her, little by little, to submit and