Hank had already surmised that.
3
“Well, it’s about time you got here. I know you’re the boss, Fiona, and I’m only your sister pitching in but—”
Easily frazzled, Bridgette was apparently way beyond her frazzling point when Fiona approached. As Bridgette turned around to face her, her mouth dropped open, the rest of her tirade vanishing. The tray in her hands, loaded with empty glasses, tilted just enough to threaten to send everything on it sliding down to the patio.
Hank quickly elbowed Fiona aside and made a grab for the edge of the tray. Envisioning the mess created by the shattered glasses, Fiona tried to gather the glasses before they crashed ignobly at the same time.
Rushing, they bumped against each other, their hands tangling. The glasses were rescued and contact was made, leaving a definite impression on both.
Feeling self-conscious without fully understanding why, Fiona slowly withdrew her hands from the glasses, keeping them steady. That was more than she could say for her pulse.
“Nice save,” Fiona congratulated him, mustering a half smile. She waited for her heartbeat to become at least partially regular. “I guess that answers my questions about your sense of balance.”
He grinned, releasing his own hold on the tray. “Guess so.”
Bridgette plopped the tray onto the table without so much as a glance. There was something far more important than rescuing a handful of glasses going on here.
She’d expected to see Alex walking in behind Fiona. Dependable, amiable, he still had the kind of face that made Abraham Lincoln good-looking by comparison. Seeing the sexy stranger instead had caught her completely off guard.
“Excuse me,” she murmured to the man. Moving briskly, Bridgette commandeered Fiona’s arm and tugged her over to the side.
Fiona opened her mouth to protest, but never got the chance to form any words. Bridgette talked fast when she wanted to.
“Where on earth did you find him?” Bridgette asked breathlessly.
Trust Bridgette to focus on a good-looking man instead of their reason for being here in the first place. “He found me, actually. That’s the deliveryman from the florist Hank.”
Looking over Fiona’s shoulder, Bridgette devoured Hank with her eyes, one tidy, delectable morsel at a time. He did things to a tuxedo she could only dream about.
“Well, he can certainly make a delivery to me any day.” Beaming, she looked at her sister, a teacher seeing her backward pupil finally graduating. “Fiona, I’m proud of you, but isn’t this rather a strange first date?”
Fiona uncoupled herself from Bridgette’s grasp. There were hors d’oeuvres to heat and a five-tier wedding cake to put together. She didn’t have time for this nonsense.
“Date?” she echoed incredulously. Where had her sister gotten that idea and why in heaven’s name would she bring a date with her while she was working? “He’s not my date, Bridgette,” she said in a hoarse whisper, “he’s the waiter.”
That would have been the natural assumption, given the outfit he was wearing, but all Bridgette could think of was that the man looked stunning in basic black.
As an afterthought, she glanced around. “Where’s Alex?”
Fiona hurried back to the van. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the object of Bridgette’s adulation following. At least he didn’t have to constantly be instructed.
“In the emergency room, nursing a sprained ankle courtesy of his nephew. The deliveryman showed up just when I needed a miracle.” Opening the back of the van, she raised her voice above a whisper. “He even fits perfectly into the uniform.”
Bridgette slanted a sly glance at her before looking over her shoulder at the man coming up behind them. “I wonder what else he fits perfectly into.”
Hands filled with the hors d’oeuvres she had boxed, Fiona rolled her eyes. “Bridgette, you are oversexed.”
Bridgette sighed as the man smiled at her before taking the box from Fiona. “There’s no such thing.” The statement was not uttered as quietly as it might have, given the topic. She adjusted her uniform, bringing her shoulders back and her best feature forward.
Fiona could only shake her head. She took out the bottom section of the wedding cake she’d made at five this morning, carefully easing the box from the shelf and keeping it steady. “Remind me to send a get well card to Brian.”
Bridgette stretched out her hands, dutifully accepting the box. “Why? He isn’t sick.”
Two boxes piled on top of each other, Fiona led the way back to the garden. Her mouth curved as she glanced at her sister. “No, but if I know you, the poor man’s probably suffering from exhaustion.”
Bridgette smiled broadly. “Ha, you should be so lucky.”
Entering the garden, Fiona looked at the man fate had placed on her doorstep at exactly the right moment. He’d put the box on the table and had opened it up and was now waiting for her.
“Yes, maybe I should,” she murmured, more to herself than to Bridgette.
But Fiona knew better than that. Someone who was as handsome as this man was probably married. And even if he wasn’t, he could certainly have his pick of anyone. With his choices wide open, Fiona figured that didn’t give her much of a chance. There was no point in even speculating about what might be because it wouldn’t be. She had made her peace with things like that a long time ago.
“Let’s get cracking,” she announced to her team of two. She resisted the temptation to shake her sister. Bridgette looked as if she was about to start giggling like a schoolgirl at any second. “We haven’t much time,” she addressed Bridgette tersely. “The guests should be arriving very soon.”
“What would you like me to do?” Hank asked, only to hear Bridgette’s lusty laugh. He raised an eyebrow, waiting.
Suddenly the vamp, Bridgette replied, “You really don’t want an answer to that”
Maybe she wouldn’t shake her. Maybe she’d just hit her, Fiona thought, giving her older sister a black look that had absolutely no effect on her.
“You must be Bridgette,” Hank said, smiling at her.
“I need help bringing the rest of the cake out,” Fiona called out, going back to the van.
Bridgette waved a dismissive hand toward Fiona. Her eyes were riveted to eyes the color of a spring morning. “And you must be taken.”
“Bridgette,” Fiona called through gritted teeth, “we have work to do. This is no time to carry on an interview.” Fiona shut her eyes, praying for strength. Why couldn’t she have been an only child?
“Taken?” Hank wasn’t sure what Bridgette meant. Did Fiona’s whole family talk in circles?
Tuning Fiona out completely, Bridgette nodded as she drifted in the general direction of the driveway, her attention fastened to the man beside her. “Spoken for. Married. Involved.”
If it seemed like an invasion of privacy, he didn’t appear to mind. “Nope, ‘fraid not. None of the above.”
Fiona thrust a box into her sister’s hands, then placed the larger one in his.
“Hurry,” was all she said.
All she trusted herself to say. For now. Bridgette would get a dressing-down later, in private. Not that it would do any good. She was just grateful she was in too much of a rush to be properly mortified. That, too, would come later.
As Bridgette looked at her sister’s back while the latter hurried to the garden, Bridgette thought she could hardly stand it. How could Fiona be so calm when the most gorgeous man either one of them had ever seen up close was occupying the same space as they were? And if that wasn’t enough, he was unattached!
But that, Bridgette realized, was something Fiona probably didn’t even know. Because Fiona wouldn’t have asked. Bridgette’s mind began to furiously conjure up plans that would bring the two of them together. Lucky thing for Fiona she wasn’t an only child or she would probably succeed in working herself into an early grave—and arrive there alone.
All things considered, Fiona thought, in spite of the
rather rocky beginning and Alex’s no-show, the reception was going smoothly. They had caught a lucky break when the photographer had decided to detour to the local park on the way back from the church. He’d remained to take an entire roll of film of the happy couple and their entourage. It gave Fiona and company the breathing space they needed to finish setting up.
By the time the guests and wedding party arrived, the guinea hens were hot, the drinks cold and the wedding cake, freshly reassembled, was a work of art Everything had turned out letter perfect, even to Mrs. Kellerman’s critical eye.
Fiona kept an eye of her own on her protégé, worried that he might be overwhelmed by so many people.
She might have spared herself the worry.
Hank took to it like the proverbial duck to water. Water filled with women. Every time Fiona looked his way, he was surrounded by women, making requests or flirting shamelessly. She noticed more than one female guest slipping money into his breast pocket in exchange for a drink, or for clearing away an empty plate.
Or maybe the promise of something later, she thought suddenly.
This never happened when Alex worked with them. But then, Alex’s face was more inclined to stop a clock, not a heart.
“They’re all over him,” Bridgette rasped in her ear as she passed with another tray of guinea hens. She placed them on the table.
Fiona quickly arranged the hens on the serving platter. “Yes, I noticed.”
Bridgette nudged her impatiently, as if this were a competition instead of an affair they were catering. “Well, get over there.”
Fiona stared at her. Was Bridgette out of her mind? “And do what?”
Bridgette’s eyes widened as if she was stunned Fiona had to ask. “Stake your claim.”
Fiona emptied the tray, purposely not looking up. “The man is not a mountain.”
“Hardly. Mountains aren’t sexy.” Bridgette took the tray from her, as if this was the only thing holding her back.
“You seem to forget that the man’s a total stranger who’s doing me a favor.”
“Fine,” Bridgette allowed, “let him do you an even bigger favor by not being a stranger any longer. The man is drop-dead gorgeous and single. They’re swarming around him like piranhas in a feeding frenzy. Do something.”
“I am doing something. I’m working.” Fiona reclaimed the tray and marched back into the kitchen.
What in the world, Fiona fumed silently, was Bridgette thinking? This was neither the time nor the place to throw herself at the man. Actually, there never would be a time or place. Her self-confidence didn’t run in that direction. Her father had seen to that. A tall, darkly handsome man, he’d been appalled by her plain appearance from the first and had never missed an opportunity to remind her of that His pet name for her had been Plain Jane.
Years later, she’d learned that at one point he’d even accused his wife of infidelity because Fiona had been so plain while her parents and sister were all so striking. Looking back, her entire childhood had been marked by being the ugly duckling in a company of swans. By the time she became a swan herself, or so Bridgette said, it was too late to change her feelings of inadequacy.
“Damn it, girl,” Fiona muttered under her breath, “stop hiding in the kitchen. You have work to do.” She grasped a fresh tray of guinea hens and forced herself back to the reception.
The first thing she saw as she emerged was Mrs. Kellerman flirting with Hank. Mr. Kellerman was off to the side, quietly nursing a glass of wine, a mellow expression on his face.
Fiona and Mrs. Kellerman made eye contact and the woman drifted over to her, but not before caressing the hand of a man young enough to be her son.
“You did a fabulous job, my dear,” Mrs. Kellerman declared. “I will definitely call about Janet’s wedding in the fall. And I do hope you’ll have the same young man helping you.”
Fiona saw no reason to launch into explanations. Instead, she did what she very seldom did. She lied. “Of course.”
Mrs. Kellerman laughed. “Good. And before I forget, here.” She stuffed an envelope into Fiona’s pocket. “I’m sure you’ll find everything in order.” She glanced over her shoulder. The expression on her face was positively wistful. “And a little something extra besides.”
“Here, let me help you with that.”
Surprised, Fiona looked up from the garbage bag she was struggling with. Bridgette had left shortly after the guests had departed, citing a “family commitment,” which was code for, “I don’t clean my mess, why should I clean anyone else’s?” The newlyweds had long since gone off on their honeymoon and Mr. and Mrs. Kellerman had retired. That left her to tend to cleanup.
Trying to hurry, Fiona had forgotten about the impromptu waiter. Somehow she’d just assumed that one of the women at the reception had made off with him, as if he were one of the centerpieces at the tables.
Not waiting for her answer, Hank took the bag from her and hefted it with ease.
He certainly was a lot more helpful than Alex was, Fiona thought. She wondered if Hank might be willing to do this again, if conditions were right.
“Thanks.” Taking out another plastic garbage bag, she shook it open and gathered the remainder of the trash. “And thanks for staying to help. I hate cleanup,” she confided.
Hank thought of mucking the stables and laughed. The lady had no idea what real cleanup meant.
“We’ve got that in common.” He brought the filled bag over to the side of the house where the rest of the trash was stored. Placing it beside the cans, Hank returned to see what else he could do. “I always tried to duck out of doing it as a kid.”
Fiona tried to imagine what he had looked like as a kid. He probably had little girls volunteering to do his homework all through grade school.
“No, I mean I hate it because it means the party’s over.” She paused, reflecting as she looked around the garden.
It looked forlorn, but it was more than just the twilight creeping in. It seemed lonelier somehow. There had been tables and chairs laid out along the manicured lawn with balloons in the shape of doves and streamers hanging overhead. Half had been taken by the departing guests for their children. The rest hung limply, waiting to be discarded, their usefulness over.
Fiona brought a step stool over to a cluster of balloons closest to the house and climbed up. “There’s something very sad about that. Take this wedding.” Tugging, she pulled the streamers free. She handed them down to him, then reached for the balloons. “They’ve been planning it for months. I’ve got a mountain of faxes from the Kellermans, detailing everything from the kind of napkins to the frosting on the cake—in a combination of seven different ways.”
Hank held the step stool steady for her. He had to admit the view was inspiring. Her legs were gorgeous, withstanding scrutiny even at this proximity.
“I’m surprised you’re not glad it’s over, then.”
“Well, I am in a way.” Fiona stretched to get the cluster that hung just out of reach. She certainly wouldn’t miss dealing with Mrs. Kellerman’s multiple phone calls. “The headache part of it is over. But it still seems rather sad.” Holding her breath, she stood on her toes and made a grab for another cluster of streamers. “Months and months of preparation and then it’s all over in just a few hours.”
Her thigh brushed against his cheek as he leaned forward to steady her. The stool tottered slightly. Hank felt a very strong sexual pull. He tried to keep his mind on the conversation. The lady was a little too unwittingly tempting for her own good.
“A lot of life’s like that,” he told her. “But there’s always something new to look forward to.”
“I guess you’re right.” Fiona laughed softly to herself. The next moment, she gasped as she pitched forward.
Hank knocked the falling stool out of the way with his leg as he quickly caught her. His hands were around her waist and he pulled her to him.
Heart hammering, Fiona looked down at Hank as she rested her hands on his sh
oulders. She felt like a dancer frozen in the air. “That’s the second nice save you made today.” He smiled up at her, raising her body temperature by several degrees.
“Funny, I was just thinking it was my first.”
“The glasses,” she reminded him. It amazed her that she could sound so calm when her heart was speeding like a freight train down an incline.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about them.” His breath seemed to waft up to her, accelerating her heart rate to the point that she thought it would vibrate straight out of her chest.
“You can put me down now,” she told him after a beat. Was it her imagination, or did she sound reluctant when she said that?
“All right.”
Very slowly, he lowered her until her feet touched the ground. Her body brushed against his. The contact was minimal, a breeze touching flower petals as it moved along a meadow. The effect was a great deal stronger. Fiona felt as if she’d fallen victim to an electrical storm that assaulted her body from every angle, making it tingle and light up like a star.
She pressed her lips together just to keep from moaning.
“Maybe I should take down the rest of the decorations,” Hank suggested.
“Maybe,” she murmured. How long before she stopped tingling? He’d hardly touched her, for heaven’s sake.
Switching positions, Fiona found herself looking up at a very muscular set of glutei maximi. The man had a very nice butt, she thought. The next minute she realized that he had been privy to pretty much the same view, except that she hadn’t been wearing pants. Color crept up her face.
Handing down the next cluster of decorations, Hank looked at her when she didn’t take them. Fiona was staring at her feet. He had a hunch he knew why and the reason tickled him. His mother, he thought, would have loved this woman instantly.
Fiona And The Sexy Stranger Page 4