Читать книгу Married By Midnight - Mollie Molay - Страница 11

Max Taylor didn’t know what hit him.

Caught in a logjam of cheering wedding guests, he was nursing a glass of champagne punch when suddenly an object flew through the air. He ducked—too late. The bride’s decorated lace garter, still warm with her body heat, struck him just above his right eye. Shaken out of his reverie, Max instinctively reached for the garter and caught it before it fell into the punch bowl. The crowd around him parted and to his bewilderment started to clap and cheer him on.

To complicate matters, directly in his line of vision, the maid of honor was seated with her striking emerald-green bridesmaid’s dress drawn up over her knees, a leg poised and an embarrassed look on her face. In her arms, she held the bridal bouquet. From the eager expressions on everyone’s faces, it was obvious to him, as the lucky garter-catcher, that he was expected to slide the intimate object over her shapely slender leg.

Max could see the bride standing next to the groom clapping in time to the music. The amateur four-piece band was playing not too well but enthusiastically.

With the drummer executing a brisk roll of the drums, the master of ceremonies motioned Max forward and pointed to the redhead’s upper thigh.

Max froze.

What was he to do now?

A whirlwind of thoughts raced through his mind, including making a quick getaway. He should have been pleased. After all, this was the first time he’d won anything more than a few bucks on a lottery ticket. Good enough, he muttered to himself as he gazed at the sculptured leg, but why did the prize have to be something that might test his manhood? He hesitated, trying to come up with a good reason to decline the honor. He couldn’t. The groom was his cousin and he was the best man. Family honor was at stake. Short of causing a scene, he realized he had to be a good sport and enter into the festivities.

He took a deep breath, raised his glass to his lips and gulped the last of the champagne punch for courage. Fortified, he handed the glass to his nearest neighbor and moved inside the circle of clapping wedding guests. Up close, the leg’s owner looked watchful. He didn’t blame her. Although they were part of the wedding party, they’d only seen each other for the first time at the brief rehearsal last night. What he was about to do was pretty intimate.

He knelt on the one good knee he had left after his recent skiing accident, carefully removed the lady’s dainty shoe and slowly slid the garter over her stockinged foot, up her silken leg and to her knee. He felt himself flush when he became more aware of her charms than he cared to admit. He stopped and started to get to his feet.

“No, no, no,” the wedding guests chanted.

“Up, up, up, up,” the master of ceremonies instructed, sending Max back down on his knee and firmly pointing the way.

Max took another deep breath, glanced apologetically at his fellow victim and slid the garter upward another inch.

“More, more, more,” urged the crowd.

Max silently muttered his frustration and cautiously moved the garter up another inch, and another. His body warmed with each move. The innuendos thrown at him weren’t helping his discomfiture a damn bit. By the time he’d reached her warm upper thigh, he’d had more than any red-blooded man could be expected to handle and he wasn’t going to take it anymore. He enjoyed a joke as well as any other man, but since he didn’t know the lady he was touching so intimately, this was too much. He muttered his apology and hoped for the best.