Engaged in Trouble (Enchanted Events Book 1)

by Jenny B. Jones

“Yes.”

  “I do so love a good wingding.”

  And I loved to make him smile.

  “Hey,” I said, “did I tell you I talked to Zoey and her boyfriend at a wedding earlier this week? Zoey said that—”

  “Paisley?”

  A drop of water fell from my hair to my bare shoulder. “Yes?”

  “Can we talk about this when you’re not naked?”

  I blinked. “That seems reasonable.”

  Beau took one last perusal before retreating. “Meet me downstairs in twenty?”

  “I’ll bring underwear.”

  It took me a half hour, but I threw myself together as quickly as I could. With smoky eye makeup and glossy red lips, I slipped into a sparkly full-length gown I’d once worn to Jaz’s Grammy party a few years ago. It traveled with me everywhere because one never knew when one needed to celebrate. And because it was the next thing I was going to hock when the money ran out. With no time to straighten my curls, I piled them on top of my head and let the ringlets and waves fall in a messy cascade. A final spritz of perfume, a necklace dripping with stones that wanted to be diamonds, and I slipped into my electric blue heels to glide down the creaking stairs.

  Where Beau stood waiting. Like a dark angel come to sweep me away to his mysterious underworld.

  “You look . . .” He viewed me the way I imagined Fielding’s fans looked at his paintings. “Stunning.”

  His words were a balm to my thirsty soul. “Thank you. You’re quite handsome yourself.” And he smelled divine.

  “I like the hair.” He reached up and plucked a curl again, letting his finger run the length of it before it sprang back to its curvy shape. “You should wear it like this more often.”

  “And you should wear a suit more often. Might bring more ladies out to Fox Falls.”

  “Always looking for ways to expand business.”

  Beau held the door open, and with his hand pressed to my back, we walked to the porch like the couple that we weren’t. Like he wasn’t sort of dating someone else. Like I wasn’t on the verge of being arrested for murder.

  As my heels beat a staccato pattern on the wooden planks of the porch, a familiar dark sedan drove by, the windows down.

  Beau and I both watched as Detective Ballantine crawled by, his elbow sticking out the window before he threw up a slow wave. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his Aviator glasses, but I knew they matched the smirk on his mouth.

  “Come on, Sutton.” Beau’s hand softly rubbed the skin of my bare back as Ballantine cruised past. “Don’t think about the investigation tonight.”

  His fingers sent heated frissons of electricity that almost made me forget about the case.

  Almost.

  But I had to stay focused and not get distracted.

  My life depended on it.

  * * *

  The Sugar Creek Civic Center was a brick and native stone structure designed to blend into the wooded surroundings. It held about three hundred people and had provided a prime celebration location for former presidents, Arkansas celebrities who had made it big, as well as locals who wanted a beautiful location to hold a wedding or reception. Tonight’s gala was all about celebrating Mitchell Crawford, a Sugar Creek citizen who’d made his wealth from his cattle ranch and shared his prosperity with numerous recipients such as the library, schools, and local charities. According to Emma, this event commemorated his seventieth birthday, but it also saluted his thirty years of philanthropy.

  Beau wheeled his cherry red pickup truck flawlessly into a parking spot, as if it was no bulkier than a Prius. I had no idea how he drove his gigantic beast of a vehicle, let alone parked it between two narrow yellow lines. I could barely park my small car without a few re-dos. What I did know was that I had spent the last five minutes inhaling the scent of him and stealing furtive glances as he drove. The boy sure cleaned up nice.

  It was strange to have this impression of high school Beau in my head, a picture I kept comparing to Adult Beau. But Adult Beau was definitely all grown-up, with a strong chin that lifted when he was deep in thought, chiseled cheek bones that beckoned a hand to trace, and those dimples that appeared all too infrequently. His eyes still held mischief, just as they had when we were sparring children, but now they reflected his protective nature, his loyalty, and unspoken stories he unwittingly carried like the shrapnel in his leg. On the drive, I kept finding myself asking Beau questions just to hear his voice. It was a voice that could narrate books—and a girl’s fantasies.

  Beau shut off the engine, and I realized I was still staring at the man. “Um . . .” I flipped down his visor mirror and pretended to check my makeup. “Thanks again for coming with me tonight.”

  His eyes found mine in the dimming lights of the cab. “My apology is complete after this.”

  “Your jerkiness is totally forgiven at the stroke of midnight.”

  “I’m not staying that long, superstar.”

  I snapped the mirror shut. “We stay as long as it takes to talk to Mr. Chandler.”

  “You can, but I’m out of here by ten.”

  “So you can take your next dose of hemorrhoid meds?”

  Beau rolled those beautiful blue eyes. “So I can go to sleep.”

  He yawned into his hand, and I immediately felt contrite. Poor guy really was exhausted. We needed to go in and conquer while he was still upright and conscious.

  Jazz music swelled around us as Beau held open the door and we stepped inside. The place was already packed with the who’s who of Sugar Creek and the surrounding cities.

  “Paisley! Beau!” Emma, wearing a stunning red gown that showed off her hourglass waist, held out her arms for a hug.

  My cousin and I met in a loose embrace, as it went without saying that neither one of us wanted to muss hair or dress. And my dress was a little tight. One wrong move, and my weak seams would call it quits. I’d given up my entertainment biz way of eating since landing in Arkansas, and my clothes were starting to protest.

  “Hello, Noah,” I said to her handsome fiancé. “Quite the swanky affair for Sugar Creek.”

  “We know how to throw a party.” He looked at his friend Beau. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “TV was all reruns tonight,” Beau said dryly.

  “Noah, are you counting the days ’til your wedding?” I asked.

  “Can’t wait to make this woman my wife.” He smiled at his fiancée.

  Emma grinned. “Since he’s my boss, it’ll finally put an end to all that workplace harassment.”

  “But Emma tells me some of your vendors have quit at the last minute, Paisley,” Noah said. “Everything’s still on track for our big day, right?”

  “Of course.” I tried to radiate confidence and assurance. “Your wedding’s going to be perfect.” I hoped.

  As the two guys began to talk kayaks and catfish, Emma leaned toward my ear. “Quite the hot date you have there.”

  “We’re just friends.” And barely that. “He’s doing me a favor.”

  “Uh-huh. Oh, I bet he is.”

  “Geez, Emma.”

  “Hey, Sylvie has thrown all her international crime-fighting energy into matchmaking. And if you think it’s just coincidence you’re living with a mere wall separating you and GI Gorgeous, you are woefully naïve.” She inclined her head toward Noah. “How do you think we got together?”

  “You shared front row tickets to a Cher concert?”

  “Sylvie strategically placed me in a rental house right by Noah.”

  “She can scheme all she wants. Beau and I are not going to be a couple.”

  “He hasn’t taken his eyes off you.”

  “He’s barely even awake.” But when I glanced back Beau’s way, those romance hero eyes were watching me. He gave a slow, lazy smile, and set the butterflies in my stomach to flapping. I had to snap out of it. “Have you seen Sasha’s father yet?”

  “Yes.” Emma scanned the crowd. “He got here about a half hour ago. The bad news
is his wife is stuck to his side like Velcro. The good news is the guy is already pretty tipsy.”

  Maybe that was good. Alcohol could loosen lips.

  “Just be careful tonight,” Emma said.

  “Always.”

  “So my wedding is still all set, right?”

  “It’ll be magical,” I promised.

  She inhaled with relief and nodded. “Okay, Mr. Mayor,” she said, rejoining Noah. “Take me to the dance floor.”

  “Anything for one of my voters.” Noah pressed a kiss to her cheek, then led her away.

  This left Beau and me standing there under a canopy of balloons and awkwardness. Suddenly I was that twelve-year-old girl at the Sugar Creek Junior High School spring dance, two-stepping with Justin Dashner but wishing that football player Beau Hudson would cut in. But I hadn’t been his type. And I still wasn’t.

  “Well,” I said. “What do you want to do?”

  “Cruise by the buffet, grab some hot wings, then take a nap in my truck.”

  “If you’re the one in charge of your dating activities with Haley, I can see why you’re having problems.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Let’s get this dancing requirement over with so I can go home and crash.”

  “If you snore on my shoulder, I get to be mad at you again.”

  “Deal.” His calloused hand reached for mine, a thumb sliding over my palm.

  Probably just an accident.

  I followed him through the large room of minglers, past tables of people noshing on appetizers, and finally to the ballroom. With my newly trained event-planning eye, I took in the lighting, the music, the flowers, and the general vibe of the partygoers. I think even Henry would’ve approved. But he also would’ve found ten ways to make it better. A few ideas came to my mind, and I smiled at what I’d turned into. This event planning was getting in my blood. Maybe I could somehow use those skills back in Los Angeles.

  A fedora-wearing DJ set up in a corner was spinning hits beneath flashing lights. A familiar slow song poured out of the speakers, a tune about a lost love waiting in California. The floor emptied of everyone except couples who immediately entwined and moved to the music.

  “Slow dance number one,” Beau said, guiding us to an empty spot.

  He pulled me in close, with one hand pressed to the low curve of my back and the other bringing my fingers to rest on his heart. He seemed to have this slow dancing thing down, and I wondered where he’d gotten all the practice. My hand on his chest felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, but also the firm muscle beneath his shirt.

  “So, I guess you go to a gym.” My conversation skills were a thing of brilliance tonight.

  “Yeah, I suppose,” Beau said. “It’s called the outdoors.”

  Well, it was certainly working for him.

  “Noah said Detective Ballantine stopped by his office today.”

  Beau’s words were a bucket of ice over my head. “Is it too much to hope for that they talked town infrastructure and zoning ordinances?”

  “Said Ballantine really quizzed him about you.”

  “I barely know Noah.” What I knew of him was through Emma.

  “Yesterday Ballantine spoke to Patrice Bradshaw at Sugar Creek Winery.”

  I managed a fake smile for a passing couple. “I don’t even know who that is.”

  “Apparently she’s the one who sold you a few cases of champagne.”

  I’d give anything to get a refund on that moment. “The good detective’s going to have to expand his suspect list to someone besides me if he’s going to solve the murder.” This topic was as appetizing as soured milk. “But I don’t see signs of that happening. It’s like he’s already made up his mind. I’m starting to lose hope.”

  “You have plenty of things to be hopeful about. For one, you have Sylvie and Frannie on your side. On the miniscule chance you go to prison, they’d find a way to overtake the whole place and get you out.”

  “After you got shot—did you ever want to just give up?”

  His arm stiffened around me, but he answered. “Lots of days.”

  My eyes held Beau’s. “How long was your recovery?”

  “Physical therapy was six months.”

  “And you’re still working on the emotional aspect?”

  His left foot stumbled slightly, and he looked away. “This topic bores me. Did I tell you about the new biking trails at Fox Falls?”

  “Do you ever talk to your old Army buddies?”

  “No.” He sounded completely bored now.

  I angled my head to watch him. “Don’t they ever call you?”

  Those tired eyes hardened. “Sometimes.”

  “You don’t pick up the phone?”

  “I’m very busy.”

  I was close enough to inspect that stubbled, and oh-so-stubborn jaw. “Maybe if you talked to some of your team, you’d feel better. About things.”

  “I don’t need to feel better about anything, Paisley. Next topic.”

  “Beau, what you went through had to have been devastating on so many levels and—”

  “Look, pop princess.” Beau brought us to a halt so quickly my heels landed on his shoes. “I promised you my attendance and a few spins around the dance floor. I did not promise conversation that mined the emotional depths. Pick another topic or I’m done.”

  Pain shimmered like faint snowflakes around him, an almost physical thing I could reach out and touch. “Okay, fine. Cranky.” I removed all sympathy from my voice. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Sports.”

  “How about you talk about it, and I just nod my head like I’m listening?”

  His chest beneath my hand rumbled with a laugh as he set us back into motion. “Okay, then you pick the topic. But not about me.”

  “You come with a lot of rules.”

  “It’s part of my allure.”

  I ignored that sarcasm, my brain still idling on Beau and his battle scars. Swimming for safer shores, I decided to pick a harmless topic, regaling him with details from the very lively steampunk wedding we’d put on that week, a colorful, creative joining of two lit English lit professors. He laughed as I told him about their unusual music choices and the three-year-old golden retriever who wore a monocle and cape as he trotted down the aisle with the rings.

  “You sound like you’re enjoying the wedding business.” Beau’s voice tickled my ear.

  “It has its moments.”

  The song ended, and a country ballad took its place. Beau kept us moving, not missing a beat. He might’ve been all muscle and steel, but even with a slight limp, he moved with a natural grace that defied logic. Held so close, I gave in and rested my head on his chest, feeling both safe and unguarded. I couldn’t fall for this man. I needed to keep my eye on my goals. Saving my own neck was priority one. And if I wasn’t careful, walking away from Beau could wreck what was left of my heart.

  “You’re awfully quiet.” His voice was rumpled-sheets sexy. “What are you thinking about?”

  You. Me. Making a big, hot mistake. “I was wondering why Detective Ballantine cruised by the house earlier.”

  “Let it go for tonight, Sutton.”

  Now that I had brought it up, I couldn’t. “Was it to intimidate me?”

  “Probably.”

  His agreement came way too easily. “Or because he has new incriminating evidence and wants to arrest me?”

  “If he wanted to arrest you, he would.”

  “But what if he’s baiting me? Enjoying this?”

  “Maybe he is.”

  “And what if I go to jail?”

  “We won’t let that happen.”

  We. “And what if—”

  “Paisley, would you just be quiet?” And with that, Beau lowered his lips to mine, stopping one more word from falling out, and I forgot the rest of my queries.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Beau’s kiss lit my system with electricity, and every thought leapt from my brain. E
very thought but this man. Oh, this man. Good heavens, he could kiss. It was fiery, yet tender. Slow, yet pulse frenzying.

  His lips slid across mine as though they’d been waiting, wondering, and were going to take their sweet time to explore. My heart dissolved into vapor, and I leaned into the kiss with every bit of neediness, loneliness, and heat I had. It was pleasure to feel his mouth on mine, but even more pleasure to be taken away from dark thoughts that had been swirling in my mind.

  My fingertips slipped into the softness of his hair as he changed the angle of the kiss. He held my face in his hands, and his thumbs brushed my cheeks. It was nearly too much, an undertow that wouldn’t let me go.

  Until Beau’s lips stilled.

  He lifted his head, his gaze fused to mine.

  Breathe, Paisley. I was barely capable of words. “What was that?”

  “Distraction technique.”

  It was hard to play it cool when you were about to have a stroke in his arms. “Something you learned in the military?”

  His focus slipped to my lips. “We soldiers do whatever we need to do.”

  Slowly, I released my breath. “I thank you for your service.”

  Beau’s hand holding mine, he spun me out, then reeled me back in. “You need to chill out, Sutton.”

  “And you think that helped?”

  “You were two what-ifs from hysterical.”

  My head filled with glitter and clouds as I mentally replayed that kiss, and I barely heard the DJ announce the next song. I floated on the moment, letting myself enjoy being in a handsome man’s arms. A handsome man who had just kissed me.

  But then the next song began, and it opened with a too familiar melody.

  Because Jaz and I had helped write it.

  “Isn’t this one of the Electric Femmes’ songs?” Beau asked.

  I untangled from his arms, but his hand captured mine, holding me to my spot. “Yeah, it went to number one seven years ago.” And was now considered retro. Vintage.

  “Why don’t you sing a little?”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  “I never hear you sing.”

  “It’s not like we hang out a lot. Besides, I’d hate to burden you with my brilliance.”