The Wedding Band

by Cara Connelly

“He’s angry. He has a right to be.”

  “Don’t defend him—­”

  The door shook under a hammering fist. They eyebrowed each other.

  The fist pounded again. Ray slid off her stool and peered through the window. “You’re kidding me.” She yanked open the door.

  There stood Dakota, larger than life, hot as the devil, and mad as a hornet.

  All the saliva evaporated from Chris’s mouth.

  “What do you want?” Ray threw in his face.

  Kota peeled off his aviators, baring the squint. “I’m looking for her.” He pointed his chin at Chris like a gun.

  “Why?” Ray held her ground bravely, earning Chris’s respect.

  He tightened the squint another dangerous notch. Ray wilted, and Chris found her voice. “Don’t bully her.”

  His eyes widened. “Bully her? I barely opened my mouth.”

  “Don’t play dumb either. You know the power of the squint.” Stepping in front of Ray, she crossed her arms to hide the trembling. “Why are you here?”

  “You called Ma.”

  She lifted her chin. “So?”

  “You riled her up.”

  “Baloney. She was perfectly calm and very pleasant. It’s you who’s riled up. For no reason. I apologized, and that was that. I’m not planning to call her again.”

  He plainly wanted to menace her, but she’d taken the wind from his sails. “Yeah, well, you better not” was the best he could do.

  She pressed her advantage. “I called Sasha too, as you’ll find out soon enough. I apologized, and she graciously accepted. That’s it, it’s done. I’m not trying to be besties.”

  “So you apologized to everybody but me.”

  She dropped her eyes. “I wasn’t sure how to reach you.”

  “I’m standing here now.”

  Yes he was, filling her door like a warrior, steel arms crossed like swords over armor-­plated pecs.

  Gathering her courage, she lifted her gaze to the face she loved. The beautiful, furious face. And her heart broke again, because his jaw was chiseled in granite, his lips pressed flat in an angry line. And his eyes, once as warm and soft as the sea, were a deep and frigid blue.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. Oh God, was she sorry. She’d had it all. She’d held that staggering face in her palms.

  Those arctic eyes had melted for her.

  Now they sneered down on her. “That’s it? Where’s the pantload of excuses you dumped on Ma?”

  “No excuses,” she said simply. “Reasons. Selfish, shortsighted reasons that seemed important then, and ridiculous now.”

  She took a deep breath and went on. “I don’t expect you to care why I did what I did. It’s my actions that matter, and I’m not proud of them. Sneaking into the wedding was stupid and embarrassing. And once we . . .” She made herself look into his eyes, when she wanted to sink through the floor. “Once we got involved, not telling you was unforgivable.”

  “Damn right it was.” He glowered. “So don’t expect it.”

  “I don’t expect anything,” she said. But she wished for everything.

  His glare was acid on raw skin, too painful to endure. “I’m sorry,” she said again, and stepping back, she started to close the door.

  He stopped it with the flat of his hand. “We’re not done yet.” He raked her with his eyes. “You look better,” he said gruffly.

  She didn’t wince, at least not visibly. “A shower will do that.”

  “Why’d you run?”

  “I was embarrassed. I looked like shit. I wasn’t expecting to see you. Take your pick.”

  “I’ll go with embarrassed. You should be.”

  She threw up her hands. “If I had a do-­over, I’d quit my job instead of crashing the wedding. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. Rubbing my nose in it is a waste of your time. I’m doing fine with that on my own.”

  “I doubt that.” He leaned in. “I doubt you realize the damage you caused.”

  She held his fiery gaze. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  “Forget about me,” he said, looming. “Tri won’t eat. The little fucker won’t eat since you left.”

  “Oh my God. Is he in the car?” She tried to look around him, but he filled the frame.

  “Even if he was, what difference would it make? He’d see you once, but it wouldn’t be enough. He’d still miss you. Think about you. Dream about you.”

  She stopped trying to peer around him and looked up into his face. “Kota, I—­”

  “What difference would it make?” he said again, bitterly. “It would only remind him how it was when he thought he could trust you.”

  “But he can.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “He can trust me. I love him.”

  OH, HOW KOTA wanted to believe that. With his whole being, he longed to believe.

  His heart, the same heart that ceased beating on the tarmac two weeks ago, now pumped like a piston. Every muscle, every fiber, strained to reach for her, to hug her to his chest, absorb her through his skin until she sang in his veins.

  He needed to get out of there before he did something stupid.

  “Wait here,” he said, and stalked to the Porsche. He tried to lean in to get her laptop, but Tri was on top of it, dancing on his hind legs like a showgirl. He’d heard that smoky voice too, and like Kota, he’d let his heart get out in front of his head.

  “Forget it,” Kota muttered. “I only brought you along for the fresh air.”

  But the fool dog only got more excited, hopping in a circle, panting like he’d run a marathon. Whining, and Tri never whined unless . . .

  Suspicious, Kota whirled. Christy was right on his heels.

  “Back off,” he snarled.

  “No. Let me see him.” She tried to go around him.

  He blocked her. “He doesn’t want to see you.”

  “You just said he misses me.”

  “That doesn’t mean he wants to see you.” He crossed his arms, ignoring the canine hysteria behind him. “He’s not dumb enough to let you fool him twice.”

  She leveled a look. “Enough already. I’m not throwing myself at you, Kota. I get that you don’t want anything to do with me. But Tri”—­her voice caught—­“I never got to say good-­bye to him.”

  “You don’t deserve—­”

  From behind him, a thud, then a yip. The crazy dog had flung himself over the door and onto the pavement.

  Now he raced around the car and dove at Christy’s leg. She scooped him up to chin level, and he went wild with his tongue as she laughed and cried all at once.

  Only a hard-­hearted bastard would break up their love-­in.

  “Quit it,” he said, swiping Tri from her hands. “Quit teasing him.”

  Her empty arms fell. For a long moment she looked into his face, hers etched with misery. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry I hurt you so badly that you’d hurt Tri to punish me.”

  Is that what he was doing?

  He stuck the squirming dog under his arm. “He doesn’t know you like I do. I’m protecting him.”

  “No, you’re waving him under my nose.” Her shoulders drooped. “I know what I lost, Kota. I can’t think of anything else. I can’t sleep. All I can do is eat, and you see where that’s gotten me.” She waved a hand at herself.

  He used the excuse to eyeball her body, as amazing as ever. He swallowed the saliva that pooled on his tongue. “You look okay,” he said gruffly. “None the worse for wear.”

  She gave a weak little laugh. “This dress hides the second ass I’ve grown.”

  More saliva. “It’s nice. The dress, I mean.” He cleared his throat. “Nice dress.”

  She almost smiled. Then she stiffened her shoulders. “Why are you really here, Kota?”

  Why was
he here, torturing himself, torturing Tri, who wriggled like a worm under his arm?

  He grabbed the laptop and gave it to her.

  “Oh.” Like it was the last thing she expected. “Okay. Thanks.” Tucking it under her arm, she backed up toward the house, and Tri, the traitor, squirmed even harder.

  “Wait,” he blurted, and she paused, sadness and uncertainty written on her face. “Just . . . wait.”

  He took a deep breath. Then, closing the space between them, he held out Tri. She took him with her free arm, and he snuggled against her breast. Lucky bastard.

  Making himself step back, he said sternly, “He’ll overeat if you let him. So don’t, because if he gets fat, he won’t be able to get around.”

  Her eyes had gone wide. Her lips parted, and trembled.

  “He’s lazy,” he added harshly. “He’ll want you to carry him everyplace. Don’t, because—­”

  “He’ll get fat.” A tear slid down one pale cheek. “I won’t let him. I’ll take care of him.”

  “You better.” His voice was rough with emotion. He channeled it into a growl. “Or I’ll be back for him.”

  She buried her nose in Tri’s neck. “I promise I’ll never let anything hurt him.”

  He believed her, but it didn’t make leaving either of them any easier. He bit down on the inside of his cheek. If he didn’t walk away now, he’d bawl like a toddler.

  Then she lifted her gaze, blinking back the tears swimming in her warm caramel eyes. His throat closed up tight.

  And it was a damn good thing, or he’d have spit out something stupid.

  Instead, he whipped open the Porsche’s door and threw himself into the seat, refusing to watch her in the rearview as he burned rubber down the road.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “YOU LEFT TRI with her?” Em thunked her forehead with the heel of her hand.

  “So?” Kota glared at her in the bathroom mirror.

  “So it’s an excuse for you to see her again.”

  “It’s not about me. He was pining for her.”

  “Pining?”

  He gave her a look meant to say her vocabulary was wanting. “It means he was missing her.”

  “I know what it means. And you’re full of shit. You’re the one pining.”

  He didn’t deny it. Instead, he pasted his toothbrush and got busy with it.

  She put a fist on her hip. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Nothing happened,” he mumbled through the foam. Nothing except a hard-­on that hadn’t quit until midnight, when he’d finally taken it in hand.

  “Did she at least say she was sorry?”

  “Yeah.” He rinsed. “She seemed like she meant it.”

  “Did you forgive her?”

  “Hell no!” And he wouldn’t. Not ever.

  “But you left Tri with her.”

  He lowered his brow. “I told you he was pining. The little shit wouldn’t eat.”

  She crossed her arms. “Did you send his food? His specially formulated, hundred-­dollar-­a-­pound food?”

  He scrubbed his face with a towel. “It’s in the car. I’ll drop it off on the way to the studio.”

  Silence. He lowered the towel.

  She eyed him in the mirror. “You’re pathetic.”

  He didn’t deny that either.

  THE HAMMERING ON Chris’s door had a familiar ring to it.

  Heart in her throat, she opened up, afraid he’d changed his mind about Tri, ready to resist if he had.

  Tri scrambled out onto the stoop, wiggling and wagging. Kota scooped him up. “Ready to come home with me, buddy?”

  Tri must have understood him, because if he’d been a baby, he would’ve held out his arms to Chris. As it was, he waved his paw at her frantically.

  She grabbed him and he settled in, happy to gaze lovingly at Kota from the crook of her arm.

  Angling her body to keep him out of Kota’s reach, she said, “He ate. I walked him. He slept with me.” She swallowed. “Please let him stay.”

  Blue eyes studied her. “I want visitation.”

  “Okay.” She’d agree to anything. Cuddled up with Tri, she’d had her first good night’s rest in two weeks.

  Kota bent down and hefted a burlap sack. “His special food.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “Made from common natural ingredients blended together in their most effective proportions?”

  His lips twitched. “Something like that. Where do you want it?”

  “On the counter.”

  He strode into the kitchen and immediately spotted the Viking. He eyed it critically. “Looks like it’s never been used.”

  “I told you I’m useless in the kitchen.”

  “Lot of money for a prop.”

  “I thought I might be a person who cooks.” She shrugged. “I’m not.”

  He studied her. “What kind of person are you?”

  “I’m trying to figure that out.” But it wasn’t somewhere she wanted to go with him. The problem was, he was too easy to talk to. Even now, with an unbridgeable chasm between them, she wanted so much more.

  Shifting Tri to her other arm, she placed a hand on the doorknob, body language for bye now.

  In typical Kota fashion, he ignored it, leaning a hip against the counter. “What about your roommate? She’s okay with Tri? ’Cause if she’s not—­”

  “She’s fine,” Chris cut in. Then honesty won out. “Actually, Ray’s not much of a dog person. But it’s my house. If one of them has to go, it won’t be Tri.”

  He nodded like he believed her, which was progress. Then he glanced at the stove again. “Do you even know how to use it?”

  “I can boil water. And heat up a frozen pizza.”

  He snorted. “That’s like letting a Lamborghini rust out because you can’t drive a stick.” He walked to the stove. Opened the oven door. Closed it. Lifted the teapot to look under it like he was the health inspector.

  She set her teeth. “If it offends you so much, you’re welcome to buy it.”

  “Got my own.” He fiddled with the knobs.

  “Then if there’s nothing else . . .”

  He moseyed away from the stove at last, only to take a turn around the rest of the kitchen, poking in her cupboards, peering into the fridge.

  Objecting would only egg him on, so she held her tongue as long as she could. But when he moved into the living room, she marched after him.

  “If you’re looking for the bathroom,” she said between her teeth, “it’s through there.”

  “I’ll get to it eventually.” He pressed the couch cushions, inspected the TV.

  When he started pawing through her magazines, she blew her stack.

  “Quit handling my stuff!” She set Tri on the couch and used both hands to wrest the magazines out of his. “What’s your problem?”

  The look he gave her said she had the problem. “I’m making sure it’s safe to leave my dog here.”

  “By fingering my magazines? What next, my underwear?”

  Yikes, where had that come from? Her face heated up like a frying pan.

  “Now that you mention it,” he said, straight-­faced, “I want to see your bedroom next.”

  “Like hell.”

  Ignoring her, he headed for the stairs. She charged after him, spiraling up the steps on his heels.

  He paused at the second floor and surveyed the mess.

  “That’s Ray’s room,” she said, defensive, “not that it’s any of your business.”

  He kept climbing. “Tri can’t handle these stairs,” he said, like it was the kiss of death.

  “Yes, he can. He’s right behind me.” Hopping and bopping along, one step at a time.

  Kota stepped into her room, making it feel as small as a dollhouse. Hands on his
hips, he turned a slow circle. “At least it’s clean.”

  Her back went up even higher. “You expected a pigpen?”

  “I didn’t know what to expect.” He seemed to say it to himself. Walking into the bathroom, he flicked on the light.

  Yesterday’s panties hung out of the hamper. She muscled past him and flicked them inside. Then she spun to give him a piece of her mind.

  And the heat in his eyes cut off her rant before it began.

  He turned abruptly and almost tripped over Tri. Scooping him up, he moved back into the bedroom, checking the view out the windows, sticking his head in the closet. He took his sweet time, while she silently counted to a hundred.

  Stopping at last by the unmade bed, he turned to her. The morning light streaming in unfairly cast him in bronze. His cheekbones seemed sharper, his lips fuller. And his steady, assessing gaze reminded her that yoga pants didn’t flatter her ass.

  She crossed her arms. She did that a lot around him. Protecting herself. Standing her ground. “Well?”

  “He can’t get down those stairs.”

  She dropped her arms. “For God’s sake, quit pretending this is about Tri. You’re here to find fault. The stove’s too clean, the bathroom’s too messy. The stairs are too steep.”

  “You’re paranoid.”

  “You’re full of shit.”

  His brow lowered. “Don’t cuss at me.”

  “I’ll cuss if I want to.” The infuriating man. “You’re full of shit, and you’re being an asshole.”

  He took a threatening step, shrinking the room. “You’re nobody to talk. You’re a sneak and a liar. Some ­people might call you a whore.”

  She drew herself up, trembling in every cell. “I’ll own the first two, but you know I’m no whore. You know it.”

  “Do I?” He advanced. “You had sex with me while you were grubbing around for a story.”

  “First of all, I didn’t go to the island for the story. And if you’ll recall, I tried not to have sex with you. You seduced me, with all your . . . your muscles.”

  “If you’ll recall, it wasn’t my muscles that did it for you. You”—­his pointing finger damned her eternally—­“got off on watching my brother have sex.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. Embarrassment, and anger too. “You didn’t complain at the time.”