to impress the socks off her hometown crowd. She wanted them to think she was good and married, forever and ever, amen. All thoughts of a chaste kiss evaporated.
His gaze shifted toward Annie’s pink mouth. He noticed the generous curve along the bottom lip, the bowlike shape of the top, and his focus narrowed, blocking out the chapel full of witnesses, erasing every thought but one: He wanted to kiss Annie again.
That frightening thought made a bead of sweat trickle down his spine. Ignoring the pounding of his heart and the warning bells in his head, he leaned forward, took her shoulders between his hands and slanted his mouth across hers. He felt her melt into him, her bones turning pliable, her back arching toward him. He deepened the kiss, tasted her warmth, her passion. Something inside him shifted, a powerful need gripped him.
What the hell was he doing?
And what was Annie doing? Just making a show? Or was she believing this? Was she loco? Did she believe they were really and truly married?
Panic arced through him and he pulled away. A roar sounded in his ears. He tried to give himself a mental shake to clear the cobwebs she’d caused. Then he realized the crowd behind them was cheering.
“Hey, Griffin!” Eric—who’d stepped in to be the best man when Grant had told the groomsmen it had all been a practical joke and that his twin from New York had missed his flight—clapped him on the back. “Save your energy for the honeymoon.”
Grant cringed at being called his brother’s name but swallowed his irritation and tried to look like the exuberant bridegroom.
John, the next groomsman in line, gave a sheepish grin. “You’re gonna need it.”
“Sure did fool us before the wedding, pretending to be your brother and calling off the wedding,” Peter, the last groomsman, mumbled and slanted his gaze toward Annie. “Who wouldn’t want to go on a honeymoon with that babe?”
Grant’s spine stiffened. “Are you referring to my wife?”
“Uh, yeah, uh, I mean…what isn’t there to love about Annie?”
“That’s better.” Satisfied, Grant wrapped his arm around Annie’s waist. Why did he feel so protective of this woman? Maybe because his brother had treated her like a bad blind date.
By the time all the pictures were taken, Grant had a headache from the camera flashes. It had to be the lights, not that Annie’s hand was linked with his and her warm body pressed against his side.
“This way, Griffin!” Eric called, leading the wedding party to the reception. “Make way, folks, for the bride and groom.”
Being called his brother’s name made Grant’s cummerbund feel constricting. Instead of gritting his teeth and giving his usual response that he wasn’t his brother, he let it pass and managed a tight smile.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of repetitious words of congratulations. Had everyone in this entire town turned out for the event? The receiving line looked long enough to wrap around a city block. He told himself that putting up with the charade was the least he could do for Annie and promised himself Griffin would suffer someday soon.
Sticking out his hand, he greeted the next guest. “Thanks for coming.”
The man pumped Grant’s hand like an oil rig. “Good to know you. Henry Norton. Grew up here with Annie’s papa. Smoked a cigar with Ralph Baxter—God rest his soul—the day she was born.”
Grant smiled at the image of Annie’s father celebrating the birth of his daughter. He wondered what she’d looked like as a baby, if there’d been even a hint of the beauty that he saw now. “Grant Ste—”
Annie dug her fingers into his arm.
He froze. Good God! What had he done?
Then Annie laughed. “Oh, Griff! What a card you are. But you’re starting to bore us with that old joke, pretending to be your twin brother.”
“Old habit,” he managed to say.
The older gentleman eyed him carefully then gave a quick nod and moved on down the line.
By the time they’d cut the cake, Annie’s smile had congealed. He kept close to her side, hoping she’d point out anyone in the throng of guests that he was supposed to know so she’d cover any of his gaffes. After a while, he realized Griffin had been a phantom fiancé. Most folks here thought Annie had just made him up out of thin air.
If only they knew the truth!
“Well, sugar—” the Pepto-Bismol lady approached and embraced Annie “—you’re a married woman. Your mama can rest in her grave now.”
Grant noticed a tear well at the corner of Annie’s eye but she blinked it away. He reached for her hand and gave a gentle squeeze. Annie met his gaze, and her mouth curved in a tremulous smile. His chest tightened with a strange set of emotions that he couldn’t decipher.
“And you, young fellow!” The bleached blonde snapped her arms around him like a banker’s clip. “Don’t let word get back to Annie’s aunt Maudie that you done her wrong. You hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ending her hug with a loud clap to his back, she gave him a jab in the ribs with her elbow and looped arms with the bride and groom. “Now, let me give y’all the recipe for honeymoon salad.”
“Aunt Maudie…” Annie began.
“Listen up, sugar. I should know about these things. I’ve been married almost more times than there are days of the week. For the perfect honeymoon salad, there’s no dressing required.” She tipped back her head and roared with laughter.
Annie’s cheeks turned a bright pink that matched her aunt’s dress. Grant felt a cord of desire yank tight inside him. Too bad there wouldn’t be a honeymoon for Annie and him.
What the hell was he thinking?
“Here comes the champagne,” Aunt Maudie announced. “And not too soon.”
First she handed a flute to both the bride and groom then reached for her own. Tapping a gaudy ring on the crystal, she gained the attention of the crowd that circled them like eager vultures. Grant wondered what they’d do if they knew the truth, if they learned that his brother had stood Annie up and that he himself would be dumping her at the airport. Would they tar and feather him and ride him out of town on a rail? From the look of a group of ranchers eyeing him closely, he wouldn’t put it past them.
“I’d like to make a toast,” Aunt Maudie said, lifting her voice above the din. “To my beautiful niece. May you two live and love like there is no tomorrow. And may the smile that starts on your wedding night never fade.”
Looping his arm around Annie’s, Grant gulped down his embarrassment and tasted the champagne. His bride leaned forward and put her mouth along the lip of the flute and tasted the fruity, bubbly wine. He couldn’t seem to drag his gaze away. He remembered her kisses and wanted more. Hell, she was more intoxicating than the wine.
Dipping his head, he couldn’t resist the temptation to kiss her once more. This time the kiss was brief. But the impact was
