“Mama, have you seen him?” Harley’s face was aflame.
“Who?”
“The groom!”
Mama’s eyes lit up. “He’s here? Wonderful! I’ll alert the pastor.”
“No. Not wonderful.” Harley grabbed her mother’s shoulders. “He’s, he’s, he’s …”
“Late and not at all presentable,” said a deep voice behind her.
Harley’s stomach did a traitorous little flip as she became acutely aware of the masculinity hovering in the doorway. She turned, and Noah Baker removed his aviators, his eyes sweeping over her dress as a smile spread across his face, revealing dimples that would have been adorable on a child but were as cunning as a hungry coyote on Noah Baker.
“Noah.” Trish glided down the stairs. “What on earth?” she asked as she planted both hands on her hips.
“My truck doesn’t have air conditioning, so I have to drive with the windows down. Texas is kind of dusty.” He moved to smack his jeans, which would have sent dust flying in Mama’s entryway, and thought better of it before dropping his hand.
Mama smiled at him as if she were a teacher and he the star pupil.
Harley wasn’t as easily won over. A lack of air conditioning would explain his appearance, but his rakish grin agitated her in a way she couldn’t explain and left her with quivering knees. Needing to find firm ground, Harley closed the distance between them, an intimidation factor she’d often used in business. Men had a hard time thinking straight when she advanced as soft as a kitten but as cutting as ice. “Before we say I do, you need to understand that Wilsons are not late. We never put anything but our best foot forward. And that truck is ridiculous.”
Instead of being shocked at her outburst, Noah grinned. He took one step forward, reducing the personal space to practically nothing and increasing the temperature in the room by four hundred degrees. The smell of Texas sage and motor oil assaulted her senses, churning up an awareness of Noah’s broad shoulders and muscles that went on for miles. “Before we say I do, you should probably understand a few things too.”
Harley lifted her chin, desperate to rise above the flood of desire that surged up from her toes. Darn those dimples! “Like what?” she barely whispered.
Noah pointed out the front door. “My truck is a classic.” He plucked his shirt. “There’s no shame in getting dirty if you’re doing honest work.” His golden-brown eyes sparkled with mischief as he met her gaze. “And after we say I do, you won’t be a Wilson—you’ll be a Baker.”
Nodding to Mama—“Ma’am”—Noah moved to join Harrison, who waited to show him his room. “By the way, I like the dress.” Noah winked before sauntering off.
“I ... I ... I ...” Harley stuttered.
Mama giggled and fanned herself. “That man is hotter than a stolen tamale.”
“Argh!” Harley didn’t know which she wanted to do more: throw something after Noah, or drink a tall glass of tart lemonade.
Trish appeared at her elbow. “I promise you, Harley, Noah will be every bit the handsome gentleman by the wedding.”
Harley had no doubt about the handsome part—it was the gentleman she doubted.
“He’s kind of a tease.” Trish’s gaze followed Noah and Harrison down the hallway, her brow furrowed.
Mama put her hand on Harley’s shoulder. “You should get back upstairs. It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the weddin’.”
Grateful she hadn’t succumbed to the insanity and actually hurled Mama’s Ming dynasty vase, Harley allowed herself to be ushered toward the staircase. “I’d say it’s worse for the bride to see the groom.” Harley struggled to put into words the way her emotions had thrown a coup and tossed her good sense overboard the moment she saw Noah Baker.
“Honey bunches, it’s natural to have cold feet before the weddin’.”
Cold? Harley wished she felt cold. Cold was where rational thoughts originated.
“Harley.” Trish grabbed her hand and held it between her palms. “I’ve got this.”
Over the past two days, Trish had proven herself a capable intermediary when planning a wedding in a week strained their otherwise cordial family. She’d also managed to engineer the layout for the huge reception to be held shortly after the extremely private ceremony in the grand ballroom in under a half hour—a feat that not only impressed Harley, but her father as well. He’d offered to hire her on the spot and double her wages. She’d politely declined, but if anyone could pull together that disaster in a Ford truck, it would be Trish.
Harley nodded once and then scurried up the stairs, intent on not seeing her groom again until she absolutely had to. As for after the wedding? She’d just have to set boundaries. Nice, strong, barbed-wire-type boundaries.
Chapter 8
The guest bedroom Noah had been assigned as a dressing area was larger than his entire bunkhouse back home. The bathroom alone could sleep twelve campers. Although, back home they didn’t have pulsating shower heads—yes, heads, five to be exact—and a waterfall in the Italian tiled stall. The warm water and a bar of Dial had easily washed away two layers of dirt, oil, and sweat.
When his truck had broken down in that tiny Texas town, Noah scrambled to find parts and then worked all night to install them, unwilling to leave his prized possession behind. He’d had less than five hours of sleep and about fifteen Vanilla Cokes in the last two days. All he wanted to do when he pulled up was find a bed and sleep for an hour before the wedding.
Then he’d seen his bride.
Harley was a vision in white lace. Seeing her picture hadn’t prepared him for what actually being near her did to his mind. The moment their eyes met, he became aware of a sensuous current pulling them ever closer. Breathtaking women didn’t exist, except in the movies, and everyone knew they were photoshopped. Harley, however, was real enough to stimulate a sense of wanting like Noah had never known.
He’d have to watch it, though. Harley could easily become a distraction, and he didn’t need to be distracted from the reason he’d signed up with BMB—which was to step away from his past and create a future.
Noah, dressed in his black pants and a white undershirt, was pushing his arms through a tuxedo shirt when there was a demanding knock at the door. Noah rolled his eyes. Trish had been less than thrilled with the first impression he’d made on his bride. Noah couldn’t help but push a few of Harley’s buttons. She was so stinking cute when she was all flustered. He’d rather enjoyed the experience.
Wishing Trish would give him just a little space, he called, “I’m pretty sure I can dress myself. You don’t have to hold my hand.” Noah wrenched open the door to find a steely-eyed man in a tuxedo glaring at him. Two more men stood just behind him, their faces grim.
“I can assure you, I have no intention of holding your hand,” said the stranger.
Noah leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms. “I should hope not.” He grinned, hoping to break the ice with a little joke.
“John Wilson, Harley’s father,” the man ground out between clenched teeth.
A neon sign flashed in Noah’s head: Warning. Warning. Future Father-In-Law.
“Come in.” Noah stepped back. “I’m Noah Baker.”
“I know,” was all John said as he eyed Noah warily. John’s entrance into the guest room charged the air with something akin to two stallions lording over the same barn. In Noah’s experience, the barn never fared well in those types of situations.
John motioned to the men who followed him through the door. “This is Stewart, our head of security.”
Noah shook his hand. Stewart was about the same age as John and just a little shorter, with a stocky build. His head was square and his face serious.
“And this is Agent Dylan Gonzales.”
Noah nodded his way. Agent Gonzales wore a gray suit and tie that screamed acronyms like FBI and CIA. His cue-ball head reflected enough light to land a plane, and his lips all but disappeared when he frowned, which he was doin
g now.
“We only have thirty minutes before the weddin’.” John gave Noah a disapproving glare, and Harley’s Wilsons are never late replayed in Noah’s head. “We came to brief you on the situation and lay the ground rules.”
“Fire away.” Noah crossed the room and sat on the sofa to slip on his shoes. They fit perfectly, and he was grateful for Trish’s attention to detail, though she had hovered. See, this was why he’d taken this path. The BMB perks were pretty nice.
Noah continued to dress as John explained about the steady stream of flowers, cards, and gifts that had arrived at the office, and then the music box that appeared just a week before.
“You think it’s someone she knows?” asked Noah.
“There are two ex-boyfriends on our watch list,” said Agent Gonzales.
Noah pulled at his collar. “Just two?”
“What do you mean by that?” A vein on John’s forehead poked out.
Noah shrugged, nonplussed by John’s obvious move to a defensive position when it came to his daughter—the guy had teeth like a bulldog. “She’s beautiful and wealthy. I’d expect a long line of broken hearts.”
“That brings me to the other reason I’m here.” John pulled a sidearm from the holster under his jacket and crossed the room in quick strides
Noah’s eyes went wide. What the …? He eyeballed Stewart and Dylan, who both chose that moment to examine the painting behind them.
John’s advance reminded Noah of the one Harley had taken just a few minutes before, and he once again instinctively held his ground. Though with Harley the experience had been sweetly engaging, when facing her father, he balled his hands into fists.
“You are here to protect Harley.” John’s voice was frosty and calm. “If you so much as put a hand on her, it won’t be a matter of if you get shot; it will only be a question of which gun I use. Understand?”
Welcome to Texas. Noah had stepped closer to Harley when she confronted him, hoping to close the distance and increase the sweet ache she created in his belly. He got the feeling Harley was like an alligator—they might be fun to tease and rile up a bit, but he had no intention of getting near enough to have his hand bitten off. But John Wilson was all bite and no tease. Noah didn’t feel like testing his luck with two Wilsons today, so he nodded.
“Good.” John reached for Noah’s arm and slapped the gun into his palm. “This is yours.”
Noah stared at the Ruger LCP, wondering why he’d lost feeling in his hand. At just over five inches long, the gun was lightweight and had front and rear sights. The checkered grip would provide stability in handling, and from the weight of it, the magazine was full. Noah hit the release to check.
“It’s loaded but not chambered,” said John.
“I can’t accept this.” Noah was able to force his shoulder to move so his hand went forward. John studied him, his gaze searing into Noah while Noah couldn’t tear his eyes away from the gun in his now-shaking hand.
“I read the newspaper reports and the files.” John’s voice was low.
Noah’s eyes snapped up. He searched the room, but Stewart and Agent Gonzales must have slipped out when John thrust the Ruger at Noah. “The files are sealed.” At least, that’s what his sergeant had told him.
John brushed his comment away with a wave of his hand. “When Julia first told me about Pamela’s ...” He cleared his throat. “... services, I was dead set against it. But after learning your background, I changed my mind. Having pulled the trigger once, you won’t do it again lightly, but I had to know you have it in you to protect the innocent. And my daughter is one of those innocents.”
Noah shook his head. John painted the same picture the newspaper reporter had in the article. No matter what others said, he wasn’t a hero. Right now, he was scared out of his very expensive dress shoes. “I’m not the man you think I am.”
“You have to be—for Harley’s sake,” said John. “As much as I’d like to be the one with her, I can’t. It has to be you.”
Noah went back to that moment in the foyer when he’d caught his first glimpse of the woman he was going to marry. She’d seemed so small in that huge room—vulnerable in her delicate lace and shoelessness. Yes, he’d noticed her cute little toes peeking out from under her dress. He’d towered over her and felt like a mountain man who could throw her over his shoulder and haul off, which did awesome things to his male pride. He couldn’t help but see how easy it would be for someone to hurt her. She’d proven she was tough in spirit, but she was no match for him physically. Which was why he’d driven over fifteen hundred miles to get here. He wanted to protect Harley, wanted to stand between her and whatever batch of crazy threatened her peace and safety. He couldn’t explain how strong the need was—almost as if the good Lord had given him a swift kick in that direction.
During the drive, there were times when he’d felt as if he were coming home instead of leaving it. He’d felt lighter, happier, more in control of himself, and like the kid who stands up to the bully instead of the one who runs away. The sensation wasn’t new. Noah had always stood up for his younger siblings, Paige especially, whose red hair tended to draw out the worst in boys under the age of fourteen.
He couldn’t walk away. His decision was not only a matter of pride, but a recognition of his nature and a desire to embrace it once again—no matter what demons he had to face.
Nodding toward John’s jacket, Noah said, “I’ll need a holster for this.”
For the first time, John grinned. “You can have this one. I’ve got others upstairs.”
As John slid out of his black jacket so he could remove the holster, Noah asked, “Is it possible for the stalker to be at the party tonight?” Trish had given him the itinerary through the bathroom door as he’d showered: private ceremony in the gardens at sunset, followed by a massive reception in the house, followed by a grand farewell down the main staircase and out the front door, where they would climb into a limo and drive the half mile to Harley’s house.
John handed the holster to Noah, who made a show of having to loosen the straps to fit across his shoulders to get under the guy’s skin. Laughing to himself, he adjusted the contraption and settled the gun in its place. Wilsons were kind of uptight. Implying he was bigger, stronger, or smarter than his younger brothers would have started a wrestling match that didn’t end until one of them tapped out.
Glaring at what he probably considered insubordination, John replied, “At this point, anything is possible. We limited the guest list to five hundred, but like Agent Gonzales said, we only have a few leads.”
“I’ll stick close, even in the crowd.”
“Good. It’s important that this marriage appear real for the reporters in attendance. They should smatter their impressions all over the Internet and several magazines before morning. Hopefully, the stalker will get the idea that Harley is off the market. I understand you’ll have to play at being a couple, but my threat still stands.”
“So you admit you threatened me.” Noah smiled to show he wasn’t serious.
“No. I made you a promise.” John shut the door behind him.
“Wilsons always keep their promises,” muttered Noah. His phone rang, and he hurried to the bathroom to dig it out of his dirty jeans. “Hello?”
“Hi,” chirped Paige. “Are you married yet?”
Noah smiled, relieved to have someone normal to talk to. “Nope.”
“Nervous?”
“Nope.”
“Ah. Terrified?”
“Let’s see. I’ve managed to alienate my fiancée and have been threatened with a gun—so I’m feeling confident in my life choices at the moment.”
Paige hesitated, then jolted out a laugh. “Sounds like another day in the life of Noah Baker. I’d expect nothing less.”
Noah caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror and stared at the sharp contrast between the holster and his white shirt. “I’m wearing a gun,” he blurted.
There was a heavy pause bef
ore Paige said, “You okay?”
“As long as I don’t have to use it.” Noah darted into the bedroom and away from the mirror.
“I’ll pray you don’t.” Paige’s voice strained, her worry for him coming through loud and clear.
“You and me both.”
Paige heaved a sigh into the phone. “Just ... catch the freak and be done with this.”
Noah ran his hand through his short-cropped hair. “I signed a year-long contract.”
“Yeah, but if you get this guy out of the way, you can just focus on being married and not on being Mr. Incredible.”
“I hate it when you make sense,” joked Noah.
There was a knock at the door, and Trish called, “It’s time.”
“I gotta go—my blushing bride awaits.”
“’Kay. Good luck. Remember that we love you—all of us.”
“Even Cody?”
Paige huffed. “Even Cody. Goodbye.”
“Bye.”
Noah put his phone in his pocket and slid into his jacket. He could do this. He’d find the perp, end the game before it got out of hand, and be done with this bodyguard and weapon stuff. Then, he’d work out, work on his truck, and live out the remainder of the year in peace.
First, he had to get married.
Swinging the door open, Noah gave Trish a wicked grin. “Let’s do this.”
Chapter 9
Harley stood in the middle of the purple guest room, where a plum velvet coverlet graced the walnut four-poster bed and the walls were painted a pale heather. The scent of lavender hung heavy in the air, its calming fragrance doing little to curb Harley’s frantic nerves as an attendant from the dress shop circled her with a steamer, trying to remove the wrinkles Harley had inflicted on the dress in her mad dash to send her fiancé packing. Zoe, her hairdresser and fashion consultant, hummed as she finger combed Harley’s hair into a stylish chignon, her hands covered in shine cream. Finally, Aubrey applied the palest of pink lipsticks with a brush that tickled. Which made her feel as dumb as a barrel of hair.
The Protective Groom: Billionaire Marriage Brokers Page 5