From Passion To Pregnancy. Tina Beckett
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where was it? Her mind went blank in an instant.
A few giggles came from behind her. Oh, Lord, she couldn’t believe this was happening.
The good doctor came over to her. “Here.” He reached for the bouquet she held. Tied to one of the ribbons was the errant ring. With a few quick twists, he teased it free of the knot.
“Give me your hand,” he murmured.
She jerked it back in a rush.
“I’m just going to give it to you.”
“Oh.” Feeling like a fool, she opened her hand, and the sizzle of cool fingers brushing across her palm made her suck down a couple of breaths. She handed the ring over to Natália as if it were coated with poison.
It might as well be.
She looked back across the aisle to where he had retreated.
Okay, the man was now watching her with open amusement. Her lower lip jutted slightly, then froze when his gaze dropped to her mouth.
Mini-frissons of heat overtook each of her limbs.
Was she getting heatstroke?
What had her father been thinking, inviting members of his cancer care team to have their wedding at the ranch?
Dr. Texeira had been part of that team. And Sara had spent the better part of last year at his hospital during her dad’s treatment.
And now Antônio Moreira was well again. Graças a Deus. She could feel his presence in the small group of people seated behind the wedding party.
Once they’d left São Paulo and returned home, she’d never expected to see the hunky doctor again. But here he was. And her thoughts were not the kind she should be having at a friend’s wedding.
He’d looked at her mouth. She was almost sure of it. Except when she gathered the courage to glance through her lashes, she found him staring straight ahead.
She’d imagined it.
Just like she’d imagined him leaning toward her and…
“You may now kiss the bride.” The minister’s proclamation whipped that thought from her head and sent it spinning away.
The pair at the front of the makeshift chapel turned toward each other, their happiness almost palpable as they came together for a long, long, long—she counted down the seconds—kiss that had her attention sliding back toward the best man.
She gulped.
Not her imagination. He was definitely looking at her. Then the bride and groom broke apart and swept down the aisle, leaving them behind. Dr. Texeira pivoted, his shiny black shoes unscathed by the red dust that covered every inch of the ranch. He held his right arm toward her.
Oh! She was supposed to go down with him.
She settled her hand in the crook of his arm, trying to calm her rattled nerves. “Nice wedding, huh?”
“Yes. Great.”
Hmm, that word didn’t ring true. In fact, she was pretty sure he was lying, which was odd considering the fact that it was his sister who had gotten married.
She frowned. “Is everything okay?”
“Hmm. I just see someone I’d rather avoid.” He glanced down at her. “Mind cutting through that section of chairs on our way to the reception?”
Maybe he was ghosting someone too.
Without waiting for a response, he towed her between the rows of organza-draped seating to their right.
“I think we’re supposed to be following the bride and groom.”
“Humor me for a second. We’ll get there.” Only there wasn’t a trace of humor in his voice.
Who exactly was he trying to evade? When they reached her dad’s huge barn, which had been converted into a reception hall for the big event, she led him to one of the side entrances. The massive sliding door stood open, and a drape of gauzy fabric had been interwoven with twinkle lights, a slight breeze making them wink in and out like stars against the growing dusk. “We can sneak in this way, if you want.”
“Perfect, thank you.”
Thinking he was just going to abandon her there at the door, she was shocked when he cupped her elbow and ducked through the curtains, eyeing their surroundings before moving toward the table set aside for the wedding party. The same frothy organza that graced the chairs and all the entrances had been tossed over it. Placed on a wooden platform lined with more tiny glimmering lights, Sara had to go up three steps to reach it. Natália and Adam were already seated. The bride glowed with happiness, while the groom gave Sebastian a pointed look. “I wondered if you were taking off before the toasts.”
“No.”
The answer was short and curt, and he cut around the table and went to Natália, whispering something in her ear. She gave a quick shrug and glanced out at the guests. “There was nothing I could do. They insisted.”
When Sara peered out at the tables, which were filling with guests, she saw a lot of strangers, so Natália could have been talking about anyone.
Just then, a small group with stringed instruments began playing, a fiddler stepping forward to set up a lively melody that drowned out Sebastian’s response. And, of course, there were only two more chairs at the table. One for Sebastian. And one for her. Right next to each other. There were even little printed cards with their names on them.
Unfortunately, those seats had been placed next to the groom, so she didn’t even have the luxury of turning and engaging Natália in conversation for the entire evening.
Did it matter? It shouldn’t.
She should just sit back and enjoy Sebastian’s company.
Except he made her just a little nervous. Because he was a city man like her ex?
Big deal. It was one night. She’d survived much worse.
He sat down next to her, his arm brushing her bare shoulder as he did. A shiver went through her.
Yep. Nervous.
One of her dad’s rugged ranch workers, looking out of place in formalwear, brought a tray with four champagne flutes. His hands gave him away. Gnarly with calluses he grinned at Sara as he moved down the table and handed her a glass. “You look great.”
“So do you, Carlos.”
He then turned to Sebastian, his tray outstretched. Sara was unable to suppress a smile when the doctor took the proffered drink with a frown.
“You don’t like champagne?” she asked after Carlos move away.
“I was hoping for something a whole lot stronger.”
He had to lean close to make himself heard, and his shoulder bumped hers again. This time she went with it, not even attempting to put any distance between them. Instead, she focused on that point of contact and allowed herself a tiny forbidden thrill. He’d never know.
“Something stronger? At a wedding?”
“Especially at a wedding.” The wry humor behind those words came through loud and clear.
“Drink enough of that stuff and it will probably have the same effect.”
“So would cough syrup.”
This time she laughed. “Okay, so champagne really isn’t your thing. If you want something fast and to the point, you can always head to the Casa de Cachaça afterwards. I can show you where it’s at.”
Why had she said that? Maybe because he was so obviously unhappy about someone in attendance. And his “especially at a wedding” comment resonated with her.
Boy, did it ever.
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