Kiss the Bride

by Lori Wilde

  “Your wife’s got a point,” Dick Tracy said.

  “We’re not married!” Shane and Tish said in unison.

  Dick Tracy raised his palms. “Okay, I get it. You’re divorced and hate each other.”

  “We don’t hate each other,” Shane said.

  The cop made a derisive noise. “Look here, I get off duty in an hour. I don’t have time for this. Let’s just make a statement and you’ll be free to go, but I don’t want either one of you leaving the area until this investigation is over. Got it?”

  They nodded.

  “Sit back down”—Dick Tracy pointed to the chair Tish had vacated—“and let’s get this over with.”

  Tish plunked back in her seat and told her side of the story. Then Shane told his.

  “Do you have a patrol officer who can take me back to my vehicle?” Shane asked the police sergeant when all the requisite paperwork had been completed.

  “Nope. Shift change.”

  “How are we supposed to get out of here?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. You’ve got a ride coming.” Dick Tracy’s eyes gleamed.

  “Yeah?”

  “I had my assistant call the Benedict ranch. They’re sending a car.”

  “You did that on purpose.” Shane splayed his palms on the sergeant’s desk.

  Dick Tracy shrugged, grinned. “Just doing my job. After all, you can tell the most about a suspect when he’s under pressure. If I’m not mistaken”—he nodded toward the entrance—“your ride has arrived.”

  Simultaneously, Shane and Tish turned, just as the doors of the precinct flew open and a clot of Secret Service agents, led by Cal Ackerman, marched into the station.

  And there, in the center of the group, looking as innocent and sweet as Cameron Diaz in My Best Friend’s Wedding, stood Elysee Benedict.

  As the rising sun edged up into the morning sky, Shane found himself stuffed into the backseat of the limo with Elysee on his right side and Tish on his left. Cal Ackerman and another agent sat in the seat across from them. Once upon a time, he would have been sitting next to Cal. Now he was sandwiched between his ex-wife and his wife-to-be.

  It was a surreal sensation.

  “Here,” Tish said, rummaging around in the backpack that served as her camera bag and coming up with a disk. She passed it to Elysee. “Hang on to this for me. The original burned up in the fire, but luckily I’d made two copies and stowed them in the camera bag.”

  Elysee slipped the disk into her pocket and looked over at Shane. “Do you think the fire could be related to the disk?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  Elysee looked back at Tish. “You’re coming to stay at the ranch where you’ll be safe and that’s all there is to it.”

  “No, no,” Tish said. “I can get a hotel room.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Elysee said matter-of-factly. “It’s the perfect solution. You need a place to stay.”

  Shane’s gaze flashed to Tish’s face. He shouldn’t be looking at her. Not in front of his fiancée, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Her hair was disheveled, her mass of corkscrew auburn curls cascading over her slender shoulders. Black soot smeared her cheeks and forehead. Her chin was skinned, marring her peaches-and-cream complexion. He’d always loved the sun-kissed hue of her skin.

  Tish averted her eyes, stared down at her lap. Shane realized for the first time that she was wearing her version of pajamas—well-worn workout pants and an oversized T-shirt.

  His old T-shirt.

  When they’d been married, he’d bought her sexy lingerie. Teddies and baby doll pajamas and silky nightgowns. She’d worn them to seduce him, but once the garments had been discarded in favor of lovemaking, once they were spent and ready for snuggling, she would get up, dig out pants worn soft from wear and one of his T-shirts, and slide back into bed.

  Elysee, on the other hand, was a total girly-girl about her bedclothes. She slept in satin and silk. He knew because he’d been her night shift bodyguard and she’d occasionally get up in the middle of the night, with a gauzy dressing gown over her delicate underthings, and challenge him to a game of chess.

  Weird that in waking life Tish was overtly sexual, while Elysee was demure. Yet in their sleeping attire Tish preferred comfort and cotton, while Elysee went for high style and lace.

  Women. Who could figure them? Certainly not him. If he could, he’d still be married to Tish.

  “We need to swing by Tish’s place so I can pick up my Durango,” he said as the limo cruised through downtown Houston. To keep from staring at Tish, he studied the carpet, noticed there were little pieces of what looked to be red gravel underneath Cal’s shoes.

  “I’ve already dispatched someone to retrieve it, sweetheart,” Elysee assured him, still smiling. Her congeniality was almost eerie, but there was something else in her eyes. An emotion he couldn’t identify.

  Here was another weird thing. Elysee hadn’t asked what he’d been doing at Tish’s place in the middle of the night. Wouldn’t a normal woman be jealous, or at the very least, curious?

  Elysee reached over his lap to touch Tish’s hand. “I’m so sorry for what happened to your apartment. I’m just glad you managed to get a call off to Shane and he was able to race to your place in time to save you from the arsonist.”

  Shane tensed, fisted his hands against the tops of his thighs. What was Tish going to say?

  “I didn’t…” Tish flashed a quick glance at Shane’s face.

  Was she going to tell Elysee the truth? He tensed, bracing himself for what might come next.

  Tish shifted her gaze to Elysee, who was looking over at her so wide-eyed and trusting. She cleared her throat. “Yes, yes, I was lucky.”

  Relief loosened Shane’s limbs, but it was quickly replaced by guilt. He shouldn’t be getting off this easily. If the roles had been switched he could bet Tish would be grilling him like a steak.

  “So it’s settled. You’ll stay at the ranch until you can get back on your feet,” Elysee commented.

  Tish sneaked another glance at Shane. He kept his face impassive, although he would have felt more comfortable if someone had detonated a grenade in the limo. He looked across at Cal Ackerman, who was smirking at him. He deserved it. He’d broken the bodyguard’s code. Never get personally involved with the person you were hired to protect.

  “All right, then.”

  “Isn’t that wonderful, darling?” Elysee linked her arm through his and squeezed tight.

  “Wonderful,” Shane echoed and forced an optimistic smile. How in the hell had he gotten himself into this? Then he looked down at the hand Elysee was touching. His injury had made him vulnerable in more ways than one.

  If not for a sleep-deprived backhoe driver, he would not be in this fix: about to marry one woman while he was still in love with the other. What was he supposed to do about that?

  Nothing. You don’t do anything.

  Indecision held him tight in its grasp, which was bizarre because he’d always made decisions fast and followed through quickly. It was that ability that had driven him out of bed in the middle of the night. His instinct to act was the very same thing that had saved Tish’s life, but it had landed him in this situation.

  Indecision took hold. Made itself at home in his chest. Curled up tight against his spine.

  Indecision.

  The very thing Shane feared most.

  “Don’t marry him.”

  “What?”

  Four hours after Elysee and her entourage had retrieved Shane and Tish from the police station, Elysee sat at her writing desk. Telephone in hand, she’d just ended a conversation with a department store retailer. Shane was at his morning physical therapy session. Tish had been ensconced in a guest bedroom to try to get some sleep after her ordeal. Elysee blinked at Cal Ackerman, who’d come into the room while she was on the phone.

  “Shane.” Cal strode across the room toward her. “Don’t marry him.”

  His state
ment threw her off balance. She settled the cordless phone into its docking station, straightened in her chair and met his edgy gaze. Her pulse quickened. She lifted a hand to her throat. “Why not?”

  “Because.” Cal took a deep breath. “You deserve someone who loves you.”

  “Shane loves me,” Elysee said, but even as she spoke the words she felt hollow deep inside.

  Cal shook his head. “Not the way you should be loved.”

  He was standing mere inches away, and Elysee could feel the heat emanating off his big body.

  She gulped. “What do you mean?”

  “You know,” he said in a tone that raised the hairs on her forearms.

  “I don’t.” What a fib. “If you’ll excuse me, Agent Ackerman, I’ve got a wedding to plan.”

  He laid a big palm smack-dab on top of the papers in front of her and leaned in close. “You’re making a big mistake.”

  Elysee’s knees felt weak. Good thing she was sitting down. She didn’t know what to make of this, but suddenly, she flashed to a mental image of a buck-naked Cal climbing out of the shower. She closed her eyes, shook her head, but the image persisted.

  “You’ve overstepped your bounds, Agent Ackerman,” she said sharply, unnerved by what she was experiencing. She shouldn’t be feeling what she was feeling. Not when she was engaged to another man. “I’ll thank you to remember your place.”

  “Pulling rank?” His tone was amused.

  “Yes.” She lifted her chin. “I am. I’d appreciate it if you’d step back across the room.”

  “What’s the matter, Elysee?” He dropped his voice. His head was so close that if she turned, his lips would be on hers. “Afraid of what you’re feeling?”

  She spun away from him, scrambled to her feet, so unnerved she could barely speak. She stood with her back to the wall, struggling to catch her breath. “I’m appalled at your effrontery, sir.”

  “Who’re you trying to kid? Me or you?”

  Her hands curled into fists. “Please, you’re making me uncomfortable.”

  “No one’s ever made you uncomfortable before?” He arched an eyebrow.

  Not like this! She’d never been so upset with someone while at the same time desperately aching to kiss them. What’s the matter with me?

  “Do you value your job, Agent Ackerman?”

  “Not as much as I value stopping you from making a major mistake.”

  The honesty in his words, the serious expression on his face, startled her. “Duly noted. Thank you for expressing your objections. Now, if you’ll just mind your own business, we’ll forget this entire conversation. Otherwise, I’ll have to ask my father to have you replaced.”

  A knock on the bedroom door pulled Tish from a restless sleep, where she’d dreamed of a shadowy menace chasing her. In the grogginess of half-sleep she remembered the fire and a rush of sadness rolled over her.

  Another knock sounded but before she could organize her thoughts for a response, the door opened and Elysee poked her head in. “You awake? ”

  “Just barely.” Tish stifled a yawn.

  “Get up, we’re going shopping.”

  “Shopping? Like this?” Tish waved a hand at her rumpled clothes. “It’s all I have to wear. I can’t go to the mall looking like this.” She cocked her head at petite, five-foot-two, size-four Elysee. She was five-nine and wore a size twelve. “It’s not like you and I could share the same clothes.”

  “We’re going shopping presidential style.”

  “How’s that?”

  Elysee crooked a finger. “Come with me.”

  Feeling grumpy, dowdy, and decidedly homeless, Tish begrudgingly got out of bed. She ran a hand through her tangle of curls, stuffed her feet into her flip-flops, and followed Elysee out of the room, her curiosity piqued.

  Elysee led her through the house to the sitting room where she’d first interviewed Tish. Today, the room was filled with racks and racks of clothes, from Macy’s, Nordstrom’s, Ann Taylor, and Neiman Marcus. Salesclerks stood in a line, waiting at the ready for Elysee’s beck and call.

  And then Tish saw them.

  Shoes. Boxes upon boxes of shoes. Jimmy Choos, Christian Louboutins, Manolo Blahniks, Dolce & Gabbanas.

  Her heart pattered. “What’s all this?”

  “It’s a little difficult for the President’s daughter to pop down to the local mall, so the mall comes to me.”

  This was Tish’s biggest fantasy come true. A shopaholic’s erotic dream. It was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to a poor girl with a bad credit rating.

  “It’s awfully nice of you,” Tish said, fingering a beautiful silk camisole. “But I can’t afford this stuff. My pocketbook is geared more toward Target.”

  “Sweetie.” Elysee patted her shoulder. “This shopping spree is a gift. From Shane and me.”

  Tish backed up, backed away from all the lovely, lovely clothes. She raised her palms in front of her, and shook her head. “No, no. I can’t accept this.”

  Elysee blinked. “Why not?”

  “It’s too much. It’s too extravagant.” It’s from you and Shane. My ex-husband whom I still love. The whole situation was just too damned weird.

  “But you have to have clothes.”

  “If someone could just give me a ride to the nearest Wal-Mart I’ll pick up a pair of jeans, a couple of blouses, a package of underwear, and I’ll be good to go.” She realized for the first time that she was truly stuck here. The car she’d borrowed from Delaney was parked under the carport near her burned-out apartment.

  “Tish Gallagher, you’re the first daughter’s wedding videographer. You’ve got to look the part.”

  She gazed at the clothes again and sighed with longing. “Seriously, Elysee, I can’t accept.”

  “Seriously, Tish, why won’t you just let us help you?”

  Because I don’t deserve it. Because you’re so nice and I’m lusting after Shane and you don’t even know it.

  “If it makes you feel any better, you can deduct the cost of the clothes from the final installment on our wedding video.”

  “Really?” Now that was an idea she could wrap her head around.

  “Really.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, let’s shop.”

  Two hours later, Tish’s wardrobe had been replenished. While the retailers were tallying totals and packing up their inventory, Elysee and Tish were served a late lunch of finger sandwiches and pasta salad on the veranda.

  “So tell me, what’s Shane like in bed?”

  “Huh?” Tish choked on a mouthful of raspberry tea.

  “Is he forceful?”

  “Um, are you sure you really want to discuss this with me, again?” Tish asked.

  Elysee lowered her voice. “I don’t have anyone else to discuss this sort of thing with.”

  “What about your girlfriends?”

  “Honestly, it’s difficult keeping friendships when you’re in the public eye.” Elysee took a deep breath.

  “I’m sure it is.”

  “So tell me what he’s like in bed.”

  “Elysee, that’s personal.”

  “Was the sex bad between you two? Was that why your marriage fell apart?”

  She shouldn’t have said what she said next, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from bragging. “If great sex could keep a marriage together, let’s just say Shane and I would have been superglued for life.”

  “Really.” Elysee struggled to keep the smile on her face.

  Tish felt as if she’d just kicked a puppy. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “No, no, I’m glad you told me. I need to know these things.” Elysee took a breath. “So why did you divorce him?”

  “I didn’t divorce him. Shane divorced me.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Now you do.”

  A long silence ensued. Elysee toyed with a cucumber sandwich. “Why did he divorce you?”

  “Because I didn’t n
eed him the way he thought I should and then the one time I really needed him, he wasn’t there for me,” she said, hearing the bitterness in her own voice.

  “That doesn’t make any sense.” Even when Elysee frowned, she managed to look sweet and innocent. It grated on Tish’s nerves.

  “Don’t let it worry you, Elysee. Your marriage will be fine. You’re plenty needy enough for Shane.”

  It was an awful thing to say. Especially to Elysee, who’d been nothing but kind to her. Immediately, Tish felt like the crud in the bottom of a dirty refrigerator. No, wait, she was lower than that. She was ring-around-the-toilet crud.

  Elysee burst into tears, pushed back her chair, and ran sobbing from the room.

  Great going, Gallagher. You’re turning out to be quite the puppy kicker.

  Chapter 18

  I don’t want to interrupt your workout, but I have a favor to ask.”

  Shane glanced up to see Tish standing in the doorway of the elaborate gym. Embarrassed by the puny little one-pound weight cradled awkwardly in his right hand, he hid it behind his back.

  She looked absolutely breathtaking in a green silk blouse that molded to her lush breasts and designer blue jeans that hugged her sexy ass. His body stirred, responding in a totally inappropriate way.

  “Where’s your physical therapist?” she asked, sauntering into the room.

  “He got a phone call.”

  “So you’re in here all alone?” She craned her neck, looked around the corner at the bank of treadmills. She moved with the grace of a dancer, lithe and totally at ease in her own skin. She ran her hand along the padded cushion on the nearby butterfly machine. She’d always been a very tactile person. Kinesthetic. Physical. Shane clamped his teeth shut, remembering how much she’d liked to touch and be touched.

  “You needed to ask a favor?” he said gruffly, to hide what he was feeling.

  “Will you give me a ride back to my place?”

  “Your place burned down.”

  “I know, but my car’s there. Or rather Delaney’s car is there. She let me borrow it after mine got repossessed.”

  “Your car got repossessed?” The damned weight was getting so heavy, the weakened muscles in his wrist were yelping with pain. He clenched his jaw.