Icing on the Cake (Wild Wedding Series Book 2)

by Ann Marie Walker

  “Oh, but there’s more,” Cassie added. “They only use the bows that were removed intact. Any that are ripped or torn go into a different pile.”

  Hank smiled. “Dare I ask what happens to them?”

  “Well,” she began, enjoying the look of horror that had replaced the bliss on her brother’s face. Apparently, this was one question he had dared to ask. “As the old wives’ tale goes, each broken ribbon equals one child.” A wide grin spread across Cassie’s face. “Which, if they’re right, means I should be an aunt six times over.”

  “Fuck me,” Hank said on a dramatic exhale. “That’s a lot of nappies.”

  “What do old wives know anyways?” Matthew grumbled.

  “More than old husbands,” Cassie teased.

  The minister approached Emily and whispered a few words in a hushed voice. Within seconds all the color drained from her face.

  “This can’t be good,” Matthew said. “I better go see what’s going on.” He excused himself to join the huddle that had now formed around the bride-to-be. After a few tense moments the minister made a brief announcement.

  “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention please.” His request was hardly necessary as all eyes were already on him. “I’m afraid there’s going to be a slight delay. It appears our soloist has come down with a rather nasty case of the stomach flu and won’t be able to perform as scheduled. The musical director has generously offered the services of the choir, so if you will beg our pardon while they work out a few numbers with the organist and the bride and groom”—the man pulled a white handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped his brow—“we should be underway in plenty of time to get you to dinner.”

  A low rumble spread through the small crowd.

  “Does this mean we’re missing happy hour?” one of Emily’s cousin asked. She shot him a look that had the poor boy mimicking a zipper across his lips, then headed toward the choir loft with Matthew and their mothers in tow.

  A random thought popped into Cassie’s head. “You know what would be an amazing solution to this problem?”

  “What’s that, luv?”

  “If my brother arranged for a recreation of the wedding scene in Love Actually.”

  Hank groaned. “What is it with birds and that film?”

  “It’s a holiday classic. Scratch that, it’s just a classic in general. I watch it every year. Have you never seen it?”

  “Of course,” he said. “I’d imagine most men on the planet have seen it, although very few of them by choice. Come to think of it though, you might be on to something. A Billy Mack performance would certainly liven this place up, especially the naked one.”

  Cassie gave him a playful swat just as the organ roared to life above them. The notes reverberated off the vestibule’s stone walls making it feel as though she was standing inside a very large stereo speaker. Nearly everyone around her covered their ears with the palms of their hands.

  “Might I invite you to take a seat in one of the pews?” the minister nearly shouted in suggestion. “The acoustics are a bit better there.”

  “Quite loud when you’re right below it,” Cassie said as they made their way down one of the side aisles.

  “Hmm,” Hank agreed. A moment later a fiendish look filled his eyes. It was the same look he’d given her right before smearing chocolate on her lips.

  “Wait here,” he said. “I’ve got an idea.” With no further explanation, he turned and headed back toward the rear of the church.

  Cassie took a seat in one of the pews. Around her the murmur of voices ebbed and flowed, giving her bits and pieces of conversations covering virtually every topic possible. From what she could hear, the members of Matthew and Emily’s wedding party were spending the unexpected break discussing everything from the odds on whether the Cubs or Braves would win the division to whether the caterer would be serving chicken or beef. Two women were particularly animated as they discussed the pros and cons of wearing white shoes to the ceremony the next day. According to one it was perfectly acceptable as it was after Memorial Day, but according to the other it was unacceptable should there be rain, which spun them into an entirely different direction as they began to debate the theory that rain on a wedding day was considered good luck.

  “This sucks, huh?”

  Cassie looked up to see one of Emily’s cousins sliding into the pew next to her. She’d met him briefly when she arrived on Thursday, but for the life of her she couldn’t recall his name.

  “Oh, I mean, um, this stinks.” His cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. “Shouldn’t be swearing in front of a lady. Or in church.” He pulled a weathered baseball cap out of his pocket and started to put it on. “Shit, can’t wear a hat in here either.” A horrified look crossed his face. “Aww hell, I did it again.”

  Cassie gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure God will understand.”

  The young man laughed nervously. “He might, but no way my mama will.” He squeezed the brim of the hat into a deep curve. Hat. Pat with a hat. Of course, Cassie thought. For years she’d used mnemonics devices to help her not only with names, but important facts she had to remember for work or school. The technique had never let her down, although truth be told she sometimes worried she would repeat the rhymes out loud.

  “Think they’ll be getting this going anytime soon?” Pat asked, looking over his shoulder. Cassie followed his gaze to the choir loft where Matthew and Emily were flipping through a songbook as the organist rolled from one song to another. Behind them the choir members began to take their place on risers.

  “I’m sure no one’s more anxious to get this underway than they are.” Cassie’s phone vibrated in her hand. When she looked down she was surprised to find a text from an unknown number. With a swipe of her thumb she expanded the message.

  Meet me in the back. Right side.

  It had to be from Hank, at least she assumed it was him, although it wasn’t signed and she hadn’t given him her cell number. She smiled at the realization that he must have convinced Matthew to give it to him. Quite an accomplishment given the way the day had started.

  She closed the screen and glanced over her shoulder. Nothing. She looked to the other corner. Still nothing. Did he mean the right as you were leaving or as you were coming in? Only one way to find out.

  “Excuse me,” she said to her seatmate. “I’m going to see if I can find the little girls’ room.”

  “Oh, sure, right.” Pat stood to let her slip past him out of the pew. He looked so embarrassed you’d have thought she told him she needed to find a tampon. “See you later then.”

  She gave him a smile and a nod before making her way to the back of the church as quickly as she could without attracting the attention of the other members of the wedding party. Lucky for her most were too engrossed in their own conversations to pay much attention to a woman in three-inch heels trying to discreetly make a fast getaway.

  The echo of the organ grew louder the closer she got, mercifully masking the click-clack of her heels. When she reached the right side of the vestibule, she looked around, but all she saw was the baptismal font and the velvet curtains of two confessionals.

  Gah, what was it about men and directions? Maybe he meant the right as you were coming in. She started to cross the stone floor when an arm shot out from between two of the curtains. In one swift move, Hank pulled her into the confessional and pushed her up against the wall of the small, dark box.

  “What are you—”

  “Shhh.” Both hands framed her face as he sealed his lips over hers, taking her mouth in a long, deep kiss. “I couldn’t go another minute without kissing you,” he murmured as he pulled away.

  Her hands found their way into his hair, bringing his mouth back to hers. If a kiss was what he wanted, then who was she to deprive him? She tugged his bottom lip between her teeth before sliding her tongue over his in slow, savoring strokes. They were both breathing hard when she finally released him. “F
eel better now?” she asked with a satisfied grin.

  He gathered the fabric of her skirt in his hand and began slowly inching it up her bare thigh. “That’s not where I wanted to kiss you.”

  “In church?” she gasped. Holy mother of God. Literally. And yet there was no denying the effect his words had on her. A surge of heat coursed through her veins before settling low in her belly.

  A devilish grin curved his lips as he sank down to the padded kneeler in front of her. “What better place to worship you?”

  It was hard to believe that just a few minutes ago she was questioning his desire to continue whatever it was they’d started the night before. Because there he was, looking up at her from beneath impossibly long lashes as his lips left a trail of open-mouth kisses along her inner thigh, and all she could think about was how badly she wanted more. That, and how somewhere deep inside, a part of her was already dreading saying goodbye.

  Chapter Ten

  Hank had to admit it, the Americans, at least the ones in Georgia, knew how to throw one hell of a wedding rehearsal. After the various family members were assigned their roles and the minister was satisfied with everyone’s ability to correctly march up and down the aisle, the rather large group was taken to dinner via an actual hayride. Although cousin Pat had apparently offered the use of his tractor, the bride and groom had opted to have a team of horses pull a wagon that could best be described as a wooden flatbed. Bales of hay formed rows of seats while a lone fiddle player serenaded the group from beside the driver on the front bench. The entire scene was like something out of a film, right down to the sun setting in the distance. Golden rays fanned out across the horizon and when a gentle breeze blew across the field, Hank knew it was exactly what the lyricist had meant by “amber waves of grain.”

  Cassie sat next to him, her eyes bright and her cheeks pink. And while to the rest of the group her auburn curls might have looked merely windblown, Hank knew the truth of her flushed and slightly disheveled appearance. She was a woman who’d been thoroughly pleased, not only once, but twice, and in that moment Hank was quite certain he’d never seen anyone look more beautiful. Except maybe how she’d looked not thirty minutes before—her head thrown back against the wood partition, her thighs trembling, and her fingers clutching his hair. Just the thought of his little vixen writhing against his mouth had him covertly adjusting his cock. Of course, it didn’t help matters that he hadn’t come, a decision the ache in his balls had him regretting. Hank could never be described as a selfish lover. He gave as good as he got. But make no mistake, he always got. Yet behind that velvet curtain, kneeling before his sweet and sexy chef, all he could think about was how badly he wanted to please her, how drunk he felt off the mere taste of her, and how he could quite possibly die a happy man for no other reason than having heard his name like a prayer upon her lips.

  Except it wasn’t his name. Not really. And while the fingers, lips, and tongue that drove her mad might have been one in the same, the man was not. The suspended reality he’d created had an expiration date, but Hank still had at least thirty-six hours before the weekend officially ended. He intended to make the most of the time he had left with her, time he would have rather spent just the two of them. Preferably naked.

  But there was a dinner to attend and a team of horses waiting to transport them, so instead of whisking Cassie back to the room with the oversized bed and the claw-foot tub, Hank had to settle for sitting next to her on a bale of hay. It was its own unique brand of torture. Because although he wanted nothing more than to hold her close, he also wanted to spare her any speculation or gossip among the closely seated crowd. The cramped conditions did have one benefit however, in that they allowed him to sit close enough for their thighs to touch. Even from that one point of contact Hank felt the undeniable attraction that seemed to pulse inside him whenever this woman was near.

  He glanced at his watch. With any luck dinner would be quick and they’d be on their way in no more than an hour, maybe two.

  But he’d no sooner had the thought when the wagon rounded a bend, bringing a small rustic barn into view. Copper lanterns lined the path leading to the open doors and as they drew closer Hank could see dozens of tables and a small dance floor waiting inside.

  “Looks more like a wedding than a rehearsal,” he murmured.

  “Tomorrow is a traditional event at the country club,” Cassie explained. “This was the compromise for not having a square-dance theme at the reception.”

  His brows shot up. “Square dance?”

  She nodded. “Oh yes. One of Emily’s uncles is a caller. Tonight is his gift to them.”

  Fuck me, Hank thought. So much for a fast getaway. He didn’t know which was causing him more pain, the idea of a do-si-do in his near future or the case of blue balls taking hold in his trousers. Either way, one thing was certain. It was going to be a damn long night.

  It was official. Cassie was going to Hell. She’d told Olivia as much in a text, but her best friend hadn’t been much help. Instead of consoling her she’d merely replied with something to the effect of “Don’t worry, I’ll be driving the bus.”

  What in the world had she been thinking? Seemed that was a question she’d been asking herself nonstop over the last twenty-four hours, but this was an all-time low. In a church. In the confessional. It was like every single Catholic school girl taboo all rolled into one, and to say it was out of character for her was like saying the Titanic was a fairly good-sized boat. This wasn’t at all like her, something she reminded herself throughout dinner: as the best man and maid of honor made their toasts, as baby pictures of the bride and groom were flashed across a screen in a slide show meant to evoke tears from their mothers and laughter from their friends, and as Hank met her eyes from across the room in glances that told her he’d not only enjoyed their tryst behind the velvet curtain, but he was more than ready to do it again.

  It was all his fault really. She was a good girl. A boring girl. She knew better. But for some inexplicable reason all sense, not to mention sensibility, left her when she was around Hank Green. And when he’d dropped to his knees in front of her, his lips drifting up her inner thigh as he worked his way toward . . .

  “Cassandra,” a voice called out, jolting Cassie from her delicious daydream and spilling her drink in the process. And it wasn’t just the interruption that sent Pinot Grigio dribbling down the front of her peasant top, it was the realization of what was about to happen. There was only one person who called Cassie by her full name . . .

  “Mom,” she said as she turned to find her mother headed her way. She was wearing a form-fitting, charcoal gray cocktail dress and carrying a mason jar filled to the brim with what Cassie hoped was merely lemonade. Her mother was a bit of a challenge sober, but a tipsy Judy was a little more than she could handle at the moment.

  “There you are. I’ve barely seen you since I got here.” Her mother greeted her with a warm smile and a hug. “I’d hoped maybe we could catch up on the way over, but then Emily’s father asked me to ride with them in their car and—”

  “It’s no problem.” Really, it wasn’t. Being the focus of her mother’s nonstop attention was exhausting even on a good day, but considering the fact that her radar might have picked up on the glow Cassie was sporting that had nothing to do with an afternoon at the spa and everything to do with the express train to Hell, the less time for scrutiny the better. “I know you’ve been busy with the Fords, and that’s cool. It’s Matthew and Emily’s big weekend.”

  “A chat with my daughter would have been nice too. Although I’m not sure I could have managed the hayride in this dress.” She laughed a bit as she smoothed a hand over her backside. “Still can’t figure out how I let the sales girl talk me into this one.”

  “You look great, and it’s about time you started showing off all your hard work.” Cassie’s mom had discovered spin classes about the time Cassie moved to Chicago. She’d gotten in great shape although she usually hid it under ma
tronly clothes that made her look far older than her actual age. It was good to see her dressing up a bit more.

  “So what have you been doing all this time?” her mother asked after a healthy sip of whatever was in the jar.

  As if on cue a waiter in jeans and a flannel shirt passed by with a long shallow basket. Cassie nodded to the miniature cupcakes lined up neatly inside. “Making those for starters.”

  Her mother stopped the young man and helped herself to a lemon chiffon. She took a bite and her eyes grew wide. “These are fabulous!” A few crumbs flew as she spoke, leading Cassie to believe there was probably a bit of vodka in that jar of lemonade. “The pay might be less, but I think the switch to baking is going to do wonders for your social life compared to all those late nights crunching numbers.”

  Cassie was about to remind her mom that the bakery was actually taking up more of her time than the firm had, but that was beside the point. What mattered was that she was doing something that made her happy. But before she had the chance, her mother finished her thought.

  “I mean, imagine the man you could catch with these?” She popped the rest of the cupcake into her mouth. “Just be sure not to sample too many or your ass will get as big as this barn.”

  Oh yeah, definitely vodka. Lots and lots of vodka. Ironically, Judy didn’t know how close to the truth she actually was, at least about catching a man. Although to be fair, snagging a hot stranger for a one-night stand probably wasn’t what she meant. Not that the cupcakes brought Hank into Cassie’s life per se, more the bakery itself, although their subsequent burning certainly helped. Or was it the strawberries? Or the innuendos? And while their afternoon at confession had put the one-night stand question to rest, was there such a thing as a one weekend stand? Gah, she was rambling now even when she wasn’t talking! Time to change the subject.

  “Speaking of barns,” Cassie said in a less than smooth transition, “this one looks great, huh?” It was an awkward attempt at diverting the conversation, but the truth was the small one- hundred-year-old barn had been transformed into something quite spectacular. Wooden wagon wheels had been converted into glass-top tables, and bouquets of white tulips had been tied with raffia and placed in the center of each one. On the walls copper lanterns hung from iron hooks casting the room with a soft amber glow, and above them tiny lights stretched from one hayloft to the other like stars twinkling across the night sky. It was personal and romantic and absolutely perfect.