The wedding was like any other. Strangers meeting to celebrate the union of friends or relatives, an dodgy speech from the best man, dad dancing, kids running around and drunks falling down.
Ash Morgan didn't do weddings. They reminded him of his own short lived attempt at settling down and worse he didn't know anyone except the drunk groom who can barely remember his sulking bride. He hates wearing a stiff shirt. The last time he wore one was at his ex-wife's funeral. He sits at the table tapping his place card and wondered if anyone would care if he left. He looks around the room, debating the best exit and suddenly finds himself locking eyes with Stacie Monroe.
Well, he thinks it's Stacie, if not then she has a twin with dark red hair. It can't be, she's in America. He spoke to her two days ago to complain about going to this wedding. He tries to think logically, the faint glimmer of understanding, but finds himself under scrutiny and distracted. She smiles and appraises him from head to toe with no shame, his eyes are drawn to her lips. Would Stacie be that bold? Before he had the chance to solve this puzzle, she was sat next to him.
"I have a rule about not sleeping with bridesmaids," he mutters moving his gaze from her lips to her eyes. Oh you plank Morgan, did you say that aloud?
"Good job I'm not a bridesmaid then." She winks at him.
He is surprised by the response and the realisation that Stacie might have flown across to find him is thrown into doubt. Is that a proposition? Either way the thought of leaving the wedding is dismissed. He resolves to stay to find out what she means.
"I don't hook up with anyone at weddings," she states conversationally, as if they were talking about the weather.
"To get a rule like that, you must've broken it first or never had it at all." Ash comments and watches her choose white wine over red. Stacie doesn't like red wine, the last time she had it, he stayed with her whilst she was sick, bringing her water and listening to her grumbles.
"Oh yes," She plays with the stem of glass, "it's based on experience. Meeting sometime after a drink or five, then the next day you realise they have bad breath or a wife. Weddings bring out the worse judgements."
"Wise words."
"I hate weddings. I was married once and it brings back bad memories," A fleeting look of sadness passes her face, "Are you single?"
He nods.
"Oh good."
"Well I don't really think so." He smiles despite the gentle insult.
"I'm teasing," she nudges him gently, "You're fit and alone and that's interesting. It's a shame I have my rules."
He sighs, surprised anyone would think him fit. Mickey and Danny maybe and he's sure Stacie had no interest in him. But then again he recalls hugs, jealously when others moved close, her refusal to entertain Danny's fantasies and their phone calls, emails and letters when apart. Those photos and her kiss the morning after.
"I've got an idea," he moves closer to her.
"I'm interested," she leans forward, places a hand on his thigh.
"We won't sleep together tonight," he is pleased to see her look disappointed, "It's your rules, not mine. We'll have a bloody good time, then you don't have to worry about waking up to next to me."
"Stop criticizing my taste in men." She stands up and takes his arm, "Better show me your moves then."
His hand rests on her back, lower perhaps than might be suitable for newly acquainted dance partners. He moves her expertly around the floor, "I never knew you danced."
He chooses not to hear her, now certain of her identity. They can have this evening with no strings and he'll never ask why she's here in disguise. He turns her and just stops himself mentioning that his moves are better carried out in bed. Pulling her close, he smells the rose perfume of her hair and is aware of the press of her body against his and her arms around his neck. She is off limits no matter what effect they have on each other yet they appear to have stopped dancing.
She catches his eye, bites her lip and then impulsively kisses him. Yielding beneath the press of his lips, she tastes of wedding cake and wine. She is gorgeous and in his arms. He groans and pulls away from her, knowing the deal was broken.
"Thank you, that was the perfect dance."
Then she's smiling at him over her shoulder and leaving the room.
oxoxoxo
He rushes outside and sees her disappear into the gardens, "Stace?"
She shushes him with a knowing smile, whispering his name. Then she takes his hand and leads him through a courtyard, "I've got a room."
The walk to her room is fraught with lust. Her gasp at the first touch of his hand on her bare skin and the thrill of his mouth on her neck teasing her. Then his hands are nimbly climbing up her bare legs, pick pocketing her knickers. His tie is removed and his shirt unbuttoned and she's left in no doubt why he has acquired his nick name as she arches against him.
Swiping the key card, he follows her into the hotel room. Any other woman he think he wouldn't care but this is very different. Ash takes her face in his hands, seeking out any doubt and only finding need and love. Stacie reaches up, removes the wig and shakes her hair free and undoes his belt. Then she moves away and takes off her dress.
In the morning Ash has left her as she knew he would. She'll see him again tomorrow on what is apparently Mickey Brick's last con and she'll break another rule, the one about never mixing work and pleasure.
Fin