Seduction Game

by Pamela Clare

  “I better go say good-bye to Matt,” she said. “It looks like he’s leaving. Poor guy. It can’t be fun to be here when you’re in the middle of a divorce.”

  Nick’s gaze followed her as she walked away.

  Lee walked up to him, a glass of scotch in his hand. “This is kind of different for a bachelor party—no strippers, married guys hanging with their wives, single guys bringing dates, groom snuggling up to his bride.”

  Nick grinned at Lee’s confusion. “Why would I want to watch some other woman take off her clothes when I have Holly?”

  Lee glanced over at Holly, then back at Nick. “Yeah. I’ve got nothing.”

  Joaquin, Holly’s friend from the newspaper, walked up to Nick, shook his hand. “Congratulations, man. I’m so happy for the two of you. I’m glad Holly found someone good, someone who really cares about her. She and I—we had a special friendship.”

  Nick frowned. “How special?”

  Joaquin held up his hands in mock surrender. “Not that kind of special. We were just friends, man, but good friends, you know?”

  “Shut your mouth!”

  Nick heard Holly’s shout, looked in time to see her slap her father across the face.

  The room fell silent.

  “Excuse me.” Nick strode to her side, the crowd making way for him. “Is something wrong, honey?”

  Holly’s face was flushed red, her body rigid and shaking. “My dad has had too much to drink. He was just leaving.”

  “What did he do, Holly?”

  Tears gathered in her eyes, but she didn’t answer.

  Nick’s father stepped closer to Holly, rage on his face, his gaze fixed on Holly’s father. “He said things that no man should say to any woman, especially his own daughter.”

  “I overheard him.” Mike repeated what her father had said, but spoke quietly and in Georgian so that others needn’t hear. “He said, ‘You made those pretty tits of yours pay off, didn’t you? It’s a pity you never let me touch them. You better let your husband do what he wants with them, or he’ll go in search of new pussy.’”

  Nick had to fight not to punch her father in his filthy mouth, his fists already clenched. Aware that everyone was watching, he kept his voice calm. “You are to leave the party this instant. You are disinvited from the wedding. If you show up tomorrow, you’ll be escorted off the property. I don’t want you around my wife. I don’t want you around our children. Leave here now, and don’t let either of us see your face again.”

  He felt the crowd shift, knew his brothers were behind him—and not only his brothers, but Lee, too, and Holly’s friends.

  Hunter walked up behind Holly’s father. “Hey, Darcangelo, you want to help me take out the trash?”

  “Yeah. Something stinks,” Darcangelo said, coming to stand at Hunter’s side.

  Holly’s father glared at Nick. “Don’t think you can push me around. I outrank you in every way—military rank, money, social class. I have friends in Washington who could make your life very difficult.”

  “Really, dawg?” Javier stepped up. “I hang out at the Pentagon. Yeah, I go to meetings at the White House, too. I’ve never heard anyone mention your name. But I have heard them talk about your amazing daughter and her man. Now get a move on. Nobody wants you here.”

  Hunter gave the man a shove. “Move.”

  “Don’t touch me, or I’ll call the cops.”

  Darcangelo flashed his badge. “Dude, we are the cops.”

  Holly’s father, surrounded by men who wanted to kick his ass, turned and stomped out the door.

  Nick handed Lee a twenty. “Make sure he gets a cab.”

  Lee refused to take the money. “I got it.”

  Nick turned to his guests, his gaze passing over Holly’s mother, who sat at the bar watching, indifference on her face. “Sorry for the interruption, everyone. It’s over. Please just enjoy yourselves.”

  He looked down to see his mother standing beside Holly. “Don’t you think about him,” she was saying. “You have other family now.”

  “You have a huge family.” Mike gave Holly a teasing smile. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  Nick took Holly’s hand, drew her into his arms. “I’m sorry for what he did, and I’m sorry for how I reacted. If you want him at the wedding—”

  She looked up at him, pressed her fingertips to his lips. “No. I don’t want him there. Thank you for doing what I should have done years ago.”

  “Do you want me to take you home?”

  She wiped the tears from her cheeks, smiled. “Are you kidding? This is our party. I don’t want to let him spoil it for us. I want to enjoy it.”

  * * *

  Nick stood with his father, brothers, and Lee, his best man, on the eighteenth floor of Denver’s Clock Tower. The place was full to capacity, most of their hundred or so guests already in their seats, the room illuminated by candles and by the lights that shone on the four giant clock faces that made up the center of each of the room’s four walls. Flowers decorated the aisles, two large standing bouquets of roses marking the front where Nick and Holly would stand.

  Nick turned to Lee. “Is my tie straight?”

  “Chill.” Lee adjusted it. “It’s fine. You look good.”

  Of course, Holly had chosen the tux—Armani or something. Black shirt, black vest, black tie, black jacket and trousers.

  “Why are you getting married inside a giant clock, brother?” Mike asked.

  “It’s part of the theme of the wedding,” Reece answered when Nick didn’t. “Time is precious. Carpe diem and all of that.”

  Reece was officiating—Holly’s idea. She’d wanted someone who knew them well, someone who could handle public speaking, to be the one to marry them. Reece had been more than happy to do it, in part because it was Holly who’d brought Reece and Kara together.

  “I remember when I married Marie,” said Tomas. “I was afraid I was going to hyperventilate, I was so nervous.”

  Nick glared at his oldest brother. “I’m not nervous.”

  “You hear that?” Peter laughed. “Nick says he’s not nervous.”

  “Quit teasing your brother,” Papa said. “Of course he’s nervous. Every man is nervous on his wedding day.”

  But Nick had no idea why he was nervous. He didn’t have any doubts about his bride. Everything was handled and under control. He didn’t have anything to do today besides say his lines—and they weren’t difficult. But, yeah, he was nervous. Hell, he’d felt calmer before combat than he did at this moment.

  “I want this to be perfect for Holly,” he said, putting words to his unease. “I want her to know how special she is to me.”

  “Yeah, because that rock she’s wearing on her finger isn’t enough,” said Jacob.

  “Ignore Jacob.” His father patted him on the back. “It is a big responsibility becoming a husband. Your happiness depends for the rest of your life on her safety and her well-being and then that of children when they come along.”

  When his father put it that way . . .

  “Just enjoy today. You have every day of the rest of your life to show her how much she means to you, Nika. Ah, look. Your mother is here. Your bride must be here, as well. I’d best take my seat.”

  Right on time.

  “See you in a bit.” Jacob shook his hand.

  Tomas, Peter, and Mike did the same, then disappeared down the aisle, leaving Nick standing with Lee and Reece.

  A hush fell over the room, and the harpist began to play.

  The bridesmaids and groomsmen walked down the aisle in pairs, followed by his oldest nephew and godchild, Nicholas, who was the ring bearer. Then a troop of tiny flower girls appeared—his nieces, as well as Marc and Sophie’s Addie and Tessa and Julian’s Maire. They tossed petals every which way, drawing “awws” from the guests as they passed.

  Then, there she was—Holly, his precious, beautiful Holly.

  She took his breath away, made his mind go blank. God, he was so in
love, his pulse pounding for her. Dressed in simple white, she was an angel, her veil floating around her face like gossamer, a sweet smile on her lips.

  She walked herself down the aisle, came to stand beside him, her small hand sliding into his, the white roses of her bouquet giving off a heady scent.

  “You are the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.” He took her hand, raised it to his lips, kissed it. “I love you so much.”

  She reached up with one hand, cupped his jaw. “If your face had been the last thing I saw in this life, it would have been enough. You’re everything to me.”

  Reece cleared his throat. “I also have a few things to say.”

  Soft laughter.

  Reece welcomed everyone to the ceremony then began to speak, but his words seemed to drift around Nick, whose gaze was fixed on Holly’s. A light seemed to shine in her eyes, her face glowing with happiness.

  “They chose this location for a reason. Love has taught them that time is precious. From one moment to the next, none of us know what might happen. Life can change in an instant . . . Time brought them together, and it very nearly tore them apart, a few seconds making the difference between death and life, an end and a beginning . . . The most meaningful part of our lives are the simple everyday moments we spend with the people we love . . . Tonight, we celebrate their love and witness their vows. This is their time, their special moment, but it’s a special time for those of us who love them, too.”

  And then it was time to speak their vows.

  Holly said, “I do,” and Nick managed to do the same. She slid a platinum band onto his finger; he slid one onto hers.

  “By the power vested in me by the State of Colorado, I pronounce you husband and wife.”

  Nick lifted the veil, lowered his lips to hers, drank in the taste of her.

  “And the groom is already kissing the bride.”

  All around them, applause and cheers rang out. Then the clock bells chimed the hour, sounding across Denver. It was just one moment in time, one happy moment in what everyone there knew would be the happiest of happily ever afters.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I started writing this story in January 2014. As it turns out, my former mother-in-law’s death that month was not the only tragedy the year had in store for my family. In April, I was diagnosed with Stage 1C breast cancer and, soon thereafter, a parathyroid adenoma, a benign kind of tumor.

  Writing on this story came to a halt as I endured three surgeries, twelve weeks of chemotherapy and twenty-five sessions of daily radiation in an effort to beat the disease. I forgot the plot. I forgot what I’d written. Between doses of painkillers and anti-nausea meds, I felt I would never be able to write again.

  A few weeks after finishing radiation and a little more than three months after finishing chemotherapy, I opened the story again, and the words poured out. I finished the book in three months and three weeks—a record for me. Whether the story had been gestating that entire time or whether I simply had a rush of creative energy after feeling so terrible and suffering so much pain for so long, I can’t say.

  But my arriving at that moment came as the result of a thousand acts of kindness from family, friends, fellow authors, and readers. I was able to write this book because I survived cancer and treatment and had the opportunity to write it.

  It would be impossible to list the names of all the people who sent cards and gifts. I wish we’d kept some kind of gift registry, but keeping track of it all was truly overwhelming for someone who was healing from repeated surgeries and in treatment. Still, I read every card, every email, every Facebook post, and I kept everything you all sent me. Your gifts and cards are in a special box. I kept it all so that I could remember the love you poured into me during those dark and terrible months.

  Still, there are those whose kindness and generosity were so stunning and constant that I must single them out.

  Many thanks to my mother, Mary, my beautiful sister, Michelle, and my son Benjamin for their support and care day in and day out after my surgeries and during treatment. Thanks to my brother David for the impromptu trip to Mount Rushmore. It’s a rare bright spot in a very dark year.

  Heartfelt thanks to: Grace Burrowes, Jackie Turner, Marie Force, Thea Harrison, Hestelle Bonthuys, Jenn LeBlanc, Courtney Milan, Libby Murphy, Robin Covington, Kimberly Kincaid, Kaylea Cross, Marliss Melton, Kristin Daniels, Jane Porter, Norah Wilson, Joyce Lamb, Roxanne St. Claire, Julie James, and the clergy and parishioners at St. John’s Episcopal Church in Boulder for their generosity and their compassion. Your kindness, your messages, your emails, and your prayers were a lifeline.

  Thank you to the more than twelve hundred members of the Facebook I-Team group, who gathered in a virtual waiting room each time I had chemo, who let me vent, who encouraged me every day during the course of my treatment. I am so lucky to know all of you and to be able to hang out with you every day. You are such special people, and I am blessed by your friendship. Plus, ducklings.

  Thank you to every one of the many dozens of authors and readers who donated to the Good Food Fund that delivered meals to the house during chemo so that I didn’t have to cook, and to those who donated to my medical expense fund. Not being able to write is devastating for an author’s finances, and without your help, this time would have been so much more difficult.

  Thank you to Brian Grable and Dana Lightsey, two childhood friends who came back into my life bringing understanding and emotional support at a time when I needed it most. I’m so happy to be back in touch with both of you. The older I get, the more I value the misspent days of my youth.

  Many thanks to Oakland Childers for visiting me at home when I was on reverse isolation and so many other friends had simply disappeared.

  Thank you to my dear friends and family in Denmark, whose love and friendship is with me every day despite the distance.

  Thank you to my precious cousin Kymber, for the cards she sent from everywhere on her exciting travels, and my talented cousin Madison Daniel, who treated me like a heroine in some mythic battle rather than a sick person. CousinFest?

  Additional thanks to all my friends at RBL Romantica. You put together a box of cards and gifts and treats that lifted my spirits at the most difficult point of this journey. I cried while I read each card, held each gift. I didn’t cry when I ate the treats, however.

  Thank you to the authors who put together a boxed set as a fund-raiser for me, helping me to end the year without overwhelming medical debt: Dianna Love, Norah Wilson, Bonnie Vanak, Joan Swan, Elisabeth Naughton, Cynthia Eden, Mary Buckham, Adrienne Giordano, Stephanie Rowe, and Tracey Devlyn. What a crazy-kind thing to do.

  A very special thank you to the people who helped me get back into writing by helping in one way or another with this book: Benjamin Alexander, Norah Wilson, Heather Doherty, Joyce Lamb, Michelle White, Jackie Turner, Shell Ryan, Sue Zimmerman, Kristi Ross, and Amy McBurnie.

  Special thanks to Russ Shumway and Terry Gudaitis for sharing their expertise with me on all things decryption and CIA. Any mistakes in this work are my doing and not theirs.

  I hope to repay the kindness I received with acts of generosity to those in need. If last year taught me anything, it’s that kindness truly matters. It can lift up hearts, lessen pain, and even save a life.

  Thank you, all!

  Pamela Clare

  May 3, 2015

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