Читать книгу Tangled Vows - Yvonne Lindsay - Страница 11

Two

Yasmin fought the overwhelming sense of déjà vu that assailed her as she approached the double doors to the ballroom. This was it, her wedding day. She was actually going through with it. And now, hopefully, her problems would begin to fade away. Her business problems, at least. As for her personal ones, well, that was another story.

She hovered at the end of the carpet, sensed a movement at her side. Ilya.

“Yasmin Carter, will you marry me?” he asked, offering her his arm so he could accompany her down the aisle.

She looked up into his denim-blue eyes and saw only reassurance there. Strange that in business they were such fierce rivals, yet here he was offering her comfort, companionship. Marriage. It shouldn’t have made sense—she barely knew the man—but in this moment he was the key that would hopefully unlock the door to her future.

“Yasmin?”

“Yes, I will marry you,” she said in a voice she’d hoped would be firm and decisive, but that came out husky and with a faint tremor.

“Shall we?” He nodded toward the aisle.

She tucked her arm in his and together they walked slowly down the aisle toward the celebrant.

The ceremony itself passed in a blur. She supposed she said the right things at the right time, because before she knew it, Ilya was putting a blindingly brilliant wedding band on her finger and the celebrant was pronouncing them husband and wife.

Ilya leaned toward her. Oh my, he’s going to kiss me! she thought, her heart kicking up to double speed in her chest. Unsure of what to do, she stood there, watching him come toward her with a twinkle in those intriguing eyes and an expression of humor mixed with determination on his face.

As he drew closer Yasmin felt his warmth and took in the scent of his cologne, the tang of pine with an underlying hint of sandalwood. And then his lips touched hers. Sensation rippled through her whole body and her breath caught in her throat. Time stopped. All that existed was the sensation of his kiss. And then, just like that, it was over. Too soon and yet not soon enough.

As he pulled away, there was a polite smattering of applause together with whoops and hollers from Ilya’s groomsmen. He might not be touching her right now, but every nerve in her body continued to party as if he still kissed her. It was madness and it was wonderful all at the same time. A roaring sound filled Yasmin’s ears.

Her new husband leaned forward and whispered, “Breathe, Yasmin.”

She took in one shuddering breath and then another before turning to accept congratulations from the few members of her staff—pretty much her only friends these days—who’d made it to the wedding. All the while she tried to come to terms with the avalanche of emotion that swept her along on its tumbling course. She was married. To Ilya Horvath. And the man was dangerous.

One kiss had scrambled her synapses. One. That’s all it had taken. Was she so weak? So starved for male attention? Yasmin looked across at Ilya, her husband, and the tingle of desire he’d ignited in her dialed up a few notches. She felt a flush warm her cheeks as he turned from the person congratulating him and his gaze met hers. Yasmin swiftly averted her eyes.

Alice Horvath stood before her. Were those tears in the older woman’s eyes? Surely not. Before Yasmin could say anything, Alice stepped closer.

“Congratulations, my dear, and welcome to the family. You’re one of us now.”

Alice pulled Yasmin into a firm hug, holding her close for several seconds before letting her go. Her words, however, settled into Yasmin’s mind like a rock sinking in quicksand. Before she could reply, Ilya was back at her side.

“The photographer would like us to himself for a while. Nagy, will you excuse us?”

Yasmin wasn’t sure how Ilya managed it, but within moments they were in the beautiful gardens overlooking the marina. She’d been excited when she’d learned that due to California’s requirement that the couple apply for their license together, their wedding would instead take place in Washington State, where they could show up to apply separately, which satisfied the Match Made in Marriage condition of bride and groom first meeting at the altar. She’d always loved the area, with the trees, mountains and Puget Sound. The resort was as picturesque and breathtaking as she’d hoped, and the sounds of rigging clanking on the boats berthed in the marina peppered the sea-scented air.

“Are you okay?” Ilya asked. “You looked as if you could benefit from a breath of fresh air.”

“I’m fine, thank you, but you’re right. It’s good to be away from the circus. I didn’t know it would be so...”

“Overwhelming?” he said in a voice that sounded like he understood exactly how she was feeling.

She looked up at him. She was not a short woman, but in her flat-heeled slippers, he was a good head taller. “Yeah, overwhelming.”

And she didn’t just mean the ceremony. It was him—everything about him was more than she’d expected. Of course, she’d seen pictures of him. Even been in the same room with him a time or two when they’d attended aviation industry functions. But she’d never in a million years imagined being his wife. She dropped her gaze to his hands. He held a bottle of French champagne and a single glass. When had he grabbed those? she wondered as she noted his long fingers and how gracefully he poured the wine.

“Here,” he said, handing the flute to her. “This might help.”

Her skin was peppered with goosebumps—as if he’d touched her already, as if he’d traced those smooth fingertips across the swell of her breasts and lower, ever lower. Inside her corset she felt her nipples harden. A tiny gasp of surprise escaped her as a spear of longing arrowed straight to her core. Was this what Alice had meant when she said they belonged together? Did the woman have some kind of insight into the chemistry that attracted one person to another? The chemistry that made Yasmin feel as though she had about as much chance of avoiding her attraction to Ilya as an iron filing did a magnet?

She ripped her gaze from his hands and accepted the glass, lifting it straight to her lips and downing at least half the champagne in one gulp. The bubbles fizzed and danced along her tongue and down her throat, much as her blood danced more and more heatedly through her veins the longer she was around him.

This wasn’t what she’d expected. This instant, engulfing need for a man she barely even knew, yet was now wedded to.

“Thirsty?” Ilya asked, cocking one brow.

A flush of embarrassment stained her cheeks, making her feel even more flustered.

“Something like that,” she muttered and took another, more delicate, sip.

Before she could ask him why he didn’t have a glass himself, the photographer and his assistant joined them. Yasmin took in as deep a breath as her corset would allow, grateful for the distraction.

The next hour passed in a blur of directions, unnatural poses and equally unnatural smiles. By the time the photographer called for 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 hadn’t been much better. Ilya had met her irascible grandfather once and was surprised that Jim Carter and Eduard Horvath had been such great friends many years ago. They couldn’t have been more different, from what Ilya could tell. His late grandfather had been a charismatic and driven man who always had an eye to the future and to expansion. He had lived, laughed and loved hard. On the flip side, Jim Carter had been quieter, withdrawn even, and his reluctance to embrace change had set Carter Air back in many ways. While his work ethic had never been in question, he’d lacked the vision and the willingness to expand and adapt to new horizons the way Eduard had. Their very differences had been what had made them such a great team until they’d fallen out over his grandmother and become enemies.

Yasmin, it seemed, had her own way of doing things with a liberal dose of her late grandfather’s caution sprinkled in. Ilya knew one thing for certain—she was a damn fine pilot. He’d seen her in her vintage Ryan PT-22 Recruit at airshows and she’d taken his breath away. The Ryan had a reputation as an unforgiving aircraft but she handled hers as if it was a simply an extension of herself. Which made her an intriguing package, indeed, and begged the question: How many more layers would he uncover as he got to know his unconventional bride?