The Stand-In

by Leo, Rosanna

  His deep voice made her heart commence a series of acrobatics in her chest. “Hello, Patrick. I’m not dressed as a pirate today.”

  “Oh, yeah? What are you wearing? Gimme detail.”

  “Hmm. Lederhosen and thick, woolen tights.”

  “Oh, mama,” he answered on a growl. “And Birkenstocks?”

  “Of course.”

  He made choking noises, as if having a lust-inspired heart attack. “No, really. What are you wearing?”

  “None of your business, you horn dog.” She paused, remembering her grandfather’s advice. “You really want to take me to a wedding?”

  “Well, to be precise, it’s just the reception. They had the wedding a month ago in a civil ceremony because the groom travels a lot. Just an excuse for them to throw another lavish party for people they don’t know. So you won’t have to worry about passing out because no actual vows will be said.”

  “Always a plus.”

  “Exactly. Only there’s one caveat.” He paused and she almost heard him grinning from ear to ear. “You have to wear the pirate outfit.”

  “Is it a pirate wedding?”

  He sighed. “Sadly, no. It’s at my parents’ club.”

  “La-dee-da.”

  “Come on, Winn. I hate these things. Being with you makes them slightly less unbearable.”

  “I’m touched.”

  “I’m wearing you down with my charm, aren’t I?” He chuckled at his own joke but she heard the tense inhalation of breath that followed. “Look, I know we promised to keep things professional and I’m prepared to live up to our agreement. But when I realized I had to attend this thing, I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather take. You know, in the interests of continuing my Macarena training.”

  She let out a giggle, as warmth infiltrated her bones, making her giddy. “Very well. In the interests of continuing your Macarena training.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll send you the details.” He paused. “While we’re on the subject of nuptials, have you had any more panic attacks? I’ve been…concerned.”

  She sucked in a breath and her eyelids fluttered. Stupid, weak eyelids. “No. Not for a few days.”

  “Good. I didn’t want to give you reason to have another one.”

  “Oh, I’ll be all right. And anyway, you managed to talk me down from the ledge before.”

  “I’m glad I was able to help.” Was that relief she heard in his lilt or had she made it up? “I appreciate you doing this, Winn.”

  “Finally a wedding where I can have a drink and relax. It sounds fun.”

  “Yeah, you haven’t met my family yet. Take care, Busby. Talk to you soon.”

  “Bye, Patrick.”

  Had she seriously just used her flirty voice in signing off? And after she’d told him they could, under no circumstances, flirt with each other anymore?

  Yep. It seemed she didn’t know how to stop flirting with him. Her horny eyelids were obviously in cahoots with her voice box and dumb heart.

  Maybe joining him for another wedding wasn’t such a good idea.

  * * * *

  “Would you unzip me?”

  Winn gawked at him as he emerged from the dressing room. “Patrick!”

  He stood in the suit-store-fitting area and held out his hands in mock surrender. “What? When I came to your dress fitting, I helped unzip you.”

  She cocked a blonde brow. “Yes, but I couldn’t reach the zipper at my back. You’re asking me to unzip your fly.” Her gaze dropped toward his crotch and made the slow journey back up to his face.

  “It was worth a shot.” He tried not to smile but seeing her blush made it difficult. “Ah, come on, Winn. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

  “When I agreed to come to your tux fitting, I didn’t sign up for adventure.” She cast a glance up and down his frame once more, her gaze lingering here and there, despite how much she tried to disguise her interest. “So, this is the tux. You look nice.”

  A compliment. Sure, she’d delivered it in her I’m-here-in-a-strictly-platonic-way voice, but it was still a compliment. “Thanks.” He loosened his bow tie. “I hate black-tie affairs. So damned stuffy.”

  “Can’t you just wear a suit?”

  “Nah. Sierra would kill me. It would interfere with her master plan for party of the century.”

  “Sierra is your cousin, right?”

  He moved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Yeah, somewhere down the line. I forget now.”

  “Your sense of family is heartwarming.”

  He rolled his eyes but then pinned his gaze on her. “I appreciate you coming to this thing with me. I can’t promise it’ll be as fun as Elena’s or Sunshine’s weddings, and it’ll certainly involve less strippers and pirates.”

  “More’s the pity,” she replied, laughing. “I’m sure it’ll be a beautiful reception.”

  “Oh, it will. I fully expect doves and harpists and two-hour speeches. Kill me now.”

  “You’re such a romantic, Patrick.” She looked toward the store clerk, the one tallying up his order. He followed her gaze. The other woman stared at him, clearly hoping to catch his gaze so she could make bedroom eyes at him. At another time, he might have reciprocated.

  But he couldn’t drag his gaze from Winn. He still couldn’t quite believe she was here with him. He knew he’d been pushing his luck, asking her to join him for the reception, but he hadn’t expected her to agree when he suggested she come to his final tux fitting. And even though he was supposed to be checking out the cut of his suit, he couldn’t stop checking her out.

  Dressed in Bermuda shorts, a ruffled T-shirt, and sandals, she might have looked like any other woman shopping on a summer’s day. But to him, she was a wet dream come true. Now that he’d seen her naked, now that he’d had the opportunity to appraise every inch of her luscious body, he knew what hid under the demure articles of clothing.

  The body of a fucking goddess. One whose moans still replayed over and over in his ears every night as he fell asleep.

  This woman would surely kill him.

  He knew dwelling on their intimacy did him no favors, but the little devil on his shoulder egged him on constantly. Call her, it said. You know you wanna taste her again.

  “Um, Patrick?” Winn said, interrupting his cock-teasing thought process. “The clerk asked you a question.”

  He blinked a few times to dispel the cobwebs and gawked at the clerk. “I’m sorry?”

  “If you’re ready to get changed, I’ll package the tux for you.” The young woman blushed and slipped her business card into his hand. “In case you, uh, need any last-minute alterations. I could come to your place to make it easier.”

  He frowned at the card but took it. “Oh. Thanks.” Daring a glance at Winn, he couldn’t miss the angry streak of pink across her cheeks.

  Well, well. His pirate wench was a jealous lass. If he really was a player, like Jake, like the man he used to be at university, he’d make the most of her green-eyed monster. But he wasn’t that man anymore. He didn’t want Winn to feel ill at ease with him. He wanted her to be happy, so freaking delirious rainbows shot out her ears.

  Because when they let their guards down, when they relaxed around each other, that was how she made him feel.

  She made him feel good, and even if this relationship went nowhere, he needed to make her feel good, too.

  That thought in mind, he handed the business card back to the sales clerk. “Actually, the tux looks fine. I won’t need any other alterations, thanks.”

  “Right.” The woman took the card back and hurried over to the cash register, keeping her gaze locked on the counter.

  Patrick looked at Winn. She held his gaze and her eyes sparkled. Her lips did an adorable twitchy thing and then spread into a shy smile that made his heart want to beat out of his chest.

  Damn. He was in big trouble here.

  Chapter 9

  Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Lowell

  Mr. and Mrs. Eugene Dick
inson

  request the pleasure of your company

  in celebration of the marriage of their children

  Sierra Elizabeth

  and

  Conrad Elliott

  on Saturday, the seventh of August

  two thousand fifteen

  at eight o’clock in the evening

  St. Lawrence Country Club

  Caledon, Ontario

  * * * *

  “I told that woman, ‘If my nails are not perfect, I will rain hellfire down on your salon.’ Luckily for her, she did a good job. You have to be firm with people in the service industry. It’s all they understand.” Sierra Dickinson, blushing bride and Patrick’s distant cousin, thrust her fingers into Winn’s face. “What do you think of my French tips? Tell me the truth.”

  “Uh, they’re very…French,” Winn stammered, moving a step back.

  The other woman practically purred. “Thanks, hun. You get what you pay for. That’s why Conrad and I spent a fortune on this reception. The wedding planner suggested we do it somewhere else to save money, but I told her she needed to book me the St. Lawrence Club. I said, ‘Britney, if you don’t make this happen, I’ll have your head.’ Those were my exact words.”

  Winn blinked, unsure how to respond. Luckily, Patrick returned from the bar at that moment, bearing a couple of Cokes. She grabbed one out of his hand and sucked at the straw, grateful to discover he’d thrown some rum in hers.

  He frowned at her reaction, clearly having heard the exchange, and turned to his cousin. “Sierra, you would have made an awesome Amazon.”

  “Oh, Patrick,” she tittered. “Allow me my bridezilla moments. It’s my first wedding, after all.” She turned her attention back to Winn. “I’m so excited to meet you, Winn. My cousin never brings women to family gatherings. Oh, wait. He doesn’t come to family gatherings.”

  Winn tried hard not to think evil thoughts, but she understood why he avoided the rest of the Lincoln clan. She’d only met a couple of family members so far, and hadn’t exactly forged bonds with any of them. Perhaps because they’d been too busy giving her snotty once-overs. Sierra, who made an art out of being obnoxious, was the only one who’d deigned to speak with her for more than five minutes.

  She’d met his older brothers Andrew and Daniel and had wanted to like them on the spot. Both were tall and handsome like Patrick, but possessed none of his easy charm. Both surgeons of some sort, they’d hung around long enough to mentally tabulate her worth and then had scattered. Clearly, she hadn’t fit the bill.

  When they’d departed, Patrick had stared after them, his dark eyes even darker and shadowed with resentment.

  Sierra sipped her cocktail, looked over at the hors d’oeuvre table and squealed. “Ohmigod! They haven’t put out the smoked-salmon bites yet. I’m going to flay someone. Excuse me.” She picked up the skirt of her Alexander McQueen bridal gown and raced into the kitchen area.

  Winn looked at Patrick. “She’s, um, very passionate.”

  “She’s a stuck-up princess who finds drama in smoked-salmon bites. I wish Conrad luck. He’ll need it.” He threw back a swallow of his Coke. “It’s a nice night and I’m already tired of this reception. I need some air. Let’s go check out the balcony.”

  He put a hand on the small of her back and guided her toward the balcony adjoining the reception hall, the one overlooking the expansive golf green. Once outside, he turned and shut the curtained, glass doors, effectively giving them some private space. They both put their drinks down on a marble bench and leaned on the stone ledge.

  She had to admit the country club setting made for a lovely backdrop to a fairy-tale wedding. Despite not bonding with the bride on any level, she could appreciate the beauty of the surroundings. The smell of cut grass, one of her favorite summertime fragrances, made her smile. It reminded her of running barefoot at the local park when she and Enid were kids, their happy parents in tow.

  Had her parents been truly happy then? She supposed she didn’t know. Perhaps they’d been hiding years of hurt and she just hadn’t seen it.

  Dismissing thoughts of her quarreling parents, she gazed toward the lawns and maple trees, admiring the meticulous pruning. As the sun set, another sort of beauty demanded her attention. Winn allowed herself to sneak glances at Patrick’s profile. The angle of his clenched jaw made her want to run a hand up and down his back, but she curled her fingers into her palms so she wouldn’t be tempted to touch him. His handsome features spoke to her in a way she barely understood. His strong brow, the way his hair waved over his ears, and the flash of his dark eyes made her dream. But it wasn’t just his looks. His love of life, his easy smile and fun-loving nature kept her up at night, wondering and dreaming. Wanting what she shouldn’t want.

  Yet here, among his family, the people to whom he should be closest, he looked miserable. If only she could fix it. “Are you okay?”

  He turned to her and his gaze followed the sweep of her long bangs. After a moment, he grinned. “Aren’t I always?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s hard to tell when we’re out here hiding from your family.”

  “I’m not hiding, I’m avoiding. There’s a huge difference.”

  “Noted, but we can’t avoid them all night. The reception just started and, well, I’m excited to try the smoked salmon.” She elbowed him in jest.

  He frowned and shook his head. “Of course you are. I’m not a very good date, am I?”

  “Oh, you’ll do. You’re taller than I am, which makes for good dancing dynamics, and you bring me drinks at regular intervals. Oh, and you’re tolerable in your tux.”

  He stepped closer, a little too close for her comfort. “Just tolerable? I tried really hard tonight. Showered and everything.” His gaze dropped to her lips.

  “Well,” she replied, clearing her throat. “I suppose you look good in the tux. Does that appease your ego?”

  He ran a finger over her bare shoulder and down her arm. Her skin flushed with goose pimples at his touch. Already too deep for her peace of mind, his voice grew husky with desire. “Winn, I’m nowhere near being appeased.”

  He leaned in. He was going to kiss her again, and she already knew she’d allow it. God help her, she’d kiss him back with everything in her. Lips, tongue, teeth, foolish heart.

  Before they could make contact, the balcony door opened and a man walked through. Looking like a gray-haired version of Patrick, he could only be his father. The elder Lincoln looked at his son, glanced at Winn, and proffered a wide smile.

  “Patrick, you haven’t introduced me to your lovely friend yet.”

  Winn stepped closer to Patrick. Something in the way Mr. Lincoln said “lovely” made her feel dirty. Perhaps it was because his gaze lingered a little too long near her bosom. She crossed her arms over her chest, wishing she hadn’t worn a gown that displayed cleavage.

  “Dad, this is Winn Busby. Winn, my father, Dr. Andrew Lincoln, Sr.” He recited the words as if the title had been ingrained in him years ago.

  She couldn’t help wondering if Patrick and his brothers were forced to call their dad Dr. Lincoln during casual conversations as well.

  Patrick seemed to notice his father’s wandering gaze because he promptly removed his tux jacket and placed it around her shoulders, as if worried she’d grown cold. Even though the night was balmy, she welcomed the protective layer.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, dear.” Dr. Lincoln stuck out his hand and she extended her own. As he shook it, his thumb wandered over her hand in a lazy caress.

  She pulled her hand away, smiled, and pretended to adjust her hair.

  He narrowed his eyes, peering at her, but then turned to his son. “You haven’t said hello to your mother yet.”

  “Last I saw her,” Patrick replied, “she was holding court among her cronies. I’m sure she hasn’t missed me.”

  “She’ll want to meet your friend, Lynn.”

  “It’s Winn, dad. Winn.” He drew closer to her and she was glad
to have him near. He eased the prickles of unease between her shoulder blades.

  “Unusual name,” Dr. Lincoln commented, looking at her boobs again.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “Short for Winifred. I was named after a great-aunt.” She turned to Patrick and raised a finger. “Don’t say a word.”

  He smiled. “Who me?”

  “Come inside, you two.” Dr. Lincoln helped her out of Patrick’s jacket and handed the garment to his son. He then put an arm around her shoulders and steered her back into the reception hall. Patrick followed behind them and she felt his gaze burning into her back. As they moved, his father’s hand strayed to her lower back. “You must meet my wife, Bette. She’ll be delighted to make your acquaintance.”

  Patrick slipped his hand around her shoulders and extricated her from his father. “Awesome. How about I do the introductions instead?”

  Before Dr. Lincoln could touch her again, he led her to a small group of older women. The tallest in the bunch, a brunette in a tastefully sequined gown, dominated the area, her gaze seeming to see everything. She spied Patrick and smiled. As soon as she saw his arm draped around Winn’s shoulders, her smile disappeared.

  Patrick leaned in toward the woman and kissed her cheek. “Mother. This is my friend, Winn Busby.”

  Bette Lincoln inclined her head. She glanced at her husband, saw the way he regarded Winn, and returned her cool gaze to the woman as well. “Charmed.” She didn’t extend her hand.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Lincoln,” Winn said in a quiet voice.

  The woman arched her plucked brows and regarded Winn’s dress. “What a lovely gown, dear. Tell me, who are you wearing?”

  “Um, Burlington Coat Factory.” Winn giggled but the other women didn’t see the hilarity in her statement.

  Patrick, on the other hand, stifled a laugh and whispered in her ear. “You are officially my favorite person on the planet right now.”

  She couldn’t deny his statement, although meant in jest, pleased her to no end.

  “Come now, Bette, my love,” crowed Dr. Lincoln. “Not every woman is concerned with high fashion.”

  “No,” whispered Mrs. Lincoln, appraising Winn’s little black dress. “This is true.”