one last pose, she’d drank far more of the bottle of champagne than anyone who’d skipped both breakfast and lunch out of nerves had a right to.
“Okay, people. How about a bit of passion?”
“He does know we only just met today, doesn’t he?” Yasmin said to Ilya through gritted teeth. “We don’t even know each other.”
Ilya’s arm slipped around her waist and he stepped in closer. “I think we can produce a reasonable facsimile of the feeling, don’t you?”
He lowered his face to hers, his lips hovering a hairsbreadth away from her mouth. She could see the silver striations that radiated from his pupils and the rim of dark blue around his irises. He really had the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. His hand was strong against her back. Supporting. Warm. The warmth seeped slowly into her skin. A shiver ran up her back in total contrast. He might essentially be a stranger to her, but he affected her on a level that intrigued and frightened her at the same time.
His breath was a mere whisper against her lips, his gaze intense as he looked into her eyes. Involuntarily she raised her hand to cup his cheek, her palms tingling as she felt the bristles of his neatly trimmed beard against her fingertips. Her lips parted on a sigh and her senses primed themselves for that moment when their lips would touch.
“Perfect!” the photographer exclaimed joyfully, breaking the spell. “Now let’s go back inside for some group shots and the cutting of the cake.”
Yasmin blinked and let her hand drop to her side. Her other hand still clutched her bouquet in a death grip. What had nearly happened there? She wasn’t sure if she was grateful for the photographer’s interference or maddened by it. She shivered again. Even though it was early fall, and the day had dawned sunny and mild, clouds were gathering in the sky and the temperature had dropped markedly.
“Here, you’re cold. Let me put this on you.”
Before she could protest that they’d be inside soon, Ilya had stripped off his jacket and was draping it over her shoulders. The heat of his body transferred from the silk lining to her skin, leaving her feeling overly sensitive. A few drops of rain fell on his white shirt, rendering it transparent where they hit. She caught a glimpse of a dark nipple behind the fine cotton, felt a clench of need so intense it made her stumble as she started to move forward.
Ever the gentleman, Ilya steadied her. The photographer’s assistant rushed toward them with a massive white umbrella that Ilya accepted and held over them both. He guided her toward the doors leading to the main reception room. As soon as they were inside, she pulled off his jacket and thrust it toward him.
“Thank you. I don’t need this now.”
“It’s okay to accept a little help from time to time.”
“Said the man who has never had to ask for help from anyone, ever.”
She smiled to soften her words but her meaning hung in the air between them. He had been born into a life of privilege. Certainly the privilege had been created by the hard work of previous generations and, she knew well, of the current generation, too. But had he ever truly wanted for anything?
“Besides,” she continued, “you’ll need to look your formal best for the reception.”
He said nothing but shrugged the jacket back on. The resort’s wedding planner hovered at the inner doors to the reception room.
“Are the two of you all ready?” she asked with an encouraging smile.
“As ready as we’ll ever be, right?” Ilya replied with a crooked smile in Yasmin’s direction.
She nodded, desperately trying to ignore the ridiculous sensations that poured through her. Anyone would think she was a sex-starved crazy woman if they knew how easily he sent her senses into overdrive. And aren’t you? a little voice teased from the back of her mind. Okay, sure, she hadn’t had a date in, what? Two years? And as for sex, well, it had been even longer. That didn’t mean she had to melt like an ice cube on hot tarmac in the middle of July with just one look from him. Besides, he didn’t appear to be similarly afflicted, she realized with a burst of chagrin. From now on she’d keep her ridiculous reactions very firmly under control. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it?
* * *
Ilya observed his new wife with amusement. She was working hard to hold herself completely aloof, and yet the endearingly pretty flush of pink on her cheeks and her chest suggested she was just as attracted to him as he was to her. It would prove to be an interesting marriage, he decided. But would it be one that endured? His grandmother seemed to think so. He had yet to hear her reasons as to why, but Ilya knew that he and Yasmin at least had flying in common. The fact that they flew in direct competition with each other was another matter entirely.
Her gray eyes darted from one group of people to the next as they circulated through the room after the announcement of their arrival. He’d felt her entire body go rigid as they’d been introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Horvath.
“I’m not taking your name,” she whispered fiercely as they finally settled at the head table.
“I didn’t expect you to,” he said to defuse her irritation. But mischief prompted him to add, “Would you prefer I took yours?”
Surprise chased the exasperation from her face. “Seriously? You’d do that?”
“If it was important to you,” he answered sincerely. “I want this marriage to work, Yasmin. I don’t yet know your reasons for entering into it, or why we’ve specifically been matched together, but I’d like to think the experts got it right and that we can make an honest go of this. I want a future that includes a family with the kind of companion I can’t wait to see, whether it’s when I wake or just before we fall asleep at night.”
He hesitated. Was that too much, too soon? Judging by the startled expression on her face, perhaps it was. He’d surprised himself with that declaration, too. Still, he was the kind of guy who said what he wanted. He didn’t hold with beating around the bush, and it was true. He wanted a family of his own. A wife who would be his partner in all things.
The reception continued with speeches interspersed between courses of the meal. He noticed she barely touched her food. And only one person stood up to speak for Yasmin. A woman Ilya recognized from the airfield—Yasmin’s office manager, he recalled—who sat in her colorful sari at a table with a handful of others from Carter Air. His wife had no family here, he realized in surprise. He knew the grandfather who’d raised her had died a few years ago, but why hadn’t her parents come today? Was their absence a sign of something deeper missing in her life? Did her reason for marrying stem from a need to create a family of her own?
He knew part of his reason in approaching his grandmother for a bride came from his wish to continue the family tradition of handing control of the corporation over to an heir or heirs. But finding the right woman had eluded him. He’d been engaged once, in college, but that had ended disastrously.
Ever since his father’s death when he was sixteen, and his mother’s subsequent withdrawal from parental duties as she went on a new quest to find love, he’d missed that feeling of being a piece of a small, tight-knit family unit. Yes, he’d had his grandmother, his aunts and uncles and cousins, but it wasn’t the same as what he’d lost and what he craved to be a part of again.
He looked at Yasmin and felt a pull of sympathy. Her family life
