Poor bastard. I felt for him, now more than ever. "I'm so sorry, my friend. So sorry you and Danika had to take different paths."

His eyes went wild. "No." He shook his head. "No. No.  We're not on different paths. She's my path."

How could I tell him no, when I knew exactly how he felt?  I just didn't have it in me.  I could be a very hard man, but not to those I cared about, not to those I loved.

"Swear you'll never hurt her again.  Not in any way.  Promise me."  I had to say it, even knowing how he'd react.  Such was the nature of my torn loyalties.

His eyes went wild, his shoulders bunching up, as though it took every muscle in his body to keep his gut reaction toned down to something appropriate for this quiet restaurant.  The room was suddenly too small for him.

"You think you need to tell me that?  You think it's your place?"  An impotent rage dripped from his words.  He was angrier at himself than he was with me, because we both knew why I had to ask.

He'd broken her once, and though I had faith in him now, in who he'd become, I had to hear the words.

I didn't flinch from his rage, meeting his wild stare with my calm one.  "She's my friend.  I care about her, and you're asking me to help you get close to her again.  It's not a comfortable position that you're putting me in, and I just need to hear you say the words."

He took a few deep breaths, looking away, his rage deflating out of him, and I could see the reason flowing back in.  "I swear.  I won't hurt her.  I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for the times that I have."

I nodded, satisfied with that.

"C'mon, James," he said, smiling now, a broken smile, managing his anger like the grownup he'd become.  "I keep hearing all of these matchmaking stories about you.  Why are you so hesitant to use that talent for my benefit?"

I grinned.  "I'm new at it.  Not yet qualified to interfere in your mess of a love life.  I need to work up to a task like that."

"That's a terrible attitude.  Where's the arrogant prick I've come to know and love, who thinks he can run the world?"

I ignored that, sighing deeply, my mind on my future wife.  "Bianca isn't going to like this.  She's grown fiercely protective of Danika."

Bianca reacted about how I thought she would, though I did my best to put her in a good frame of mind before I told her.

I came home early from work, wandering through the house until I found her playing in the closet, her back to me.

I stood in the doorway, silently watching her for quite a while.

She had her wedding dress out, a veil on her head, more hair accessories laid out on the closet's large table, as though she was deciding which to wear.

She was dressed in some lacy white underthings that I assumed were meant either for under her wedding dress or after the wedding.

I loved her in lace.  Pale lace, a perfect foil to her flawless alabaster skin.  Antique lace was my favorite, the stiff kind, that upgraded her skin just a bit, but this was up there, too.  Just then she wore soft, stretchy lace, all of it starkly white.  Every bit of it screamed bride.

My blood coursed through my veins, my c**k swelling and throbbing in time to the erratic rhythm of my heart.

My eyes moved over the lace topped stockings that ran up her thighs as she bent down.

I moved a few steps closer to her to see what she was doing.  She was fastening some delicate white heels on her feet.

Her long hair cascaded over her shoulder as she played dress up with her wedding finery.

God, had I ever looked upon a more lovely sight?

She looked both pure and sinful all at once.  It was the most heady combination.

I wanted to ravish her more than I wanted to breathe, but I held back, savoring the vision of her first.  Inhaling the feast before I partook.

My c**k pulsed persistently as I started quietly unbuttoning my shirt.  I reached for my belt next, and the sound of it dropping to the floor finally penetrated.

She jumped, her hand flying to her chest.  When she recovered, she glared.  "One of these days, I really am going to put a bell on you."

That surprised a laugh out of me.

She glanced down at the front of my pants, where my erection tented the material out.

Her lips parted as her breath quickened

"Isn't it bad luck for me to see you in the lingerie I'm going to f**k you in at the wedding?"

She gave me a rueful lift of her brow.  "You're getting things mixed up.  You don't f**k at weddings."

"Make love."

She laughed, the sound music to my ears.  "You don't make love at weddings, either."

"Why not?"

"It's . . . inappropriate.  And besides, there's no place to do it.  It's usually in a place crowded with other people."

"The wedding reception, then."

"After the reception, maybe."

I smiled at her fondly.  She knew me better than that, but I didn't pursue it.  It would come up later.  Guaranteed.

"Stand on the table," I ordered her abruptly.

"What?"

I pulled a stepping stool that was used to reach shoes up to the closet's large island dresser.

"Get up there," I told her with a smile.  "Heels off," I added, when she started to move.