Elie was very aware of Brielle’s small hands on his chest, shaking. Her body trembling against his, even as her mouth moved like hot magic, sizzling raw fire, so that his blood rushed through his veins and thundered in his heart. He realized his reaction to her was so much more and always had been.
That reaction had started so long ago, when he’d first heard her voice in that café. He’d walked in and she’d asked him what he wanted to drink. Something in his chest, locked up so tight, had suddenly broken free. Tuned to her. Specifically to her. Brielle. He just hadn’t known, because no one had bothered to tell him what it meant—that she was his other half. Now she was exactly where she was always meant to be. In his arms. Vows sworn before priest and family to be his and only his. She knew it, too. He tasted it in her kiss. Felt it in her touch. She might not want to admit it, but she would eventually, because he wasn’t letting her go.
Vittorio cleared his throat. Brielle’s fingernails dug into Elie’s upper arms and he reluctantly lifted his head. Very gently he turned his bride toward those watching, keeping one arm around her waist, steadying her as the priest introduced them as Mr. and Mrs. Elie Archambault. Brielle held herself stiffly, but she didn’t pull away from him.
He pressed her palm onto his forearm. “There’s a small reception. The Ferraros went to a lot of trouble setting it up for you. They had no idea you would object to the wedding.”
She gave a little shake of her head as he walked her down the aisle toward the door. “I can’t pretend I’m happy in front of all of them, or that I’m going to stay married to you.”
“Yes, you can, and you will. This family, as you well know, is huge in the rider community, not to mention they took me in when I had no one. You will treat them with respect. It isn’t too much to ask to keep up the pretense for a couple of hours. Stefano will keep his word and hear you out. I’ll be very interested in hearing why you think you have reason to go back on your word when the word of a rider is everything in our world, especially when it comes to an arranged marriage.”
Again, color stole up her neck and into her cheeks as he handed her into the limousine that would take them to the luxurious Ferraro Hotel. Brielle scooted all the way across the seat from him.
“You should have stopped the marriage the moment you knew it was me,” she said, looking straight ahead.
“I had no idea you were my intended bride, not until I lifted the veil. The lawyers brought papers to me to sign and I signed them. I presume you did the same thing if you weren’t aware I was your husband until you saw me when you looked up.”
She turned her head to glare at him. “We aren’t married, and we aren’t going to be. To be married, you actually have to consummate the marriage. I did read the rules of the arrangement prior to signing it, didn’t you?”
He held her gaze deliberately. “I not only read them, I have your answers on the wall of the bedroom framed, laminated and underlined in red.”
This time the blush went from pink to a much deeper shade of red. Her breath hissed out between her teeth. “You always were far too sure of yourself.”
“I’ve always had good reason to be sure of myself, Brielle. I believe the kiss was a mutual exchange, not just one-sided.”
His sweet little bride lapsed into French with a string of curse words that cast aspersions on his lineage, clearly designed to make him lose his temper, but only made him want to kiss her again. She really was a beautiful little thing, and fiery as hell.
Elie leaned close, his lips against her ear. “I’ll have so much fun restraining all that passion until you’re screaming my name and begging me to let you come for me.” That bought him another flair of heat from her jeweled eyes and that unrestrained blush that he wanted to see covering her entire body.
She didn’t swear at him this time, only turned her head to stare straight ahead again, the color deepening to a dark rose and her breathing quickening to a ragged one of arousal. Her fingers nervously plucked at the skirt of her wedding dress. Elie wanted to ask her so many questions, but he remained silent. Brielle was clearly struggling, confused and horrified by her body’s reaction to him. He didn’t want to upset her more, not before the party.
It didn’t make sense that she was so opposed to their marriage, not when their chemistry was so off the charts. She had agreed to an arranged marriage because, like Elie, she must have believed they were meant to be together. She had made up her mind they wouldn’t be. That was why she was marrying what she thought was a complete stranger.