The Wedding Secret. Michele Dunaway
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the center of the dance floor where Devon and Elizabeth were wrapped in each other’s arms.
“Ready?” Luke asked.
Cecile trembled slightly. His touch had made her edgy, as if she were about to fall down a slippery slope—and yet something told her she’d love every minute of the dangerous experience. “You know, the wedding party having to dance is a silly ritual,” Cecile said.
“You’re such a romantic,” Luke said, chuckling at her cynical attempt to disengage. “And I would normally agree with you, except that this ritual gets you into my arms, and for that I’m grateful. I’m looking forward to holding you.”
That statement simply had Cecile closing her mouth, her glib reply dying on her lips. As much as the prospect of being close to him both appealed and frightened, she found herself wanting him to hold her. She’d had such a bad run with men, but she sensed that Luke was somehow innately different. Yet, was this just here and now? Or maybe something more?
“Let’s go see how I dance,” Luke said, not giving her a chance to contemplate her thoughts further. The confident gleam in his blue eyes spoke volumes.
The spotlight dance concluded, and within seconds she was out on the dance floor and pressed up against him. He slid his arm around her, his right hand splayed against the curve of her lower back. His moves were easy as they stepped in rhythm, a unity to their flow.
Heat began to rise, creating a flush that spread across Cecile’s face and chest. If she wanted, she could easily lean her head forward and rest it on his shoulder, but instead she glanced over that shoulder and tried to stare into the darkness and decipher the mess her feelings had become.
She was older now, and this wedding had proved to her that she did want it all. Luke was the whole package. His fingers pressed against her, drawing her closer, his intentions clear. He was temptation personified, his moves a prelude to the night to come, should she choose to accept. The music ended.
“How’d I do?” he said, his deep voice holding a slightly husky quality.
“Too well,” Cecile admitted and she detached herself and made her way over to the bar. Getting a drink would put some space between them. Never had a dance made her so rattled. She needed something to cool her off, maybe provide her some focus or at least rationale for this insanity. She ordered a glass of wine and a glass of water from the bartender and took both over to the table where her parents sat. An empty seat had opened up now that the dancing had started, and a waiter stopped by with wedding cake. He put several slices down. Seeing the bouquet toss was next, Cecile excused herself to wash her hands, deliberately missing the event. Knowing Elizabeth, she’d probably aim it directly at her, and while Cecile did want to find Mr. Right, she didn’t need Luke getting any wrong ideas for she was sure he’d get the garter. Upon her return, she ignored the garter toss, ate some cake and made small talk with her parents.
About ten minutes later, black fabric entered into view on her left, and Cecile glanced up from finishing the last bite of her second piece. Luke.
“Did you save me any?” he asked, gesturing to the empty plates.
“No,” Cecile said unapologetically. She glanced at her parents, but as if on cue, the music had changed to Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood” and they were rising to their feet and heading hand in hand toward the dance floor.
“You know, you are a surprise,” Luke said as he lowered himself into the chair next to her. “I thought you would have been out there with the bachelorettes.”
“I didn’t want to risk it,” Cecile said. “Knowing my sister, she’d probably run over and hand me her throwaway bouquet.”
Luke reached into his pocket and fished out a blue garter. He twirled it around his finger. “Like Devon did to me?”
“Exactly,” Cecile said. She’d been right, which was why she’d deliberately put her back to the dance floor so she didn’t have to watch the garter toss. She frowned.
As if sensing her question, Luke said, “I got out of having to dance with the girl who caught the bouquet. She was five.”
“Oh,” Cecile said.
Luke leaned over. “Jealous?”
“Ha,” Cecile said, covering her fib with sarcasm.
“Then what would you call it?” Luke asked, not letting her off the hook.
“A simple case of avoidance?” Cecile suggested.
He shook his head, those surfer-blond locks glistening. “Nah, that’s not what it is. You’re not the type who avoids confrontation. If you didn’t want a man’s attention, you’d tell him to take a hike. I think you’ve just discovered that I’m more man than you can handle.”
“In your dreams,” Cecile said. She pushed the empty plate away. “Don’t flatter yourself. I haven’t seen my parents in a while, so I was spending time with them. I’ve been in New York up until this past week.”
Luke simply arched an eyebrow. “So you’ve moved back home?”
“Not exactly. Back to my hometown. I grew up here, but I’ve been away since graduating high school. I just got a new job and so here I am.”
“Here you are,” Luke parroted.
“Right,” Cecile said, at that moment deciding it was time for him to talk about himself. “What about you? Have you always lived here?”
“Pretty much,” Luke said. “I went to Northwestern and have worked in Chicago ever since. So confirm something that’s impressed me so far about you—you aren’t the type of woman who plays typical games, are you?”
She tilted her head and studied him, trying to decide how best to answer. “You seem to think you know a lot about me.”
“I don’t. I’m pretty certain I have you typecast, though, but you do keep surprising me. I definitely would like to get to know you better, maybe take this ‘date’ to another level.”
“Hmm. I’m sure you would,” Cecile said, her fingertips keeping rhythm with the music as she let his words wash over her. She’d already indulged in an extra slice of wedding cake. What would Luke be like if she let herself have even just a taste of what the wedding magic promised? Would she regret saying no until the end of her days if she let this one moment slide by? Answer not forthcoming, she glanced at her empty wrist and exhaled in frustration. Her watch was in her bag under her chair at the head table. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Actually, yes.” Luke stretched out his arm so that the tuxedo sleeve rode up, revealing a toned forearm and a platinum watch. “It’s ten-thirty.”
“Wow. That late already.” The event ended at midnight. She glanced around. Many guests had already left. Others were crowding the dance floor.
“I guess time flies when you’re having fun,” Luke said.
“I suppose so,” Cecile said. She blinked, a bit fuzzy from too much wine and a lack of sleep from the past few weeks. No matter how tempting Luke was, her conscience told her to say no to spending the night with him. She assumed that was what he’d meant when he’d asked to take things to the next level.
Of course, that part of her in overdrive wanted nothing more than to say yes, but what if he was just another Mr. Right Now? As much as they were easier to deal with, she was tired of having flings and was ready for more. If she passed on tonight’s offer, she’d at least prove to herself that she’d changed, grown past indulgences that had no basis in anything but momentary passion. She wanted to wait for Mr. Right. If that was Luke, he’d understand. “I’m not planning on staying too much longer,” she told Luke.
“Then you have to dance with me at least one more time,” Luke insisted. The music changed, this time to a contemporary number. He rose to his feet and pulled Cecile with him. “Come on.”
His