by Nora Roberts
“I’ll say. And let’s have one more wow.”
“He’s grabby and pushy and—”
“Really, really hot. And I say that as a woman madly in love with your brother. I might also add,” she continued as she walked to Parker, “that as I didn’t politely avert my eyes and go away, I happened to observe you weren’t exactly fighting him off.”
“He caught me by surprise. Besides, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.”
“Sorry, but he looked pretty satisfied. And Parker?” She gave her friend’s arm a pat. “You look flustered, glowy, and dazzled.”
“I am not glowy.”
Laurel simply turned Parker by the shoulders to the big foyer mirror. “You were saying?”
Maybe color did glow in her cheeks, and maybe her eyes were a little dazzled, but . . . “That’s irritation.”
“I won’t say ‘liar, liar,’ but, Parks, under that skirt, your pants are on fire.”
“All right, fine.
Fine. He’s a good kisser, if you like the rough, arrogant style.”
“You seemed good with it.”
“That was only because he ambushed me. And this is a stupid conversation about nothing. I’m going up.”
“Me, too, which is why I got an eyeful of the nothing.”
They started up together, but before they separated Parker stopped on the landing. “I was wearing the Back-Off Cloak.”
“What?”
“I’m not stupid. He made a little move in the kitchen.Actually, he makes little moves every time I run into him, which is disconcerting, but I can handle it. So when I walked him to the door, I thought he might get ideas.”
Laurel’s eyes widened. “You swirled on the Back-Off Cloak? The famed shield that repels men of all ages, creeds, and political affiliations?”
“Yes.”
“Yet he was not repelled. He’s immune.” She gave Parker a slap on the arm. “He may be the only creature of his kind.”
“It’s not funny.”
“Sure it is. Also sexy.”
“I’m not interested in funny and sexy with Malcolm Kavanaugh.”
“Parker, if you weren’t interested, on some level, you’d have flicked him off like lint on a lapel. He . . .” Laurel searched for the right word. “He intrigues you.”
“No, he . . . Maybe.”
“As your friend, let me say it’s nice to see you intrigued by a man, especially since I like the man, and have noted he is also intrigued by you.”
Parker jerked a shoulder. “He just wants to get me in bed.”
“Well, of course he wants to get you in bed. But I’m not at all convinced it’s ‘just.’”
“I’m not going to have sex with him.We have a business relationship.”
“Because he’s your mechanic?”
“He’s Vows’ mechanic now, and he’s Del’s friend.”
“Parks, your excuses are so lame they’re limping, which makes me think you’re worried you want to have sex with him.”
“It’s not about sex. Everything’s not always about sex.”
“You brought it up.”
Caught, Parker admitted.“Now I’m bringing it down. I’ve got too much on my mind to think about this anyway.We’re jammed tomorrow.We’re jammed for the next five days straight.”
“We are. Do you want me to come up, hang out awhile?”
The fact that she did, really did, only confirmed to Parker she was making too much out of nothing.“No, thanks, I’m good.And I’ve got a little work I want to get in before bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She walked up alone, and switched on the TV for company. After slipping out of her shoes, she checked them for any dings, scrapes, or scratches. Satisfied, she set them in their proper place on the shoe wall of her closet. She dropped her suit in the dry cleaning bag, replaced her jewelry in the slots designed for them in the thin drawers.
She slipped on a nightshirt, a robe, tucked her phone in the robe pocket. She considered a long, hot bath, but exed it out since long, hot baths encouraged thinking and dreaming. She didn’t care to do either.
Instead, she fixed her mind on the next day’s schedule while she cleansed, toned, moisturized her face.
Glowy, she thought, giving her reflection a cool stare. What a silly word. It wasn’t even a word in the first place, and totally inaccurate.
Laurel had romance fever. Nearly all brides caught it, and due to its side effects they saw everything and everyone through a pretty haze of love.
Nice for them, she admitted as she took the band from her hair. Good business for Vows.
And speaking of business, she’d take an hour now to input all the new data from the evening consult and the initial choices made by the clients.
An estimated 225 on the guest list, she thought as she wandered back into the bedroom with the intention of going to work on her laptop in her sitting room. A bridal party of six, including a flower girl who’d be five by the June wedding.
The bride’s favorite flower was peony, her color choices—for now anyway—pink and green. Soft tones.
Soft, Parker thought again, and changed direction to open her terrace doors and step out. She’d just get a little air first, just take in a little of the night air.
The bride wanted soft and delicate. She’d asked Parker to meet her at the salon to view the gown she’d chosen, which proved she was a bride who understood that the wedding dress created the center of whatever tone or theme or mood the wedding took.
All those lovely, floaty layers, Parker recalled, the subtle gleam of seed pearls and tender touches of lace.
Pastels and peonies, shimmering tulle, and whispered promises.
She could see it. She would see to it. She excelled at seeing to things.
There was no reason, no good reason to feel so restless, so unsettled, so addled.
No reason to stand here looking out at night-drenched gardens remembering the unexpected thrill of a motorcycle ride that had lasted only minutes.
And had been fast and dangerous and foolishly exciting.
Like, very like, the hard, rough kiss of a brash man in her own foyer.
She wasn’t interested in those things.Absolutely not. Intrigued, maybe, but intrigued was a different matter. She found sharks intriguing when they swam their eerily silent way in the tank at an aquarium, but that didn’t mean she had any interest in taking a dip with them.
Which wasn’t a fair comparison, she admitted with a sigh. Not fair at all.
Malcolm might be cocky, he might be brash, but he wasn’t a shark. He’d been so natural with Mrs. G, and even a bit sweet in that area. She had unerring radar for phonies when it came to their behavior with those she loved, and there hadn’t been a phony note in Malcolm’s.
Then there was his friendship with Del. Del might tolerate professional relationships with phonies and sharks, but never a personal one.
So the problem, if there was a problem, was obviously with her. She’d just have to correct it. Correcting, solving, and eliminating problems was her stock-in-trade.
She’d just figure out the solution to this one, implement it, then move on. She needed to ascertain and identify said problem first, but she had a pretty good idea of its root.
At some level of the intrigue—not interest, but intrigue—at some level of that level, she was attracted.
In an elemental, strictly chemical way.
She was human, she was healthy, and Laurel was right. Malcolm was hot. In his primal, rough-edged manner.
Motorcycles and leather, torn denim and cocky grins. Hard hands, a hungry mouth.
Parker pressed a hand to her belly.Yes, definitely an aspect of attraction. Now that she’d admitted it, she could work out the best way to defuse it.
Like a bomb.
Like the bomb that had gone off inside her when he’d yanked her . . . Yanked her, she thought again. She didn’t like being yanked.
Did she?
“Doesn’t matter,”
she mumbled.You fixed problems with answers, not more questions.
She wished she didn’t have so many damn questions.
In her pocket, her phone rang. She plucked it out like a woman reaching for a float in a stormy sea.
“Thank God.” She breathed out relief. Crazy Bride would absolutely, no question, give her a problem she could efficiently solve. And keep her mind off her own.
“Hi, Sabina! What can I do for you?”
CHAPTER FOUR
PARKER PREPPED FOR THE MORNING STAFF MEETING WITH BLACKBerry and laptop. She sat at the large round table in what had been the library of her home and now served as Vows’ conference room.
The walls of books and the rich scent of leather remained, and on brisk fall or cold winter mornings a fire would snap away in the hearth as it had for as long as she could remember. Lamps that warmed cozy seating arrangements had belonged to her grandmother. The rugs, a bit faded and frayed with time and use, came down from a generation before that. Framed articles on Vows and the women behind it were displayed artfully on the walls between cabinets.
On the long table nearby, her mother’s silver coffee service gleamed, and under it, tucked behind the antique doors, sat an office-sized refrigerator stocked with water and soft drinks.
To her mind the room epitomized the blending of tradition and enterprise essential to her goals for herself and her business.
She checked the day’s agenda, including the morning appointments, the afternoon’s bridal shower, and the rehearsal for Friday evening’s event. Her phone signaled as Mac came in with a basket of muffins.
“Laurel’s on her way. Emma says she’s not late.”
Parker nodded. “Friday night’s bride. Good morning, Cecily! Ready for the big day?”
She nodded again as Mac held the coffeepot over Parker’s cup. “Um-hmm. That’s so sweet. Yes, we can do that. Oh, absolutely.” She listened, winced only a little.
“I think that’s incredibly generous of you and Marcus. I know you must be,” she responded.“Listen, I’m just thinking, just throwing this out there. I wonder if considering the wedding cake and the groom’s cake, another might be overkill. Not quite as special as you’d like. What about a cupcake? Heart-shaped, elaborately frosted with their names on it. It would fit right on the head table in front of them. Be exclusively theirs.”
Listening again, Parker began to key in data one-handed on her laptop.“Leave it to me.You know Laurel will make it beautiful, and very special.”
Parker just beamed out a smile as Laurel came in and narrowed her eyes at the statement.
“What’s your sister’s favorite flower?” Parker asked. “Dahlias. Lovely. Oh, of course he can if he wants to. I’ll be available for that if he can get here just a few minutes early tonight.Yes, we’re excited, too. Not a word, I promise. See you tonight.”
“What am I making beautiful and special?” Laurel demanded.
“A cupcake. One single cupcake.” Parker held up one finger. “Heart-shaped, maybe a little oversized just for impact. Maybe iced with dahlias as the design and with the names Griff and Jaci—Friday night’s groom’s brother and the bride’s sister, also the BM and MOH. They’ve been dating about six months now. He’s going to propose at the wedding, as a crescendo to his toast to the bride and groom.”
“Why would he want to do that?” Mac demanded.
“I don’t know, because he’s crazy from love, because he wants to tie the way he feels about her to the way his brother feels about his sister. He asked his brother and the bride first, and they love it. They’re weeping with joy. And,” she added with a steely look at Laurel, “she wanted another cake. I talked her down to cupcake, so you owe me.”
“What’d I miss?” Emma rushed in. “I’m not late.”
“You’re late,” Mac corrected,“and love is in the air is what you missed.”
“Oh, well, that’s all over the place around here anyway.”
“New business, just so Emma’s up-to-date.” Parker ran through the phone call and resulting additions. As she expected, Emma went dewy-eyed.
“That’s adorable.”
“It won’t be if she says hell no,” Laurel pointed out.
“She won’t.” But Emma looked stricken. “Oh God, what if?”
“Let’s take a good look at the two of them tonight,” Parker suggested. “See what sense we get. If we think oops, we’ll come up with a plan to cover. Next? Today’s afternoon event. Bridal shower with guests arriving at two.”
“Champagne Elegance,” Laurel said.“That’s the name of the cake as that’s what the very snooty MOH and bridal shower hostess demanded as ambiance. We have a small-scale wedding cake with champagne accents, a variety of cookies, mini pastries, chocolates. The caterer’s providing the girly food, the champagne, and the coffee and tea. Party favors include chocolates in glossy white boxes, with monogrammed silver ribbons accented with a sparkly hair clip.”
“I’ve done white roses, as requested.” Emma gulped coffee. “Individual contemporary bouquets in black vases for each table. Tink’s finishing up the arbor and pergola as we speak. We’ll do white rose displays in the portico urns, and on the terraces.”
“The guests have been requested to wear white,” Parker reminded her partners. “We’re to wear black, as are all the subs and the string trio who’ll play during the mingling and nibbling portions of the event.The forecast is for mostly sunny, light winds, and a high of seventy-one. So we should be able to hold the event outside as we hoped. Gift table will be under the pergola.At three, we’ll set up the bride’s chair, and at three fifteen, begin the opening of gifts. I’ll be keeping the record of who gave what for the bride. By four fifteen, we should be able to transfer the gifts to the limo. By four forty-five, we wave good-bye. Mac?”
“The MOH wants candids, by which she actually means carefully posed shots where everyone, especially her, looks fabulous and happy and natural and ten pounds lighter. She wants a shot of the bride with every gift, and with every guest. No problem on my end.”
“The Mason-Easterbay wedding party should arrive at five thirty for rehearsal.They have reservations at Carlotta’s for seven thirty, so they need to be out and gone by seven.Any problem there?”
When she got negatives, Parker moved on.“Any questions, problems, comments, sarcastic remarks about their actual event?”
“If I’d known there was a sarcastic remark slot, I’d’ve had one ready,” Laurel told her.
“Otherwise, today. I may need to have somebody drive me into the garage to get my car. Or I’ll take a cab if everyone’s busy. Mrs. Kavanaugh’s calling me this morning, and hopefully can give me a time frame. I do have an appointment here at ten.” She waited a bit. “With Carter’s sister Diane.”
“What about?” Mac wondered.
“About her being a bitch. Sorry, I shouldn’t call your soon-to-be sister-in-law a bitch.To your face.”
“No problem. She is kind of a bitch. The passive-aggressive type that makes me want to boot her in the ass. Often.”
“The sky’s never blue enough for Diane,” Emma commented. Her family and the Maguires had been friends for years.
“What’s she being a bitch about?” Laurel asked.
“She’s upset Sherry. Didn’t want to be in the wedding because it’s too much fuss, too much trouble.”
“She’s been snarky about the wedding right along.” Mac nodded, shrugged. “She’s given me some nudges about it, and about mine.Who wants that in their wedding party? Sister or not.”
“Now she’s saying she won’t come to the rehearsal dinner. Not in the wedding party, doesn’t want to get a sitter, doesn’t want to come with the kids and deal with them. Me, I’d say fine, don’t, but Sherry wants her there.” Parker’s eyes glittered.“So she’ll be there.”
“Kick her ass, champ.”
Parker smiled at Laurel.“Count on it. Once I’ve done that, I’ll be available to pitch in with anything for anyone, until it’s ti
me to get my car.”
“Maybe you’ll get more smoochies.”
“Laurel.”
“What? Do you think I’m keeping that to myself ?” She grinned as both Mac and Emma demanded details.
“Malcolm Kavanaugh, in the foyer, with a hot embrace.”
“Well, well.” Mac wiggled her eyebrows.
“There’s no ‘well, well’ about it.” Wanting to move on, Parker pulled out her casually dismissive tone.“He was just showing off.”
“He’s good at it,” Laurel put in. “I got singed by the heat, and I was fifteen feet away.”
“Are you going out?” Emma asked her.
“If you mean am I going out at some point to pick up my car, yes.”
“Come on.Are you going to see him—a date,” Emma qualified.
“No. It was just a . . . He was being a smart-ass, that’s it.”
“You kissed him first.” Emma wagged her finger. “Fourth of July.”
“I was mad at Del, and it was a mistake. And that doesn’t mean—” She broke off and grabbed her ringing phone.
“Saved by the CrackBerry,” Mac announced.
“Hi, Buffy.” Taking advantage, Parker pushed up, walked out of the room as she spoke.
“They’ve got the hots, the mutual hots.” Laurel folded her arms. “I am not mistaken on this.”
“He looks at her. Don’t give me that smirk.” Emma pointed at Mac.“He looks at her, a lot, and she tries not to look at him. I say mutual hots a definite.”
“He’s got that whole James Dean thing going.”
“The sausage guy?” Mac asked, frowning at Laurel.
“No, Jesus, Mackensie.” Laurel aimed her gaze at the heavens. “That’s Jimmy Dean.
James. Bad boy, all attitude.”
“I kind of like that he rattles her,” Emma decided.“Our Parker isn’t easily rattled, which is one of the aspects that makes her our Parker, but I kind of like seeing it.”
“He’s not slick, which earns him points from me.” Laurel shrugged, rose. “We’ll see where it goes, if anywhere. Meanwhile, duty calls.” She paused at the doorway. “Hey, you know what Parker said after the smoking-hot kiss?”
“What?” Mac demanded.