by V. K. Sykes
Enough already.
“Billie, there are lots of kinds of love.” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Not everyone loves the same and not every love is the same.” Oh god, was she even making sense?
“Uh huh,” Billie said dryly.
“Not everyone needs a mad, passionate, sort of thing.”
“Uh huh.”
Bobbi took a moment to calm herself. To fight for that control that she desperately needed because all she wanted to do was smash her fist into Billie’s perfectly made up face. But then that would ruin Billie’s makeup and that wasn’t part of Bobbi’s vision of the perfect wedding day.
Exhale.
I can’t do this.
She tried again. “Not everyone wants that sort of distraction.”
“Distraction?” Billie retorted. “Is that what we’re calling it? Distraction? Wow, you make love sound so clinical, so freaking not important. Whatever happened to mad, passionate, animal magnetism hot as hell love?”
“It’s over rated.” The comeback popped out before she could stop it and one look into Billie’s eyes had Bobbi wishing she had more control over her own tongue.
“Really?” Billie flicked a long piece of hair over her shoulder. “What about sex? How is your sex life with boring I-match-my-boxers-to-my-dress-shirt Gerry? Does he even bring you to orgasm? Does he even know how?”
“Billie Jo Barker, that is none of your business!”
But her sister just shook her head and stepped back. “I didn’t think so.”
Bobbi’s fists clenched so tightly that she winced as her nails dug into the soft skin on her palms. When her sister had the good notion to glance down, Billie took another step back. Her sister may have been the super athlete, the Olympic star. The girl who could skate circles around any guy on the ice, but when it came to down and dirty fighting? No one could take Bobbi.
“I bet you haven’t had sex with him in weeks.”
Bobbi stared at her sister, suddenly and utterly defeated because truthfully, she couldn’t remember the last time she had been intimate with her fiancé.
Not since Shane had come home.
God, could she not think of him already?
Something hot prickled the edges of her eyes and she flew to the mirror, grabbing a tissue as she did so and dabbing at the corner frantically. “Shit,” she whispered hoarsely.
A hand on her shoulder was almost too much and she drew in a quick, jagged breath before turning to her sister.
“I’m getting married to Gerald today, Billie, and I need you to be there for me. Can you do that?”
Bobbi sounded so cold even to her own ears. So damn cold and lifeless.
For a moment Billie said nothing and then she nodded. A quick, jerky kind of thing and grabbed her bouquet.
“I love you, sis and I want you to be happy. But, you’re right. There are all sorts of love, I guess and if marrying Gerry Dooley—“
“Gerald.”
“What?”
“His name is Gerald,” Bobbi ground out. “Not Gerry, or Gerry Berry, or Gerry the guy who-matches-his-boxers-to-his-dress-shirt.” She nailed her sister with ‘the’ look. “It’s Gerald.”
“If Gerald is the one to make you happy then I support you 100 percent.”
A bittersweet smile tugged at Bobbi’s mouth. “Okay, thanks.” She blew out a long, hot breath. “You’ve got dad?” His memory had been better of late and his bad days fewer than month ago. Dementia or Alzheimer’s or whatever the hell you wanted to call it, seemed to have paused in its assault on Travis Barker.
Billie nodded. “Yeah, he’s having a good day. He’ll be waiting at the church. Logan has him.”
“Okay,” Bobbi said brightly, that fake smile she had tucked into her back pocket, secure and in place. “I’ll see you at St. Paul’s.”
Billie nodded and moved toward the door, pausing before she opened it. “It’s never too late to change your mind.”
And then she was gone.
Bobbi stared at the door for so long that her vision began to blur and when she finally pulled herself together, it was time to leave.
With one more glance in the mirror, she grabbed her clutch bag and headed downstairs, where she paused in the foyer and glanced outside. It was February 14th, Valentine’s Day, which she supposed was totally cliché, but when Gerald had suggested a fast engagement, she hadn’t said no. In fact, she’d moved their original spring date up to February from May because deep down, she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to go through with it.
For a second, she stared at her hands, at her shaking fingers, and felt the panic butterflies begin to take flight in her stomach. Oh god, not now. She had to go through with this. She had to.
It was all part of her plan. A plan that had seemed perfectly smart and good and fine until Shane Gallagher had walked back into her life. Though, technically, he wasn’t in her life, he was more or less on the fringes of it, but still…
“Oh honey, you look so grown up it breaks my heart.”
Bobbi glanced down the hall and smiled, her heart turning over at the side of her Gramps. Herschel Barker was dressed to the nines in a white tuxedo, his hair all slicked back and dapper, and—he’d grabbed a black walking stick. He would say it was for looks only but she knew that his right knee was killing him—the cold and damp wasn’t good for his arthritis.
When he scooped her into his arms and hugged her tightly, she let his warmth and love envelop her body. And when she withdrew, his strength fueled her enough that it was easy to smile at him. It was easy to think the day was going to be good and wonderful and everything that a wedding day should be.
In that moment she truly believed that she was doing the right thing. So what if she didn’t exactly enjoy sleeping with her soon to be husband? Marriage wasn’t all about the sex. Hell, just from listening to some of her older girlfriends she’d gleamed that marriage wasn’t always about the love either. It was about feeling secure and in control.
Then why do I keep circling back to the sex thing?
“Damn, Billie,” she muttered.
“Are you ready?” Herschel smiled warmly and offered up her snow-white wrap. Bobbi shrugged into it and nodded, taking her gramps arm and following him out into the cold, Michigan afternoon.
The car was parked out front, already running and warmed up, and it was only a few seconds later that she was inside, and though Herschel must have had the temperature set to some un-godly setting, she was cold. Her hands trembled and her teeth chattered.
But that was normal right? That was just nerves.
There was no music or noise in the car as Herschel carefully maneuvered out of the driveway and headed downtown, toward St. Paul’s. It was in the older section of New Waterford, across the bridge, and it was there that each of the Barker girls had been christened and made their first communions.
It was also the church where their father had married their mother and though she’d long been dead, their love had been…real. Bobbi squeezed her eyes shut as photos from a past long gone, shot into her mind. Images of her mother and father laughing, loving, touching was all she saw and it took a lot of effort for her to push them away.
“We’re here darlin’”
Bobbi leaned back in the car, her gaze on the steps leading up to the church. The walkway had been well shoveled and salted. There wasn’t even a hint of ice, though the glare from the late afternoon sun made everything look cold and harsh.
A shiver rolled over her slight frame when she spied Gerald’s large SUV parked a few feet ahead. Red bows hung off the back end and one had fallen free, no doubt ripped from its mooring by the crisp wind that buffeted vehicle. Her eyes focused on it and she thought that it looked like blood in the snow.
“Bobbi, are you ready?”
Her heart took off at the sound of her grandfather’s voice and her throat was so dry she didn’t think she could answer. Movement caught her peripheral and she glanced back up at the church, her eyes on B
illie as her sister waved, gave the thumbs up, and then disappeared back inside.
For several seconds the only thing Bobbi heard was the rough intake of her breath and the heavy beat of her heart.
“Bobbi?”
She glanced up into the rear view mirror, saw the concern and questions in Herschel’s eyes.
“Um,” she licked her lips and closed her eyes. “Gramps?”
“What is it Bobbi? Are you alright?”
“No,” she whispered, afraid she was going to pass out because it was so hard for her to breathe. She tugged on the edge of her faux fur wrap and wiped beads of sweat from her brow.
“Would you be able to…” but she couldn’t finish her thought. She couldn’t say it out loud.
Herschel turned around, his faded blue eyes intent as he spoke softly, his tone gentle. “Anything, sweets.”
Oh my god, what am I doing?
Just breathe.
“Would you be able to keep driving?”
Herschel stared at her for a few more seconds and for his part not a speck of shock showed on his face. He didn’t say another word. He turned around, cranked the tunes until Big & Rich filled the silence, and as the country duo sang about saving a horse and riding a cowboy, Bobbi felt something inside her break. It broke fast and hard and maybe it should have hurt like hell, but it didn’t.
She leaned back into the seat and closed her eyes, her body like an elastic band that had just been let go. Was it relief? She didn’t know and at the moment she didn’t care. She counted to ten, shaking out her hands while her eyes stuck to the back of her grandfather’s head.
Herschel Barker took off as if the hounds of hell were on his heels, and the old Crown Vic disappeared into the harsh sunlight, leaving behind nothing behind but tire tracks in the snow.
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The Proposition
A Plus One Chronicles Novel
Book One
Jennifer Lyon
Important Note
The Plus One Chronicles is a trilogy that is intended to be read in order:
Book One
The Proposition (released 2/26/2013)
Book Two
Possession (released 5/28/2013)
Book Three
Obsession (coming soon)
Dedication
For all those who refuse to give up. Keep on fighting, and remember that when life gives you lemons, make lemon cupcakes.
Chapter One
Tuning out the music and noise of the wedding reception in full swing, Kat Thayne studied her creation with a critical eye. The custom-designed cake rose in five amazing tiers of snowy white buttercream and was topped with lavender flowers dripping Swarovski crystals. White chocolate doves carried whimsical lengths of lavender ribbons made of dyed spun sugar, which wrapped around the tiers. The effect was soft yet opulently romantic.
Determined to make sure the cake-cutting pictures were killer, she swapped out some starting-to-look-wilted flowers with fresh blooms.
“Ready yet?”
The photographer’s impatient voice cut through her concentration. She blasted him with a glare. “Do I tell you how to set up your shots?”
He gave her an irritated grunt but kept his mouth shut until she closed her tool kit, grabbed the handle and stepped back. Then he snapped into action, treating her cake like a swimsuit cover model as he tested angles for the best shots.
Kat instantly forgave him his earlier pushiness. Treat her sugar babies right and she could overlook most anything.
Getting out of his way, she tucked herself into one of the many corners that the La Jolla, California Opalescent Hotel offered, and surveyed the ballroom. The bride’s theme of Diamond Nights was brought to life with white roses and orchids draped with yards of satin ribbons and spilling out beautifully designed crystals. The night was represented with dramatic lavender lighting pouring down from the domed ceiling glittering with star-shaped crystals.
A perfect stage for the bride in her white sheath gown trimmed with handsewn crystals. She seemed to be basking in the adoration of her guests.
Kat mentally shuddered. The thought of that kind of attention aimed at her made her uneasy. She’d been born into the world of wealth and privilege, but she didn’t fit in and never really had. The work of trying to be something she wasn’t had nearly destroyed her. After a brutal mugging six years ago…
Don’t go there.
She was here to do a job that she loved, not relive old memories.
Instead, she watched the guests who were dressed in stunning gowns and tuxes that rivaled the cost of her car. They milled about, talking and laughing while sipping Cristal champagne. The gowns were true works of art, and she enjoyed studying the lines of the dresses, picturing the scrolls and designs she could replicate on her cakes.
Kat turned her attention to the bride, who was surrounded by her bridesmaids with her tolerant groom trailing behind as she approached the cake. The guests gathered in.
She heard the whispers. Praise for her work floated around her. It was the sweetest, most satisfying sound to Kat.
Then a ripple moved through the crowd with an electric sizzle.
Guests craned their heads, looking past where Kat stood partially hidden by a flower-wrapped column.
Even the bride slowed to eyeball the new arrival.
From her sheltered spot, Kat zeroed in on what had caused the commotion.
In the doorway of the ballroom stood a man. Hitting at least six-and-a-half-feet in height, he towered over everyone in the room. He wore an elegant midnight-black tux without a speck of color to soften it. Even his shirt and tie were black. He looked like Death. Very sexy, very intriguing Death.
Excitement began to stir the crowd, growing and bubbling. All over a man. Kat was immune to the fizzle-charm that always wore thin and died off quickly. But she was human after all, and curious about the man who had the wealth-and-power set practically vibrating. She leaned out from behind the pillar to make sure she didn’t miss anything.
The new arrival shifted seamlessly from his dramatic pause in the doorway into a rolling stride. For a huge man, he moved with surprising fluidity as he made his way past the tables and closer to where Kat stood. Every eye in the room followed his progress.
Instinctively, she pulled back to shield herself in the corner. The tool kit hanging from her hand hit the wall with a dull thump. Crap.
The man slid to a stop, and aimed a potent stare directly at her.
Like chocolate mixed with water, she seized into an immovable clump. His dark, intense eyes stripped her of her usual sense of blending into the background. Exposed her. Captured her. She drank in the sheer magnitude of him: Raven-black hair with a rogue wave, scorching brown irises lit with amber specks. The angles of his face were brutally square. Even his chin was harsh, like rugged cliffs carved by experience.
Her hands itched to trace the wild beauty of his face, to memorize those ruthless lines and recreate them later in one of her cakes.
She heard her own heartbeat in her ears. Her skin tingled, the hair on her arms lifting in an electrified reaction.
Damn, she wasn’t as immune as she thought.
Kat forcibly cut her gaze away, determined to regain control. She hadn’t had that kind of reaction to a man in…well…
Ever.
Reflexively she tightened the fingers of her left hand around the plastic handle of her tool kit and steeled herself to combat this strange attraction sparking inside her. She didn’t date. Couldn’t. Don’t look. He’ll keep moving. I’m just the help. Don’t look. She focused on her cake. Her creation. That seemed to help.
Except
her peripheral vision worked perfectly fine. The man pivoted left.
He was coming toward her.
Every eye in the room shifted with him and landed on her. Oh shit. As long as the focus was on her cakes, or cookies, or even her business in general, she was fine.
Solid.
Totally in control.
His scrutiny seared her skin, creating a sensation of hyperawareness, and that control melted into a pool of nerves and worry. Squashing the urge to run, she summoned her will and faced him.
He was a few feet away, looming over her, trapping her in the corner that only moments ago had been her haven. As he studied her features with singular concentration, it felt like her prison. She breathed in, desperate for calming oxygen.
Instead, the scent of soap and something dark and completely male teased her.
She tried to grasp what he wanted with her. All around her, gorgeous, coiffured women wearing magnificent gowns and jewels filled the room, making her acutely conscious of her lavender-streaked brown hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, her T-shirt and black pants covered by her work apron. So why was he focused on her?
He stopped right in front of her, and Kat desperately fought for a sense of calm that just wasn’t coming.
Relaxing the too-tense muscles of her throat, she asked, “Something I can help you with?” She hoped that sounded aloof to him because to her it came out thin and brittle.
His gaze traveled a leisurely path over her face, down her throat, all the way to her athletic shoes.
It felt like he was visually peeling off her clothes. Kat jerked her tool kit up and wrapped her arms around it to get something solid between them.
Raising his eyebrows, he asked, “Do I know you?”
His voice had a silky bite to it, and his words completely surprised her. She couldn’t imagine having met him and forgotten. Some things may have been wiped from her memory, but him? No one would forget a man that vital. This close, she saw a scar slashing through his left eyebrow, and another bracketed the right side of his harsh mouth. He wasn’t classically handsome, more like savagely beautiful.