Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…
"What are you doing?" I hiss, swatting at his hand when he reaches out.
His brows furrow. "Turning off the water? I mean, unless your plan was to turn Harlan and Sophie's wedding into a biblical flood?"
Oh, right. The water.
I slide out of his way, pretty sure my face is flaming red.
I watch as he reaches beneath the fountain, twisting something. Within two seconds, the geyser has turned to a trickle and then ceased entirely.
Dammit. I didn't think to check underneath the fountain for the shutoff valve.
"There," he says, rising gracefully. "Problem solved."
"Um…" I blink at him, then grimace. His white shirt is plastered to his chest in spots, soaked through to his golden skin. "Now, you're all wet, too."
His gaze flicks down to his wide chest and then back to me, darker than they were just a second ago. "Not nearly wet enough," he mutters.
"What?"
"I said it's just a little water," he lies.
"That is not what you said."
"I'm sure it is."
See? This is why he's infuriating! He says one thing and then swears he didn't say it, even though I absolutely heard it. He's been doing it since we met last night.
At first, I thought maybe he was drunk, but then I noticed him nursing the same beer all night, so there went that theory. And then I thought maybe it was some concussion symptom…until I heard him discussing astrophysics with Vanessa's dad, an actual astrophysicist. I don't think he could have held his own in that conversation if his brain were broken. So I've landed on my third and final theory: he's doing it intentionally.
"That is not what you sai—"
"You might want to do something about that, babe," he interrupts before I can even finish arguing.
I glance down, a humiliating squeak escaping my lips when I realize that my boobs aren't just visible now. The dress is plastered to my hard nipples, and the light blue fabric is doing absolutely nothing to hide them.
Briggs is clearly enjoying the show. His eyes are locked on my nipples, his hands in fists at his sides, his lips curved into another of those diabolical grins.
"Stop looking!" I cry, slapping my hands over my chest.
He quirks a brow at me. "You can't blame a motherfucker for appreciating the view when it's right in front of him, baby."
"Oh my god!" I scowl at him. "Do not call me baby. Also, I'm not scenery, Briggs. I'm a woman. And you just cursed in church."
"Jesus would understand if he were in my shoes, Tia." His gaze slides down my body again. "And believe me, I'm very well aware that you're all woman."
"You are such a—"
A door down the hall creaks open. One of the guests, an elderly man in a white suit, pokes his head out into the hall. I squeak again, hiding behind Briggs. To his credit, he slides in front of me, his big body completely blocking me from view.
"Coast is clear," he murmurs a few seconds later, as the man's footsteps fade.
The coast is most definitelynotclear. He's still here; there is no hiding my nipples…and the bridal suite is on the opposite side of the church.
"This church is going to get struck by lightning today," I mumble, staring down at myself in dismay. "And it'll be my boobs' fault."
"Here, take this," Briggs says, shrugging out of his tuxedo jacket before wrapping it around me. Instantly, I'm engulfed in his scent—spicy and decadent. God, he smells so damned good.