by Tawna Fenske
“Clint has the best taste in gowns,” Anna whispered conspiratorially. “When I talked with him this morning, he said he just got a new shipment of gowns from Vera Wang on Thursday.”
“They’re not flannel, are they?”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
“Or a bridal-shop owner by his chaps?”
“Exactly.”
Ahead of them, Clint halted in front of a rack and pivoted. “I’ve set aside a few styles to get you started. Obviously, any of these can be tailored to fit you.” He plucked one gown off the rack and held it up, the beading nicely complementing the silver buckle on his hat.
“This dress features a Venice lace sweetheart neckline and a fitted bodice. It’s an A-line gown with a chapel train embellished with Swarovski crystals and seed pearls.”
Kelli nodded, reaching out to touch the dress. The satin felt cool beneath her fingers. “It’s very nice,” she said. “But I was picturing something more—”
“Princessy?” he supplied.
Kelli blinked. “Yes. Pretty much.”
Anna elbowed her. “See? I told you he’s good.”
“This dress here is a drop-waist trumpet gown with a strapless, portrait neckline, ruched bust, and a lace-up back,” he offered, swishing the gown to cover his spotlessly clean cowboy boots. “Optional bolero is included.”
“It’s beautiful, but I’m not sure about the lace-up back. I was sorta hoping for—”
“Buttons?” he supplied. “I have just the thing.” He turned and pulled a third gown off the rack. Kelli gasped in amazement.
“This is a taffeta A-line gown with a pleat-wrapped bodice topped with seed pearls and French lace. It features an asymmetrical side pickup skirt revealing a jeweled tulle inset. The cathedral train is detachable for dancing, and it has vintage, silk-covered buttons up the back.”
“That’s it,” she whispered, reaching out to touch it. “That’s the dress.”
For one breathless moment, Kelli forgot this whole thing was fake. She pictured herself in the gown with her dashing groom waiting for her on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean as she gracefully floated down an aisle lined with orchids and roses and daisies.
Then she remembered her groom was more eager to see her in a bulletproof vest than a wedding gown, and that her fear of heights and natural clumsiness made floating on a cliff side even less likely than allergy-prone Mac surviving a flower-strewn ceremony.
Besides. A real wedding was the last thing in the world she wanted. Ever.
A real wedding means commitment, which leads to love, which leads to attachment, which leads to abandonment, which leads to—
“Try it on!” urged Anna. “That totally looks like your kind of dress.”
Kelli nodded and took a deep breath, bringing herself back from the edge of panic. It really was a beautiful dress.
“The fitting room is right this way,” Clint said, leading her to a room with more mirrors than the ceiling of a Las Vegas hotel room. He hung the gown on a hook and waved her inside.
“I’ll help with the buttons,” Anna said, stepping into the oversized fitting room with her. “Hurry, I want to see it on you.”
“I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying.”
Kelli shimmied out of her sundress, and with a little help from Anna, managed to get the behemoth dress over her shoulders. She deliberately avoided glancing in the mirror, not wanting to see anything until it was settled perfectly.
“Okay, I’m going to zip you up now, hold still.”
“Zip?
“There’s a hidden zipper under the buttons,” Anna said. “The buttons are just an illusion.”
Just like the engagement, Kelli thought, but kept her smile pasted in place as Anna finished zipping and buttoning and straightening.
“There,” she said, satisfied at last. “Don’t look yet, let’s walk out into the big room with all the mirrors. There’s even a special pedestal you can pose on to see the full effect of the dress.”
Kelli allowed Anna to tow her out of the fitting room and into a brightly lit room. She stepped onto the little raised platform and fluffed the train.
“Okay, you can look now,” Anna said. “Ohmygod, Kelli, you’re absolutely gorgeous.”
Kelli blinked at her reflection in the mirror. She did look gorgeous, if it was okay to think that. She fluffed the skirt a little as Clint strode over and began arranging the train. Beside the dressing room, Hank touched his earpiece and said something into a little microphone on his collar. He stared at a man studying bow ties on the other side of the shop and Kelli shivered, trying not to think about who might be spying on her.
“It fits you well,” Clint said, drawing her attention back to the dress. “We might need to take it in just a little bit through here, but other than that, this dress looks like it was made for you.”
Kelli beamed, trying not to get emotional. It was just a dress. A stupid, fluffy white dress that looked absolutely stunning on her. A memory flickered in her brain—the smell of mothballs, her mother’s voice, the image of her seven-year-old self playing dress-up with her mom’s wedding gown.
“You’re a princess,” her mother had cooed, taking a slug of the Jim Beam she used to self-medicate. “A real goddamn princess.”
“You are a princess,” Anna said, and Kelli realized she’d been mouthing the word princess like some kind of moron.
Kelli pivoted, admiring the plunging neckline, the row of little tiny buttons up the back of the gown. She frowned, noticing one edge of the fabric caught in the hidden zipper behind one of the top buttons. She tugged, then stopped, not wanting to tear anything on the perfect dress.
Kelli pivoted again, certain Clint would have a solution for fixing the zipper. The bodice was certainly lovely, and those seed pearls—
“Is that your phone?” Anna asked.
“I must’ve left it in the dressing room.”
“Don’t move. I’ll go grab it.”
Anna hustled off to the fitting area, while Kelli wriggled her shoulders, hoping to free the fabric from the zipper. Wow, it was really wedged in there. Maybe if she tugged a little—
“The zipper?” Clint asked, reaching for it. “I was afraid of this. The humidity makes things especially sticky. Let me see if I can—”
“Careful,” Kelli whispered, pulling back. “Don’t hurt the dress.”
“Wow, that’s really wedged in there.”
“Hey, Kelli?” Anna called.
She turned to see Anna rushing back with the phone in her hand. Kelli reached for it, frowning at the number she didn’t recognize.
“Hello, this is Kelli Landers.”
There was a gasp on the other end of the line, then the trill of a frantic voice. “Ohmygod, please come quickly! There’s an emergency!”
Chapter Four
Mac was en route home from a meeting when his phone rang. He recognized Hank’s number on the readout and answered on the first ring.
“Is she okay?” he barked.
No point bothering with hello. He’d asked Hank to keep an eye on Kelli, to make sure she stayed safe from gunrunners and thieves and fast-moving cars and large insects. If anything had happened to her—
The silence on the other end of the line made Mac’s gut clench.
“She’s fine but there’s been a change in her plans for the morning.”
“What kind of change?”
“There’s been an emergency,” Hank said, and Mac’s gut clenched harder. “She had to race to the clinic and—”
“I’m on my way,” Mac said, disconnecting the call as he slammed on his brakes. Tires squealed, and a car behind him honked as Mac hauled ass for the volunteer veterinary clinic, Hank’s voice echoing in his ears.
There’s been an emergency.
Dammit, he should have asked more questions. He’d have answers soon enough. He pushed the pedal to the floor, handling the curves in the road like a NASCAR driver.
/> You swore you’d never let it happen again. If something happens to her because of you—
He screeched into a parking spot and jumped out of the car, slamming the door behind him. He marched into the clinic like a man possessed, hoping she was okay, hoping she hadn’t been in a car accident or gotten food poisoning or a hangnail. Jesus, what if she—
“Retraction,” commanded a familiar voice.
Mac rounded the corner into the newly built surgery suite and froze.
“Let’s get some lavage going here.”
His brain took a ridiculous amount of time processing the image of Kelli at the head of the operating table. She wore a blue surgical mask over her mouth and nose, latex gloves on her hands, and a full surgical gown tied in back over what appeared to be a—
“Is that a wedding dress?” Mac blurted.
Kelli looked up, her turquoise eyes meeting his over the top of her protective eyewear. “Hi, honey,” she called cheerfully, despite the grim set of her face. “Can’t talk right now, gotta focus on this bowel obstruction.”
She dropped her eyes back to the table, where a large mutt was sprawled unconscious, tongue lolling to one side.
“We got the call at the bridal salon.” He turned to see Anna sidling up beside him, nodding toward the table where Kelli worked. “The dog belongs to one of the vet techs. I guess their normal veterinarian is out of town ‘til afternoon.”
“What happened?” he asked, moving around the table so he could see her from the front. He was disappointed to discover the surgical gown covered the front of the dress completely.
Is it low cut? Is it silky?
Is it hot in here?
“Bowel obstruction,” Anna said. “Pretty common, but dangerous. Apparently the dog has a fondness for panties.”
“Don’t we all,” he muttered, his eyes still fixed on Kelli as he moved to the side for a better view.
“I hope you’re not in the habit of eating them like Diablo here,” Kelli called, her brow creased as she focused on her work.
God, she was beautiful. Especially in that dress, never mind the unflattering medical garb. The view from behind was spectacular, the satin hugging her curves and showcasing that spectacular ass beneath the tie on the surgical gown.
“Is the dog going to be okay?” Mac asked.
“Too soon to tell,” said a man in blue scrubs. He was clutching the hand of a worried-looking brunette, and Mac deduced they must be the dog’s owners.
“Diablo always chews on my underthings,” she sniffed. “I’ve been so good about keeping the lid down on the hamper, but I guess he must have gotten in somehow.”
“Let’s bump up the anesthesia,” Kelli said, setting aside a pair of oddly angled scissors that looked like a medieval torture device. “Feels like it’s running a little too light. I’m going to try to squeeze the foreign body through the intestine now. If we’re lucky, we can avoid having to resect the GI tract.”
“Dr. Landers has a lot of experience with this sort of surgery,” the dog’s owner whispered. “That’s why we called her.”
Mac nodded, not sure if he was more surprised to hear her referred to as Dr. Landers, or to see his sweet, docile bride up to her elbows in blood and intestines, looking calm and competent and in command.
Why the hell is this sexy?
Mac turned back to Anna. “Is there a reason she’s uh—wearing a wedding gown?”
“We couldn’t get it off. The zipper got caught, and Kelli loved the dress too much to let us cut her out of it. Now we just have to hope she doesn’t get blood on it.”
“Got it,” Kelli said, pulling a foul-looking mass from the dog’s belly and depositing it in a silver bowl. “Let’s push three hundred milligrams of cefazolin, please. Can someone hand me some three-ott PDS suture?”
“Jesus,” Mac growled.
“She’s good,” Anna said. “You’ve seen her work before?”
He hesitated, not sure what the right answer should be for a supposed fiancé. Given the awestruck look he knew was plastered to his face, the truth seemed the best way to go.
“Never,” he said. “Not like this.”
“Did you know she’s published three different cases in the Journal of the American Veterinary Medical Association?”
“Yes,” Mac said. He’d read that information in her file, of course. “But I had no idea what it meant.”
“Well now you know,” Anna said, beaming proudly as she tucked a chunk of purple-streaked hair behind her ear.
“Now I know,” Mac said and wondered if they were still talking about veterinary surgery.
“There,” Kelli said, stepping back slightly. “We’ve got the incision in the intestine closed. Let’s check for leakage and give it a little lavage before we close the body wall.” She turned to the dog’s owners and smiled. “You got lucky this time. Might want to be a little more careful with these in the future.”
She reached into the silver bowl and unraveled a pair of red, lacy panties, dangling them from one finger. Then she picked up some sort of oblong silver object, smooth and rounded on the ends. She flicked a button and the object began buzzing in her hand.
“Oh,” Mac said, realization dawning as Kelli flicked off the bullet-shaped vibrator.
She grinned and gave him a wink. “Gotta love the power of Duracell.”
Mac looked at the panties, wondering if they’d started out crotchless or if the dog rendered them that way. He turned to the dog’s owners to offer some words of encouragement and saw the woman glaring daggers at the man.
“I have never owned either of those things in my entire life,” she snapped.
Mac winced and looked back at Kelli. She met his eye, her expression perfectly composed and professional.
“Well,” she said. “I take it you won’t be needing these back?”
…
An hour later, Kelli found herself sitting shotgun in Mac’s black car with her wedding gown piled around her.
“Definitely not the first time I’ve pulled panties out of a dog’s GI tract,” Kelli said, stretching her legs out. “But that’s the first time they’ve become evidence in a divorce case.”
“You were amazing in there.”
“Thanks,” Kelli said, beaming. She noticed a hint of surprise in his voice, and wasn’t sure what to make of it. She looked down at her dress and fluffed the satin. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”
“Very. Isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her gown before the wedding?”
“Since there won’t be a wedding, I think we’re safe.”
He didn’t say anything right away, and Kelli fiddled uncomfortably with a seed pearl. “Don’t worry about me wearing it to Zapata’s house tomorrow. Anna’s sending someone to the house to get it off me shortly.”
“I wasn’t worried.” He glanced at her, his expression unreadable behind the dark glasses. “You were really good in there. Impressive.”
“Thanks. I’ve been doing this awhile.” She sighed and stretched her neck, which was full of kinks from a morning spent hunched over the operating table. “Anything I should know about tomorrow’s dinner with Zapata? Any briefs I need to read, or memos I should consult?”
“Just be yourself,” he murmured distractedly. Then he looked at her, seemingly startled by his own words. “I’m not entirely sure I know who that is.”
“What do you mean?”
He was studying her so intensely, he seemed to have forgotten he was in control of a moving vehicle. “Mac? Uh, the road?”
“Right.” He snapped his attention back to driving, but still seemed distracted. “When you meet Zapata and his wife, just be sweet, elegant, and as quiet as possible. Let me handle the talking. And don’t let Griselda bait you. She’ll probably try to get a rise out of you.”
“Got it. I probably need to go dress shopping before the dinner party. Is there something special you want me to wear?”
“A wiretap.”
“I m
eant dresses.”
“Oh.” He frowned. “There’s a whole closet full of things in the master bedroom. I ordered everything in your size. I was going to have Maria move them over last night after you decided to stay in the guest room, but then you fell asleep.”
“Sorry about that.” Kelli bit her lip. “Did anyone ask questions about us not sharing a room?”
“I told them you’re very traditional, and that you think it’s bad luck for the bride and groom to share a bed a month before their wedding.”
“We’re getting married next month?”
“Sure, why not?”
Why not, Kelli thought, and stared out the window, feeling jittery all of a sudden.
“I think we should postpone it,” she said.
“Postpone it?”
“The wedding. That seems way too soon.”
Mac was silent in the driver’s seat. “You do remember we aren’t really getting married? This whole arms deal will be wrapped up long before that anyway.”
“I know,” Kelli said, not sure why she felt so jumpy. She turned to look at him, and caught her panic-filled reflection in his sunglasses. She swallowed and pressed on. “I just don’t feel ready.”
“Ready for a fake wedding?”
Kelli nodded, balling her hands into fists in the wedding gown. “Maybe in two months. Or three. Or even longer. I’ve heard of engagements lasting a year or more, and I just think—”
“Kelli.”
“What?”
“I promise I’m not planning to drag you to the altar by the hair, nor am I secretly plotting to get you drunk and arrange a Vegas ceremony performed by a team of Elvis impersonators.”
“Is that going in our wedding vows?”
Mac looked at her again, his expression softening. “I can’t believe this.”
“What?”
“You’re terrified of marriage.”
She looked up at the ceiling of the car. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Marriage—a lifelong commitment between two people?” He furrowed his brow. “Or a week-long commitment between two celebrities. Whatever. The point is that you’re afraid of it.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too.”