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Emma didn’t believe in being late for anything, but an unscheduled prospective customer at the bridal shop after her friends’ departure had messed with her schedule. She’d had no choice but to spend some time with the possible new client.
But the change in her schedule meant that by the time she arrived at the men’s shop Jonathan, Owen, Carlo, and Andy were trying on suits and tuxes. It wasn’t the normal way it was done, but with so little time left before the wedding, she’d had to corral all the men together to pick their clothing and get fitted.
The men had already had a few beers, possibly more, and eaten most of the food. Jovial laughter filled the room as she entered and took note of the table with the remains of the beers from local microbreweries and the sandwiches. Her stomach grumbled at the sight of the small piece that remained of one of Carlo’s famous pork and broccoli rabe sandwiches. Mouth watering, she hoped she could sneak a bite while the men tried on their clothes.
“I can see you’re all having fun, but did you decide on any of the tuxes I picked out?” she said as she peered at Jonathan, Owen, and Andy, and wondered where Carlo was hiding.
Jonathan sauntered over, grabbed the last piece of sandwich, placed it on a plate, and handed it to her. “Eat. It’s way past lunch hour and you’re cranky.”
“I’m not cranky,” she said, but her stomach complained noisily, forcing her to add, “Just hungry.”
“More like hangry,” he teased. Grinning, Jonathan laid an arm over her shoulders and walked her to the leather wing chair beside a massive leather couch where Andy and Owen sat sipping beers. She joined them there and took a bite of the sandwich, nearly moaning as the flavors of the tender roast pork, bitter broccoli rabe, and sweet mozzarella cheese exploded in her mouth. Not to mention Carlo’s secret garlicky tomato sauce, the game changer that had made him a champion on a network cooking show.
After swallowing, she glanced around the room at the men. “So what’s up? Where are the tuxes I left out for you?”
“We decided we’re not tux kind of guys. Well, Owen is, but the rest of us are just plain ol’ suit types,” Jonathan said as he sat on the arm of her chair.
She arched a brow. “And Carlo?”
Owen gestured with his beer bottle to the dressing room. “He’s in there.”
Wondering if Carlo needed help, she walked over and knocked.
“Come in,” he said.
She did only to find Carlo standing there in nothing but his tidy whities and a white shirt that was too small for his broad shoulders. The shirt hung open in front giving her a glimpse of what lay beneath the fabric.
Her heart did a little stutter at the sight of him, all lean sculpted muscle and smooth skin with the remnants of a summer tan. Heat suffused her and her face warmed in a blush.
If Carlo noticed, he did his best to hide it as he fought to pull the shirt closed and said, “I never knew that the buttons on your suit sleeve said so much about a man. If they’re real. Stitched. Horn. Who knew?”
She took a few hesitant steps until she was close to him and brushed his hands away as he struggled to button the shirt. “This shirt is absolutely the wrong size, but the style will suit you,” she said and smoothed the fabric across his broad shoulders and chest.
At his ragged sigh, she looked up and met his gaze. The desire there was impossible to miss and she should have stopped touching him. She should have moved away, but she couldn’t.
“You’re not playing fair, Emma,” he said, a rough grumble in his voice as he laid his hands at her waist.
“I’m sorry. It’s just so scary to think about changing what we are,” she said and finally stepped away from him and wrapped her arms around herself.
He raked his hands through his thick cocoa brown hair, tousling the ever-present waves. “I’m not your father, Emma. I would never hurt you. I respect you.”
“I know,” she said, but inside there was still too much fear and doubt. “I just need a little more time, Carlo. And you said you’re a patient man, remember,” she teased, trying to ease the tension in the room.
“I am, but I’m not a saint either. When you touch me . . . I want to touch too, Emma, but I can wait. Just promise me one thing.”
She was afraid to ask what she had to promise but fought back her fear. “I guess it depends on what the promise is.”
With another ragged sigh, he shrugged his shoulders, straining the fabric of the shirt. “I feel like a tool. Promise you’ll make sure I look okay because I’m not a suit kind of guy.”
She grinned and was about to reach out to smooth the linen over his shoulders again but jerked her hand away and locked it with her other hand behind her back to keep from touching him again. Meeting his gaze, she said, “I promise.”
***
A WEEK AFTER THE MEN had selected their clothing, the Pierce brothers paraded before Emma in their custom fitted suits, doing a really bad imitation of runway models. With their blonde good looks the Pierce brothers actually could be models. Owen had the kind of refined air you’d see for a luxury watch or perfume ad while Jonathan was better suited for a 4x4 or sports ad. As they playfully posed, she laughed and shook her head.
“Come on, guys. Get serious,” she said, but was happy to see that Jonathan was able to get his normally uptight brother to relax and have fun for a change. With both Maggie and his younger brother in his life, Owen had definitely changed for the better.
The snick of a door opening had her turning toward the dressing room where Carlo had been getting dressed.
Despite his denial last week, Carlo was definitely a suit kind of guy, Emma thought as he strolled out of the dressing room for a final fitting.
His body was perfection. His face all chiseled lines that a sculptor would envy. A five o’clock shadow darkened his look, making him appear dangerously bad boy sexy. Carlo would be everywoman’s secret fantasy lover, which made Emma want to hide him all for herself. Undress him slowly, peeling away that elegant veneer to get to the raw power beneath.
As he stopped to stare at himself in the mirror, he yanked at the suit’s lapels and his full lips thinned before finally breaking into a smile that spread up into his chocolate brown eyes. Turning, he raked back a lock of tousled hair as it fell forward. He held his hands out as if to ask her what she thought and warmth suffused her as she remembered what was hidden beneath the expensive cotton shirt and bespoke suit.
“You look wonderful,” she said as she tried to examine him on a professional level and pushed away her earlier fantasy.
The men had chosen soft charcoal grey color for the suits with brilliant white shirts. Jonathan’s ensemble boasted a pale pink tie with tiny seafoam polka dots to match Connie’s blush gown while the groomsmen had deep seafoam green ties with pale pink stripes to complement the bride and the bridesmaids.
As the four friends all gathered to stand together, it occurred to her they couldn’t have a more handsome group of men. Even Jonathan’s business partner Andy, whose look sometimes bordered on mad genius, had trimmed his hair and beard, revealing a strong jaw and bringing attention to his bright blue eyes.
But no matter how handsome the men, there was only one who made her heart stutter and her insides clench with need.
Carlo.
“You guys are rocking it,” she said and chuckled with glee.
Carlo playfully tugged on his suit jacket sleeve and held it up to display the functional horn buttons with the playful seafoam thread stitching on the one buttonhole. “It’s the buttons. They make all the difference.”
“Get real. It’s us hot guys. The ladies can’t resist,” Jonathan teased and nudged Carlo with his elbow.
“But we’re all taken. Well, most of us,” Andy said and shot a quick look at Carlo. A blast of pink flooded Andy’s cheeks when he realized his gaffe and Emma felt her own cheeks flaming.
“It’s good to see that the suits all fit so well. But let me just doublecheck. Jon,” she said and he did an exaggerated stroll toward her, complete with a fake model’s pout.
“Get serious, Jon,” she said as she skimmed her hands across his shoulders. “We only have three weeks until the wedding so we need to get going. Turn around for me.”
Jonathan grinned and did a slow pivot for her complete with another playful pout. “What do you think?”
Emma nodded. “Enzo did a nice job. If the fit on all of you is as good, he should be able to do the final tailoring and get the suits to you in no time.”
She gestured to Owen and repeated her inspection with him and then Andy, smoothing and tugging to make sure the clothing fit properly. When only Carlo was left, their gazes met for a hesitant second before he sauntered over and she likewise gave the suit the once over. It fit perfectly across his wide shoulders and lean midsection. The fine wool fabric lovingly hugged his ass and muscled thighs, causing warmth to pool at her center.
Battling her reaction, she tracked her gaze down to his feet and realized he was in stockinged feet as were the other men.
“Shoes, guys. We need to see how the pants break with your shoes,” she chided and clapped her hands like a schoolteacher rounding up errant students.
Jonathan, Owen, and Andy quickly went to slip on their footwear, but Carlo hesitated. When she shot him a questioning glance, he said, “We had to order mine because they didn’t have my size in the style we chose.”
“His h-yuge size. You know what they say about men’s feet, right, Em?” Jonathan teased and winked at her.
What sounded like a low growl erupted from Carlo and he quickly retorted, “Says the man just one size away from the boy’s department.”
Jonathan jammed his hands on his hips and rocked them back and forth in a sexy motion. “Calling bullshit on that. Besides it’s not the size of the wave, but the motion of the ocean.”
“For God’s sake, Jon! I am standing here and Connie is my best friend,” Emma said, heat flooding her face.
Jonathan clasped his hands before him and lowered his head respectfully, suitably chastised. “Sorry, Em. You know I respect you and Connie.”
“Then keep the locker talk between you guys. Now shoes,” she commanded and snapped her fingers, making the men get in line before her so she could inspect the break on the pants legs. All were perfect until she got to Carlo with his unhemmed pants.
She skipped a look at his feet for fear of seeing just how big and moved her gaze up his legs, avoiding that dangerous spot and any thought about Jonathan’s tease and what it meant. She’d already had a too short memory of how he felt against her from the night of their first kiss and Jonathan had been spot on about size.
H-yuge, the little voice in her head reminded.
“As soon as you get the shoes, we’ll get Enzo to do the final measurement. No big deal,” she said, her voice rough and more heat filling her face as she realized she’d made an unintended pun.
“No big deal,” Carlo repeated, but totally tongue-in-cheek, unfortunately leaving her to recall things she was better off not thinking about as she dove into finishing up the fittings. The three weeks until the wedding were going to fly by and she had too many things to do to indulge herself with thoughts of Carlo and what could be.
