Sentenced To Wed

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Sentenced To Wed Page 3

by Adrianne Lee


  The rush hour had abated, but the coffee bar buzzed with conversation as hungry shoppers and those seeking a warm respite from the weather enjoyed Bridget’s freshly made goodies, the mélange of aromas rampant in the air. Livia swallowed against the mouth-watering scents.

  Not that she felt like eating. Her conversation with Mark Everett had squelched her appetite. She’d thought she’d get rid of him easily, but all she’d done was make a bad and scary situation worse. She couldn’t afford a lawsuit, and she sure couldn’t allow her future in-laws to be sued. Nor could she tell them the reason she wanted to fire the caterer Sookie had hired.

  They’d think she was loony.

  She supposed all she could do was avoid him completely and insist that Sookie not bother her with a single detail involving the food until the day of the wedding. She had a sudden disturbing thought. If Mark Everett died the day before the wedding, would there even be any food for the reception? Anyone to prepare it, or to set it up, or to serve it?

  The drift of her thoughts sickened Livia. Was she really more concerned about her guests not having Beluga caviar and toast points than she was about a person losing his life? She dabbed rain from her cheeks. Why had she been assuming his life mattered less than her own? Because he was destined to die from a bullet didn’t mean he deserved an early death. What if he were just as innocent as she?

  She recalled the harsh resentment in his voice, the twang of danger that told her he was not a man to mess with, and her throat felt as though she were strangling. You have no idea what that man deserves. She had to worry about keeping herself alive. He’d have to worry about saving his own skin.

  She shook off the thought and waved to Bridget. Her sister was behind the counter, working the espresso machine, her long fingers quick and efficient. Four inches taller than Livia, Bridget had inherited their father’s large-boned frame, their mother’s dark hair and twinkly blue eyes. Her cheeks were pink from her exertions.

  Bridget grinned and gestured for Livia and Beverly to meet her at the table she kept reserved for friends and family. A man was already seated there. A stranger. Livia and Bev hesitated, but Bridget hurried over seconds later with a tray laden with her mother’s favorite double mocha, Livia’s skim milk latte, two other cups and fresh-baked muffins.

  “Right on time. My two favorite guinea pigs,” Bridget said, sliding the tray onto the table where the man sat and beckoning her mother and Livia to join him.

  “A new recipe, Bridget?” Bev hitched her hip onto the wrought iron-chair and reached for one of the plastic-wrapped muffins, her eyes cutting curiously to the man. “Smells yummy.”

  Livia wondered if her mother meant the muffin or the man.

  Bridget seemed less confused. She said, “Banana and orange marmalade.”

  The man nodded at her mother in acknowledgment, then turned his golden eyes on Livia. She froze, stunned by something almost electric searing the air between them, something unexpected, and sensual, as though he’d stroked some intimate part of her. She sucked in a sharp breath, and somehow managed to slip onto the ice-cream-parlor chair across from him, hating that her cheeks felt hot, that she couldn’t break the lock that held their gazes.

  There was nothing classically handsome about his slightly skewed features, his nose obviously broken more than once, his mouth aggressive, the lower lip full, his dark lashed eyes unavoidable, riveting. And yet, he was attractive. Damned attractive in a blood-heating sort of way that left Livia feeling in need of a cold shower.

  Her disturbing awareness of this man startled her. Reese had never drawn this reaction from her. Never made her skin tingle as this man’s gaze did. Never made her feel as though she were missing a pleasure she couldn’t even name.

  She shook herself. She’d faced worse temptations than him—Godiva chocolates, for one—and managed life fine without them. She took a ragged breath. This was silly. She was a happily engaged woman. So, she found this guy attractive. So what? She wasn’t dead…yet. She was still allowed to look and admire and appreciate.

  Just not touch.

  She peeled her gaze off his face, noticing other details about him, such as the massive stretch of his shoulders, the hard muscles of his chest, barely covered by the smoky-blue polo shirt beneath his tweed sports jacket. His forearm rested on a sheaf of papers related, she supposed, to whatever business he intended to discuss with Bridget.

  Bev peeled the plastic wrapping from her muffin and took a big bite, sighing with approval.

  Bridget gave Livia an expectant glance, as though it were more important that she try the muffin than be introduced to the stranger at their table. Though her heart wasn’t in it, Livia pinched a tiny bit of the frosted, butter-rich muffin and forced herself to taste it.

  “This one’s a winner,” their mother exclaimed.

  “Definitely, Bridget.” She beamed at her sister, who hadn’t quite forgiven her for allowing Sookie to do the food for the wedding. Bridget had had her heart set on making the cake. Livia had nixed the idea immediately, using Sookie as her excuse, but the truth was, if Bridget made the cake, she’d expect Livia’s constant input. Bridget had never noticed her aversion to cake, and Livia, fearing she’d become the brunt of family jokes, hadn’t volunteered the information.

  But Bridget was important to her and Livia didn’t want bad blood between them, or hurt feelings. She’d suddenly become too aware of the fragility of life, too sensitive to how quickly it could end in the blink of an eye.

  “Are you going to introduce us, Bridget, dear, to this young man?” Bev dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a rose-colored napkin.

  “Introduce you? I thought you’d met.” Bridget looked from Livia to Bev perplexed.

  “We haven’t had the pleasure,” the man said.

  Livia’s stomach pinched. She knew that voice.

  He extended his hand to her. “Mark Everett. Your wedding caterer.”

  The golden eyes challenged her to deny his claim.

  “Wha…what are you doing here?” Livia pulled her hands to her chest, bumping the hourglass, shocked again at its presence, at its reminder of how dangerous was any association with this man. The blood drained from her face. Avoiding Mark Everett could prove more difficult than she’d figured.

  “Mr. Everett—” Bridget began, but he interrupted.

  “Mark,” he corrected warmly. “Please call me Mark.”

  “M-Mark has made me the most generous offer,” Bridget gushed, giving him a beaming smile. “He wants me to help make your wedding cake. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  No! A scream pinged through Livia’s mind. This was her second worse nightmare. She gulped a mouthful of latte, then lowered the cup to the table before she felt the foam on her upper lip. She tongued it off, but caught those golden eyes watching, lighting with something earthy and sensuous. She grabbed her napkin.

  “Aren’t you pleased, Livie?” Bridget’s blue eyes flickered with uncertainty, her excitement falling flat.

  Livia reached a hand to pat her sister. “Of course, I’m delighted. It’s very generous of you, Mr. Everett.”

  She gave him such a hard smile her cheeks ached. She wanted to strangle him, end his life here and now. He was not only a danger to her, but to her whole family. She stood up. “We are going to be late.”

  “I’ll tell Alicia I’m leaving and to set out some of the new muffins since they’ve passed the guinea pig test.”

  Mark Everett caught Livia’s arm at the wrist, his tapered fingers like a human handcuff. “Could you spare me a minute, Ms. Kingston?”

  “Sure.” Bridget answered for Livia as she stripped off the pristine forest-green apron that served as her uniform. “Mom, could you get my purse and my coat from the office?”

  Her mother and sister hurried off, leaving Livia alone with the wedding caterer. She wrenched free of his disturbing grasp and glared at him. “What kind of stunt are you pulling? I told you, you’re fired.”

  He leaned close to her an
d she caught a whiff of something sweet…vanilla? She’d never known a man who smelled of vanilla.

  He put his hands out in a gesture of cease-fire. “And I made threats of suing…but we left the issue unresolved.”

  Her stomach jumped. She didn’t want to be sued, didn’t want the Rayburns to be embarrassed, but what else could she do? She couldn’t speak.

  He kept his voice low. “On reflection, I realized you’re probably dealing with a lot of stress. So am I. So, I decided I should come and speak to you in person, ask you what it was that precipitated your wanting to fire me. Whatever it is, I apologize. Let’s fix it. I’m sure we can find a solution that works for us both.”

  “There is no solution.”

  His frown was just short of a scowl, and she saw again that her first impression of him had been right. He was a man who knew violence. But was he violent? He closed his eyes, seemed to gather his composure, then showed her the warmth of his intense gaze. “Why is the problem without solution?”

  Because I don’t want to take another bullet meant for you. As though to remind her, the hourglass poked her chest. She gulped more latte. Even if she warned him, told him what she knew, he wouldn’t believe her. And it would only make him more determined than ever to sue her and her fiancé. “I just want you out of my life.”

  “Why? What have I done to incur such vehemence?”

  “Nothing.” She shook herself. “I told you it wasn’t personal.”

  “Then why do it?”

  She couldn’t find words to make him understand. With relief, she saw that her mother and sister were ready to leave. “I have an appointment. Goodbye, Mr. Everett.”

  BUT MARK EVERETT wasn’t so easy to be rid of. Livia was trying on a fourth wedding gown at the bridal boutique in downtown Bellevue, viewing her reflection in the three-way mirror of the salon waiting area, when she saw him. Somewhere behind her. Leaning against a clothes rack.

  Her heart gave an disquieted leap.

  His gaze swept the length of her, assessing. He shook his head in disapproval.

  She’d reached the same conclusion. The gown was Bridget’s choice, all lacy ruffles and frills. She’d only tried it on to indulge her. God, why couldn’t she recall the dress she’d chosen before she’d been shot, so she wouldn’t have to waste time doing this again? At the rate they were going the whole day would be gone. But she wanted her wedding to be perfect, and the dress she chose was important. She wouldn’t pick something in haste and end up hating it four weeks from now.

  “It’s gorgeous, dear,” her mother said.

  Bridget shook her head. “Livie doesn’t like it, Mom. Look at the way she’s scowling. It was just a suggestion, sis. Try that slinky satin, off-the-shoulder one next. It’s kind of pretty in a plain-Jane sort of way.”

  “Bridget, why don’t you and Mom look at the veils and see what you think might compliment a plain-Jane wedding gown? Remember, nothing frilly.”

  As soon as they walked away, she lifted the hem of her dress, feeling like Scarlett O’Hara on a rampage, and stalked to where Mark Everett stood. “Why are you following me?”

  He leaned closer and she caught that hint of vanilla mixed this time with damp tweed. “Please.”

  There were rain specks on his cheeks and something soft in those hard eyes that she hadn’t seen before. It caressed her compassionate nature, made her more aware than ever that if she won this race against time, he would lose.

  She banked her anger and gentled her voice. “Please, what?”

  “Let me prove to you that I am the best caterer you could have hired.”

  “And,” she said, picking at strands of her cropped hair. “If I’m unwilling…?”

  The softness disappeared from his eyes, replaced by determination. “Then I’ll have to keep trying to change your mind.”

  “I see.” She had a feeling he’d follow her from bridal shop to bridal shop if she refused him. She scrubbed her temples with her fingertips, then sighed and rescued the hourglass from the lacy folds at her chest. It felt hot against her palm. A talisman. That tied the two of them in an uneasy union. There was no avoiding it. Fight as she may against it, their fates were intertwined. “Just how do you intend to prove your case?”

  He ran a hand over his short hair. “Let me cook for you.”

  “You’re asking me to be your guinea pig?”

  “If you want to put it that way. I’d like a personal recommendation from you after the wedding. In order to give that, you’ll need to approve each dish for the reception.”

  Lord, food. She closed her eyes. The one thing she’d struggled so hard to overcome. Her heart beat harder. Why had she thought she could earn the right to live without walking through fire? That it would be easy—instead of as painful as birth?

  “Ms. Kingston?”

  She inhaled shakily. What was that old saying—keep your friends close, your enemies closer? Maybe she needed to take a different tact on this. Perhaps the only way to avoid being shot in less than twenty-seven days was to get to know this man. To find out what he was hiding.

  Why someone was going to kill him.

  She swallowed over the lump in her throat. Her way, she would be in control. Could manage her destiny. “Okay, Mr. Everett. I’ll give you a second chance.”

  Like the one she’d been given. But his second chance was a chance to die. She flushed.

  “I believe in second chances,” he said, as though she’d just done him a huge favor.

  She doubted he’d feel that way at the end of the month, when he stood before the Processor. No. She couldn’t afford to feel sorry for him. Couldn’t allow that to derail her. “I’ll take over the handling of the food for the wedding on one condition. If, at the end of one week, I still want to fire you, you’ll go without an argument.”

  “Two weeks.”

  He looked so desperate, so contrite, she ignored her better judgment. Why did she feel as though she were making a deal with the devil himself? She grimaced. “Only if you promise not to sue.”

  He smiled, a sexy lopsided tilt of his intriguing mouth, the warmth going all the way to his eyes for the first time. A disquieting heat stroked through her veins. He extended his hand. “Deal.”

  She drew in a shuddery breath, nodded and accepted the handshake. “Deal.”

  His flesh was warm, dry, reassuring, but Livia was not reassured. She felt as though they’d just sealed their fates and that in the end, they would both be sorry.

  Chapter Three

  PEANUT BUTTER AND JAMMED

  Ingredients: Big and Little Boys

  Stir in Patience and Understanding

  Serve: Hot and Cold

  The next day, Livia spied her future mother-in-law’s red Jaguar sitting out front of the offices of Rayburn Grocers Inc. in Issaquah and pulled into the lot beside it. She glanced at the concrete building. Long and wide, with several loading docks, the warehouse quartered the tons of food supplies the company distributed to local restaurants.

  Reese’s grandfather had started the business in the sixties, passed it on to his two sons Jayson and Phillip on retirement, and now, since Phillip’s death over a year ago, Reese and his uncle Jay shared the helm. The company was not the largest food distributor in the Seattle area, but it held its own.

  Food. It was the bane of Livia’s existence, tempting her at every turn. As long as I control it, it can’t control me.

  She clenched her jaw to keep from grinding her teeth as her mind shifted to the deal she’d made with that devil of a caterer. Thanks to him, she still had no wedding gown. He’d rattled her so badly, she hadn’t been able to concentrate. She’d thought after she’d agreed to give him a two-week trial that he’d leave the bridal gown shop, but she’d been wrong. As she’d assessed her reflection in the mirror—her mother and Bridget giving nods of approval to the slinky satin, off-the-shoulder, plain-Jane dress—Livia had glimpsed Mark Everett’s hot golden gaze staring back at her, like twin fires of hell stroking h
er, making her feel downright sinful in the virgin-white satin and lace, as though it were the skimpiest, most man-luring scrap of red-hot lingerie.

  She couldn’t get it off fast enough. Damn that man. Why did he have such an odd effect on her? Was it because she knew he was marked for murder? And he didn’t know? Or was it something else? No. She didn’t want to examine that. With the exception of one little glitch, her life course was mapped out.

  She made herself get out of the car and go inside. The front office looked much like any other: durable linoleum on the floor, receptionist’s desk center stage, waiting chairs hugging the windows, posters of Rayburn’s top-selling food packs on the walls, and Ali Douglas, a pretty, buxom brunette with a quick smile to greet visitors. She forced a smile of her own. “Hi, Ali. Is Mrs. Rayburn here?”

  “She’s with her son.”

  “I’ll wait then.” Livia took the Naugahyde seat closest to the door. She’d decided the best way to free up her time was to delegate to others as many of her wedding planning tasks and responsibilities as possible, but she wasn’t looking forward to explaining to Sookie Rayburn why she, Livia, would now be selecting the food.

  Including the cake.

  She’d thought of little else all day, the old fear holding her by the throat, scolding her for every bite she’d put into her mouth. What if she chose a dress now, then gained weight over the next two weeks and couldn’t fit into it or had to have the seams—horror of horrors—let out before she wore it? The very idea had her taking on an extra aerobics class this morning—as though burning calories before consuming them would keep off fat. She’d lost all logic.

  She felt sick.

 

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