Best Man, Worst Man

He’s the one problem she can’t solve.

From hysterical bridezillas to grooms with sub-zero feet, renowned wedding planner Claire Pomeroy has never met a disaster she couldn’t handle. Then she runs afoul of her client’s not-so-best man, a devilishly flirtatious rogue with a killer smile and a chest as solid as a concrete roadblock. Yet their sparks of attraction only highlight his obvious quest—to make sure this wedding knot never gets tied. Confirmed bachelor Ryder Price knows one unshakable truth: marriage is nothing but a fairy tale. No way is he going to stand idly by while his wingman face-plants into the dreaded marital trap. But there’s a problem. A dark-eyed, dangerously curvaceous problem who’s bound and determined to pull this wedding off. As her suddenly skittish clients teeter on the edge of cancellation, Claire challenges her nemesis to imagine long-term as something more than a quickie and a vague promise to call. Ryder counters with a challenge of his own. Let him give her a taste of just how fulfilling a little no-strings-attached passion can be.

Warning: This product contains cold feet, heavy petting, heavier breathing, and chocolate-covered fingers. To avoid a sweet-tooth side-effect, the author recommends having a chocolate-covered man nearby.

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B Cincinnati OH 45249 Best Man, Worst Man Copyright © 2011 by Stacy Gail ISBN: 978-1-60928-542-5 Edited by Imogen Howson Cover by Kendra Egert All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: October 2011 www.samhainpublishing.com

Best Man, Worst Man Stacy Gail

Dedication

To Cynthia Horton and Lance Shoeman, otherwise known as the coolest siblings in the world. Well, except for the underwear thing and that unforgettable incident with the Christmas tree…but otherwise, the coolest!

Chapter One

“The Texas Hill country is such a romantic backdrop for a wedding,” Claire Pomeroy told Rachel Pelly, her client and bride-to-be. “Serenity Springs Resort blows the competition away when it comes to wedding venues. It’s spacious enough to handle all three hundred of your wedding guests, while providing gorgeous facilities and top-notch service. You can have your fantasy garden wedding in the formal gardens, and then have the reception in the Grand Ballroom no more than a few steps away.” “This place is so much better than Matt’s idea of getting hitched during halftime at a Spurs playoff game,” Rachel said, their footsteps echoing against the lobby’s Spanish tiles as they headed toward the resort’s main garden. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m as much a fan of professional basketball as anyone, but I can’t imagine how freaky-crazy it would be to pull off an entire wedding during a fifteen-minute NBA halftime.” “Of all the weddings I’ve coordinated, that has to be one of the most original suggestions I’ve ever heard,” Claire admitted, then shot Rachel a smile as they moved into the sun-washed garden. “But I think I could have done it.” “Ugh, please don’t tell Matt that. Call me picky, but I would like to have my wedding scented with roses and magnolias, rather than jock sweat and stale beer.” “Your wedding wish is my command.” Claire kept her professional mask in place when what she really wanted to do was snort out loud. When Rachel and Matt had first walked into the offices of As You Wish Weddings, it was obvious the couple had a terminal case of truly-madly-deeply—in short, her favorite kind of client. “According to the resort’s event coordinator, this expanse of lawn can accommodate up to five hundred seats, and considering they hosted a senatorial election party last November, I’m confident the wait staff is capable of handling a heavy census.” Claire picked her way onto the lawn, careful not to turn an ankle in her usual four-inch open-toe heels. Reaching the height of five feet four only if she stood at attention, she did her best to make up for her unimpressive stature by putting together a look of elegant professionalism in both her work and appearance. The one lesson she’d learned as a wedding planner was a simple one—she was only as good as her reputation, and it was a lesson she made sure she never forgot. “So? Is this the sort of setting you’d like for your wedding?” “Wow.” Rachel took in the well-tended garden while the sun shone down on her coppery red hair. She was a tall, slender woman whose peaches-and-cream complexion was so perfect it didn’t look real. Claire,

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with her porcelain-pale skin and long brown hair, felt pasty in comparison. “This is what I’ve always dreamed of, Claire! Can’t you just picture it? A month from now the flowers will be in full bloom as the sun smiles down on our family and friends, and Matt and I will exchange our vows…oh, my God.” She suddenly gasped as if stuck with something sharp. “What if it rains? What if it pours?” “Then you’ll have your choice of reserving the adjoining Majestic Ballroom, or I can arrange to cover the outdoor ceremony site for roughly the same amount of money.” “I think it’d be easier to make a nice little blood sacrifice to whatever anti-rain god there is, and let the chips fall where they may.” Rachel chewed on her lip a moment before she shook her head. “Why am I sweating the small stuff? Every bride-to-be is entitled to a bit of luck on her wedding day, right?” “Just as long as that luck is of the good variety.” Snagging up her smartphone, Claire scoped her list of contacts that might be sweet-talked into giving her a deal on wedding canopies. When it came to solving problems, she was a firm believer in making her own luck. “Next on the agenda, of course, is the finalization of the wedding party. Have you settled on numbers of bridesmaids and groomsmen?” “Three apiece, plus the matron of honor and best man.” “I love a bride who prefers not to have an hour-long taffeta parade,” Claire approved. “If you’d like, you can email me the names and measurements of the wedding party. The people I work with are standing by, so I can set up fittings straight away and have it all done by the end of the week. I know you’ve chosen the green-and-white dresses for your bridesmaids and matron of honor, but what about Matt? Has he decided on what he wants for his side of the aisle?” “Um…no.” With the sixth sense of a mother faced with a shifty teen, Claire looked up from her phone. “What is it?” “Oh, it’s nothing. I uh…I was just thinking about why Matt’s not here with us now.” “I was wondering about that. Usually your fiancé likes to know what’s going on with all the wedding preparations.” “He does, and hopefully Matt will be able to join us by the end of the walkthrough. But he had plans today to ask his closest buddy to be his best man, so I’m not sure he’ll be here in time.” “Matt’s left it this late?” A warning bell went off in Claire’s mind. “Does he understand the wedding is a month away?” “Oh, he knows. And he’s not dragging his feet, it’s just…” “What?” “Matt’s best friend can be a little unpredictable.” The word trickled an ominous shiver down Claire’s spine. Wedding planners the world over had a severe allergy to unpredictable. “Oh?”

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Rachel loosed a gusty sigh. “Look, I really don’t want to sound like some crazed bridezilla ripping on her fiancé’s friends. No matter how insane this wedding eventually makes me, that is the one thing I have vowed never to do.” “You’re a long way from slipping into bridezilla-mode, but I do need to know, Rachel—is there a problem between you and Matt concerning his choice of best man?” Weddings had gone the way of the dodo for less. “No, no problem. It’s…more of a personality thing. But it’s not a problem.” Rachel gave a quick little laugh. “Everything will be fine, really.” Claire nodded, but in her mind she wondered why Rachel’s comment had the ring of famous last words.

“How does it feel to be back home in good old San Antonio?” Matt Guthrie asked over the mingled roar of the wind and rev of the engine. On such a perfect spring day, there was no way the Mustang’s ragtop was staying on. “Did the three months up in Dallas turn you into a Mavericks fan?” “The only reason I’m not hitting you for that unforgivable slur is because you’re the guy behind the wheel.” Grinning up at the brilliant blue sky, Ryder Price took the time to simply enjoy a powerful car taking a sharp bend in the road. “I’m just glad that museum job is a done deal. When I decided on commercial architecture as a career, no one warned me there were crazy feng shui curators out there in the world who would insist that load-bearing walls messed with the natural flow of chi. I know I’m no feng shui expert, but I would think having the roof fall on your head would screw up the chi flow one hell of a lot more than a handful of internal supports.” “Now, now, you know better than to bring logic into what a client wants.” Matt’s grin was unsympathetic as he downshifted. “At least you now have a couple weeks off to get back into the swing of things. Nice of your boss to give you some vacation time.” “After months of jumping through feng shui hoops, it’s more like decompression time than vacation.” “Got any plans? Besides decompressing, I mean.” “Hell yes, I have plans. I’m going to do epic amounts of nothing, with a side order of sleeping until noon.” “Lucky bastard.” “Luck has nothing to do with it.” It had been a long, hard slog up in Dallas, Ryder thought, settling deeper into the seat with a sigh. What at first had been a source of amusement had quickly become all-out drudgery, and putting up with the constant interference had worn on his very last nerve. There hadn’t even been a way to blow off steam, except to call his boss and rant whenever he couldn’t take it anymore. He hadn’t been able to knock around the city with the few people he had met up there, as everyone had spouses

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and families to get back to at the end of the workday. Skyping with Matt had given him some respite, but his best friend had been pretty scarce lately, spending most of his free time with his girlfriend, Rachel. For the most part, Ryder had been left with nothing to do except wander back to a lonely hotel room and obsess on his impossible client’s demands until he wanted to scream. Small wonder he was feeling fried. It should be easing up though, he mused, brows pulling together. Somehow he’d managed to pull off a freaking miracle in Dallas. He’d gotten the job done on budget and on time, all without murdering his impossible client. But for some reason the restlessness was still there. He couldn’t explain it, this gnawing sensation of dissatisfaction. It was almost like he had forgotten to do something important and now there was a gaping hole somewhere that was in danger of swallowing him whole. Maybe his chi was out of whack. “So? What do you think?” Ryder looked at Matt and hoped he didn’t appear as blank as he felt. “About what?” “Glad to see you’re hanging on my every word,” Matt muttered, shaking his perpetually mussed curly brown head. “Let’s try this again. Bottom-lining it, I’ve asked Rachel to marry me, and since she was crazy enough to say yes it looks like I’m heading down the aisle. If it doesn’t interfere with your important plans of sleeping and doing nothing, how do you feel about being my best man?” Ryder went still. “You’re kidding.” “No, I’m serious. We’ve been best friends since our freshman year in college, and you’re closer to me than my own brother. Why wouldn’t I want you as my best man?” “No, I mean…you’re getting married?” Feeling like he’d gotten sucker-punched by King Kong, Ryder stared at him. This had to be a joke. A seriously bad joke. “You?” “Is it so hard to believe? Rachel and I have been together for over a year, and I was crazy about her long before that. It’s about time we make it official and settle down for real, don’t you think?” “Settle down?” Ryder could only stare at him as the edgy restlessness gnawing away at his insides cranked up another notch. “You guys are already settled down. Why would you want to screw everything up with something as outdated as marriage?” “Not everyone looks at marriage the way you do, pal.” “The world would be a happier place if they did.” “Rachel and I belong together, like two halves that make up a whole,” Matt said, clearly ignoring what Ryder thought were words of profound wisdom. “When we’re apart, I can’t wait to get back to her. When we’re together, I never want to leave her side. With Rachel, I always have a place where I can go and be loved and accepted. Wherever she is, that’s my home.” “Did you get that off a greeting card?” “I’m serious, dude.”

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“You must be, if you’re throwing the M-word around.” A headache the size of Alaska bloomed behind Ryder’s eyes as Matt pulled into a large, tree-ringed parking lot. He barely noticed. He was too wrapped up in trying to pick his teeth up off the floor. “Damn. I leave you alone for a few months, and look what happens.” Turning off the engine, Matt shot him a searching look. “Does that mean you don’t want to be my best man?” “Matt, it’s not that I don’t want to be your best man. I’m honored you thought of me. That’s not the problem.” “So what is?” “Marriage,” Ryder said, stunned he even had to point it out. “Have you forgotten? You were the one who coined our motto—eat, drink, and not marry, for tomorrow we grind.” “I believe I was still technically a teenager when I came up with that particular gem. I’d like to think I’ve grown up a little since then.” Ryder shook his head and tried to find the words that would stop his friend from driving his life off a cliff. “Let’s think about this for a second. You and I both know you’re the greatest party-animal to walk the face of the earth—” “Aside from you, of course.” “—and you want to throw all that away now? For one woman?” “Not just any woman. The woman.” Matt glanced toward the cedar-and-glass chalet-style building they’d parked in front of, only to perk up when he caught sight of Rachel heading toward them with a smile that rivaled the sun. “She’s definitely the one for me.” “You have been reading too many greeting cards,” Ryder muttered. “Matt, think, okay? How do you know a year from now you’re not going to come across another woman who’s the one? Like her, for instance.” He gestured toward a cute little blonde in a tennis outfit heading around the corner. “What if you met up with her, and it hits you like a bolt from the blue that she’s the one you’re meant to be with? Or her,” he added, nodding at a dark-haired woman with the heart-stopping bustline of a young Mae West and an aura that was the definition of feminine elegance. Despite his determination to get through to Matt, Ryder’s gaze lingered on the woman’s legs, made that much more spectacular thanks to the ankle-busting stilettos she wore. No man with a pulse could be blamed for fantasizing how it would feel to have those supple legs locked around his waist like a vise. “Look at her, Matt, she’s perfect. What if you—?” “What if I’ve already met the one woman who was perfect for me, and I was smart enough to figure that out?” With a short sigh, Matt opened the door and slid out as Rachel neared. “The fact is there will never be anyone else for me, Ryder. I’m not the party-animal I used to be, and I don’t need to look any further than Rachel to get my thrills. When you meet the right woman, pal, everything changes. Especially you.”

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Ryder could do nothing more than stare at him in horror. Somehow, Matt was on the verge of becoming one of the countless zombie minions who fell for the sucker promise of love everlasting. How in the world had this happened? Distracted, his attention drifted back to the elegant woman with the long dark hair and dangerous curves, now sliding those wowser legs and spank-me-now heels into the car. She really was a breathtaking piece of work, but he couldn’t let himself be sidetracked by feminine perfection. What was important now was Matt. His best friend was trying to throw his life down the crapper, and he was doing it with a smile filled with impossible dreams of happily ever after. It was sad. It was awful. And by God, it had to be stopped.

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Chapter Two

The sky was a brilliant blue the next day as Claire drove down the oak-studded drive leading to the Hill Country home of Rachel and Matt. Her backseat was filled with heavy portfolio books needed for another client consult later that day, a bridesmaid dress that had to be dropped off at the seamstress and several centerpiece options for Rachel and Matt to mull over via the laptop. She would count herself lucky if she saw home before midnight. Nothing else could be expected this time of year, Claire cheered herself, smiling. Spring was the wildest season for any wedding planner determined to earn a reputation. Everything had to go off without a hitch, and that was what Claire prided herself in the most—offering up a flawless day when two people made the promise to become one. That was why she’d named her business As You Wish Weddings. Short of pulling down the moon for her clientele, Claire found a way to make their special day perfect. “Claire! Long time no see.” All smiles, Rachel skipped down the wide limestone verandah steps as Claire opened the passenger-side door. “Thank you so much for coming by. I know this could have been done via email, but I feel better if you’re here to hold my hand.” “That’s what I’m here for.” Professional smile in place, Claire shouldered her work-tote and chose not to tell Rachel her schedule would be enough to make Hercules cry like a baby. Things like a jam-packed appointment book didn’t matter. What mattered was making Rachel’s wedding dreams come true. “Like I told you in my text, I have six fantastic centerpieces to show you and Matt. Oh, and the revised invitations have finally come back from the printer’s, so you need to look them over for any mistakes. If you feel they’re okay, and barring any additions or subtractions from your guest list, I’m ready to send them out for you, unless you’d like to do that yourself.” “At this point, I’m ready to drop everything into your capable hands.” Rachel sighed, rolling her eyes. “I feel like I have more on my plate than I can handle right now. We have had, shall we say, an incident.” “Oh?” As they walked into the house, Claire kept her tone neutral while internal warning bells began to clang. A gush of possibilities went through her mind, from bounced checks to a groom’s change of heart. “What’s happened?” “Matt’s best friend is going to be staying with us for a couple of days.” “I see.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out from Rachel’s flattened tone that this was a less-thanspectacular turn of events. “Is this the same one we discussed yesterday?”

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Rachel nodded. “He’s an architect who’s been away for a few months on a job up in Dallas, which was the main reason why Matt hadn’t asked him to be his best man until now.” The strain in the redhead’s smile spoke volumes. “Matt said that was something he needed to do with his friend face to face.” Claire frowned, not sure what to say. “And…this friend is now staying with you? Does he not live here in San Antonio?” “Oh, he does, but when he got home from his trip he discovered his house had been invaded by a colony of bees. He’s having the little critters removed, and then having the place fumigated just to be on the safe side, so obviously he can’t stay there. Matt insisted he couldn’t stay at a hotel when he’d just spent three months in one, so…” “So you have a houseguest.” “Do I ever. Currently he’s parked on my couch, drinking my gourmet French press coffee and full of not-really-helpful comments. At this point, I’m thinking there is such a thing as justifiable homicide.” Rachel paused outside a marble archway that led to the formal two-story living room, and smiled a smile dripping with bright savagery. “You have been warned.” Great. Claire sighed and followed Rachel into the living room, only to have her vision filled with Rachel’s houseguest sitting on a sofa, coffee mug in hand as he chatted with Matt. He was impossible to miss. Even though he was seated it was obvious the man was built like a warrior of old, with wide shoulders and a chest you could play handball on, narrow hips and long legs that filled out his jeans in all the right places. His dark hair was as black as a raven’s wing, and the sweep of his shoulders was so breathtaking she couldn’t help but suffer the innately feminine desire to explore the muscular terrain with curious, wanting-to-squeeze fingers. The smile he gave Matt was a devilish white slash against bronzed, sun-kissed skin, made that much darker with a hint of a five-o’clock shadow. Then he looked up at their approach, and Claire found herself freezing solid, from the tips of her toes all the way to the orderly movement of her lungs. He had silver eyes. God help her, silver eyes. Wow. “Ryder, I’d like you to meet wedding planner extraordinaire, Claire Pomeroy. Claire, this is Matt’s best friend, Ryder Price. Since he and Matt are settled in so nicely here, why don’t you and I have our consult in the kitchen while the boys do whatever it is they do?” Matt shrugged. “Sounds good to me.” “Absolutely not.” To Claire’s surprise, the man named Ryder pushed to his feet and crossed to them, and for no fathomable reason Claire’s heart decided to do its best impersonation of an 808 drum machine. “Please Rachel, I insist you go about your usual routine and just pretend I’m not even here. Remember, you swore I wouldn’t be a bother, so don’t let me get in your way now.”

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“My goodness,” Rachel said through a tight smile that made her look like she wanted to bite something. “How considerate of you, Ryder.” “And I wouldn’t want to inconvenience your wedding planner.” Ryder turned the full brunt of his smile on Claire as he took her hand in his. “Claire, is it?” It took most of her strength to get her tongue unglued from the roof of her mouth, mainly because the heat of his hand was branding her nerve endings with the glorious feel of him. “That’s correct.” What wasn’t correct was how her brain slipped its gears to plunge her into the heart of fantasyland the moment he touched her. With shocking ease she imagined how the glide of his hands, as big as baseball mitts, might feel against other, more intimate parts of her body. With one glance at his made-for-sin lips, she could almost feel them molding against hers, seducing her with the promise of dark pleasures. She had no doubt he would be a reckless lover. This modern-day gladiator looked as though he lived to conquer his intended target inch by tantalizing inch, unveiling her as he would a piece of fine art to revel in a slow, sensual exploration first by his gaze, then his hands, then his mouth… A flush of heat rolled through Claire until she thought she glowed with it, and to her dismay warmth bloomed between her thighs. Way to be professional, she thought, horrified. Apparently her little voice of reason was suffering an epic case of laryngitis. And the worst part of it—all he’d done was touch her hand. What would it be like if he touched her elsewhere? By degrees, Claire realized she was still holding his hand with the fervor of a child clutching a favorite toy. Mortified, she dropped it like a hot rock, and felt even more idiotic. “I hear you’re stranded without a house for a few days?” she managed to ask with a calm smile, all the while praying he hadn’t noticed her erratic behavior. “A bit of bad luck that might turn into something good.” He shrugged it aside while his eyes seemed intent on pinning her to the spot. “It just so happens I noticed you yesterday at Serenity Springs as you got into your car, so crossing paths with you now can only be a happy coincidence. I’m very pleased to meet you.” “Likewise.” And she would have been thrilled to take up the invitation so blatantly shining in his eyes if she didn’t have to maintain a professional façade. “Don’t let me disturb you—” “Not at all.” As he spoke, Ryder guided Claire onto the sofa next to him, with only a few meager inches separating them. “You usually have your consultations with both Rachel and Matt, right? Feel free to do your thing, and just pretend I’m not even here.” Rachel muttered something indistinct while Claire tried to maneuver for more room. This man could undoubtedly seduce women even if he was comatose and on life support, she thought with a silent snort as she dragged out her laptop. But now was certainly not the time to think about how hot his thigh was right next to hers. Or how hot he was. Or how hot he made her. Had any man ever made her so hot?

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“This shouldn’t take too long,” Claire said in a brisk tone, grasping at the shield of professionalism like a drowning victim flailing for a life preserver. Pretending Ryder was nothing more than a very large sofa pillow, she opened up PowerPoint before setting the laptop on the coffee table. “Since you’ve settled on your theme—springtime—I’ve found several florists who have created some outstanding centerpieces with that theme in mind.” “Fabulous.” Rachel perched on the armrest of Matt’s chair and leaned toward the screen. “And these centerpieces will match all the other arrangements?” “Of course, including the bridesmaids’ bouquets and your bouquet, the boutonnieres, the floor arrangements, floral garlands and the wedding arbor you’ve requested.” “That’s great—” Beside her, Ryder shifted so his thigh nudged hers, a distracting little friction that tugged her awareness toward him as effectively as if he’d blown in her ear. “Wow,” he remarked and offered Matt a guy-to-guy roll of the eyes. “Just thinking about all those flowers has my allergies kicking in big-time.” Take a pill, Claire nearly blurted before she made herself inch farther down the couch. That friction was heating her up in a way that threatened to short-circuit her thought processes. “I mean, spring is bad enough, what with all the pollen in the air, so when all that crap—sorry, Rachel—when all those flowers are carted in on top of everything else…” Ryder shook his head while flashing a charmingly harmless smile. “I hope you guys are serving up major amounts of Kleenex along with the rubber chicken.” The snap of Rachel’s teeth was audible as she struggled to smile at their guest. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem, Ryder.” “It’s nice to think that, but what if you get someone with allergy-induced asthma? Before you know it, you’re responsible for someone falling down in the aisle with their face turning blue. But hey, who cares, as long as the setting is pretty?” Claire just stopped herself from clicking her tongue. Aha. He was going to be like that, was he? Disappointment bloomed in her chest, and the strength of it surprised her. Probably because she didn’t like to see a gorgeous specimen like Ryder Price acting so ugly, she rationalized, hardening her heart even as she scooted farther away. She’d run into countless poisoned pills before—in her line of work it was unavoidable. And it was through that work she had learned there was only one way to handle the likes of Ryder Price. She needed to school him on who was in charge. Matt was looking at Rachel with a frown. “He does have a point, honey. What about allergies?” “Matt, I’ve planned nearly a hundred weddings in my professional life,” Claire began in the hope of being the voice of reason. “Allergies have never been a problem—”

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“Just because it’s never happened before, doesn’t mean it can never happen,” Ryder cut in, his thigh brushing hers once more. That constant disturbance—an unwanted pleasurable friction—along with his obstructive attitude brought Claire’s usually calm temper spiking up into the red zone. “You seem to not have heard me correctly,” she said without looking at him. No way in the world was she going to feed this troll. “I never said it couldn’t happen. As I was saying before I was interrupted, Matt, if there is a known medical concern for one or more of your guests, all of these floral arrangements can be created with silk flowers. And if you have profound medical concerns for your guests, there is a solution for that as well. I did a wedding that involved a one-hundred-year-old woman, who was asked to be her great-great-granddaughter’s matron of honor. Because of the woman’s age, I arranged for a private ambulance to be onsite, but it was unnecessary. That particular wedding just might go down in my memory as the most poignant ceremony I’ve ever attended. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.” “Cool.” Matt looked impressed, and he smiled at his fiancée. “It’s weird, but I can almost picture it, can’t you, Rach? The belonging, the family, the love. It must have filled that room.” “Stop, you’re going to make me cry.” With a smile, Rachel leaned over to kiss him. “So,” Claire said, notebook at the ready. “Do you want real or silk flowers? And if you choose real, do you want me to enclose an allergy warning with each invitation regarding the use of real flowers at your ceremony and arrange for onsite emergency medical services?” “No, that sounds kind of crazy, once you put it like that.” Matt laughed while Rachel nodded wryly. “I mean, people should expect to run into flowers at weddings, after all.” “And funerals,” Ryder commented out of nowhere, and it was as wince-worthy as an off-key note in a virtuoso performance. “Come to think of it, weddings and funerals have a lot in common, don’t they?” Good grief. “If you two could look through the choices I’ve got ready for you here and tell me what you like, I can get the order in, and we can sail on from there,” Claire went on as if Ryder hadn’t spoken, using the laptop’s touchpad to start the slideshow. “Before I forget, Rachel, I found the best price in all of San Antonio on dyeable pumps. I believe your matron of honor had questions about where to get that done, so I can guarantee her a place that will fit her budget. Oh, and one more thing. I brought these.” She reached into her work-tote and fished out a beribboned cellophane bag. “A chocolatier moved in next door to my offices, and on a lark I ordered something spring-like. These mint-crème-filled works of art are what she came up with. If you like them, we can have them sitting on every table for your guests to ooh and ah over in addition to the party favors you’ve chosen. And if you don’t want to go with these, that’s fine too. Just consider this bag of yummy goodness a gift from me.” As Claire handed over the molded chocolates made to look like flowers and bees, Ryder shifted beside her until his leg pushed against hers in one long line of heat. “You really are efficient, aren’t you?” Still refusing to look at him, she moved pointedly away. “Most professional wedding planners are.”

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“Claire was one of the first officially certified wedding planners in San Antonio and has made the cover of Texans magazine not once, but twice,” Rachel said with a smug smile. “We were lucky to book with her.” “I never would have heard the last of it if I hadn’t gotten Claire to plan the wedding.” Matt groaned, then grinned when Rachel hit his arm. “I don’t think there’s a problem out there that Claire Pomeroy can’t handle.” “Oh?” Just as pointedly, Ryder scooted right next to her until thigh pressed thigh once more. “You’re really that good?” “I’d like to think I’ve earned a good reputation, if only because I have one all-important rule when it comes to dealing with problems.” At last, Claire turned to look him right in the eye. It was only sporting, after all, to look at your opponent when throwing down the gauntlet. “I never allow a problem to get in my way. Never. Do you understand?” She was shocked—and more physically attracted than she would ever admit—when a sudden grin flashed across Ryder’s face. “I do indeed. Sounds like we’re going to have one hell of a good time.”

“You don’t have to walk me to my car,” Claire said as she and Ryder headed out into the blazing midday sun. “As you can see, I parked right out front.” “I’m just being polite.” Smiling, and feeling better than he had in months, Ryder strolled along in the diminutive dynamo’s wake. She was really something, this Claire Pomeroy. As a true connoisseur of women, Ryder felt justified in thinking that in looks alone she was drop-dead gorgeous. With a rich fall of dark brown hair that could have been in a shampoo commercial, poetically dark eyes the color of melted chocolate and a centerfold-worthy figure, it was no wonder she had his brain sliding into hot-and-naughty fantasyland the day before, even with an entire parking lot between them. Then she had turned to him, unruffled and elegant and flat-out challenging him with her snippy little tone. In the time it took for a heart to beat, Claire Pomeroy had made herself downright irresistible. “Polite?” Hauling the passenger door open, she dropped her workbag into the car’s footwell. “Is that what you call it?” Oh, yeah. Definitely snippy. “At least I look at people when I talk to them.” “You told me to pretend you’re not here. My specialty is fulfilling people’s wishes.” “That was then. This is now.” Stepping into her path before she could round to the driver’s side, Ryder watched, fascinated, as a ripple of irritation washed over her otherwise calm expression. Which expression, he wondered, was the real Claire Pomeroy? “Now is the time to establish all the rules to our little game.” “Game? What game?”

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“No need to be coy,” he chided her, enjoying the riot of color that began to burn like a fever in her porcelain-pale face. “We both know what the situation is. You want to pull off this wedding of Matt and Rachel’s, and I want to save my best friend from it. What’s more, I feel it’s only sporting to warn you that I’ll do just about anything to see that he escapes the marital noose unscathed.” She was quiet for a full five seconds. Then, “You’re a child. Excuse me.” Ryder’s smile vanished as she moved around him with far more speed than he would have thought possible on those ankle-busting heels of hers. “Hey, wait a second—” “No, you wait.” Opening the driver’s door, she put it between them as if she felt the need for a shield, and as her dark eyes slashed his way he realized the riotous color in her face had actually been a warning sign of temper. “I refuse to stand here and listen to someone making a game out of ruining what should be the happiest time of Matt’s and Rachel’s lives. You call yourself a friend? You’re their worst enemy, and they don’t even know it.” That stung, more than he cared to admit. “What kind of friend would I be if I just stood by while Matt walks face-first into the biggest lie there is?” “What lie is that?” “Marriage,” Ryder said, though he probably shouldn’t be amazed he had to point that out to her. She was a wedding planner, after all. “Happily ever after. Forever. That’s the lie I’m talking about. Half of all marriages end in divorce.” “And half of them don’t. Just because you don’t believe in forever, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Matt isn’t like you. When it comes to his relationship with his fiancée, he knows something you don’t.” “Which is?” “He knows he belongs with Rachel,” she clipped off coolly. “I’ve seen it time and again, and every time it takes my breath away. Two people who have gone happily through their individual lives, unaware there might be something missing. Something vital. Then they meet, and it’s as though all the secret tumblers on a lock deep inside their hearts fall into place. Something opens up, a place they didn’t even know was there, and suddenly they understand what it means to belong to someone. To have them belong to you. Do you really want to get in the way of something so beautiful?” For a moment, Ryder wavered as the description of something missing hit a little too close to the unnamed restlessness that had dogged him since Dallas. But if there was one thing he knew, it was the truth about marriage. “Matt and Rachel have been together for over a year now, which is great. I have no intention of getting in between them when they’ve got such a good thing going. I just don’t see why they should ruin it with an outdated idea like marriage. So—” he shrugged, and crossed his arms in front of him, “—I guess that means the one person I am going to get in the way of, is you.”

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Chapter Three

“There’s no way I could have pulled any of this crap together myself,” Matt mumbled absently to Ryder as he adjusted his bow tie in the three-way mirror. “Both you and Rachel’s brother live in town, so you guys are easy to take care of. But Barry relocated to Houston last year, and Jeremy’s stuck in Wyoming doing that seismic survey thing, so trying to figure out how to get everyone in the same monkey suit would have driven me right out of my tree. Thank God Claire contacted a national formalwear chain to coordinate everything.” “She’s definitely something,” Ryder said, working the cufflinks with inordinate care. Claire. The one person he didn’t want to talk about, if only because she was the one person he couldn’t kick the hell out of his mind. Just thinking about her—and the disdainful way her eyes had taken bloody chunks out of him— had kept him up half the night. Even when he’d at last managed to fall asleep he hadn’t been able to ditch her, though in his dreams she’d been anything but disdainful. His dream-Claire had been eager and breathlessly ardent, showering phantom kisses all over him, so when he awoke he was as hard as a steel rod, slick with sweat, and hungering for her body. Damn tease, he thought, well aware he wasn’t being fair, but who gave a crap about being fair when the mere thought of her made his lower regions throb with need? With her dignified elegance and luscious body built for a man’s worshipping hands, Claire Pomeroy hit everything on his personal checklist of what made a woman irresistible. Except for the whole matrimony thing. In this day and age, how could such a smart and savvy woman believe in the fairy tale of marriage? She was a romantic, Ryder decided, staring at his cuffs without seeing them. For all her organizational skills, Claire Pomeroy was a dreamy-eyed, hearts-and-flowers romantic who believed in forever. Maybe that sappy way of thinking came with being a wedding planner—she had to believe in the fairy tale in order to make her clients’ dreams come true. But that’s all it was. A dream. “Let me guess. You don’t like the French cuffs.” Ryder looked up at his friend. “What?” Matt nodded at Ryder’s cuffs and leaned against the dressing room wall. “You’re staring at those cuffs like they’ve done you wrong, dude. I’m not a fan, myself, but I think I can hack it for a day.” “Oh.” Ryder glanced back at the cuffs and nearly snorted. No doubt his friend would fall over if he knew his thoughts were pinpointed on the sexy little wedding planner. “No, I was just thinking I had to rent

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a tux very much like this one the second time my father got married. Now that was a wedding,” he added, throwing a grin Matt’s way. “Everything was done up in black and white, including all the guests’ attire. They had a full band at the reception, professional tango dancers flown in from Brazil, a champagne fountain and ice sculptures everywhere you looked. My dad later said if he had known the bills to that particular shindig would outlast the actual marriage, he would have eloped.” Matt snorted and turned to once again check out his reflection in the mirror. “If Rachel’s parents weren’t helping out with the bills, we’d be eloping too.” He looked up as the formalwear shop’s clerk came in with more tuxedos. “Whoa, how many does Claire want us to try on?” “Just three more,” the clerk said, hanging up the suits. “Her personal choice is the one you have on now, which I strongly recommend you go with, sir. Ms. Pomeroy has a sixth sense about this sort of thing, so it’s best to just go along with her wishes.” “You know Claire Pomeroy well, then?” Ryder found himself asking, though he wasn’t sure why. The clerk’s eyes widened impressively. “Everyone in the business knows Claire Pomeroy. I’ve got two more fittings today who are her clientele, one with a Cinco de Mayo theme, and the other with a Hogwarts theme, of all things. I can only imagine what she’ll come up with next.” It was hard to believe there were so many people willing to throw their lives away on a gamble, Ryder almost said, and had to bite his tongue while the clerk headed back out to the showroom. Now wasn’t the time to club Matt over the head with the obvious. Now was the time for Matt to realize all on his own that marriage was a mistake. “Geez, I don’t believe it. This is a morning suit, isn’t it? I have no frigging clue what to do with an ascot.” Ryder looked up at the suit Matt was examining. “I would strongly advise against them. They held up my father’s third wedding for nearly an hour. By the time the bride was walking down the aisle she was in tears and my dad was cursing a blue streak. He swore it was a bad omen.” “I kinda like the one I’m wearing, anyway.” Matt stared at his reflection with a distracted frown. “Can’t go wrong with a basic jacket and vest, instead of that ridiculous cummerbund thing. What the hell is a cummerbund anyway?” “I always thought it was a fat guy’s way of covering up a spare tire without wearing a truss. And if you want basic, you should do what my mother and her third husband did—have a beach wedding and have everyone dress in bathing suits and shorts. That had to be my favorite wedding attire. But this isn’t bad,” he added casually when Matt slid a glance his way. “In fact, I might even buy this one instead of just rent it. You never know who’s going to get married again—my mom, dad. You. It’d probably be cheaper just to get this and wear it again for the next ceremony.” “I’m not going to get married again, Ryder,” Matt said, a hard edge to his tone while he fiddled with his bow tie. “Rachel’s the one for me.”

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“Trust me, pal—that’s what they all say. And that’s terrific you feel that way right now,” he added when Matt’s expression turned thunderous. “I’m happy for you, really. But you might want to think about buying that tux anyway, just in case things don’t work out and you want to, er…use it again. My dad finally figured out that was the best way to go when he jumped into marriage number four. Too bad he never figured out a man should just be happy with the status quo, rather than pushing it all the way to the limit. Crazy bastard.” As they grabbed up the morning suits and headed off to their changing rooms, Ryder glanced at Matt’s expression and smiled to himself. His work here was done.

The front showroom of As You Wish Weddings was usually a serene oasis of nuptial bliss, with strategically placed portrait-sized black-and-white photos of happy couples in their wedding regalia, little flower girls with blossoms in their hair and proud parents wiping tears away. The hardwood floors glowed with warmth, the buff-colored walls were treated with an antiquing patina overlay, and creamy satin window treatments puddled tastefully on the floors around sun-drenched transom windows. Elegant serenity had always been Claire’s goal in her professional life. If a client had walked in at that moment, however, elegant serenity was the last thing they would have found. “Mari.” Claire stood over a box, one of nearly a dozen that had been delivered and were now in haphazard piles all over the front showroom. “I have a question.” “Mmm?” Claire’s assistant and professional lady in waiting, Mari Cruz, lifted her platinum-streaked brunette head from the study of the loose-leaf notebook she held. “Do I have an answer?” “I hope so.” Claire frowned at the contents in the box. “When you think of spring, what sort of flowers come to mind?” “Well, for Texas it has to be bluebonnets of course, they’re everywhere this time of year, along with buttercups, daisies, Indian paintbrush and freesia. If we’re talking weddings, it has to be tulips, roses, orchids and lilies, all in pale pastel colors, or white.” “Great answer.” Claire nodded, still frowning. “And the Pelly-Guthrie wedding is spring-themed, correct?” Mari closed the notebook, looking apprehensive. Clearly she knew her boss well. “Ye-es…” “The colors Rachel Pelly chose for her wedding are white and green, and the flowers are calla lilies, green hydrangea and white roses. And, in keeping with the white and green theme, we were going to create floral streamers out of magnolias to line the aisle, right?” “That’s right.” “So…could you please tell me why we have just received a delivery of fifteen hundred marigolds?”

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“Crap.” In a heartbeat, Mari bounded over to look at the box’s bright orange-gold contents before whipping open the notebook. “I’m sure I ordered magnolias, not marigolds. I mean, there’s such a huge difference between them… Ah, see? Here’s a copy of the order sheet—magnolias, not marigolds.” Grateful, Claire patted her assistant on the shoulder, a calming gesture for them both while she frowned at the order form. “Okay, let’s see if we can make some lemonade out of this lemon. I’ll see if the Chapman-Hernandez clients would like to have marigolds as an accent flower for their wedding and reception, since that particular color goes great with their Cinco de Mayo theme, and we’ll offer it at a cut rate. If they don’t want it, contact the warehouse and switch out the order. If our clients do want the marigolds, contact the warehouse anyway, because we need those white and green magnolias for the PellyGuthrie wedding—” Claire’s phone cut her off, and with one last grateful glance at Mari, she unhooked the smartphone at her waist and glanced at the I.D. “Hi, Rachel. What can I do for you?” “The wedding’s off,” Rachel sobbed baldly, and with those three words Claire’s heart sank all the way to her toes. “Have the invitations gone out? Please tell me the invitations haven’t gone out yet. I don’t want to call three hundred people and tell them Matt doesn’t love me enough to marry me…” “Calm down, Rachel.” With all her skills kicking into high gear, Claire stepped away from the chaos of the flowers. “The invitations are right here on the counter, all right? Tell me what happened. Did you and Matt fight?” “No. I just don’t understand.” The helpless devastation in Rachel’s tone was so jagged it broke Claire’s heart. “We were fine this morning, better than fine. At breakfast, we were practicing our first dance together and laughing at how I don’t know my left from my right. Maybe it’s because I stepped on his foot…?” “I doubt that was it.” With suspicion lurking like a dark shadow in her mind, Claire moved to the laptop lying on the counter and clicked on the Pelly-Guthrie calendar. “Aha.” “Aha? Aha, what?” “The fittings.” When she realized she was talking out loud, Claire clammed up. It wouldn’t do to make the shattered bride-to-be even more upset than she already was. “All right, Rachel, one way or another we’re going to finalize this situation. I need you and Matt to meet me for dinner down at The Little Steakhouse on the River Walk at six. If Matt hassles you about it, tell him you both have to be there to finalize my bill, because there is an extra fee in our contract for ceremony cancellation.” Rachel whimpered. “S-six tonight?” “That’s right.” Rachel began crying again. “We’ll be there.” When Claire hung up, Mari looked at her with an expression full of compassion. “I’m guessing I should cancel the magnolias?”

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“Not yet.” Jaw set, Claire dialed the restaurant for reservations. “No one is canceling a thing, not if I have anything to say about it.” Thankfully Claire was kept so busy for the remainder of the afternoon she could hardly spare a thought for Matt and Rachel or, for that matter, the number-one suspect for the source of the problem. But she simmered. Her temper prowled through every word and movement, straining at the edges like a dangerous animal kept on a short leash. By the time six o’clock rolled around, she was so wound up she barely saw the restaurant’s carefully rustic interior with its exposed wooden beams and bare limestone walls. Nor did she take any pleasure in the riverside table draped in the spring colors of white and pastel yellow, or in the towering, century-old live oak that was the majestic canopy for the restaurant’s outdoor dining area. Instead of seeing candles glowing at each linen-covered table, she saw the arrogant smile of Matt’s so-called best man, and all she wanted to do was wring his neck. But thoughts of justifiable homicide would have to wait. For now, she had a relationship to save. “Hey, Claire.” Rachel appeared by the table, a somber-looking Matt in tow. As Claire rose to hug her client, she noted the other woman’s swollen eyes, blotchy complexion and miserable expression. Her temper inched up another notch, but she produced a calm smile and gestured them into their seats. “Thank you both for meeting with me on such short notice,” Claire began, noting that Matt looked nearly as wrecked as Rachel. In her lap, her hands curled in fury. “When the two of you signed our contract, I never imagined you would be candidates for the ceremony-cancellation fee, simply because I’ve never seen two people who fit together better than you. I don’t know what happened today,” she went on while the image of Ryder flashed through her mind, “but I do know that somehow you have found yourselves at a life-altering crossroads. Matt, do you still love Rachel, or do you want to move on?” “No! I love her! I love you, Rachel,” he said with the air of a man who had repeated himself until he was blue in the face. “I don’t want us to be over, you have to believe me!” Tears dripped from Rachel’s already swollen and painfully red eyes. “Then…why? Why don’t you love me enough to marry me?” “It’s not that, baby. I’ll never love anyone as much as I love you. We’re just…going so fast…” Rachel shook her head, lost. “We’ve known each other for years, we’ve been together as a couple for a year, you proposed months ago. Why is it suddenly too fast now? What’s happened?” Ryder the human tornado is what happened, Claire wanted to say, and had to bite her tongue to keep it still. “Rachel, this is perfectly normal, so try not to take it as a sign that Matt doesn’t love you,” Claire said, when what she really wanted to do was knock Matt into the river for being so easily led. What the hell was he, a sheep? “Marriage is one of the biggest steps a person takes in their adult life, and you have to approach it with the sober maturity of an adult. Maybe Matt doesn’t feel like he’s there yet. As the wedding

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date is now only a few weeks away, he might not feel like he’s the settling-down type after all. Maybe he wants to hold onto the singles’ scene a bit longer—” “No! God, no.” With a look of pure horror, Matt shook his head. “Look, I’m just…a little confused right now, okay?” “I’m confused too, with so much craziness going on,” Rachel whispered, the picture of woe. “The one thing I’m not confused about is my love for you, Matt. But…if you don’t feel the same way, maybe it’s best to find that out now and go our separate ways—” “No!” Like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline, Matt grabbed her hands and held on tight. “We belong together, Rachel, don’t even think about walking away now!” “That’s my cue to leave you two to talk things out.” Solemn faced, Claire rose from her chair. “Please order whatever you want. The management here owes me a few favors, so the bill’s already been taken care of. Take as long as you need, and as you do, I’d like you to do something for me—try and envision what your life will be like without each other to hold on to when times are tough, to laugh and cry with, to be weak with and be strong for. Envision yourselves alone, because that is what you’ll be without each other.” Without waiting for a reply, Claire walked across the dining patio and into the restaurant… And spotted Ryder Price watching the scene from the restaurant bar.

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Chapter Four

“I’d like to say this is a surprise, but I’ve never been good at lying,” Claire said by way of greeting as she settled onto a padded, low-backed barstool. Ryder let his gaze slide over her, mainly because he hadn’t been able to do anything else since he arrived. As usual she was an elegantly put-together package in a slim black skirt, white satin blouse, her usual nosebleed-inducing high heels and a double strand of pearls at her neck. She was all things feminine and all things irresistible…except for her expression. Beneath the calm smiles and elegant mannerisms, the flash in those melted-chocolate eyes wanted blood. He wondered how Matt had managed not to cringe away from it. “I don’t suppose you’d believe my being here is merely a coincidence,” he offered, fiddling with the pilsner glass set before him. And only then did it occur to him that it had been one hell of a long time since a woman made him nervous enough to fiddle with anything. “I sincerely hope I don’t look that gullible.” With a wave of a manicured hand, Claire sent the bartender on his way. “I knew you would be someplace close by.” “Oh?” “Of course. Since you’ve already done your damnedest to break Rachel and Matt up, you wanted to see how the final shattering of their relationship would play out. I’m curious—is Rachel’s devastation and Matt’s painful confusion all that you’d hoped it would be? It certainly is spectacular to watch while idly sipping a beer, isn’t it?” “I never wanted them to break up.” With his brows snapping together, Ryder jerked his gaze back to the window, where Matt and Rachel could easily be seen. “Why the hell would they break up?” “You really don’t know women, do you?” Ryder couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. “I wouldn’t say that.” “I meant a woman’s heart. Now that Matt is trying to call off the wedding, Rachel believes he no longer loves her.” “Don’t be ridiculous, Matt’s crazy about Rachel.” “Feel free to tell Rachel that. But you’ll have to wait until she’s finished crying—she should be done about a year from now.” Discomfort snaked through Ryder, hard enough to make him look once again at Rachel. Strangely, her tears no longer seemed like the frustration of having the brass ring taken from her. Now she just looked broken.

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“You don’t have to have marriage to be happy together,” Ryder said to justify himself, then wondered when it had become necessary to justify himself to anyone. “It is possible to have a relationship without marriage.” “That’s your outlook, and you’re welcome to it,” Claire said, looking at him as if he were something she’d scraped off the bottom of her shoe. “If you want to still be playing that swinging, Hugh Hefner role when you’re seventy, be my guest. Nobody cares how you live, obviously. But I do care about Matt and Rachel, so when you throw roadblocks in the way of two people who are deeply in love just so they can get bloody on them, I draw the line.” Ryder gritted his teeth while that nameless restlessness inside him growled to life once more. “I have people who care about me.” It didn’t matter that he couldn’t think of anyone in particular. “This isn’t about you, it’s about Matt and Rachel. The only reason their relationship is suffering now, as far as I can see, is because you didn’t want to lose the convenience of an unmarried wingman.” “I didn’t do this for me, I’m trying to save Matt from being crushed by an illusion,” Ryder snapped, feeling pummeled by her every word. Worse yet, there was something way down deep inside that told him he deserved it. “Marriage is nothing but a sham, a promise no one can keep. No matter how much two people might think they’re in love, there is no love in the world so strong and enduring that it can last a lifetime.” “You don’t know that—” “Between my own parents there have been eight marriages, Claire. Eight. And yeah, it always starts out with flowery talk of love and happily ever after, but within months of promising love everlasting, the shouting matches begin. Before you know it you’re divvying up the CD collection and squabbling over who gets to keep the dog. Believe me, that’s not what Matt wants.” “That’s not what anyone wants,” she shot back, though there seemed to be a softening in the lethality of her basilisk-like glower. “This may be hard for someone like you to believe, but that is not what marriage is all about.” “Oh, I know what marriage is about,” he drawled. “But that heat doesn’t last.” “Heat,” she repeated, the killer glower revving up again. “You mean sex.” “I mean sex,” Ryder agreed succinctly. He turned to face her, one arm on the bar, while he braced his free hand against the back of her stool, and all at once her diminutive size had him feeling as masculine as any conquering barbarian. “I mean that slow, unending burn of animal awareness that throbs in your veins and heats up your insides until you can hardly walk right. I mean that edgy hunger that makes your eyes linger on the one person you can’t get out of your head. I mean the crazy relief of at last touching skin to skin, mouth on mouth, tongue against tongue and still it’s not enough to satiate the need. I mean this.”

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He dropped his mouth to hers, but somehow he was the one who wasn’t prepared. Wasn’t prepared for the feel of her, the taste of her, the heavenly response that was all Claire. He may have been the one who started the kiss, but as his heart suddenly thundered in his chest, he was the one who was seduced. The floor vanished from beneath his feet as her lips formed against his like melted wax, almost as if she had been waiting to fit against him. Her hand came up to flatten against his chest as if intent on pushing him away, but instead her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. Her head tipped back to complete the fit, and all at once Ryder found he could no longer think, or breathe, or move. This wasn’t just a kiss. This was the only real kiss he’d ever had in his life. This was… Everything. He couldn’t have stopped the rumble of pleasure that escaped him if his life depended on it. Desperate, he plowed his fingers into her hair, holding her still as he deepened the kiss. Time and space faded away until he was only aware of Claire—her lips nuzzling with an ardent friction against his. Her body melding against him with an agonizing slowness. Her tongue, coy and seductive, stroking such an erotic rhythm against his that he trembled at her sensual prowess. Claire. For a moment that lasted an eternity, she was all he knew. From far away, Ryder heard a trembling breath as Claire slowly drew back, and in a disconnected way he realized it came from him. But it didn’t matter. When those melted-chocolate eyes were caressing him like a lover’s touch, nothing in the universe mattered except she keep looking at him. “Well,” she said, and he almost hated her for sounding so damned unruffled. “If that’s what marriage is all about, it’s no wonder it’s so popular.” “Fair point.” Ryder didn’t want to agree with her, but he could still feel her on his lips. Surely, in the long history of kissing, there had never been a more perfect kiss. He wasn’t much of a believer in perfection, but from the first moment he’d seen her, this woman had him rethinking his stance. She might look like a coolly elegant package, but inside she was pure dynamite. No wonder he was reeling. “But I still maintain passion isn’t all that marriage is about.” Looking as though an explosion of passion hadn’t just rocked her world—the way it had with him—Claire shouldered her purse. “If you spent even one day in my shoes, you would see what it is that makes people want to spend the rest of their lives together.” “If that’s a challenge, I accept,” he heard himself say before he thought better of it. “Just as long as I’m allowed the opportunity to show you that a relationship doesn’t have to have notary approval to work in this day and age.” The widening of her eyes spoke volumes of her surprise before her chin lifted. “Fine. Let me know when you have the time and we’ll—”

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“I have a couple weeks off, with no plans to speak of.” Ryder stood as well and discovered in the span of a heartbeat that tiny women turned him on in all the right ways. “Let’s start tomorrow.” “Fine.” As if uncomfortable with him looming over her, Claire retreated. “Wear your running shoes. I move fast and never allow anything to slow me down.” “I’m sure I’ll be able to keep up,” he assured her.

I have to be out of my mind, Claire thought for the umpteenth time as she went about opening the office the next morning. She had the Great Hall of Hogwarts to create at the locally famous Majestic Theatre downtown, complete with a thousand battery-operated candles suspended by wires overhead, plus two hundred school robes to pick up for the guests to wear for the Jefferson-Gomez wedding. The last thing she needed was Ryder Price hovering around as a distraction. And that’s exactly what he was, in more ways than one. A disturbed breath huffed out of Claire as she booted up the laptop and opened her calendar to see what was scheduled for the day. She was confident she’d done a fair job of covering up how completely her world had been blown apart by Ryder’s kiss, but the problem was she hadn’t been able to think of anything else since then. The exquisite feel of his silk-and-steel lips sliding over hers had worked on her like an addictive intoxicant. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t forget how he’d coaxed her mouth open so he could explore it so deeply it mirrored the act of sex itself. Claire sighed again, staring at the laptop’s bright screen without seeing it. Was it any wonder she’d agreed to his ridiculous suggestion? In that moment all she had wanted was an excuse to see him again. To drink him in, to bathe in the seductive glory of those silver eyes as they caressed over her and made her stomach tighten in anticipation of a kiss that would knock the breath from her and make delicious heat bloom between her legs… With a soundless groan, she closed her eyes. Good grief, what a masochist she was. Why the hell was she fantasizing about the likes of Ryder Price? It was obvious they were incompatible. She was an idiot to waste even a second of her life on someone who didn’t believe in marriage, love or devotion. If she even mentioned such concepts to him, he’d undoubtedly break out in a rash, scream bloody murder and run for the nearest exit before his head exploded. Not that it was entirely his fault his outlook was so screwed up, she thought, softening. Even one divorce in a family could rock a person’s faith in love and marriage, but eight… Claire shook her head. Maybe it wasn’t so surprising Ryder believed happily ever after was nothing more than an absurd fairy tale. Her heart catapulted into her throat when the door opened, then meekly settled back down where it belonged when Mari walked through the door. “Oh, it’s you,” she blurted before she thought to check it,

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putting a hand to her spastic heart. Heaven only knew where that sort of insane reaction came from, but if she didn’t get a handle on it soon it was going to be a long day. “Good morning, Mari.” “Good morning.” Mari gave her an odd look as she put away her purse. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” “No, I’m…” Having an inexplicable nervous breakdown. Nothing to worry about. “I’m waiting for someone.” “Ah.” Mari looked around expectantly. “The Pelly-Guthrie couple. How did the dinner meeting go last night?” It took a tremendous effort for Claire to not put her fingers to her mouth. Damn the man for having a kiss as red hot as any branding iron. “I don’t have an answer for that, which probably explains why I’m so jumpy,” she rationalized with such determination she almost believed it. “It’s up to Matt and Rachel now to decide which way they want to go—together and happy for the rest of their lives, or forever apart.” Mari made a sound of sympathy. “If my Elliot had ever tried to call off our wedding, I would have skinned him and used him for carpet.” “We should have that made up into a banner.” Claire snorted, and wondered what sort of groom Ryder Price would make. When nothing but a rooster-tail of dust came to mind, she could only shake her head. She had to stop thinking about him. “I am worried, though. I haven’t heard a peep out of them since last night, so—” At that moment her phone bleeped, and one glance at the display had her brows shooting up. “Speak of the devil.” Across the room, Mari held up a pair of crossed fingers. With a nod of agreement, Claire hit the right button. “Good morning, Rachel. What can I do for you?” She waited a moment before shooting a smile at Mari. “We’ll send those invitations out today. Give Matt my best, okay? And Rachel, congratulations—again.” “Whew.” Mari laughed, doing a little dance. Claire laughed as well while a weight the size of an elephant vanished off her chest. “Once again, the power of love triumphs over the evil forces of doubt, uncertainty and meddlesome best men.” The front door swung open as she spoke, and the meddlesome best man, Ryder Price, strolled in.

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Chapter Five

Having Ryder around wasn’t as horrific as she’d imagined, Claire decided an hour later as she wrapped up an initial consult with new clients looking to organize a late-summer wedding. He hadn’t gotten in her way, or scoffed over her new clients’ dream wedding—a Southfork Ranch ceremony that would be the exact recreation of Lucy’s wedding on the old 80s TV show, Dallas. Nor had he made any smartass run for it comments as she’d half-feared he would when the groom had wanted a detailed explanation of the ceremony cancellation fee. Instead, Ryder had wandered away to disappear into the myriad display rooms she had in back that housed the portrait gallery and studio a photographer sublet from her, floral arrangements and a small boutique of her own designs. When the happy couple finally left with a packet of information in hand and their signatures drying on the contract, Claire left Mari to tackle the booking of Southfork Ranch in Dallas while she went in search of Ryder. Her acrobatic heart twisted itself into a pretzel when she found him in the display room appropriately named Wedding Night, a richly carpeted room decorated in crimson red and displaying her more intimate lingerie collection. Naturally. Where else would a man like Ryder be? “I wasn’t kidding when I said you’ll need running shoes to keep up with me,” she said, doing her best to sound unaffected as he idly browsed through the delicate wisps of silk and lace. “Mari and I have to be downtown in half an hour, so if you’re still intent on tagging along…” “‘Claire’s Creations’,” he read off the label. Selecting a barely there chiffon baby-doll, bra and thong set, he held it up. “Your designs?” “Of course. French lace,” she added, coming closer to run her fingers down the fragile detailing. “Thai silk in every conceivable color. If you’re looking for polyester, you won’t find it here. Do you like it?” “I think you know the answer to that.” Putting the set back on the rack, he turned his attention to a zebra-striped demi-bra. “But I am surprised. Don’t you find this a little hypocritical?” “What do you mean?” “I mean, this whole room is dedicated to one thing and one thing only—sex.” His gaze flicked unexpectedly to her, and she found herself held hostage by that one smoldering look. “And not just any kind of sex. It’s dedicated to the no-sheets and lights-on, falling-off-the-bed-and-onto-the-floor, hot-and-

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sweaty-grinding sex, Claire. That’s what’s in this room. Yet last night you tried to spin it like sex wasn’t important when it came to the lifetime commitment of marriage.” “Your mind works in mysterious ways.” Claire congratulated herself for sounding unmoved when his words painted a thoroughly inappropriate—but utterly delightful—mental image of them together, two sweat-slick bodies straining hard against each other as they drove in mindless harmony toward the heady rush of ecstasy… She sucked in a sharp breath and tried to remember what it was to be a professional. “I never once said sex wasn’t important.” His light eyes darkened. Burned. “You implied it.” “Like I’ve pointed out before, you don’t really know women. And you definitely don’t know me.” “Convince me, then.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, the swell of her breasts, before slowly sliding back up. And every place he looked, she felt the delicious heat of ravishment. “Convince me you believe sex is important.” Damn him for toying with her, she thought with uncharacteristic savagery. And damn her for not being able to just leave well enough alone. “Sex,” she gritted from between clenched teeth, all the while wrestling with the sense that he was playing her like a violin, “is vital to a healthy marriage, as is chemistry, imagination, seduction, trust and love. When you combine sex with those components, not even a dozen lifetimes together would burn that passion out.” “You think?” As if he were only vaguely paying attention, he turned to an open antique armoire displaying chocolates from her new chocolatier, including jars of edible body paint. “Have you ever been married, Claire?” “No. But when I do find the right man we’ll be together forever.” “There is no such thing as forever.” “Then I’ll make him wish there were,” she shot back, suddenly and irrationally furious Ryder would never be the sort of man she dreamed of. “When I find the man who’s destined to be my husband you can be damn sure he’ll know just how lucky he is to have me by his side during the day and warming his bed at night. When he needs someone to talk to, I’ll listen and I’ll support no matter what. When he feels like the world is closing in, I will be his safe harbor. When he needs someone to hold, I’ll be no more than an arm’s reach away. I’ll be his best friend and closest confidante, and when it comes to sex, just look around you,” she invited with an angry sweep of her hand. “Every last detail in this room came from the most intimate side of who I really am, so I’ll let you judge if the man I choose would be happy to spend forever with me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to get back to. You can do whatever the hell you want.” “Not so fast.” Before she had taken one step, his fingers were around her wrist like a living shackle. She didn’t have to tug against it to know it was unbreakable. “You can’t just leave after saying I can do whatever I want.”

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Confusion brought her brows together before her eyes widened. “Ryder—” “You’ve never said my name before today,” he went on, talking over her until she stopped. Lifting his free hand, he traced a slow, exploring finger along the edge of her lower lip before coming to rest at the corner of her mouth. “I can’t believe how much I like to hear it coming from your lips. Say my name, Claire.” How could this horribly incompatible man melt her from the inside out? Where in the world was her backbone? “I’m too busy for this.” “That’s not my name.” He bent to where his finger rested, replacing it with the alluring brush of his lips, a butterfly-light touch that made her turn toward him on instinct. But his mouth slid away like a dream, gliding a gentle caress along the smooth warmth of her cheek, all the way to her ear. “Say it.” The voice of caution whispered through her even as her traitorous bones threatened imminent meltdown. She should step away while she could still think, she knew that. Ryder Price was a fabulous male specimen, the kind of man who could trip the trigger of any female with a pulse. But in no conceivable way was he her type. He would never be her type, and to mess with him now was stupid. It was masochistic and pointless. It was…it was… Delicious. But really, she had to step away from him. And she would. Any minute now. “Claire.” Teasing, as light as a whisper, his lips feathered over her ear before they closed on the lobe, the wet suction of his mouth so delightful it made her eyes drift shut. “Say my name. Say it, or I’ll make you say it.” Step away. Step away. His tongue toyed with the lobe held with exquisite gentleness between his teeth before he moved on, his mouth sliding farther down her neck. Her breath caught in the heavy stillness, a fractured sound of arousal she had no hope of containing. A faint tremor shook him in response, and his teeth sank into the throbbing cord at her neck, his tongue drawing hungry little whorls over her heated flesh. Step… At some point he had let her wrist go. Claire never noticed, instead bracing her hands on his slim hips as her knees liquefied like warm honey. Her breasts brushed against his muscle-padded torso, and the contact was like being stroked with a live wire. She shivered, a soundless breath escaping her even as she rubbed against him once more to revel in the exquisite tightening of her nipples. Closer. “Kiss me.” Her plea should have shocked her. This kind of man was poison to a woman like her, after all. But her voice was a velvet purr full of a desire she couldn’t control, and the only thing that surprised

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her now was how she had managed to go so long without his mouth making love with hers. “Kiss me, damn you…” “Not yet.” Though the words were teasing, his voice was as unrecognizable as hers, weighed down with a ragged breathlessness that spoke volumes of tenuous control. “I want you to think of this moment whenever you hear my name, Claire. I want you to feel what you’re feeling now whenever my name touches your lips. And when you finally find that man you think you can settle down with forever, I want my name to be the one that haunts you.” A flurry of unease warred with a terrifyingly resigned acceptance that this would probably be the case. “Ry—” “Too late.” The sound of a jar opening and the sweet scent of chocolate was all the warning she had before his finger, coated with the chocolate body paint, rested against her mouth to silence her. Automatically she opened at the pressure and took him in, her tongue coming to lick at his finger while his eyes held hers captive. His convulsive swallow was loud in the silence while she sucked the chocolate away. A broken groan rumbled out of him even as he reached for her. “God, it’s too late for both of us.” As if desperate to devour her, his mouth captured hers with a hungry intensity that took Claire’s breath away. The intoxicating flavors of chocolate and Ryder mingled to create an aphrodisiac designed to shoot her straight into the heart of desire, and without a thought she surged against him in her need to be closer. It was all a glorious madness—she wallowed in the need to shun the barriers of clothing, until flesh ground against fevered, sweat-slick flesh. To glide her tongue over his body and savor the differing flavors of him until he moaned and arched and begged for more. To have his masculine weight take its rightful place between her thighs and welcome the thrust of his manhood into her slick, hot depths— “Claire? Claire, where are you? We need to get going if we want to beat the lunch traffic downtown.” The blissful fantasy surrounding Claire shattered as her assistant’s voice reached her ears, and with a jagged sound she tore herself from Ryder. Ryder, the man she shouldn’t want, but did. Ryder, the one man who was the exact opposite of all she held dear in her life. Ryder, the most perfect—and deeply flawed— man she had ever known. Ryder. On autopilot, Claire brought her hands up to wipe at her mouth, erasing the lingering traces of chocolate while trying—and failing—to scrub away the fevered sensation of his kiss. “This can’t happen. I cannot let this—” she gestured uselessly between them, “—happen.” “To use an old colloquialism, that’s pretty much like closing the barn door after all the horses have escaped.” He, too, sounded rough around the edges, and she took meager comfort in knowing she wasn’t alone in having her world thoroughly rocked. “It’s already happened, Claire. The fire’s just going to get hotter from here on in.”

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If he had said it with seduction in his voice, Claire might have been able to laugh it off. But the resignation weighing down each word like a death sentence made her shiver. As she turned toward the door, she couldn’t help but wonder if that fire was destined to burn them alive.

A few weeks ago he’d had the world by the tail, Ryder thought glumly as he pulled into Matt’s driveway. Sure, he’d been burned out by his assignment in Dallas and left at loose ends when it was over, but generally speaking life had been going the way he wanted it. Now, nothing felt right. Maybe his chi really was screwed up, Ryder thought, pocketing his keys. After all, it wasn’t as though anything terribly drastic had changed in his life. Sure, Matt was now less than a week away from making the biggest mistake of his life, but everything else was pretty much the same. He was finally back at work with a shiny new project to play with, feeling refreshed as he eased back into the rhythm of things. Hell, even the Spurs had made it to the NBA playoffs. Everything should be fine. Only…it wasn’t. The restlessness gnawing at his insides was driving him batty. He couldn’t settle, couldn’t feel comfortable in his own skin, and when he told himself he was still getting used to being back home, he discovered he sucked at lying to himself. He knew what really lay at the heart of his restless dissatisfaction. Claire. Had there ever been a more exasperating, stubborn, twist-around-the-gut desirable woman? Ryder wondered, heading up the shallow verandah stairs. She was both nurturing and hard headed, a dynamo of energy and sweetness that twirled him around until he didn’t know which way was up. He obsessed about her when they were apart—where she was, what she was doing. He’d even felt compelled to spend most of his time off from work to be with her, ostensibly to show her the error of her ways. But in his effort to convince her a relationship didn’t need official vows to be white hot, the only thing he had accomplished was getting himself thoroughly tangled in her web. That was unacceptable. Ryder’s preoccupied frown eased when Matt ushered him into the house, the smell of buttery popcorn permeating the air. “We have the house all to ourselves to watch the playoffs,” Matt announced with a grin. “Rachel decided to give us our man-time and left to have her hair done. We’re officially on our own with the Lakers, the Spurs and all the snack food you can handle.” “Life is good.” For a moment Ryder thought of pointing out how convenient the bachelor life was—to not have to coordinate schedules or get permission to take over the den. For some reason, the words wouldn’t form. “What time are the Spurs playing?” “Game starts at three, but the pre-game show’s already on. Want anything to drink?”

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Ryder shook his head and again thought of mentioning how their man-time would probably dwindle out of existence once Matt and Rachel tied the knot on Friday. But again, the comment refused to leave his brain. What the hell was wrong with him? “Wow.” When they entered the media room, Ryder stared at the mounds of chicken wings, celery and bleu cheese dip, popcorn and homemade pizza bites. “You expecting an army?” “It’s Rachel.” Rolling his eyes, Matt sprawled on the sofa and snatched up the remote. “She wasn’t exactly impressed with my version of snacks—Fritos and beer—so she took care of all this. Something about protein and food groups.” “I’ll take this over Fritos and beer any day.” Unbidden, the memory of Claire vowing to be there to support the man she’d one day marry flashed through his mind as it had for weeks, like a song he couldn’t get out of his head. How she would listen to him and support him, to be no more than an arm’s reach away when he needed her. Ryder hated that frigging guy. “Speaking of Rachel, you’d better not have any big plans for my bachelor party Thursday,” Matt warned, adjusting the volume as the basketball players were introduced. “I have a feeling Rachel would try and tag along if Claire hadn’t already arranged her bachelorette party. I swear, when that woman’s final bill comes in, I’m going to have a heart attack. I mean, how the hell can she get away with charging those astronomical fees when she’s just putting together a simple little wedding?” “Claire works harder than anyone I know,” Ryder returned, his brows drawing together. “And it’s not just your wedding she’s putting together, either. She’s juggling four weddings right now, and none of them are simple or little. She stays up until the wee hours of the morning getting things done just so her clients don’t have to worry about anything except saying ‘I do’. And the only reason you don’t know how hard it is to put a wedding together is because she’s taken that burden off you. She cares so much about giving you one perfect day that she’ll bend over backward to do it. She’s worth her weight in gold, and you were lucky to book with her.” “Okay, I hear you,” Matt said, looking at him like he’d never seen him before. Ryder couldn’t blame him. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure he recognized himself anymore. And that had to stop.

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Chapter Six

Two more hurdles in the Pelly-Guthrie wedding and she was home free, Claire thought, glancing at her watch before she locked up her car in the garden’s deserted parking area. The biggest hurdle, the infamous bachelor party, was one she always sweated, but never in her life had she sweated one as much as this. If Ryder Price ever had a plum opportunity to derail his best friend’s wedding once and for all, this was it. She could see it now—Sodom and Gomorrah, twenty-first-century style. She’d be lucky if it didn’t wind up on YouTube. Who the hell ever decided it was a good idea for the best man to throw the bachelor party? Claire thought, scowling. And why hadn’t some smart woman come along at some point in history to smash her foot down on the idiotic tradition like the irritating pest it was? She couldn’t be the only one who saw bachelor parties as train wrecks waiting to happen. The other hurdle, of course, was the speak-now bit of the ceremony, but that seemed a thousand lightyears away in the face of her current bachelor-party trepidation. Worse yet, Ryder himself had called a meeting to discuss what kind of party he was interested in throwing for Matt, and that fact alone had her stomach in knots. Did he want to talk about setting more rules for his continued game? It wasn’t her normal practice to intrude on what the best man planned for the groom when it came to the bachelor party, but with Ryder things were different. He was the squeaky wheel, the kid misbehaving in class, the one she had to keep an eye on every single second. Not that that was exactly a hardship, Claire thought with a sigh, heading through the pagoda-style entrance to the Japanese Tea Gardens in the heart of San Antonio. Every time Ryder was near, she couldn’t help but watch him as though starved for the sight of him. Each fleeting expression was an endless fascination to her, and something within her heart brightened like sunshine whenever he smiled, as though just looking at him when he was happy somehow made her happy, as well. And though at first she had feared having Ryder constantly underfoot would be nothing more than an irritant, she missed him when he wasn’t there. Like a toothache, she’d told herself time and again. But in her heart of hearts, she knew better. She missed him. Spring was flaunting its finest colors in the sprawling, manicured garden that was free to the public. Native purple sage shrubs mercilessly sculpted into smooth purple domes dotted the meandering path alongside the koi pond, while the azaleas in their showy whites and fuchsias were just coming into their

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own, as the more gentle pastels of the cherry blossoms waned. It was unseasonably cool as she looked around the picture-perfect setting, and she supposed that was why the gardens appeared deserted as she made her way to the stone pavilion overlooking the lily-covered koi pond and waterfall. But with the place all to herself, she could easily envision the tranquil garden as a venue for an intimate, outdoor wedding. Then Claire spotted Ryder up in the pavilion, leaning against one of the stone columns, and all workrelated contemplation came to a grinding halt. This man, she thought as she found herself torn between a smile and a sigh. How was it possible that this man could affect her so profoundly? When had he become the one person her eyes sought out? He was all wrong for her, she knew that. So why did her stupid heart gallop away at the mere sight of him? Because she couldn’t help it, came the instant answer. As weak as that sounded, she just couldn’t help it. “You picked a beautiful day for an outside meeting,” Claire said by way of greeting, and when he smiled at her, she was helpless to do anything more than smile back. While cold, hard logic reminded her that Ryder saw her as nothing more than an obstacle he was having fun trying to get around, she still couldn’t stop from basking in the glow of his smile. Clearly, she had to be insane. “Claire.” As she came nearer, Ryder took her hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “How much time do I have with you?” “Not much, I’m afraid.” As soon as she reached the top of the stairs she discreetly removed her hand, before she could enjoy the contact too much. “I’m meeting the manager of the Tower of the Americas restaurant to discuss rates for the Tower as a wedding venue and then I’m off to Rachel’s final gown fitting. When are you picking up your tux?” “Thursday morning before work, and yes, they know I’m picking it up at that time, so check me off your list,” he added when she drew a breath to ask. “I promise I won’t show up naked.” Claire had to bite her lip to keep from admitting that from her point of view, this wouldn’t be such a bad thing. “Sounds like Thursday is going to be a busy day for you.” “No busier than yours. A rehearsal luncheon which I can’t make, and then the bachelorette party, right?” “That’s right.” “It’s enough to make my head spin.” As if he hadn’t noticed her retreat, Ryder grabbed her hand again and drew her to one side of the open structure, where the view of the gardens was at its best. There was a white cloth draped over the foot-thick low wall of the pavilion, two glasses of what appeared to be champagne, a basket of fruit, bread and cheeses, along with strawberries dipped in chocolate. Her heart spun dizzily at the sight of it, while the scent of chocolate transported her as if by magic to the last time

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they had kissed, something she hadn’t been able to get out of her head since. Now whenever she smelled chocolate, she became so aroused she nearly shook with it. And damn it, it was all Ryder’s fault. “Well, well.” Trying to play it cool while her heart hammered against her ribs like a wild thing trying to get out, Claire lifted a brow. “This is unexpected.” “You were planning on having lunch at some point today, weren’t you?” he asked casually as he guided her to sit on the low wall. “I know your schedule well enough by now to realize you hardly ever give yourself time to eat, so I thought I’d help out where I could.” “I’m not sure champagne and strawberries constitute a well-balanced meal.” But she smiled as he plucked a grape from a bunch in the basket. “This was really thoughtful. Thank you.” “No problem.” His light eyes caressed over her like a lover’s touch as he lifted the grape to her lips. “Don’t be shy. Dig in.” Oh, the stinker, she thought while her body warmed as if with a fever. He’d forgotten more about seduction than she would ever know. How was she supposed to fight back? “You seem to have a thing for feeding me,” Claire said, and brought her hand up to stabilize his. Delicately, she let her teeth pluck the grape from his fingers, her lips just brushing over his flesh in a fleeting caress. Bright sweetness burst along her tongue, and she smiled her pleasure. “At least you have good taste.” “I try my best.” “I’m just wondering why you’re trying at all.” She lifted her glass, breathed in the bouquet, then sipped. Oh yes. Good taste, indeed. “Trying to soften me up now isn’t going to change a thing, you know. Matt and Rachel are going to get married whether or not we enjoy this lovely garden picnic.” “How cynical of you, Claire,” he chided her. “This has nothing to do with Matt and Rachel.” “Really? So you’ve made peace with the fact that Matt and Rachel will be getting married three days from now?” “I never said that. All I said was that this—” he reached over and caressed her hand resting on the champagne flute, “—has nothing to do with Matt and Rachel.” It took most of Claire’s strength to keep from flipping her hand over and simply holding on. But with Ryder, nothing was ever simple. “Does that mean you’re still hoping you can stop the wedding?” “Marriage breaks up people.” He shrugged, as if he were stating the obvious. “While that’s the last thing I want my friends to go through, I’m beginning to think that’s something they will eventually figure out all on their own. No, the main reason I wanted to meet with you was purely selfish—I just wanted a little alone-time with you before the inevitable wedding madness set in.”

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His matter-of-fact assertion that marriage destroyed relationships made something hurt deep in her chest, so she tried to distract herself from the hollow, relentless ache. “And here I thought you were going to try and shock me with wild bachelor-party ideas.” Ryder’s smile was a masterpiece of sin. “Oh, no. Bachelor parties are a lot like Vegas. What happens in bachelor parties stays in bachelor parties. It’s part of the guy-code to not talk about it with anyone.” “So you lured me here under false pretenses?” “Would you have come if I’d said I wanted to spend time with you?” “Maybe.” There was no doubt in her mind she would have canceled appointments, knocked little old ladies out of her way and lied to any police who pulled her over for speeding in order to be with him. And that worried her no end. Why couldn’t she remember this train wreck of a man was wrong for her? “I do shudder at the thought of good champagne going to waste.” “Glad to know you have your priorities straight.” He lifted an hors d’oeuvre fork, speared a cheese cube and held it up. “Try this. It goes great with the wine.” When she accepted the morsel, she couldn’t help but wonder if she hadn’t died and gone to heaven. Sure, the food was great, but to have an attentive, drop-dead-gorgeous man feed her as if she were something precious had her itching to see if she still had a pulse. “You’re being terrifyingly good to me, Ryder.” As always, his eyes seemed to darken whenever she said his name. “Why terrifying?” “I keep waiting for you to drop a bombshell.” “Bombshell?” “Like you’ve kidnapped Matt and won’t release him until after the wedding.” “Now there’s a thought,” he drawled. “With an imagination like that, has it occurred to you that you might be the one who’s terrifying?” “I’m simply doing my job. I have to think of every possible problem and find a way to handle it.” “So far you’ve managed to handle me quite well,” came the laconic reply. “I have no complaints. Well…except one.” “What complaint could you possibly have?” “You haven’t handled me enough.” And with that, he leaned over and captured her mouth with his. It was never the same, Claire marveled as she allowed herself to sink into the pulse-pausing, kneetrembling joy of his kiss. Each time his lips touched hers, it was a new experience filled with the excitement of discovery and a fresh bloom of passion. The exhilaration of her tongue tangling with his screamed through her like a runaway train and there was no way she could have stopped herself from curling her fingers into his hair and pulling him deeper. Yes.

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In one smooth motion he stood, bringing her with him only to turn and press her back against one of the pavilion’s stone columns. His hard body branded her with its heat, and he molded himself to her in one long line of perfection. Her breasts flattened against his rib cage while the bulge behind his zipper hardened with urgency that filled Claire with a surge of feminine triumph. This complex, life-scarred man wanted her, just as ravenously as she wanted him. In that moment out of time, it didn’t matter that he wasn’t the right kind of man for her, or that she was just as wrong for him. All that mattered was somehow, they were a perfect fit. His warrior’s body was a delicious weight for her to bear, pressing against her with such reckless ardor she was nearly lifted off her feet. To brace herself, she wrapped her arms around his neck and parted her legs so his thigh could slip between her knees. He moved with hungry deliberation, pushing his leg between hers until she straddled him. The apex of her thighs rubbed against him as his fingers dug into her bottom to rock her in an edgy rhythm that melted her into a quivering mass of overheated flesh. There was no way Claire could hold back the jagged little moan that escaped her. Scorching heat bloomed in her innermost core at the erotic friction, and she could do nothing more than wallow in the sensations designed to drive her insane. The world vanished as she strained to capture the glimpses of rapture, rocking her hips against his while the tension in her lower regions fast became an exquisite torture. A rough sound rumbled from deep in his throat as her sinuous movements rubbed against the thrust of his desire, and the shudders that rippled through him intoxicated her with delight. “You’re perfect, everything I’ve ever dreamed of in a woman,” he whispered through ragged gasps of air, his voice thick and unrecognizable. In a bold gesture of claiming what was his, he made quick work of the three buttons of her gauzy blouse to cup the weight of a breast, lifting it in his palm while his thumb teased the lace-covered peak to excruciating tautness. A spasm of shivery rapture deep in her belly, like a small release in itself, made her whimper and bite his lip, her body lost in the unrelenting pleasure he gave her. He was so masterful in his touch, so adept at wringing a response from her, that all she could do was yearn for more. More skin sliding against bared, feverish skin. More grinding friction, more devouring kisses. More. “I need you.” The ardent admission broke from Claire with no thought of holding back. How could she hold back when she was trembling on the edge of ecstasy? “Ryder, please…now.” “Then you finally understand.” Kisses, caresses, everywhere. He was killing her by inches with sensation. “You understand how good this can be. No one needs those outdated trappings anymore to find happiness. All you need is this.” His words struck an off-key note in Claire’s internal symphony of sweet sensation. Dazed, she opened eyes she had no memory of closing, and bit her lip to stop the moan of pleasure when he bent to run his tongue beneath the lacy edge of her bra. “Wait…”

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“I love that you wear your own sexy creations, Claire. I suspected you did, but not knowing was driving me nuts.” He pushed the lacy cup aside to palm the feminine flesh, his tongue toying with the taut peak before pulling it into his mouth to suckle it as if his life depended on it. “Claire…Claire, you’re so perfect, your skin is so delicate…God, I could make a meal of you.” “Ryder.” She had to stop this, before she no longer had the will. “Enough.” Dazedly he lifted his head, his eyes heavy-lidded with a desire that nearly buckled her knees. “You’re right, I just…lost myself. We can’t do this here—” “You said trappings.” Blessed sanity returned with a fraction of distance between them, and she took advantage of it by trying to right her misplaced clothing. “What were you talking about?” “What…? Oh. Marriage. All that outdated crap.” With his hot gaze intent on her, he waved a dismissive hand. “From the first moment we met, I’ve wanted to prove to you this is what matters between two people. The heat. The passion. The friction.” His smile was as hot as sin as he raised triumphant eyes to hers. “And you have to admit, the friction’s pretty damn good between us, am I right?” “I…what?” Cold began to creep into her every cell like a killing frost. The euphoric pleasure dissolved as if it had never been, and she stared at him while even her lips turned to ice. “Wait. I don’t understand. Are you saying this wasn’t real? That you…were just proving…?” “I wanted for you to finally admit it’s desire that brings people together, which is a good and beautiful thing.” He smiled, curling his arm around her waist to pull her closer once more. “I like it. You like it. When you come right down to it, sexual chemistry is really all that matters in a relationship.” “You’re wrong.” Claire pressed a hand against his chest, hardly able to believe her ears. How could he believe that was all there was to it? How could he turn what they just shared into something…meaningless? “You have no idea how wrong you are. There’s so much more to relationships than just lust or desire. How can you not know that?” “What, you mean love?” He let her go while his expression hardened with unmistakable cynicism. “Okay, fine. Lust, love—it doesn’t matter to me what you want to call it, I’m good either way. It’s all pretty much the same thing.” “For you, obviously, but not for everyone else in the world.” She shook her head in furious dismay. How could he not know there was a difference? “Claire, with one touch, you and I both know I can prove two people can enjoy a highly intimate relationship without screwing it up with the unattainable fiction of happily ever after. Just enjoy the moment for what it is.” “So that’s what this—” she waved a hand at the romantic spread that had so moved her only minutes before, “—was all about? Enjoying the moment while proving your point?” “Well, I did prove the point that we can enjoy each other without getting a license to do it, didn’t I?”

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“Oh, you proved it, all right.” It took all her strength to keep her voice steady as abject humiliation and a deeper, bone-breaking pain cut into her like an invisible knife. “You didn’t go to all this trouble because you were actually starting to care about me in some emotional way. You just wanted to prove you were right. God, my first impression of you was dead-on,” she gritted, focusing on her fury so she wouldn’t give in to the need to cry. “You are absolutely the worst possible man for me.” His eyes narrowed. “Claire—” “This wasn’t some game to me, Ryder.” Her voice broke on his name, and to her horror tears swam in her eyes. “While you were playing Let’s Prove a Point, I was stupid enough to take everything that happened here seriously. I was stupid enough to take you seriously.” “I am serious—” “You don’t even know the meaning of the word!” she shot back passionately while the cold inside her grew, a vast wasteland of icy nothingness she refused to name. She didn’t want to. She wanted to bury it so far down deep she never felt it again. “When a man is serious, he doesn’t toy with a woman’s emotions. When a man is serious, he hurts when the person he’s involved with hurts. Damn it all.” With a frustrated growl she dragged her hands through her hair. “Why am I even trying to explain this to a man like you? It’s like trying to explain colors to the blind. Don’t,” she added when he opened his mouth to speak. “I don’t want to hear it. You’re determined to live a lifetime alone without any depth of feeling stronger than an itch you have to scratch, so there’s no point in wasting my breath—or another second of my time—on you.” Some of the color seemed to drain from his face. “What?” “Five minutes from now I’ll probably regret saying it, but it’s the truth, Ryder. Your parents may have done one hell of a number on you, but at least they’re brave enough to search for that other half that makes them whole. You on the other hand, are so horrified by the process you can’t even recognize the search to find a soul mate is a good thing. Instead, you closed your heart without even trying to let someone in, all the while believing you’re smarter than everyone else for keeping yourself safe.” “I’m smart enough to think forever is nothing more than a pipe dream all those greeting-card companies play up to sell a bunch of crap every February,” he muttered, his teeth so tightly clenched he looked like a cornered animal baring its fangs. “And I let plenty of people in. I’ve had countless relationships along the way.” “You have no one,” she said, and the undeniable truth of it twisted the icy cold deeper. “You belong nowhere. You’re the most alone person I’ve ever met, and as furious as I am with you, I pity you even more.” His light eyes flashed dangerously. “I don’t need your pity.” “You have no idea what you need.” Shaking from head to toe and telling herself it was fury and not desolation that their near-lovemaking had been nothing more than a game to him, Claire looked at Ryder

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and tried to harden her heart. “Maybe someday you’ll figure it out, but I’m not strong enough to wait around to see if that ever happens.” “What are you saying?” “I’m saying what I’ve known from the start—we’re too different.” Hearing the inescapable truth from her own lips plunged the icy pain all the way home, so sharply it made her wonder if words alone could kill. “From this point on, it’s best if we stay out of each other’s way. I don’t want to talk to you, or look at you—just pretend we’ve never met. God knows that’s what I’m going to do.” But as Claire stalked back to her car, she knew pretending would be an exercise in futility.

Ryder watched Claire’s infuriated retreat with a knot twisting hard in his gut. It was for the best, he thought with ragged ferocity while the knot tightened until it felt like all circulation ceased and his insides had turned to ice. It never could have worked between them. She was right—no matter how combustible they were when it came to raw sexual chemistry, they were just too different. He had wanted to free himself of her happily-ever-after web, and with the subtlety of a butcher bringing down a cleaver, he’d hacked himself free. Good for him. From this point on, Claire Pomeroy would never want anything to do with the likes of him. Hell yes, good for him. Then Claire disappeared from view, and he was left alone. Completely, utterly alone.

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Chapter Seven

“Without a doubt, this is the ideal bachelorette party.” Rachel sighed blissfully, leaning back in her padded seat. A rhinestone tiara with a veil perched on her head marked her as the guest of honor, though from the way she glowed, anyone would have been able to spot her among the crowd of ten women. They were seated on a wide, flat-bottomed, open-air dining boat idly wending its way up the glassy-calm San Antonio River, with strawberry margaritas and plates of spicy chicken and beef fajitas along with handmade tortillas heaped in front of them. Festive multicolored lights hung from the live oak and magnolia trees twisting their centuries-old branches overhead, while luminarias lit the wide limestone walkways edging both sides of San Antonio’s well-known tourist attraction. At the front of the boat strummed a Spanish guitarist, a musician Claire often contracted for just such a romantic, never-to-beforgotten evening. Only Claire was feeling anything but romantic, or happy, or anything that a person should feel when hosting a party. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and never get out again. Ryder. Hidden by the shifting shadows of the sultry southern night, Claire’s expression clouded. The anger had faded over the past couple of days, to the point where she could at least understand the crux of the problem. With no real example of what a stable relationship was, the only kind of relationship Ryder seemed to understand was the wham-bam variety. If animal attraction and hot sex were the only things that brought him together with a woman, it was no wonder he didn’t believe something like marriage could last a lifetime. Things like a deep sense of belonging, devotion and love were probably as bewildering to him as ancient Sumerian. In his own ham-handed way, he had just tried to communicate that to her, no doubt because he’d recognized she wasn’t his usual type of woman. She was the love-everlasting type, which unfortunately led to her latest predicament. Somewhere along the way, she’d fallen hopelessly in love with Ryder. Emphasis on hopeless, she thought, deaf to the heart-stirring strains of an expertly played Spanish guitar. Hopeless was exactly what she was, falling for a man who didn’t even know what love was. So, where did that leave her? The smartest, least masochistic answer was simple—avoid Ryder like the plague he was, and convince her heart that Matt’s best man was the absolute worst man for her. Too bad her heart was too stupid to listen.

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“This was a wonderful idea.” Seated across from Claire, Rachel’s redheaded mother smiled brightly. “I was concerned a bachelorette party might entail something that would make my daughter hung-over and shamefaced on her wedding day, but this is just…wow!” “And it’s only just beginning.” Claire forced a smile and wondered if it looked as dead as it felt. “Waiting for us at the end of this dinner cruise is a fabulous French-style cabaret called Cosmo. We’ll first enjoy live entertainment, then ballroom-style dancing with the actual entertainers, so I hope everyone brought their dancing shoes.” “All I brought are two left feet.” Rachel groaned while the others squealed in delight. “I’m definitely going to need some Dutch courage to get through this.” “With the exception of the bride-to-be, everyone is free to go wild on that front,” Claire told the party. “The limo that brought you downtown tonight is waiting at the cabaret to take all of you home. The bride, however, can’t be hung over for her big day, so it’s nonalcoholic beverages from here on in, Rachel.” “Now I see why you offer to throw the bachelorette party as part of your services.” Rachel sighed and looked longingly at her margarita before pushing it away. “It’s your way of making sure tomorrow doesn’t find the bride hanging her head in a toilet bowl.” “What about Matt?” A bridesmaid giggled at the other end of the table. “Think he and the rest of the guys will be as smart?” Rachel’s bright expression dimmed. “With Ryder in charge, I can only imagine how their party is going. Do you know anything about their plans, Claire?” “I’m afraid not.” Through sheer force of will, Claire kept her expression smooth, when something wounded and bleeding inside cringed at the sound of Ryder’s name. “The only thing I can do is offer up some advice born out of long experience on this particular subject—trust Matt, Rachel. Everything will be fine.” “Believe me, I do trust Matt. Ryder’s the one I don’t trust. Hard to believe those two used to be exactly alike.” Claire nearly snorted. “I find that not just hard to believe, but downright impossible.” “Oh, it’s true. Those two were hard-partying playboys, keeping score on who could bag the most babes. Shameless, the pair of them,” Rachel added, laughing. “But…” Claire stared at her, uncomprehending as she momentarily lost sight of her professionalism. “You don’t mind Matt was totally into that playboy mentality?” “Not at all,” came the complacent reply. “All of that came to a grinding halt when we met—and I wasn’t the one who brought it to a halt. Matt did.” “Of course he did,” Rachel’s mother said stoutly. “He knows a good thing when it comes along.” “The good thing that came along was the most amazing sense of rightness…of belonging, I guess. Love really is such a powerful thing when it’s for real,” Rachel added, smiling in an awed sort of way.

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“Overnight Matt changed from a hopeless skirt-chaser to a devoted best friend and partner. As he puts it, he knows exactly what’s out there, and he knows he’s not missing a thing. He had his choice of women and lifestyles, and what he chose was me. That’s true love.” How wonderful that it had been so simple for Rachel, Claire thought later as they eventually docked beside the already-jumping cabaret. But things were different when it came to Ryder. He was a terminal playboy who lived only for the pleasure of the moment. There would never be a forever relationship for a man like that. If she were smart, she’d chalk up her experience with Ryder as a hard lesson learned, and move on as fast as she could. Then again, if she were smart, she wouldn’t have landed herself in this mess in the first place. A couple of hours later, Claire was encouraging the matron of honor to try a spirited rumba with the Spanish guitarist when she saw Rachel motion to her, a cell phone pressed to her ear. In seconds Claire was by the bride-to-be’s side. “Everything okay?” she mouthed to Rachel, who rolled her eyes. “Matt wants to talk to you, Claire.” Then Rachel put her hand over the phone’s mouthpiece, the corners of her mouth tight with exasperation. “My poor guy, he’s bored out of his mind. According to him, he’s at the suckiest bachelor party ever. I told him he should just bail and hook up with us down here at Cosmo since we’re having such a blast, and that’s when he said he wanted to talk to you. Maybe he wants to know if it’s all right?” “Traditionally, the bride and groom aren’t supposed to see each other before the wedding, but personally I’ve always thought that was a stupid rule.” Faking another smile, Claire took the phone and moved toward the cabaret’s more tranquil front vestibule. “Good evening, Matt. Are you all right?” “I’m outstanding,” came the clearly irritated voice of the groom-to-be, “except for the fact that I have an idiot for a best friend.” Claire closed her eyes and focused on freezing her heart to its bitter core. If she could just be numb, she could get through the next twenty-four hours without dying inside every time she thought of Ryder. “Oh?” “Things were going great for a while. Ryder took us all out to dinner at an Irish pub down on the river, and then he arranged for a private tasting of all the microbrews they had to offer. After that, we walked across the street to a piano bar. More beer flowed, and before I knew it Ryder starts crying in his drink over his horrific fate of having to live alone for the rest of his life. I’ve been to funerals more fun than this.” “I’m so sorry, Matt.” “You and me both. What I wouldn’t give to rewind everything and go out on your fancy river cruise and be there at that dancing thing with all you girls. Everyone here has already bailed, so I’m stuck with

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Mr. Mopey all by myself. I’ve seen this guy drunk before, but he’s never been a sad drunk. I’m so bummed all I want to do now is go home and go to bed.” Good grief. “Why don’t you come and join the party here?” “I can’t leave Ryder, he’s a mess! All he keeps saying is that he wants to go to your place so you guys can talk, but he doesn’t even know where you live, and then he goes into a self-loathing tirade about what a jerk he is for not even knowing that much about you. Did you guys have a fight or something?” “That’s one way of putting it.” An ending to a soul-fulfilling relationship before it even began was more accurate. Painful as hell was an absolute bull’s eye. “That would explain the Claire-monologue the beer uncorked, then. He’s pretty miserable, so I was wondering… Geez, I’m sorry to ask this, Claire, but would you mind coming over to pick him up, or shut him up, or…something?” A tiny wince crossed her face before Claire could rope it in, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from telling Matt she would rather set her hair on fire than deal with Ryder Price. “Here’s what we’re all going to do,” she said, not offering a direct answer. “It’s a quarter to midnight now, so this is a good time to call a halt to the party here in order for Rachel and the other ladies to get their beauty sleep. Are you good to drive?” “Trust me, I’m stone-cold sober.” Claire nodded. “Get Ryder into your car and take him to your place. I’ve hired a stretch limo for all the ladies here, so once they’ve been dropped off, Rachel gets returned home via the limo. That’s when you’ll get Ryder into the limo, along with his address, so he can be safely dropped off at his house. No muss, no fuss.” “Will you be there to make sure everything goes okay?” For a moment she didn’t give a damn if anything went okay ever again. Then she swallowed and rearranged her slippery grip on sanity. “Well, uh…I wasn’t planning…but if you think that’s absolutely necessary…” “Thank you.” Matt heaved a sigh of relief. “Geez, what a night. Tell Rachel I’ll see her soon, and uh, Claire?” “Yes?” “Listen, Ryder is…oh, never mind. I’ll see you soon too.” Claire frowned as she hung up, her mind automatically trying to finish Matt’s hanging sentence. Ryder is…a jerk? A pathological playboy? A walking horror story all good mothers warned their daughters to look out for? Heaven knew all those fit. The one thing he was not—and would never be—was her future. It took over an hour to get all the members of the bachelorette party dropped off, so it was around one in the morning when the limo pulled up in front of Matt and Rachel’s. Glancing out the tinted window at the well-lit front, Claire tried to hide her flurry of nerves by producing a smile for her client. “I hope this

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night was all you dreamed it would be, and that you’ll smile even when you look back on it on your fortieth anniversary.” “I will, but Matt won’t, from the sound of it.” With a rueful laugh, Rachel exited the car along with Claire just as the front door opened. As one, they turned as Matt walked out with a damp-headed Ryder, who certainly looked rough around the edges. The butterflies in Claire’s stomach turned into rampaging elephants, and it was all she could do to keep her face an impassive mask. But when Ryder’s gaze lifted unexpectedly to her, she turned away as her frozen heart threatened to shatter into a thousand icy shards. “I’ll need his address to give to the driver,” she said as an excuse to focus on Rachel, and not the man whose very presence made every cell in her body scream with hyper-awareness. Maybe she was having some sort of attack, she thought with near-hysterical humor. Some kind of weird Ryder-allergy that made her sweaty, feverish and tremble like an aspen leaf. “I’ve got the address right here,” Matt volunteered, handing an index card to the smartly liveried chauffeur. “You shouldn’t have too much trouble finding the place, it’s only five miles or so from here. And you shouldn’t have any trouble with Ryder, either. He’s soaked his head, and he’s had about an hour to sober up, so he should make it okay.” With a noncommittal sound Claire nodded, keeping her attention focused on moving out of the way so Matt could pour Ryder into the limo. Every nerve quivered as Ryder paused at the limo’s open door beside her. Don’t look, Claire schooled herself, fists clenching while her heart nearly beat her to death. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look… Weak-willed weenie that she was, Claire’s reluctant gaze slid upward to brush against Ryder’s, sparking like flint against steel. “Claire…” She wheeled around. “Let’s get this done. Matt, Rachel—get a good night’s sleep, and be sure you’re out at Serenity Springs Resort at ten, sharp. Call if anything comes up, okay?” She gave serious thought to climbing into the limo’s passenger seat up front, but since that would undoubtedly be noted by her clients, she crawled into the other side of the limo and thanked her lucky stars for the roomy interior. If she had to be trapped in a car with Ryder Price, at least it was the largest stretch limo she could find.

This wasn’t exactly how Ryder had hoped his next meeting with Claire would go. Something along the lines of being astride a white charger would have been cool, but here he was, the complete opposite of that—still sloppily buzzed, but heading at warp speed toward one hell of a hangover. What a loser. As soon as the door was shut and the car began to move, silence closed around them like a fist. He searched for something to say to break the ice Claire was building between them like she was the original

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Snow Miser, but he came up empty. Not surprising, he decided, rubbing at eyes that were beginning to throb. When a man put a foot as wrong as he did, there wasn’t a word magical enough to wipe the slate clean. Putting a foot wrong, he thought with a silent snort. Now that was putting it mildly. Trying to show Claire—a romantic wedding planner—what he was used to in a relationship had been a miscalculation of epic proportions. Would she bust a gut laughing if she knew how many times he’d picked up the phone to grovel for forgiveness? Heaven knew Ryder found it funny, in a grim sort of way. He couldn’t think of a time when he’d felt the need to smooth things over with anyone, much less explain his actions. But that was where he found himself now, and it had him stumped. Why the hell should he apologize for his life’s philosophy of living for the moment? That philosophy was what had gotten him to where he was now. And where was that, exactly? Alone. With difficulty, Ryder swallowed the curse that sprang to his lips. He wasn’t too proud to admit that simply enjoying pleasure had been a good way to live. Better than good, damn it. What had him flummoxed was that somewhere along the way it had begun to be…not good enough. He wasn’t sure when that vague dissatisfaction had taken root, but he had definitely become aware of it during his stay up in Dallas. For the first time in memory, he’d found himself alone while everyone else around him seemed to belong with someone else. Somehow, he’d become the human equivalent of an odd sock. Maybe he really did lose his mind in Dallas. Ryder sighed, pushing the heels of his hands into his throbbing eyes. He had to be crazy to think his chronic restlessness sprang from a primordial need to find a mate. Socks were one thing, but human beings didn’t do well in pairs. He knew that better than anyone. People just couldn’t take the pressure of trying to stay together forever, so there was no point in even thinking about it. Yet he could think of nothing else. And it was all Claire’s fault. “Just so you know.” Claire’s frost-encrusted voice suddenly dropped into the silence, surprising him. “I lose the five-hundred-dollar deposit if you throw up in here.” “Been there, done that.” With another rough sigh, Ryder rested his head against the plush seat and slid a sidelong glance her way. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me.” “I’m bored and I have nothing better to do for the next five miles.” Something that could have been a laugh huffed out of him. “Claire Pomeroy, you are one pocket-sized piece of work.” “I try.”

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“Hard to believe a little thing like you can juggle monster weddings as if they were nothing more than sock balls.” “How did you know I can juggle sock balls?” He snorted, then rubbed a hand over his face. “Crap. Remind me not to laugh.” “Don’t laugh.” He ignored her by snorting again. “I’m sorry you had to cut your night short because of me, Claire.” She shrugged. “Not a problem. The bride-to-be was about to turn into a pumpkin anyway.” “And about me being an ass the other day…” When she remained stonily silent, he sighed. “Damn. I was hoping to slip that in, since you seemed to be in such a forgiving mood.” “One screw-up was impersonal. The other wasn’t. It doesn’t matter,” she added when he opened his mouth to speak. “You are who you are, and I am who I am. We’re oil and water. Night and day. Boo-Berry and Count Chocula.” He laughed outright, then grabbed his head. Damned if she wasn’t killing him by being adorable. “Haven’t you ever heard that opposites attract?” “You really think it’s a good idea to talk this out now when you’re drunk? We have enough trouble communicating when you’re sober.” “Who knows, I might actually do better.” He certainly couldn’t do any worse. “I was sweating this bachelor party, you know.” She shot him a quelling look as she changed the subject hard enough to engender whiplash. “I was worried you’d sabotage Matt’s party with a bunch of strippers and get him drunk enough to do something stupid. It never occurred to me that you’d be the stupid one.” “Yeah, I can’t seem to stop doing stupid things lately,” he muttered, then winced when they hit a bump. “My headache’s getting worse.” In response, Claire reached over to one of the car’s built-in ice buckets and fished out a bottle of water before reaching for her purse. “I have just about every OTC pain reliever with me, in case anyone needed it tonight. Drink all the water as well, to dilute the alcohol in your system. If you do that, you should be fine by morning.” With a grateful nod, he took a couple of tablets and downed half the water before sagging back in the seat. “Claire, I’m beginning to think you’re my angel.” “I just believe in being prepared.” There was a softening in her tone, and if he weren’t feeling so crappy he would have delighted in the gentle caress of her gaze brushing over him. “Can I do anything to help?” “Mmm.” What the hell, he thought. He had nothing left to lose. “I think I need to lie down.”

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And with that Ryder tilted sideways, sprawling across the seat with his head on her lap. He felt her freeze for a full second, probably caught between the urge to push him onto the floor and feeling sorry for his foolish carcass. Then the tension drained out of her, and her hand came to stroke the hair off his brow. Ah. Claire’s touch. No wonder she reminded him of an angel. “We’re almost there.” Her voice was as soft as the fingers sifting through his hair. His headache eased as if by magic while an unnamed peace whispered through him in a way he’d never known before. “You’ll be home soon.” “It’s just a house.” His voice was muffled, barely audible. He was more asleep than awake, but that was okay. He was safe with her. “I am home.” He drifted off to sleep, never hearing the small catch in her breath.

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Chapter Eight

“A blue jay?” Walkie-talkie in hand, clipboard with a checklist marked almost all the way to the bottom, and dressed in a mint-green pencil-skirt suit, Claire stared at the walkie in horror. For the most part, the morning set-up for Rachel and Matt’s wedding had gone smoothly at the luxurious Hill Country resort. The delivery of the five-tiered, spring-flower-themed cake happened soon after Claire arrived at the venue around eight. A profusion of white spring flowers was everywhere, from the massive freestanding arrangements at the doors of the Grand Ballroom where the reception would take place, to the white rose, green hydrangea and calla lily centerpieces on each of the twelve-seat round tables, to the white-rose-andmagnolia-covered wedding arbor set in the resort’s picturesque garden. The wait staff, dressed in white and green, had already put the mint-filled chocolates in the shapes of bees and flowers at each place setting, along with the beribboned guest menus, cleverly printed on packets of perennial wildflower seeds for the guests to take home. The kitchens were in a state of ordered chaos as the three chosen entrees—Texas Black Angus mesquite-smoked brisket, bourbon-braised chicken and farm-raised blackened catfish—were being prepared for the expected headcount of three hundred. Both the groom and bride were on-property, with Mari glued to Rachel’s side in order to help the bride dress, as well as act as an unobtrusive babysitter. Everything was exactly as it should be. Except for the blue jay. The walkie-talkie in Claire’s hand bleeped. “What should we do about this, Ms. Pomeroy?” “I’m almost there.” Walking as fast as her slingback pumps would allow, she erupted from the Spanish-tiled hallway leading to the main garden. Normally, the sight of white beribboned chairs neatly arranged in military-straight rows filled her with satisfaction, but she was too busy scanning the cloudless sky to notice. “Where is it?” Claire asked the resort’s event coordinator without preamble, hurrying down the magnolia-lined snow-white carpet dividing the bride’s and groom’s sides. The resort employee pointed out into the grove of twisted live oaks surrounding them. “It just flew through the trees and disappeared. It must have a nest nearby.” “It’s probably the daddy,” Claire said, remembering too late just what spring meant for the vast majority of wildlife. “It is the time of season to make babies, after all. I don’t suppose we can move three hundred chairs fifty yards that way in less than ninety minutes?” “We’re good, Ms. Pomeroy, but not that good.”

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“Thought so.” With a short sigh, she considered her limited options. “Okay, I’d like to keep your people out there during the ceremony, and if they happen to spot the nest, so much the better. We can keep a close eye on our little party-crasher if we know where he’s coming from.” Frustrated that this was one problem she couldn’t really solve, she turned, and froze when she saw Ryder at the head of the aisle. Why? The thought echoed with sinking despair through her heart, while their gazes clashed and knotted. Why did he have to be another problem she had no hope of solving? Why did he seem so perfect when everything about him was so wrong for her? Why did she have to fall in love with a man who had no idea what love was? The bright clarity of his eyes and the natural, arrogant lift of his dark head showed no lingering effects of the night before. The black dinner jacket of his tuxedo clung to his broad shoulders like a possessive lover, and the gray-green of the vest underneath brought out the gray of his eyes. Without a doubt, he was the most breathtaking man she had ever seen, or would ever want to see. He was her personal idea of perfect, and even if she had a lifetime to just look at him, it still wouldn’t be long enough. Oh, but how could she forget? Ryder didn’t believe in a lifetime. Slowly, because it took more strength than she knew she had, Claire turned back to watch the resort workers fan out. Maybe things would be better when this wedding was over, she thought dully. Maybe, when she no longer had an excuse to see him, she would stop bleeding to death inside. Maybe. But she doubted it. “Claire.” As if her thoughts had compelled him to her, Ryder appeared by her side. The heat radiating from his body was a delicious distraction, and for a moment she closed her eyes in helpless need. “Looks like you have everything in hand.” “Everything except a hot-headed blue jay.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke. Anything was better than getting caught up in his eyes and drowning in the terrible beauty of their unloving depths. “Dealing with the Wild Kingdom was the one hiccup that didn’t appear on my list.” “What?” “It’s the nesting instinct,” she explained even as a resort employee ran out of the trees, hands over his head while a shrieking blue streak dive-bombed him. “There must be a nest nearby with a mommy bird and babies. Daddy bird is usually the one to go out and get the food and defend the home front, so…” She shrugged. “Apparently we’re just close enough to bug him.” Ryder watched the bird dive once more before it disappeared back into the tangle of live oaks. “You can’t really wave a broom or tennis racket at this sort of pest then, can you?” “Absolutely not,” she agreed, sighing. “His little family would die without him, and besides, why punish him for being a good protector? He’s only doing what comes naturally. The best I can do is keep the workers out there in the trees as courageous decoys, while we hustle things along here and hope for the best.”

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“Doing what comes naturally, huh?” She could feel his gaze brush over her, as subtle as a caress. It took everything she had not to shiver. “Do you think it’s natural to just…pair off and start something as permanent as a family?” “Why don’t you ask the blue jay?” “I’m asking you.” Claire’s mouth tightened. No other man would even think of asking such a question, which she supposed only underscored how totally incompatible they were. “If we’re talking about blue jays, or wolves, or even Matt Guthrie, then yes—it’s completely natural, that’s how all species propagate and move forward. But if we’re talking about you, not so much.” A sound of what seemed like annoyance escaped him. “Why not me?” “You’re not exactly marriageable material,” she drawled, then pretended the admission didn’t make something die a little inside. “It would take one hell of a woman to set her sights on you.” “You think?” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he slid an oblique glance her way. “Well, I guess that’s good to know. If I ever do find that hell of a woman, would you mind putting our wedding together?” Claire gripped the clipboard so sharply her fingernails scraped over it blackboard-style. “Why, sure,” she seethed, so saccharine-sweet he backed up a step. “In fact, I know the perfect theme for the likes of you. For a venue we could do it down at the San Antonio Jailhouse, and instead of the traditional ring, we could have you outfitted with an old ball-and-chain.” His brows shot up. “On second thought, maybe you shouldn’t plan it.” “Finally, the man starts using his brain for something other than a separator for his ears,” she stormed, so enraged she could hardly see straight. “And if you ever even think about coming to me to plan a wedding for you and the woman you love, you’d better be prepared to run for your miserable, godforsaken life!” With a ferocious growl, she spun on her heel and secretly willed the brave little blue jay to peck Ryder to death.

“I am so nervous.” “You’ll be fine.” “I have to pee.” “No, you don’t.” “Yes, I do. Do I have time?” “No. Don’t think about it.” “Crap. Is Matt really waiting for me?” “He went out with the priest and—and his best man.” For the most part, the answers popped out of Claire’s mouth like a reflex being hit, and only the thought of Ryder made her stumble. Small wonder. Ever

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since he’d had the testicular fortitude to talk about getting married one day, she had felt as though some cerebral motherboard had been blown. Damn him. The bridesmaids and groomsmen went out in pairs, resplendent in their wedding finery. Claire hardly saw them. With all the gentle sweetness of the Spanish Inquisition, her short-circuited brain insisted on imagining what Ryder would look like waiting at the altar for his blushing bride, his eyes aglow with a love Claire had assumed he could never feel. Yet here he was, Mr. Anti-Marriage himself, spouting off about when he got married. Damn him to hell. He hadn’t meant it, surely. Ryder Price wasn’t built for the long haul. Men like him never changed. “He had his choice of women and lifestyles, and what he chose was me. That’s true love.” Unbidden, Rachel’s comment echoed back to her, and as the flower girls and ring-bearers went out and Rachel’s father spoke softly with his daughter, Claire couldn’t get those words out of her mind. Matt and Ryder had been so similar—both footloose and fancy-free playboys. It wasn’t until Matt had found his perfect match that he had realized there could be something more. Something better. Was it possible Ryder could also have an epiphany one day? A few weeks ago Claire wouldn’t have even considered it. But now… “Claire?” I am home. “Claire? Shouldn’t we cue the music?” Blankly Claire stared at Mari, before realizing she was holding everything up. With a tiny gasp, she snatched up the walkie-talkie, cheeks burning. “Cue the music.” The Wedding March swelled, but instead of feeling the excitement she always felt when that piece played, Claire watched distractedly from the open doorway with Mari while her thoughts whirled. Was it an anomaly for Ryder to mention the possibility of a wedding in his future? Was it something he’d said just for the sake of argument? Or was this a signal of something fundamental changing within him? As far as she knew, the thought of marriage had never even occurred to him. Her gaze drifted to Ryder as she tried to puzzle it out. Why had it come up now? As if he sensed the intensity of her gaze, Ryder’s attention slid from Rachel and Matt, to where Claire stood by the door. He looked at her, his pale eyes unwavering, an urgent message in them she couldn’t decipher, though her pulse rocketed into the stratosphere. Without any effort at all, that laser-like focus pulled her in and made her his willing captive, and in that moment all she could see was Ryder. Damn him…and me too. “If any person can show just cause why Matt and Rachel may not be joined together, let them speak now, or forever hold their peace.”

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Stacy Gail

Claire’s heart skipped several beats as Ryder at last looked away. Oh, no. Don’t… Ryder pursed his lips, and a sudden glint in his eyes made the breath back up in her lungs. Then he bent, took the ring from the little bearer’s pillow, and wordlessly handed it to Matt before turning once more to look at Claire as if she were the only thing worth seeing. Claire stared at him, trying to understand. Unless she was seriously delusional, she just saw Ryder choose not to screw up the wedding, but…why? People didn’t have the power or the desire to change overnight, especially a person like Ryder Price. Perhaps he was throwing in the towel? Could it be he was finally accepting that Matt could find happiness in marriage? That happiness and marriage could be mentioned in the same sentence without an automatic gag reflex? No way. It had to be a trick. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” The ceremony’s conclusion slipped by Claire almost without her notice. Matt and Rachel shared their first kiss as a married couple, the photographer captured the moment forever, and the blue jay made one last heroic swipe at the priest in a perfectly timed farewell, but her attention remained on Ryder. She was certain there was more going on with him than met the eye, and she became convinced of it when all the guests filed into the Grand Ballroom for the reception to hear the best man’s toast. Great, she thought, horrified she had forgotten about this massive pitfall. Here it comes. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to ask all of you to raise your glass to Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Guthrie,” Ryder began, his voice tinny over the D.J.’s microphone. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to wing it from here on in, since I don’t really have a planned toast for this. I slacked off on this particular duty of best man, because part of me believed this marriage was a bad idea.” Claire closed her eyes as the crowd stilled. Maybe she could conveniently trip over the microphone cord… “And it wasn’t just this marriage—I thought marriage in general was nothing more than an exercise in futility. In my mind, marriage put so much pressure on people to stay together that it worked to split them apart. But in the past few weeks I’ve come to realize marriage doesn’t break up people, people break up people. I’ve also come to realize that married or not, some people simply belong together.” Cautiously, she cracked her eyes open—and her heart stumbled to a breathless halt when she found Ryder looking right at her. “I was once told there is a place in a person’s heart that goes undiscovered until their perfect match comes along to fill it. A person who will be there to support you when no one else will, to listen when you’re troubled, to be no more than an arm’s reach away when the world is closing in. Such a thing seemed unbelievable. Too good to be true. A fairy tale. But then it occurred to me how two people can manage to

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stay together, even when times are tough and they’ve seen each other at their very worst. They can do it if they love each other.” Stunned, Claire could only stare at Ryder while giddy hope soared. He understood. Finally. At last, Ryder turned to Rachel and Matt, and raised his glass. “To my best friend and his thankfully patient wife—love each other, you two. That is the true bond of marriage, the basis of happily ever after. I wish you both the joy of everlasting love.” Rachel cried as Matt clanked his champagne glass hard against Ryder’s, and the crowd cheered their exuberant toast to the happy couple. Claire didn’t join in the festivities, instead tottering on unsteady legs out to the back patio she and the workers had been using as a staging area. So this was what shock felt like, she thought, reeling. She sank down onto the low limestone patio wall and looked out over the sun-washed, oak-covered hills with blank eyes. This was what it felt like to have witnessed a miracle. She couldn’t call it anything else. It was a heaven-sent gift to witness a hardcore commitment-phobe finally understand that love wasn’t some cheesy myth listed somewhere below Sasquatch and the Chupacabra. It was real, the greatest strength two people could discover in each other. It was completion. But…why now? “Claire?” Somehow she wasn’t surprised he’d come looking for her. Feeling oddly naked huddled there on the wall, she turned to find Ryder no more than a few feet away. “That was beautiful.” He was beautiful, she thought while her heart ached with an overflow of love she didn’t know how to stop. In that moment, he was the most beautiful being she had ever seen. “I didn’t think you could say that. Any of it.” “A few weeks ago I couldn’t have.” “I know.” That’s what had her so flabbergasted. “What’s changed?” A wry curve tilted his mouth. “Everything.” “I don’t understand.” “Did you know when I first laid eyes on you, I thought you were the most perfect woman to have ever graced this world?” he said instead of answering. “It was right here, across the parking lot, and that’s where the change in me began. Seeing you for the first time hit me like a punch to the gut, and all I could think was how magnificent you were. When I should have been focused on saving Matt from what I thought was a fate worse than death, all I could see was my idea of feminine perfection.” Her jaw seemed to be permanently unhinged. “Perfect? Good grief, that’s the last thing I am. No one is.”

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“Don’t bring logic into this. My visceral reaction to you has nothing to do with logic. The change that began in me that day has everything to do with what I think might be the human version of the nesting instinct.” “Now you’ve really lost me.” “I don’t know what else to call it.” His shoulders shifted in a shrug as he crossed to sit on the wall beside her. “Out of all the relationships I’ve had, I’ve never felt any real belonging, Claire. I didn’t know such a thing existed, except in love songs and fairy tales. I genuinely believed no one could ever fit me to the point where they became my other half. Then, as I stood beside the one woman who can tie me in knots without even trying, I watched a blue jay protect his family for all his worth. And like that, everything fell into place.” She frowned, trying to follow his train of thought. “The blue jay?” “Think about it, Claire. If a bird can be brave enough to fight like hell to forge a life with his chosen mate, then what the hell is my problem?” The promise behind his words made her forget the need to breathe, but she didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding. “What exactly are you saying?” “I’m saying, I think I get it now.” As if he thought she would shatter at a touch, Ryder reached over to take her hands in his. “You should know something about me. Before we met, I was struggling with this weird restlessness I couldn’t put my finger on—a gnawing, unsettled feeling like I was forgetting to do something important. It only got worse when Matt announced he was getting married, to the point where I lied about my house being infested with bees so I could be close enough to stop the wedding from happening.” “You lied?” For some reason, she wasn’t at all surprised. “That’s pretty off-the-wall.” “It shows how desperate I was feeling,” came the sheepish reply. “I guess I didn’t want to be left completely alone in the world. And that in a nutshell was the life I was forging for myself—one of total isolation. I just didn’t realize it until you pointed it out to me.” All too clearly she recalled his expression when she admitted how she felt sorry for him. “I thought that made you angry.” “The truth hurts,” he admitted, grimacing. “The restlessness I’d been dealing with finally had a name—loneliness. But putting a label on it didn’t make it any better. What’s more, the restlessness only quieted down when I was with you, and I think it’s because instinctively I realized when I’m with you, I’m complete. Something in me recognizes you as my other half, the one person I was created for.” Her breath caught, a jagged little sound that hung between them as her staggered brain tried to absorb it all. Could this really be happening? Could it be that at long last Ryder Price was willing to believe there was such a thing as forever? Maybe she was dreaming. Or having a psychotic episode.

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“Claire, I know I’ve screwed up,” he said anxiously when she began to shake her head, his hands tightening on hers as if he feared she might somehow slip through his fingers. “I know you don’t trust me. I admit, I haven’t given you any reason to believe in me. Until now all I’ve ever done was try to prove that lust, not love, was what brought people together. But I was wrong, and the only reason I acted like such an ass was because I was falling in love with you, and I was trying to save myself. You have no idea how falling like that can hurt.” “Yes I do,” Claire whispered as at last she heard the words she thought she’d never hear from him. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she looked up into his stormy eyes. “You idiot, I’ve been falling this whole time.” Slow, beautiful hope dawned on his face. “Claire…?” “I’ve fallen in love with you.” She let the truth out in a breathless rush, and it was like stepping out into nothing. She only prayed he would be there to catch her. “I’ve tried so hard not to, Ryder. The two of us together…it’s like some kind of bad joke. We’re totally incompatible—” “We’re not.” With a rough sound wrenched from his throat, Ryder caressed her face with lips that seemed to almost worship her with their fiery tenderness. “We’re perfect together. Let me prove it to you. I want to spend the rest of my life proving it to you.” “Careful,” she warned, her mouth coming to nuzzle his as her body began to heat. “That sounded dangerously like forever.” “Forever’s not nearly long enough.” He groaned and kissed her hard. “If I had a hundred lifetimes to spend with you, it still wouldn’t be enough. You are my happily ever after.” A dazed little laugh burst from her. Thank heaven he’d caught her, after all. “I’ll do my best to always be yours,” she vowed, and melded her lips to his.

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About the Author

Stacy Gail would love to announce that she is an accomplished concert pianist and can speak seven different languages. Unfortunately, she can’t. Chopsticks was the only piano tune she ever mastered, and her idea of speaking another language equates to talking with a funny accent. There are, however, a couple of things Stacy can do—figure skate and write romances. While skating competitively from the age of eight and learning that perseverance is the true key to success, she began to write stories in between skating events to pass the time. By the age of fourteen, she told her parents she was either going to be a figure skating coach who was also a published romance writer, or a romance writer who was also a skating pro. Amazingly enough, both dreams have now come true. For more news on Stacy Gail’s upcoming releases (or to uncover the latest trouble into which she’s landed herself), feel free to take a peek: Blog: http://stacygail.blogspot.com Facebook: www.facebook.com/home.php#!/profile.php?id=100002015699203&sk=wall Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/Stacy_Gail_

Look for this title by Stacy Gail

Now Available: Zero Factor

Armed and dangerous…

Zero Factor © 2011 Stacy Gail A Cybershock Story Born a psionic—a rare human prized by the government for her gifts—agridome worker Via Brede lives by two simple rules: slip into stealth mode whenever the cybernetic-enhanced militia is near. And never remove the gloves that block her psychic ability. During a routine delivery, a tear in her glove connects her with what should be her worst nightmare. A meched-out soldier with bulging muscles and a scarred face that makes her heart pound like a pneumatic drill. She also envisions his death in an attack that happens…now. Locke’s typically ho-hum mission goes sideways when the stunning, green-eyed bubble farmer plants a sensual kiss that sets fire to every one of his remaining man-nerves. He also sees her vision. His own commander is about to kill him. He needs Via to find out why. First step is to get her to Old Las Vegas without succumbing to a raw, sexual need that burns in him like fever. Getting there will be a snap. Getting out alive—and winning her trust—might be a little tougher. Warning: This title contains mild violence, blow-your-mind Psionic sex, buns of steel (literally) and the usual hanky-panky at a bordello. Author is not responsible for side effects, including locked-and-loaded hunks taking your dreams by force.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Zero Factor: Via knew her life was over. If she were honest with herself, part of her had known it the moment she had left the safety of the agridome. People like her could never put themselves in a position where they would be within spitting distance of the militia, much less work hand in hand with them. To do so was akin to bathing in jet fuel, then playing with a lighter. And yet she had gone. Like a lamb to slaughter, she had gone. It was okay, though. As long as she could save the others, she could be at peace with what had to be done now. Not that she was some kind of freaky saint or anything. It was just that as she’d sat in the transport drowning in images of what was to come, she had reached a very basic conclusion—she would rather die than live with the knowledge that she could have done something, but didn’t. So she wasn’t a saint, and she sure as hell wasn’t even nodding acquaintances with that thing called bravery. If anything, she was too much of a coward to live with the guilt of surviving while everyone else got blown into unrecognizable bits. “Via? What the hell—?”

She heard Weddo’s shocked voice, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was focusing on what she knew, what she saw, and pushing it with all her might into Locke. She wasn’t sure if she was doing it right. Hell, she didn’t even know if she was doing anything more than simply kissing a stranger and making a ginormous ass of herself. She had only done this sort of thing once before when she was fifteen, and it had been a total accident back then. By degrees, the frenzied panic boiling through her blood eased like a tight fist unfurling, and new, thoroughly unexpected sensations began to seep in through the smothering veil of fear. For just a heartbeat the universe seemed to pause, a collective holding of breath while even the sound of the bustling city’s daily life came to a gentle stop. For Via, there was only this fragile moment as her mouth molded to his, and a shocking thrill of pleasure bloomed like fireworks in her brain when his lips softened and returned the pressure with interest. Her booted feet barely touched the ground as she kept her arms wrapped tightly around his strong neck, and delight mingled with relief when his free arm curled about her waist to bring her fully against the rock-solid length of his battle-hardened warrior’s body. His breath was warm, his taste tantalizing. The seductive nuzzling of his silk-over-steel lips against hers invited her untutored mouth to explore deeper, and she saw no reason why she should resist when she knew they were living on borrowed time. A tremulous note of discord whispered from her psyche into his, a never-ending ricochet rippling noiselessly between them. The pleasure bounced back and forth as well, doubling and trebling as it went, but threaded through it was what the vision had shown her. But that was okay too. If this was to be her last moment of life, she was determined to pour every ounce of joy, vitality and pleasure she could into this kiss. If anything, she was happy for this final opportunity to go out with a bang. “Lieutenant Locke, attention!” It was the strangest thing, was all Via could think while her pulse pounded in her ears and in the lips that had become the most sensitive part of her body. It was as though she and this man—a militia man, for God’s sake—had discovered that with a kiss, they could create a magical little sphere where only they existed, and nothing of the gritty, desperate, dangerous place that was their world could encroach on their private slice of perfection. Then her lips drifted like a dream away from his, and the restless throb of the ever-bustling city once again filled her ears. But nothing felt the same. She wasn’t the same. As mad as it sounded, she felt changed from the inside out. Were kisses supposed to change the world? Via opened eyes she couldn’t remember closing, and gazed up in dazed confusion at the man she held with all the passionate fervor of a long-time lover. Where was the explosion? Had she interrupted the sequence of events? Was everyone safe? Everyone except her, of course. Her safe life was officially over now that she had revealed to a guntoting jarhead member of the militia that she was a psionic.

Dayum. “What the hell are you hick farmers feeding your oversexed women?” Colonel Fynn raged at Weddo, who was staring at Via in horrified disbelief. Her eyes shimmering with the chaos churning her insides, she could only shake her head. There was no time to explain her behavior. There was no time for anything, except… Maybe there could be one last way out. When she looked back to Locke, his flat, not-really-human optics were still trained on her as if he didn’t know how to look away. “Kill me,” she whispered in a rush, and watched his cyberoptics widen in surprise. It was probably the stress that made her think there might have been an impossible flash of emotion there. “If you have even one ounce of compassion left in that meched-out body of yours, please kill me. You’ll be doing me a favor.” Slowly he shook his head while Fynn yelled at Weddo, “You’re a—” “Please.” She grabbed the muzzle of his pulse rifle and angled it under her chin with the surreal calm of one who had no other choice. “Do it.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You’re crazy.” “No one will blame you. I attacked you.” “Attacked?” His head continued to shake. “That’s not what I’d call it.” “Locke, you come to attention, you worthless bastard!” Fynn was all but frothing at the mouth while the rest of his troops closed in on the uncharacteristic knot of chaos in their midst, wary and confused. “What do you think you’re doing, soldier, falling for a classic diversionary tactic while the enemy closes in?” “The no-goods are dispersing, Colonel.” Locke’s voice was oddly remote, as though he was only halfaware of the words coming out of his mouth. And all the while he stared at Via as if the next beat of his heart depended on it. “Look around. Even an untrained eye can see there is no enemy out there.” Fynn turned an alarming shade of puce, making Via wonder if anyone had ever mustered up the cojones to contradict him. “The moment any soldier thinks that, they become worse than a liability. They become as bad as the enemy itself.” In sheer contempt, Fynn threw the cigar he still held at Locke’s feet. “Lifers, fall back double-time.” “Bomb!” Locke suddenly shouted and waved at Weddo and the others. “Get in the transport, now!” “Wait, I stopped—” Via’s protest was cut off as Locke’s free arm clamped around her waist like a vise, and she let out a strangled gasp when it felt like the lower half of her rib cage was crushed. Then, without warning, he leapt an easy fifteen feet off the raised loading dock in a mind-boggling show of inhuman strength, landing on the ground beside the dock so hard Via’s teeth clicked together.

“Get down!” Locke’s roar was superfluous, for his massive warrior’s body crouched over hers like a smothering blanket until she was forced into a fetal position, her head pushed down so far her chin gouged into her chest. “But I stopped it—” Via’s strangled protest was interrupted once more by an explosion above them. A sickening, hellish wave of heat billowed out over their heads. The concussive force made her eardrums quake like aspen leaves as the air pressure heaved out, then sucked back into the loading dock, as if a mythical giant were pulling in a massive gulp of air and holding it. Then the world went strangely still, while her stunned brain rattled around in her cranium like a tiny marble caught in a washer’s spin cycle.

It’s bad enough losing the wedding rings, let alone your heart…

Something Blue © 2011 Serenity Woods A Come Rain or Come Shine Story Josh Hamnett is best man at his mate’s wedding, and he’s determined that nothing’s going to go wrong on the big day. That’s before ex-girlfriend Kate Summerton appears in the church, looking mouthwateringly good in her tight red satin dress. Her maid of honor’s dress. Ceremony, reception, speeches, the first dance…he’s got to go through them all by the side of the woman who still haunts his dreams. And to top it off, she’s not wearing any underwear. Their break-up three years ago was explosive, and Kate was sure she’d never forgive how he behaved. But now all the memories are coming back—the good as well as the bad. As their wedding duties keep throwing them into each other’s company, Kate can’t ignore the resurging chemistry between them—or the nagging thought that maybe, this could be the start of a second chance. Warning: Contains sexual chemistry hot enough to turn sand to glass—best read while wearing oven gloves and dark shades.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Something Blue: “Kate, promise me you won’t get drunk tonight and do something you’ll regret.” Kate looked across at Becca. They were standing outside the reception hall, waiting for Alex to join them and start welcoming the guests. “I’m accident prone when I’m not drunk and in three-inch heels—do you really think I’m going to enhance my special abilities, especially on your wedding day?” “I’m just saying…” “Becca, you don’t have to. Honestly, nothing’s going to happen tonight. That relationship ended a long, long time ago. I have no intention of starting it up again, even if it was possible, which it’s not.” The bride snorted. “I saw the way you looked at him—as if he was an ice lolly and you wanted to lick—” “Becca!” “Deny it. Tell me you weren’t thinking about him in bed.” “I…can’t.” Kate pouted. “He’s hot and he was really, really good at it.” She turned and took Becca’s hands, looking her in the eye. “But I’m not stupid. Well, not completely. We didn’t end well, Becs. I know I’ve told you before, but it wasn’t an amicable parting. I don’t want to dredge it all up again, and I don’t want a re-enactment. It was kind of nice to see him again, but you haven’t got anything to worry about.” She smiled. “Now come on, this is your big day and all we’re talking about is me. You’ve got to greet your guests and have a fantastic time—please don’t let me spoil it.”

“Oh, Kate, you’re not spoiling it at all.” Becca’s eyes went suspiciously glassy. “I just so want you to be happy and find what I have. You deserve it—you’re such a nice person. I’m so glad you’re my friend, and that you came all the way out here for me.” “Of course I did. I couldn’t not come to the wedding of my best friend.” Kate’s own tears spilled over and the two women hugged.

“Oh yes,” said Josh as he and Alex walked over. He admired the two women, who were wrapped around each other. “Very nice. Don’t let us stop you.” They broke apart, both glaring at him, and he grinned. “Guests are ready.” He bent to kiss Becca’s cheek. “You look ravishing, sweetheart.” She hugged him and he shook hands with Alex before grabbing Kate’s hand. “Come on.” He strode off, pulling her into the reception hall with him. “Will you let go?” She tugged on his hand, forcing him to stop. He kept his fingers tight on hers, however, enjoying touching her. “We need to check the top table and make sure everything’s in order.” “You can do that—I need to visit the Ladies’.” She yanked her hand out of his. “You can’t order me around just because we once went out together.” He looked at her blankly. “I order everyone around. You’re not getting special treatment.” She glared at him. “Where are we sitting? I swear, if I’m next to you, I’m going to take off my knickers and strangle myself with them.” He stopped in his tracks and turned her to face him. “Seriously? You’re not going commando? Damn it. Talk about pop a guy’s bubble.” He looked at her butt and gave her a hard stare. “Wait a minute… There’s no way you’re wearing anything under that dress.” He could tell by the way she blushed that he was right. He smirked. “You haven’t changed a bit,” she said icily. “Nope.” He had meant the remark to be funny, but he saw the amusement fade from her eyes. He knew she was thinking how difficult it had been at the end of their relationship. The accusations they’d thrown at each other. The cruel things they’d said. He would give his right arm to be able to wipe their memories clean. But it was too late, it was all said and done and that boat had long since sailed. “No hard feelings.” He brushed her arm. “It’s nice to see you. You look good and I was just window shopping.” She gave a small smile. “You look good too. That suit suits you. If you know what I mean.” “I do. But every dude looks good in a tux.” She shrugged. “But you more than most.”

He studied her face, noticing she had new smile lines at the corner of her mouth and more freckles across her nose. “That was never a problem, was it? Being attracted to each other, I mean.” “No. That was the least of our worries.” “Okay.” He sighed. “I’d better start showing people where to sit.” She nodded. “We’re both at the top table, I guess.” “You are next to me, you know.” She started to walk away, then turned back. “Well, I can’t strangle myself. As you know, I’m not wearing any knickers.”