Sentenced To Wed

by Adrianne Lee

  “You really shouldn’t wear that particular shade of green, dear. It makes you look rather…ill.” If not for the clamor of Livia’s thoughts, Sookie Rayburn could not have sneaked up on her. The woman weighed all of ninety-eight pounds dripping wet, but walked surprisingly heavy on heels that struck the floor with the resounding clip-clop of a shod horse. “Reese is on the phone, but he should be off soon.”

  “Actually, I wanted to talk to you—if you can spare me a few minutes.”

  Sookie’s tomato-red hair swept off high cheekbones and her skin stretched to wrinkle-free smoothness. At Livia’s request, her taut eyebrows gave a slight arch, which Livia suspected was all she could lift them. She stood and Sookie glanced toward the receptionist, whom she’d often said thrived on gossip about the Rayburns. Ali appeared to be working at something on her computer, but even Livia suspected she hung on every word.

  Sookie said, “Let’s use the conference room. Ali, could you bring us each a black coffee?”

  Once they were settled at the table, steaming cups of the hazelnut-scented mud Ali called coffee in front of them, Livia asked, “How did you come to engage Mark Everett to cater our wedding?”

  “Bitsy recommended him.”

  Bitsy Wallingford. Sookie’s best friend since college and hostess extraordinaire. Livia shoved one hand through her short streaked-blond hair and moved the coffee aside with the other. “I see.”

  Curiosity pooled in Sookie’s austere gray eyes. This was the second time Livia had spoken to her about the caterer. “Is there a problem with him, dear?”

  If you only knew. She shook her head. “No. I was just wondering.”

  “Well, then, let me tell you something. Bitsy says—” She broke off, scooting closer, eyeing her in a conspiratorial way, as though they were girlfriends sharing a naughty secret. “—his pastries are positively wicked.”

  Sookie made it sound as if “his pastries” were part of his anatomy. The image of that incredibly sexy man blinked through Livia’s head, and her cheeks heated. How positively wicked anything about Mark Everett might or might not be was not something she wanted to imagine, or to discuss—especially with this woman. She took a deep breath and got to the point of her visit. “I have a huge favor to ask you.”

  Sookie lifted the disposable cup to her collagen-enhanced lips, the white plastic a stark contrast to her wine lipstick. “Okay.”

  “I’ve decided to consult with Mr. Everett myself about the food.”

  “Oh?” She looked crestfallen, as though she were being robbed of her only chance to sample the wicked pastries. “I—I thought—”

  “My sister Bridget is involved now,” Livia rushed to explain, exploiting the animosity Sookie and Bridget shared. “And I thought maybe since you and she don’t see eye to eye on things…that I could count on you to handle all of the flowers instead.”

  “The flowers?” Delight brought a smile. Sookie arranged flowers as if she’d not only excelled but majored in it in college. If the Rayburns ever went broke she could open a florist shop and recoup the family funds in no time. Sookie clawed the air with her designer acrylic fingertips. “Now that’s something I could dig my nails into. Have you decided on what colors you’re using yet?”

  She hadn’t even picked the colors for her wedding. Livia bit back a groan. At this rate, even if she survived to marry Reese in twenty-six days, she was in real danger of having none of the wedding planned. What she couldn’t understand was why she, who was the most anal female she knew, hadn’t nailed down every detail months ago. It wasn’t like her to put anything off, but she’d been putting all of this off. Until this moment, she hadn’t thought to question her bizarre behavior.

  “Colors?” Sookie prodded.

  Livia glanced wildly around, but her mind’s eye saw only gray as though she’d lost the ability to detect other colors. “Er, I’m not sure.”

  Sookie said, “Well, as the wedding is taking place shortly after Valentine’s day and right before the Ides of March, it’s a great time for roses and carnations. I’d suggest red, shades from the palest pink to the hottest crimson. Yes, yes. Red.”

  A small spot of red appeared in the center of the gray filling Livia’s mind, spurting like blood from a gunshot wound. The gruesome image snapped her out of the weird mental fog, reminding her just how little time remained. She caught the tiny hourglass between her forefinger and thumb, and as if it were a magic camera, she saw the bridesmaid dress Bridget had tried on yesterday, a satiny teal that had actually looked drop-dead gorgeous on her. Of course. Teal. Rich without being gaudy. She said, “I’ve decided on teal and silver. So, maybe white flowers would be best.”

  Sookie puckered as though her coffee were bitter lemon juice. “White is just so…unimaginative.”

  “In your hands, Mother, it will be inspired.” Reese Rayburn strode into the room with the agile bounce of a dedicated jogger. He wore a silk shirt, tie and slacks in a monochromatic charcoal, beneath a tan sports jacket. Livia had met him last year at Jane’s Gym, the unisex fitness center where she worked. He had dark red hair, storm-blue eyes, and an intensity like bottled energy. He pecked her on the cheek. Most of his kisses, she realized, were pecks. “Darling, I’m glad you’re here. Do you think you could pick up Joshie this afternoon and take him to the park? I promised, but now I’ve got a meeting I can’t get out of.”

  “Ah, sure.” The hourglass heated between her breasts, reminding her that she didn’t have time for trips to the park with children, but she would take the time. Josh was Reese’s nephew, the son of his deceased half sister. Sookie’s stepdaughter. Livia and Reese were going to adopt him right after the wedding and raise him as their own. She adored the little boy. Besides, she had just crossed two items off her list of wedding planning tasks. Flowers and colors. She could spare a few hours for Josh.

  “I won’t be able to meet you for dinner tonight, either,” Reese said. “New clients. From out of state. They’re opening a chain of restaurants in the area and Jay and I are winin’ and dinin’ ’em. Could be a big coup if we land this account. Thing is, I’m not sure how late I’ll be.”

  “That’s okay, I couldn’t—”

  “You ready, Reese?” Jayson Rayburn, Jay-Ray to his friends, slapped the door frame. Though he was Reese’s father’s brother, he was closer to Reese’s age.

  “Right with you, Jay.”

  “Don’t know why we’re in such a hurry. Airport security being what it is, ten to one we’ll be standing around waiting an hour before they hit baggage claim.”

  Reese laughed, planted another peck on Livia’s cheek, then hurried after his uncle, brushing her off like so much lint from his spotless coat, not even hearing that she’d been going to break their dinner date. That she had plans…with another man, a gorgeous devil of a man…who made wicked pastries.

  Sighing, she said goodbye to Sookie and followed the men out just in time to see Reese gaze at Ali, the receptionist, as though she were a cupcake whose frosting he wanted to lick. Considering the kiss he’d just given her, it would likely be only a flick of his tongue. She smiled to herself at the thought, not even jealous. He was just looking. As she’d looked at Mark Everett. It proved nothing. Reese was human. Male. He was engaged, he wasn’t dead.

  Both of them “looking” was natural, normal, healthy male/female behavior.

  It showed they were…observant, she decided, noting that Reese wasn’t nearly as tall as Mark Everett, or as his uncle.

  Her mind shifted to Jay-Ray. Just out of college, he’d been drafted by the Seattle Supersonics professional basketball team, but hadn’t made the final cut. With his hopes of a sports career dashed, he’d stopped resisting his father’s entreaties and joined the family business. He’d used his athletic contacts to increase sales and kept up with his interest in sports, especially basketball.

  Reese seemed in awe of him and, though she didn’t think that was necessarily a bad thing, she wished he wouldn’t blow off Josh whenever Jay snappe
d his fingers. She didn’t doubt this meeting was as important as he said, but Reese was forever promising the little boy this or that, then something would come up—usually with Jay—and his promise and the child were forgotten.

  She would have to talk to him about this…after their honeymoon.

  She scrambled into her car and headed toward Josh’s school. Luckily she still wore her workout clothes and had a soccer ball in the trunk. She stopped at a deli on the way and bought a sandwich, apple and milk for the little boy, knowing he’d be ravenous when she arrived. At the counter, she added a giant cookie to her purchases, to salve his disappointment.

  She didn’t want him growing up substituting food for love, but sometimes a kid just needed to have a treat. As much as she might complain about her loud, noisy, nosy family, she wouldn’t trade them for anything. Didn’t even want to imagine how awful it would be to lose a parent, let alone both of them. Poor little guy. Some days she wanted to just hold on to him forever.

  THE AFTERNOON was cool with just a hint of dampness in the air, and they had this section of the park near Lake Samammish almost to themselves. Six-year-old Josh Rayburn Marshall had sandy-brown hair, hazel eyes, a spray of freckles across his nose and ears that stuck out just a bit. He was a miniature of his mother, Wendy. Two years ago, Wendy had been fatally shot by her husband, Ethan, who was later found guilty of first degree murder and sent to the state penitentiary where he was currently serving a life sentence with no chance of parole.

  Reese claimed Josh didn’t know much about it, but Livia knew children heard more than adults gave them credit for. Whether or not he had overheard the adults discussing his parents, she was certain that the one thing the kid did know was that his mommy and daddy were never coming back.

  Her heart ached for him.

  She rolled the soccer ball to Josh, and he sped forward and caught it between his feet. She beamed at him. “Hey, you’re getting pretty good at trapping that ball, mister.”

  “I been prasticing in the backyard, hitting it off the garage wall.”

  At his pronunciation of “practicing,” she bit back a smile, wincing at the pity that squeezed her throat. He spent way too much time alone. She’d spent her childhood wishing she were an only child. She saw now that if God had granted that wish, she’d have been as lonely as this little boy. When I’m your full-time mom, Josh, she vowed silently, I’ll do everything within my power to make sure you never feel lonely again.

  She stole the ball from him, then he stole it back, racing away from her toward the two rocks they’d set up as the goal posts. She chased him, and his laugh resounded into the cool air, bouncing off the trees, lighting his eyes, filling her heart.

  “Goal!” He kicked the ball between the stones. “I win!”

  “Yes, you do.” Laughing, her breath puffing, she caught him, hugging him. As his little arms clutched her, hanging on almost desperately, a lump rose in her throat, and her mind snapped back to thoughts of murder, to thoughts of her own death. To thoughts of Mark Everett. Of someone wanting him dead. She still had no idea why. What had he done to make him the target of a murderer? Until she knew that, she could not even guess who was after him.

  Who she needed to avoid at all costs.

  A movement behind a tree snagged her attention, grabbed her breath in her throat. A man. In shadow. At the backside of the tree now. As though he’d been hiding. Was hiding. Had been watching them. Was watching them. Waiting to pounce.

  Her pulse kicked faster. This area was not that far from where Ted Bundy had once hunted victims. She kept her eyes riveted to the spot where she’d seen the man.

  Her hands tightened on Josh, not so firm as to scare him, but solid enough so he wouldn’t decide to break lose and chase after the ball, which had rolled down a short incline. “Josh, it’s getting late. We have to go. Now. I’m gonna race you to the car. On three, okay?”

  “Okay.” He seemed delighted with this new game.

  “One, two, three.” She clutched his hand tight and ran with him across the grass, over bumpy ground, leaping potholes, puddles. Josh squealed with delight.

  She hit the tarmac and they picked up speed. They were three feet from the car when he pulled to a stop.

  “The ball.” He wrenched against her hold. “We forgot it. I’ll get it.”

  “No.” She clamped her hand on his, and pain registered in his hazel eyes. His plump cheeks were red from exertion, his freckles more distinct than usual. “I’ll get you another ball.”

  She clicked the car remote, unlocking the doors, yanked open the back door and hurried him inside. “Put your seat belt on. Quick.”

  “Why?” There were tears in his voice, and she hated that she was scaring him. She locked his door, slammed it shut. She wrenched open her own door. She dove onto the seat, jammed her key into the ignition and grabbed for her door.

  But she was too slow.

  The man was there. He grasped the door above the window, stopping her attempt to slam it. Her gaze riveted on his strong fingers that were scarred as though a knife or something equally sharp had been dragged across the flesh three times.

  He said, “You forgot something.”

  “Livia! Livia!” Josh shouted. “Is the man going to hurt us?”

  Chapter Four

  DEVIL’S FOOD

  Ingredients: Beefcake and Temptation

  Serve: One Bite at a Time

  “I’m not going to hurt either of you, Josh.” Mark Everett’s fiery golden eyes softened to honey as he gazed at the boy. “I’m sorry I scared you. I just wanted to return this.”

  Livia glared at Mark Everett as he released the door and held the soccer ball out to her. Fury and fear twisted her insides like twin rods of molten steel, hot and sickening. Her chest heaved, and her breath steamed as she stomped to the pavement. “I ought to smack you for scaring that little boy like that,” she ground out only loud enough for him to hear. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  He raised the black-and-white ball in his battered hands like a shield. “Walking.”

  “In the same park Josh and I happened to be in?”

  “That was a coincidence, Ms. Kingston.” His gaze felt like a caress on her cheeks, oddly cooling her anger, calming her worst fears.

  But she wasn’t ready to let him off the hook. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yeah, sure.”

  “I swear.” He propped the ball on one hip, then shoved his disheveled black hair back from his brutally handsome face, a face that was all hard planes and deep valleys, the map of a man who’d been treated poorly by life and come out more intriguing despite everything. His expression went earnest, his voice soft. “I meant no harm.”

  “Then why were you lurking behind that tree like…like some pervert or serial killer?”

  “When I came across you and…the boy, I figured—after yesterday—that you’d think I was stalking you or something.” His every word was scented vanilla. “But then you ran off and I realized I’d scared you, and I hadn’t meant to do that.”

  She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply. Why did he smell so damned…delicious? Did he drink vanilla? Splash it on his cheeks after shaving?

  “I swear, I was just walking.”

  The hourglass at her chest tingled, and she knew he was lying. Maybe he had been spying on her…again. But more likely—considering someone wanted to kill him—he was using this innocent park for some nefarious deed. Perhaps a drug deal. She blanched. Lord, was he a drug dealer? A drug user? She didn’t want Josh exposed to anything like that. “You might want to work on your people skills.”

  Mark winced as though she’d struck a nerve. “Next time I’ll make my presence known earlier.”

  Next time? There wasn’t going to be any “next time.” No way. “Thank you for returning the ball.” She took it from him, their fingertips colliding, the contact sending tiny zaps of current into her flesh. She blinked in shock. What was it about this man that confused her nerves, addled her brains, teas
ed her senses?

  He glanced at Josh. “Will he be okay?”

  “I’ll see to it that he is.” She clutched the ball to her thundering chest.

  He pulled his gaze from the boy, and there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, something deeply tender and sad. He searched her face as though trying to discern whether or not she meant what she’d just said. He cleared his throat. “You’ll be there tonight?”

  She took a bracing breath and nodded. “At seven.”

  As he strode toward a car at the other end of the parking lot, Livia climbed into the back seat of her compact and hugged Josh, then handed him the ball and smoothed his mussed hair. The color had returned to his cheeks and he seemed much calmer than she. “I didn’t mean to scare you, Josh. I didn’t get a good look at Mr. Everett and thought he was a stranger.”

  “I know ’bout strangers. Mommy teached me. And we learned in school, too.” He was gazing out the window toward Mark Everett. “I wasn’t scared.”

  The instinct of children, she thought, comprehending with sudden wisdom that she hadn’t felt any real fear of Mark Everett, either, not after that initial burst. Anger. Fury. But not fear… Why was that?

  She lifted her gaze and stared at Mark’s retreating back, as Josh was doing. The little boy said, “Who is that man, Livia?”

  “That’s a very good question, Josh.” Before she showed up at Cupid’s Catering tonight, she was going to go on the Internet to find out whatever it was that Mr. Mark Everett was hiding.

  BUT HER SEARCH proved a big disappointment.

  Livia had thought you could trace anyone on the Internet. Wasn’t that what everyone claimed? That it was “Big Brother” watching us all, recording our lives, our credit histories, our scholastic achievements, our sock sizes. But not Mark Everett’s. She’d found his current address, a web page for Cupid’s Catering, and that was it. If he’d existed before he’d opened his catering service, as Sookie claimed, four months ago, she hadn’t been able to prove it cruisin’ the information highway.