That went a long way toward getting her pulse under control. She had this. The wedding ceremony wasn’t a big deal. A formality. Warren wasn’t flipping out. He shot her a small smile that she returned because the last thing she wanted was for him to clue in that she wasn’t handling this as professionally as she’d like.
But then, marrying her boss hadn’t really been in the job description. Maybe she was allowed to have minor cracks in the hard outer shell she’d built around herself with severe hairstyles and monochrome suits that hung on her figure like potato sacks.
She just had to make sure any potential cracks didn’t reveal things underneath that she wasn’t ready to share, like the fact that she hated monochrome suits. The lacy red underwear and bra set she’d chosen in honor of her wedding day was for her and her only.
The ceremony began and she somehow managed not to flinch as Warren took her hand with a solemnity she hadn’t expected. Fortunately, the exchange of words was short. Simple. She relaxed. Until the justice said, “You may kiss the bride.”
At which point her pulse jackhammered back up into the red. They weren’t really going to do that part, were they? But Warren was already leaning toward her, his fingers firm against hers, and she automatically turned her face to accept his lips.
The brush of them came far too fast. Sensation sparked across her mouth and she flinched like she always did when something happened near her face that she wasn’t expecting. Not because the feeling of his lips was unwelcome. Kissing Warren was nothing like kissing Bryan. Or any other man, for that matter, not that she had a lot of experiences to compare it to. He wasn’t demanding or obtrusive. Just...nice. Gentle. And then gone.
That brief burst of heat faded. Good. It was over. Back to normal. But she couldn’t look at Warren as they left the courthouse.
She’d walked over from the Flying Squirrel building on Blount Street, but Warren insisted on taking her back via his limo, citing a need to go over some notes for the meeting with Wheatner and Ross. He said goodbye to his friends and then she and Warren were swallowed by leather and luxury as they settled into his limo.
“So,” Warren said brightly. “That went well.”
“Yes. Quite well.”
God, everything was weird. This was supposed to be where they relaxed back into the dynamic they’d had from day one, where it was all business—the way they both liked it. But as she turned to him, a little desperate to find that easiness, her knee grazed his. The awareness of their proximity shot through her and she couldn’t stop staring at his mouth as a wholly inappropriate lick of desire flamed through her core.
Where had that come from?
Well, she knew where. Warren had kissed her. So what? It shouldn’t be such a big deal. She shouldn’t be making it a big deal. But the part she couldn’t figure out was why? There was no law that said they’d be any less married if they skipped the kiss. Had he done it strictly for show or because he’d been curious what it would be like?
She’d had absolutely zero curiosity. None. Not an iota. Or, at least, none that she’d admit to, and now that it was out there, she couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d kiss like behind closed doors.
Ugh. She had to get back into her professional head space already.
“Um, so the senior partners themselves are attending the meeting today,” she threw out, mortified to note her voice had taken on a husky quality. “We should press them on the social media presence they’ve presented. I don’t like the ratio of ad placements between the various platforms.”
Warren didn’t seem to notice her vocal quirks and nodded. “I was thinking that, as well. Tell me what you’d do instead.”
Tilda reeled off the changes she’d prepared and then memorized last night at midnight after she’d given up on sleep. The familiarity of talking numbers with the man who was now her legally wedded husband somehow soothed her to the point where her tone evened out.
Until she realized Warren’s gaze had strayed to the side of her face. She faltered. “What?”
“Oh, nothing.” His gaze snapped back to dead center. And then drifted again. “It’s just that you have this loose strand of hair—here, let me.”
Her hand flew up defensively at the same moment he reached out to brush her cheek and their hands collided. Oh, God. She’d batted his hand away from her face. Now he’d know she was a freak about people touching her.
Everything shifted back into awkward again as they said “Sorry” simultaneously, and there was no way she could ignore how her skin tingled where he’d touched her. The errant strand of hair he’d made her so very aware of lay across the spot, sensitizing it.
“I’ll fix it when we get back to the office,” she murmured, at a loss for why her stupid hair had generated such interest that he couldn’t keep his focus where it belonged—on her stats.
“Don’t fix it,” he said instantly. “I like it.”
Not what she’d expected him to say.
Heat prickled over her face and not all of it was in her cheeks. Unlike what would have been a becoming blush on anyone else, her whole face got red when she was embarrassed. Like now.
He liked her hair.
It was the most personal comment he’d ever made and she turned it over in her mind, examining it from all angles.
“Oh,” Warren continued. “I forgot that Jonas and Hendrix asked if we could join them for dinner. To celebrate. It’ll be low-key, just them and their wives. Is that okay?”
She nodded, though she’d rather have said no. But refusing would have felt petty when clearly he meant they were supposed to be celebrating their wedding. Social events were a part of the deal, whether she wanted to avoid opportunities for more weirdness or not.
Get a grip, she scolded herself. The weirdness was all on her. Warren wasn’t Bryan and she had to stop cringing as if her new husband was going to morph into someone completely different after lulling her into a false sense of security. Not all men did that.
She hoped.
For the remainder of the afternoon, she forced a smile and slayed the meeting with Wheatner and Ross, earning approving nods from Warren, which shouldn’t have meant as much as it did. He’d always approved of her work. That’s why she was still in the US and not on a plane at this moment, as she’d fully expected to be when she walked into his office on Wednesday to explain the issue with her visa.
Now she was married, complete with a gold ring on her finger that contained nine emerald-cut diamonds sunk into the band. It was exactly the right ring for her, low-key, not at all flashy. How had Warren known what she would like? Luck? She would have been fine with a plain band from a vending machine. This one had weight. She curled her hand into a fist but she could still feel it on her finger.
Warren herded her back into his car at the end of the day to take her to the restaurant where his friends were waiting for them. He’d made it very clear that they wouldn’t have to do any sort of acting like a lovey-dovey couple in public, but she still had a fair amount of trepidation about whether she’d get along with his friends’ wives. She knew how things among men worked,
