Rules of the Game

by Lori Wilde

  Zap.

  That same sizzle.

  No. Not the same. This was stronger than before. Disconcerting. Powerful.

  Her smile wobbled, but she propped it back up, determined not to let him know how much he knocked her off kilter. Yeah, as if the laundry cart incident hadn’t been a dead giveaway.

  “Enjoy your family event,” he said, and then disappeared out the door.

  Jodi blew out her breath through puffed cheeks, slumped back in the chair. Yep, just her luck. She’d had a one-night stand and it had come back to bite her in the ass.

  Now what?

  CHAPTER 9

  Jodi Carlyle’s Wedding Crasher Rules: When challenged,

  keep your cool.

  Vincente’s, the Italian restaurant where Rowdy’s engagement party was being held, was hopping by the time Jake arrived at seven p.m. His face was tingling from the cold. In concession to his new role as best man, he’d gone ahead and shaved his face after checking into the B&B, losing his winter beard a month earlier than he usually did.

  He felt exposed. Raw. Open. But in a good way, if that made sense. Ready for new beginnings. He rubbed a hand over his chin, surprised at the smoothness of his skin.

  “OMG!” squealed the cute blond hostess. “You’re Jake Coronado!”

  “Yeah,” he admitted sheepishly. “I’m here for the Blanton engagement party.”

  “Of course you are. You are my absolute favorite baseball player in the whole world,” the young woman enthused. “Well, except for Rowdy. He’s our hometown hero, but you’re second on the list.”

  “Thanks,” he mumbled, and jammed his hands in his pockets. He’d never felt comfortable with fame. Some people courted it, but Jake found it ill fitting. He played ball because he was good at it. It was the only thing he knew how to do. He loved the sport. Wanted to see how many records he could break. Wanted to leave a legacy.

  But his lofty dreams had cost him a lot. Maura. The ba—

  He shut that thought down quick, winced. If he hadn’t been so hell-bent on breaking records and reaching the pinnacle of success he would not have lost Maura. She wouldn’t have been … Jake clenched his jaw. Willed away her memory. Maura was gone. He couldn’t change the past.

  In fact, tomorrow morning, he’d decided he was going to Jefferson to start fixing up the house and talk to a realtor about putting it on the market. This was it, his final letting go. He was ready, eager even, to move forward.

  The hostess batted her eyes. “Could I trouble you for an autograph? It would mean so much to me.”

  “Of course.” He dug around and found the remnants of a real smile, pushed it into his eyes. He was done suffering. He’d punished himself enough. It felt good to admit that.

  And Gwendolyn was the reason he was finally ready. He’d realized it that morning when he’d fished her out of the stream.

  His mouth twitched and he puffed out a breath. He probably should have gone to Jefferson instead of renting a room at Gwendolyn’s B&B, but it was easier to stay in Stardust for the evening. He didn’t know how long the party would last and didn’t want to be on the road late at night. At least that was the excuse he gave himself.

  Truthfully, he hadn’t been quite ready to walk into that lonely, dark house. Not yet. Not today. Not until he got past the engagement party.

  He couldn’t believe Gwendolyn owned the B&B—dammit, he still hadn’t gotten her real name—and that he’d come across her so unexpectedly. The chance meeting felt fated somehow, and that unnerved him.

  It unnerved her too. He could tell that he made her uneasy. Hell, she made him uneasy.

  He’d thought he would never see her again, and now she was here.

  Two memories sparked in Jake’s brain. One was of Gwendolyn as she sank her stilettoed heel against his thigh, standing in front of him wearing nothing but lacy black lingerie, looking queenly and in control. The other was of her shivering in his arms as he carried her to the train engine, her cheek smeared with mud, her nipples beaded hard beneath her sweater as she nibbled her bottom lip, looking embarrassed and vulnerable. The first memory fired his lust. The second stoked his shielding instincts. He wanted to both make love to her and protect her.

  After the hostess pocketed the autograph he signed for her, she led him through the public dining area down a long corridor toward a banquet room. Heads turned as they walked past and he heard murmurs of “That’s Jake Coronado.”

  How was it that he could impress most anyone by simply walking into a room, except the woman he most wanted to impress? Just his luck. The first woman who’d interested him in three years wanted nothing more from him than a one-night stand.

  “Would you like to check your coat?” the hostess asked, stopping in the corridor to open the door of a walk-in closet full of coats.

  Jake shrugged out of his jacket, waited for the hostess to hang it up, and then followed her into the banquet room with exposed redbrick walls, rustic beamed ceilings, hand-scraped oak floors, and a long rack of artfully displayed wine bottles. White linen cloths adorned tables, topped by the ubiquitous Chianti-bottle candleholders.

  Warwick—no one seemed to know what the guy’s first name was—Rowdy’s childhood chum, bodyguard, and former best man, stood at the front of the room, arms crossed over his chest. He and Jake were the tallest guys in the place, both over six-foot-three. Warwick caught his eye, nodded. He wasn’t much one for words, but Jake got his message. Thanks for stepping in.

  Jake telegraphed him a no-sweat smile and that was all the communication they needed to understand each other.

  A hand slapped Jake on the back and he looked over his shoulder to see Axel Talbot grinning like a loon. Talbot batted third in the Gunslingers’ lineup and he had the second best batting average on the team. Dubbed T-bone by the press for his meaty physique, he was a good four inches shorter than Jake, five years younger, ten pounds stockier.

  “Yo, Coronado. Best man, huh?” Talbot grinned, showing a mouthful of ultra white teeth.

  “Hey, Talbot.”

  “Can’t believe Blanton of all people is biting the bullet and getting married.”

  “We all grow up sometime.”

  Talbot, the perpetual Peter Pan, looked horrified. “Not all of us.”

  “You’re the exception of course,” Jake soothed.

  “We gotta throw the guy a blowout bachelor party. I’ve got some ideas—”

  “We’re not going to Mexico.”

  Talbot’s face fell. “C’mon, just think about it. You, me, the guys, a bus, pretty senoritas …”

  “I have no interest in ending up in a Mexican jail.”

  Talbot thought this over, nodded, and raised a hopeful eyebrow. “Vegas?”

  “Warwick already made the arrangements for the bachelor party and we’re sticking to it.”

  Talbot shot a glance over at Warwick. “Him? Aww hell, it’s gonna be dullsville.”

  “It won’t be if you’re there.”

  That brightened him. “Truer words were never spoken. I’ll figure out something …”

  Jake spied Rowdy at the same time his buddy raised his hand and motioned him over. Rowdy was talking to an older couple, a petite Asian woman, and a tall exotic-looking woman. Rowdy had his arm around the waist of a sweet-faced blonde in her mid-twenties and he was staring at her as if she had waved her little finger and created the sun and the moon and the stars. Smitten. Yeah. He knew how that felt. Missed it. This must be Rowdy’s bride-to-be, Breeanne.

  “Duty calls,” Jake told Talbot. “Catch you later, T-bone.”

  “Two words for you, Coronado,” Talbot called after him. “Busty strippers.”

  Jake waved at him over his shoulder, and headed toward Rowdy.

  When Jake got closer, Rowdy reached out, gripped his elbow, and steered him into the small group. “Breeanne, this is Jake. Jake … meet my bride-to-be, Breeanne. And these are her parents, Maggie and Dan Carlyle, her sisters Suki and Kasha.”

  Sisters,
huh? He glanced at the Carlyles, who didn’t look a thing like any of their daughters. Some if not all of the Carlyle sisters had to be adopted.

  Both women grinned at him as women usually did.

  He shook hands with everyone. Smiled. Made small talk. Did what he needed to do to make sure his buddy had a great evening.

  “Rowdy’s told me so much about you,” Breeanne said.

  “Uh-oh,” Jake said. “And you’re still letting him have me as his best man?”

  Breeanne’s smile was so radiant that Jake immediately understood why Rowdy was crazy about her. “Well, you’re not completely vetted yet. You’ve still got to pass muster with the maid of honor, my oldest sister, Jodi.”

  “Better be on your best behavior,” Rowdy said. “Jodi’s no-nonsense.”

  He must have looked startled because Breeanne chuckled lightly. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Yes, Jodi can be a tough nut to crack, but you’re in as best man. She doesn’t really have to like you. Rowdy likes you and I like you and that’s good enough for us.”

  “But it would be nice if you and Jodi got along,” Rowdy added, looking a little anxious. “You’ll be seeing a lot of each other over the next month.”

  “I’ll be sure to pour on the charm.” Jake winked.

  Maggie Carlyle wrinkled her nose and shook her head good-naturedly. “That might backfire on you with Jodi. Slick doesn’t impress her. Not since—” She broke off as if she’d said too much. “Just be yourself, Jake.”

  Wow, this Jodi person sounded like a pain in the ass. He’d do his best not to butt heads with her. For Rowdy’s sake.

  “Speaking of Jodi, here she is right now.” Petite Breeanne went up on tiptoes, struggling to see over the shoulders of the men. “I’ll go get her.”

  Bracing himself, Jake turned to get a good look at prune-lipped, tough, no-nonsense Jodi.

  Auburn hair.

  Blue-gray eyes.

  Extremely kissable lips.

  Oh shit.

  It was Gwendolyn.

  Jodi froze in mid-step.

  Seriously?

  The beard was gone, but it was he. Jake Coronado. Nah. Couldn’t be. He could not be here. Not twice in one day.

  But there was no mistaking the guy.

  What was he doing at Breeanne and Rowdy’s engagement party? It couldn’t be coincidence. There had to be a connection.

  She wanted to turn and run.

  Too slow. Out of luck. Breeanne took her arm and dragged her to the corner of the room where Jake stood with her parents and her sisters, his eyes rounding in surprise. He hadn’t expected to see her any more than she expected to see him.

  He’d changed clothes from this morning, wearing chinos and a long-sleeved black polo shirt.

  “Jodi, this is Jake. Jake, this is my older sister, Jodi. She’s my maid of honor.” Breeanne turned to Jodi. “Jake is Rowdy’s best man.”

  Jodi swallowed, not sure what to say or do. “I thought Warwick was Rowdy’s best man.”

  “He chickened out,” Breeanne explained. “Fear of public speaking, so Jake volunteered to pinch-hit.”

  Craptacular. Just her luck she’d be stuck with him as best man.

  “Hello, Jodi,” Jake said, humor tugging up the corner of his lips and lighting his eyes. “Nice to meet you.”

  “So that’s why you’re in town,” Jodi blurted.

  Breeanne looked perplexed. “You’ve met?”

  Jodi wasn’t about to get into the details of their sexcapades at the Grand Texan. She said, “Jake just rented a room at Boxcars. Why didn’t you tell me you were Rowdy’s best man? Your lodging is on the house.”

  At the same time she was talking, Jake said, “I didn’t know you were Breeanne’s sister.”

  “Why would you? We never met before this morning.” She sent him a don’t-you-dare-contradict-me warning frown.

  “Let me get you both a drink,” Breeanne offered. “Wine? Beer?”

  “Sure. Whatever,” Jodi said.

  Anything. She needed something to do with her hands. Needed something to take the edge off the tension knotting up her muscles as it fully sank in what this meant. Jake wasn’t a stalker, he was Rowdy’s new best man. Which meant she’d be seeing a lot more of him. Oh super, terrific joy.

  But even as she grumbled inwardly, her heart fluttered with excitement, and that worried her.

  “There’s Aunt Liz and Uncle Marty,” Breeanne said. “We better go say hello.” She held her hand out to Rowdy. “Honey.”

  Rowdy sank his hand in hers and Breeanne led him over to greet the relatives. Their parents, Kasha, and Suki all followed Rowdy and Breeanne, leaving Jodi alone with Jake.

  Would it look too obvious if she sprinted to the opposite side of the room?

  “Guess I need to fend for my own drink,” she muttered.

  “Don’t worry,” Jake said, his voice dipping deep in a conspiratorial tone as he leaned in closer. “You don’t have to run away or get soused. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Jodi tossed her head in desperate denial of the anxiety. She had to do something to put up roadblocks. Stop. Don’t Walk. No Outlet. Caution: Dangerous Curve Ahead. If she gave an inch, she’d fall a hundred miles. He was that compelling.

  “We can’t let it get out that straitlaced, no-nonsense Jodi is secretly wild and sexy Gwendolyn the Wedding Crasher.”

  “My word against yours,” she replied tartly.

  He smirked, switched on his cell phone, thumbed through his camera roll, and showed a picture of her doing the chicken dance at the wedding, an out-of-control smile on her face. “I present to you exhibit A.”

  “You didn’t!” A sick feeling sloshed against the sides of her stomach.

  “I did. Wanna see exhibit B?”

  “No!”

  “C? D?”

  “Put that away right now.”

  His smirk widened and he switched off the phone. “Just so you know. I could blackmail you.”

  “I changed my mind. Let me see your phone.” She held out her palm.

  “No way, you’ll delete the pictures.”

  “Damn skippy.”

  “Can’t let that happen.” He shook his head in slow, sexy movements that lit up her nerve endings.

  “Don’t make me wrestle it out of your hand,” she threatened, feeling vaguely dizzy at the idea of getting that close to him again.

  “You do realize that the thought of wrestling you is not a detriment.” He lowered his voice. “In fact, quite the opposite.”

  “Grrr. You are a frustrating man.”

  “I can’t let you delete cherished memories.”

  She snorted. “Cherished. Good one.”

  “I’m not kidding,” he said, his voice so full of sincerity that she almost believed him. “It was one of the best nights I’ve ever had.”

  She studied his face but he looked completely serious. A trickle of perspiration slid down her breastbone. “What do you want from me?”

  “Nothing more than polite conversation, Gwendolyn.”

  “Please don’t call me that.”

  “You liked it on New Year’s Day.”

  “Shh.”

  “Jodi …” He canted his head. “I like the name Jodi. It fits you. Girl next door.”

  “You didn’t think I was the girl next door when you met me.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “It wasn’t until this morning when you jumped into the laundry hamper to avoid seeing me that I realized Gwendolyn the femme fatale was all an act.”

  “Femme fatale? Me?” She laughed, not just because the image didn’t fit with who she was, but also because it tickled her to think she’d managed to pull off the vamp thing, at least for one night. “Hardly.”

  “Oh very hardly,” he put emphasis on “hard,” wriggled his eyebrows, and leaned in closer.

  “Stop it,” she hissed. “Someone might hear you.”

  “My God, but you smell good. What is that scent?�
�� He was so close now that he was almost sniffing her neck.

  She stepped back. “You can smell it?”

  “Smell it? Hell, it’s invading me.”

  She put two fingers to the pulse point at her neck where she’d daubed the perfume she’d found in the hope chest, just seconds before she’d walked out the door. “What does it smell like?”

  “Heaven.” He breathed. “It makes me want to lick you from head to toe.”

  She thought about the prophecy on the hope chest, the warning to be careful what you wished for because you would get it. Her pulse galloped. This was silly.

  “I thought you smelled good the night of the wedding, but this … wow … Whatever that perfume is you’re wearing, it’s something extra special on you.”

  He could smell it, the perfume that no one else could smell. She remembered the inscription on the box the perfume had been in.

  A scent to love; a smell above all others,

  only two can know that the fragrance of

  deep passion belongs exclusively to mates of

  the soul.

  Soul mates.

  Oh, that was so stupid. Dumb. Fanciful. She didn’t believe in fairy tales. Not anymore.

  “Whatever that perfume is, it makes me want to strip your clothes right off your body and do what we did after the reception—”

  She held up a palm, uselessly trying to deflect the heat waves coming off his body and squashing her steamroller-style. “Can we stop talking about that night? Let’s just forget it happened. Can we please do that?”

  Yes, she sounded desperate, because she was. If he kept talking like that, she was toast. Burnt. Crispy. Gone.

  “I can’t forget. That night is forever etched in my brain.” His sultry eyes caressed her.

  “Then please stop being charming.” Begging now, Jodi? Really?

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to like you.”

  “So you do like me?” A pleased grin twitched his lips.

  “I’m on the fence,” she lied, and crossed her fingers behind her back to make up for it. He couldn’t handle the truth. Scratch that, she wasn’t the one who couldn’t handle him knowing the truth. That would make her too vulnerable, and after Ryan, she’d sworn never to go to that place again. “I could go either way.” She pointed a finger at him. “So watch yourself.”