by Lori Wilde
“I’ll try,” he said, and his grin turned so wicked she knew he had absolutely no intention of trying.
“So you’re a ballplayer too?” she asked, desperately scanning the room in search of rescue, silently willing Breeanne and Rowdy to come back. “That’s why you looked vaguely familiar to me. I don’t follow sports, but my dad and Breeanne are baseball fanatics. Can’t help but absorb some of it by osmosis.”
“Yep.” Jake leaned in toward her. “Cleanup hitter. The Gunslingers just traded for me.”
Now everything was starting to make sense. It explained why he’d been at the wedding she’d crashed.
“I was happy to come home to Texas,” he said.
“You’re a native Texan?” Jodi pulled her shoulders back.
“Born in San Antonio, but I lived in Jefferson for a while.”
“Wow, small world.”
“How long have you known Rowdy?” Maybe if she made normal conversation she could slow her leaping pulse, quell the quivering cells in her body that whispered mischievously at her to jump his ever-loving bones.
“Ten years. We were in the minor leagues together.”
Hmm, well that topic of conversation had run its course. What she knew about baseball she could fit into a hummingbird’s beak. “Well, I better go say hello to my aunt and uncle.”
“Introduce me to them,” he said.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“Let’s get something straight,” she said, her tone coming out pricklier than she intended. But if she cut this guy slack, she had a feeling he’d hogtie her with it. “I don’t want to get to know you. We have to be around each other because you’re the best man and I’m the maid of honor, but that’s it. We’re not going to do anything to mess up Breeanne and Rowdy’s wedding. You hear me?”
“Mess up? Like what for instance?”
“We will not be repeating what happened at the Grand Texan on New Year’s Day.”
He lowered his voice, and took on a let’s-knife-Julius-Caesar-in-the-back conspiratorial tone. “Not even if we make sure no one finds out?”
“No.” Damn her fluttery heart. “This is a small town. Someone always finds out.”
“You’ve got a stubborn streak.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Is that your biggest flaw?”
“If you consider being strong-willed a flaw.”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“If that strong will keeps you from having an open mind.”
“What’s your big flaw, smart guy?” she asked, turning the tables.
“Who says I have one?” He gave her that I’m-so-likable-how-can-you-possibly-resist-me grin that had backed her into this corner in the first place.
“Everyone has a flaw,” she said. “You especially.”
He stroked his clean-shaven chin with his thumb and index finger, and dammit, she couldn’t stop staring at his chiseled jaw. Why would he ever cover such a magnificent jaw with a beard? “Let me think on that.”
“I know what your flaw is,” she volunteered.
“Yeah?” His eyes narrowed to beads of amusement. “What’s that?”
“Arrogance.”
He tilted that gorgeous chin to the side, studied her so long she started to squirm. “I prefer to think of it as self-confidence.”
“You’ve got it in spades.”
“Why, thank you.”
“I meant it as a complaint, not a compliment.”
“You are so cute when you’re riled.”
“I’m not riled. Being riled means I care. I don’t care.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I don’t.”
“If you don’t care, why did you jump into the laundry cart?”
“Stop talking about the laundry cart.”
“If I can’t talk about the wedding you crashed or our night together or the laundry cart, what can I talk about?”
“Breeanne and Rowdy and their wedding day. It’s why we’re here.”
“Fine. Let’s talk about their wedding. So Valentine’s Day. They’re getting married on V-Day. What’s with that?”
“They’re soppy in love, but from a practical standpoint, they wanted to get married and have their honeymoon over with before spring training starts. February fourteenth won out.”
“Let me guess, their colors are red and white.”
“And pink.”
“Ugh.”
“You can say that twice.”
“Ugh, ugh.”
“I didn’t mean to literally say it twice.”
“Does this mean I’ll have to wear something pink?”
She nodded, enjoyed herself. “Pink bow tie.”
He groaned. “Please say it ain’t so.”
“I would feel sorry for you, but I have to wear pink from head to toe. Consider yourself lucky. Despite the Molly Ringwald Pretty in Pink mythology, pink is not the best color for a redhead.”
“I know,” he whispered. “It’s emerald green. I’ll never be able to look at emerald green again without thinking about how you looked in that dress—”
“Do you ever do anything you’re told?”
“I try not to.”
Jodi blew out her breath through clenched teeth. “It’s gonna be a looong month.”
Someone cranked up the volume on the music that had been trickling through the sound system, unleashing the strains of “Kiss You.” The same song they’d waltzed to at the wedding. What lousy freaking timing.
Their song.
His eyes met hers. He was thinking the same thing.
No. It wasn’t their song. They didn’t have a song. Two people could not have song if they weren’t dating.
“I have an urge to dance,” he said.
“Tuck those urges away.”
“I miss Gwendolyn.” He shook his head in mock woefulness. “She was so much fun.”
“Gwendolyn isn’t real.”
“She felt pretty real to me.”
“Some dreams are like that.”
Thankfully, the music cut off midway through while Rowdy asked everyone to be seated at the banquet table so they could start the food service.
Yes! This was her chance to escape him.
Except there were place cards on each table, and she was seated beside Jake.
Breeanne sat across from her, Suki to her left. Jodi did her best to stir conversation with her sisters, but Breeanne’s face was perpetually turned toward Rowdy. Suki struck up a flirtation with one of the groomsmen, another batter for the Dallas Gunslingers named Axel Talbot.
Finally, she peeked over to gauge what was going on with Jake, and saw a busty waitress leaning over his shoulder to fill his wineglass and strategically pushing up her cleavage with the inside of her upper arms.
Instant jealousy poured through Jodi, and that’s when she knew she was in serious trouble.
CHAPTER 10
Jodi Carlyle’s Wedding Crasher Rules: Do not have sex in the coat closet.
Jake wished the busty waitress would stop blocking his view of Jodi. He couldn’t get enough of looking at her. For the past two weeks, he’d been spinning sexual fantasies about the mysterious Gwendolyn and her secret identity. Alternately imagining that she was a spy or an undercover FBI agent, or the bored daughter of a Fortune 500 executive.
Strangely enough, discovering that Gwendolyn—aka Jodi Carlyle—was more girl next door than Mata Hari was not a turnoff. In fact, he was now completely intrigued and he ached to know more about her. What had driven an upstanding, rule-following woman like her to daringly crash the celebrity wedding of the season and spend one perfect night in his arms? She might look buttoned-up, but underneath, she was pure firecracker¸ and he wanted nothing more than to light her fuse again.
Tonight she wore a simple navy blue skirt and a silky white blouse that rippled against her body whenever she moved. A hear
t-shaped gold necklace rested at the hollow of her throat and pearl earrings nestled in her earlobes. He remembered how those lobes had tasted and his mouth watered. Her scent wrapped seductively around him, whispering softly underneath the aroma of garlic, onions, and basil—kiss me, touch me, hold me. She smelled pretty damn good before, but now her smell was hypnotic. All he wanted to do was bury his face against her neck and inhale.
The conversation hummed around them, but Jake heard none of it. He was too focused on Jodi and the way the second button on her blouse stopped short of showing off cleavage. Over the sound system, Muse was singing “Madness.” He took a long pull from the glass of cabernet the waitress had poured for him, felt the liquid slide down his throat warm and easy. All he wanted to do was lean across the table and whisper to Jodi, Wanna get out of here?
Why wasn’t she married? She should be married—pretty, small-town woman, the right age. What was wrong with the men in Stardust that someone hadn’t already put a ring on her finger?
Waitstaff moved in and out of the room, the draft caused the candle in the Chianti bottle sitting on the table in front of them to flicker. In the muted lighting Jodi’s hair fell in loose curls to the top of her shoulders, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glowed, and her lips glistened, wet with wine.
“What is it?” she asked, looking wary, pulling her shoulders back and her chin up. The gesture caused the second button on her blouse to slip from the buttonhole, giving him a delicious peek at her creamy flesh. He thought of marshmallows, sweet and fluffy.
He managed to send his gaze back to her face instead of letting it stroll where it wanted to go—to those soft breasts jutting so provocatively beneath the folds of her white silk blouse.
“You look nice.” He scooted his chair closer to her, as close to her as he could get. “That blouse …”
She glanced down at her open button, looked alarmed, and buttoned it up fast. “You’re incorrigible.”
“And you’re gorgeous,” he whispered, loving the way her hair brushed against her chin. He remembered how it had felt brushing over his skin.
“Shh.” She frowned, quickly glancing up and down the table to see if anyone had overheard them.
“This is driving me crazy,” he went on. “Being so close to you and not being able to touch you.”
She gave him a look that said, If you don’t shut up I’m going to strangle you. “I’ll reserve you a straitjacket.”
He smiled innocently.
She glared, her bosom heaving with a sharp inhale. The button popped open again.
He loved that button. “Great bra. I like lacy bras.” His smile widened. He couldn’t help it. “Although I will always have a fondness for you in black lace.”
She rolled her eyes, and closed the button once more.
“You’re mad at me because I like your lacy bra?”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Stop staring. Stop talking.”
“C’mon,” he murmured. “You can’t expect me not to look at a wardrobe malfunction, especially when you’ve got such fantastic ti— breasts.”
Her eyes could have blistered paint. “I expect you to at least be a gentleman about my wardrobe malfunction and look the opposite way.”
“What about me ever gave you the idea I was a gentleman?” he drawled.
“My mistake. Clearly.”
“Why are you mad at me?”
“For being here.”
“Sorry to ruin your playhouse, but I was invited.”
On the other side of the table, Rowdy was telling the story of how he and Breeanne first met when a kid had accidentally beaned her with the baseball that Rowdy had autographed for the boy.
“But honestly,” Breeanne said. “We met before that. When I was twelve in the children’s hospital and Rowdy came on the floor to visit and he gave me an autographed baseball.”
“Aww,” said everyone at the table except Jake.
He leaned over to whisper in Jodi’s ear. “We can beat that story.”
“No we can’t,” she whispered back, and scooted to the far side of her chair. “We aren’t a couple. Therefore we can’t have a cute meet.”
“Too late. We already did.”
“I’m not going to talk to you anymore,” she said, and purposefully leaned forward toward Breeanne, who was staring raptly at Rowdy and never saw Jodi trying to get her attention.
Jake laughed.
Undaunted, Jodi swung her gaze to the left, but her other sister was batting eyelashes at Talbot. Jodi tapped Suki on the shoulder. Her sister waved her away without glancing over.
Jake held out his palms. “All roads lead back to The Crown.”
“What?” She scowled.
“Coronado. My last name,” he said. “It means crowned.”
“I see,” she said. “Arrogant.”
“Self-confident,” he corrected.
“Delusional.”
“Assured.”
“Cocky.”
“Are we talking dirty now?” He was having such fun pulling her leg, and while she seemed irritated on the surface, he could have sworn she was struggling not to grin. No matter how much she might want to deny it, she liked him.
Why did she want to deny it? Was she ashamed of him? Or embarrassed that her adventuresome one-night stand had shown up in her hometown, threatening her reputation and her equilibrium? That was not his intention.
Besides, she wasn’t the only one feeling threatened. He felt like he was rappelling down the side of a muddy mountain in the rain with baby oil slicked over his palms. A smart man would come up with a good excuse and get out of here.
He wondered how much longer the party was going to last. How long was he obligated to stay? Could he get out of here after dessert?
Jake glanced back at Jodi. The button on her blouse had popped open once more, giving him a flash of lace. He was seriously starting to love that blouse. Hmm. Then again, he didn’t want to seem rude. He was the best man, after all. He was probably expected to stick around at least as long as the maid of honor.
“Who is that older lady with the purple hair and tats talking to your mom?” he asked, hoping to make conversation that wouldn’t irritate her.
Jodi bent over his arm to peer down the table, her breasts brushing lightly against his arm. Another plus for this new conversational direction. But sadly, she immediately jerked back. “That’s Trudy, a close family friend. She’s a Vegas stripper turned artist in her retirement. She’s pretty good too. We sell her stuff in Timeless Treasures.”
“Timeless Treasures?” he asked, more to hear her smooth voice than any real interest in what was going on down at the other end of the table.
“It’s my parents’ antique store. Although Timeless Treasures is much more than that. It’s the hub of Stardust. Breeanne’s bookstore is in it, and the Honeysuckle Café, and—”
“And apparently it’s a haven for artists.”
“That too. People come to hang out as much as to buy stuff. Most of them hoping for an invitation to one of my parents’ backyard parties. They throw the best parties in Stardust,” she said proudly.
“Maybe I’ll get invited to one.”
“No doubt, since you’re Rowdy’s best man.” She didn’t look particularly pleased about it, and he found himself scrambling to come up with a way to turn the tide in his favor.
“Trudy looks like she’d be the life of the party.”
“What gave her away? The hair color, the tats, the piercings?”
“Her laugh. It’s infectious.” He chuckled.
“Well,” Jodi said. “There is a downside to being the life of the party.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Not having much restraint.”
“Said the wedding crasher,” he murmured.
“Shh,” she said. “That wasn’t me.”
“No? I could have sworn—”
“Forget everything you saw.”
“Can’t. I’ve got exhibits A, B, C, a
nd D.” He patted his cell phone in his front shirt pocket. “Remember?”
Jodi looked down the long table again and mused, “I bet Trudy would switch places with me if I asked.”
He looked into her blue-gray eyes and grinned like a shark. “I bet Trudy would love to see my camera roll.”
“You are not a gentleman.”
“I thought we already covered that.”
“It needed saying again.”
Back to the antagonistic position, huh? Another change of topic was needed. “So,” he said. “Why did you make a B&B out of boxcars?”
She shrugged. “Why not?”
“No particular attachment to rail travel?”
“No.”
“Hank Williams super fan?”
She quirked an eyebrow and her mouth. “What are you talking about?”
“‘Ramblin’ Man.’ Train whistle blowing—”
“You’re reaching a long way for that one, Stretch. The Allman Brothers have a song called ‘Ramblin’ Man’ too.”
“I’m not talking about them.”
“Honestly, I have no idea what you’re talking about at all.” She took a sip of wine. “When are they going to serve the food?”
Jake pointed out the platters of antipasto sitting on the table. He’d been so busy chatting her up he hadn’t noticed when they’d arrived either. He reached for the plate the waitstaff had put in front of him and dished up a stuffed mushroom.
“I meant the main meal,” Jodi said.
“You don’t like appetizers?”
She gave him a pointed look.
“Oh yeah, that’s right. You like for everything to come out even. Do you want me to put one or two aside for you so the waitstaff doesn’t make off with it when the main dishes arrive?”
“Okay.” She bobbed her head.
He reached for her plate and slid a stuffed mushroom on it. “Because I’m closer,” he said. “Not because I don’t think you can’t get your own mushroom. I’m fully aware you can fend for yourself.”
“Watch it, you’re coming close to acting like a gentleman.”
“Thanks for the tip. Now …” he said, pushing his plate off to one side. “Where were we? You picked boxcars because they were—”
“Affordable.”
“That’s it? Just finances?”