Last Groom Standing

by Kimberly Lang

  As the server left, Marnie turned to Dylan. “I know—and now you know—why I’m drinking. What’s your story? Woman troubles?”

  “As you said, not all sorrows needing drowning necessarily stem from a love life or lack thereof.”

  Oh, she was now dying to ask if it was the love life or lack of.

  “You’re not the only one who can have a bad day,” he continued. “Although since I didn’t lose my job today, my day probably wasn’t as bad as yours.”

  The server returned with their drinks, and Dylan lifted his shot glass in a toast. “To crappy days and the booze that gets us through them.”

  She lifted her own glass and nodded. Then Dylan licked the salt off the rim of the glass and she nearly fell off her chair in shock.

  Things were looking up.

  * * *

  There was something very strange about watching perky blond cheerleader-looking Marnie Price throw back tequila shots like a barroom champ. Not that he could claim to know all that much about her, but Reese had always talked about her as some sweet little thing, and on the few occasions he’d been around her, Dylan hadn’t seen anything to the contrary.

  He’d been proven wrong tonight. Whatever she was drinking to forget, she was well on her way there. And honestly, he was happy to join her. It was a good way to end off a bitch of a week, and he was unexpectedly having a good time. He normally limited himself to no more than two drinks over the course of a public event, preferring to keep his mind clear and situations under control, but he’d found himself matching Marnie shot for shot and beer for beer all night.

  Marnie might look like one of Botticelli’s angels—all soft curves and rosy skin—but she had a wild streak under there. And while he couldn’t say he knew her all that well, on the few occasions he had been in her company, Marnie had always been perfectly polite, but a bit distant and, in general, cool toward him. That had changed.

  They’d covered everything from politics to Marnie’s debutante ball, and she was both smart and funny as hell. While they had absolutely nothing in common beyond Reese, he was having a damn good time.

  It was just what he needed, and he hadn’t even known it.

  When Reese had pulled him aside before she’d left and asked him to keep an eye on Marnie and make sure she got into a cab okay, he’d initially wanted to say no, not wanting to babysit for the evening. But he’d relented, and before he knew it, the bartenders were making the last call.

  And while he’d consumed a ridiculous amount of alcohol, he didn’t regret the choice, either.

  And now Marnie was finishing up her monologue on the differences between Southern women and the rest of the world. “I’m just sayin’, you do not want to tangle with Southern women. We can eat your heart from your chest and not even burp daintily afterward.” She cut those big blue eyes at him in the most perfect flirt he’d ever seen. “And we’ll make you love it. In fact, you’ll thank us for it.”

  Marnie’s accent had thickened throughout the evening, and the drawl was now so pronounced, her vowels were in the back of her throat and he could almost hear the Spanish moss hanging off her words. Maybe it was the booze, but that accent was almost hypnotic, honeyed and thick, sucking him in with each word and doing strange things to his insides. Seemed he had a hidden hot spot for Southern belles he’d never discovered until now.

  “How on earth do you hide that accent every day, Miss Marnie?” he teased, mimicking her cadence.

  “It’s hard, but I’ve had lots of practice. Repression skills are taught right alongside the history of the War of Northern Aggression.”

  War had gained an extra syllable and, for laughs, he tried to repeat it back to her.

  She frowned. “Don’t mock me. I drink and drawl. It’s a real problem.” She sighed. “And since I feel a case of full-on magnolia mouth comin’, I think that’s my cue to go home. I’m hammered.”

  A little flash of disappointment cut through him. The flash sharply changed direction when Marnie licked her lips.

  But that hadn’t been a flirt, he realized, as Marnie laughed. “Yep. Lips are numb. I’m not even sure they’re still attached.”

  That reminded him of the real purpose he was here with her. “I assure you they still are.” He signaled for the bartender to close the tab. “Come on. I’ll walk you out. We’ll split a cab.”

  She shook her head. “That’s okay, I’ll walk.”

  “To Brooklyn? You are hammered.”

  Marnie laughed again. “No. I have keys to a friend’s place, and he’s away for Labor Day. It’s only about five blocks from here. And, anyway, it’s not exactly on your way back to your Park Avenue penthouse. Wouldn’t want you to be seen slumming it in SoHo.”

  That was a slam, especially since he now knew she’d grown up a debutante. “I live on East Sixty-Fourth, thank you very much.”

  Marnie grinned. “Close enough.”

  There was no way he was letting Marnie walk anywhere alone—not this late and after that much tequila. “Then I’ll walk you.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but really not necessary.”

  “I just got an entire lecture on gentlemanly behavior from a Southern belle, so I’ll err on the side of caution. I don’t want my heart eaten from my chest.” He offered his arm, and Marnie hesitated for a moment, looking up at him through her lashes before finally taking it.

  “Why, thank you, sir. That’s ever so kind of you,” she drawled in a combination of Scarlett O’Hara and Blanche DuBois.

  For someone who claimed to be hammered, Marnie was stable enough on her feet, and they walked the first block without incident. She took a deep breath of the night air and looked around. “I just love this area. I might have to look for a place here.”

  That caught him by surprise. Marnie didn’t seem like the right fit for this area. Brooklyn seemed better somehow. “You don’t like Brooklyn?

  “Oh, I like it there just fine, but I only moved to Park Slope because it was close to my job. Without that...” She shrugged. “I’m not attached to the area, and I’ve always wanted to live around here. Or maybe in the Village. Someplace really vibrant and in the middle of things.”

  “Looking for excitement in life?”

  She grinned at him. “Always.”

  “No desire to go back to Savannah?”

  He might have heard a tiny snort from Marnie. “None. I like being from Savannah, but I don’t want to be there. Does that make sense?”

  “Sure.” He wasn’t entirely sure it did, but he agreed nonetheless.

  They walked quietly for another moment, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Finally Marnie said, “Thanks for hanging out with me tonight. It was fun.”

  “It was, and you’re welcome.”

  “I’m kinda sorry I didn’t get a chance to know you better when you and Reese were...well, before. We could’ve been friends.”

  There was such a sigh in her voice that he wanted to laugh. Except that she seemed serious. “And we can’t be now?”

  “I think it might be awkward and uncomfortable—for everyone.” She looked at her feet for a moment, then back up at him. “But anyway—and regardless of what you said earlier—I am sorry you and Reese didn’t work out.”

  And so was he. Theirs hadn’t been a great love match like Marnie sang praises of, but it had been stable. Secure. Solid. “Thanks. We made a great team. But Reese loves Mason.”

  “But you said love isn’t a good reason to get married.” He couldn’t see it, but he knew she was rolling her eyes.

  “I said it wasn’t the only reason to get married, but it’s especially a bad idea when one of the parties loves someone else. I think I knew all along that something wasn’t quite right, but getting married seemed like the thing to do at the time, and you get to a point of no return pretty quickly. I was almost glad when Mason showed up and finally forced Reese’s hand.” That was true, too. If Reese really needed that kind of relationship to be happy, he wasn’t the man to give
it to her.

  “So you’re really okay about it?”

  “Are you asking me if I’m over Reese?”

  “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  He nearly laughed. That was something very few people had the nerve to ask to his face. “Reese and I were friends and we’re still friends. But I’m not carrying a torch for her.”

  “That is a ridiculously reasonable and mature statement, all things considered.”

  He shrugged. “It’s for the best. If you can’t go into a marriage knowing absolutely sure it’s the right choice, then you shouldn’t do it. It won’t end well.”

  Marnie laughed, but it was bitter sounding. “I actually agree with you on that.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “I witnessed that in my brother’s marriage. I encouraged them both to go through with it—and by ‘encouraged,’ I really mean ‘browbeat’—and they were very unhappy until the day the divorce was final. It pretty much ruined my relationship with his wife, Missy, who I’d known most of my life and considered a dear friend, and it didn’t help things between me and Carter, either.”

  He’d noticed the distance between Carter and Marnie. They’d barely spoken to each other all day, and the ride from the courthouse to the restaurant had been heavy from the tension hanging between them.

  She patted his arm. “For both your sakes, I’m glad you figured it out before it was too late.” Shaking her head, she smiled crookedly at him. “One could wish you two had figured that out before people bought non-returnable bridesmaids’ dresses, though.”

  “I thought Reese picked dresses you all could wear again.”

  Marnie snorted. “That’s a lie all brides tell themselves and their bridesmaids. I’ve been in more weddings than I can count and I’ve never worn a bridesmaid’s dress twice.”

  “My apologies. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

  “Next time? Jumping right back into the saddle, are you?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call it jumping, but I do plan to get married at some point. Don’t you?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe. One day. A very long time from now, though.”

  “Not such a romantic after all, then.”

  “Just picky. And not at all in any rush.”

  “Me, neither,” he clarified, “but I think I’m getting to a point in my life where I’d like to have that stability.”

  “Stability?” Marnie laughed. “That’s so romantic, I just might swoon.”

  Her heel caught in a grate and Marnie stumbled. He grabbed her arm to steady her as she regained her balance. “I didn’t know you meant that literally.”

  “Don’t sass me, mister.”

  Just to be safe, he offered her his arm and tucked her hand in.

  Marnie shot him a look like she was sizing him up for something. Then she sighed. “While I swore I would never get involved in someone else’s love life ever again, I will break that vow long enough to offer you one piece of advice.”

  He’d had plenty of advice, but he’d humor her. “And that would be?”

  “When courting a lady, I’d avoid mentioning your philosophy about how marriage is more about a solid partnership than love and the importance of stability.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because it sounds ridiculously antiquated. Like a woman’s value lies solely in her ability to be the perfect helpmate to her husband. You might as well just barter with her father for land and cattle, too.”

  How’d she get there? There was definitely bitterness under that statement. It seemed far safer, though, to just let it pass rather than open up a subject he had no idea how touchy she might be about it. He wasn’t a therapist. He nodded. “Noted.”

  But Marnie was warming to her subject. “Women—I won’t say all, but most—want some passion and excitement in a relationship. Something to get the heart pumping and the nerves sparking. A woman wants to be desired, not judged and rated on how successful a partnership it will make.”

  Partly just to goad her, he shook his head sadly. “Passion is highly overrated.”

  “Never.”

  “You do realize I run a foundation for victims of domestic violence, right? I think many of them would trade passion and excitement for stability and peace.”

  “You’re twisting the definition of passion. Just because it can go bad, that doesn’t mean it will. Or that there’s something inherently wrong with it.”

  He shrugged.

  “Maybe you should spend less time at the foundation and more time finding a woman who makes your heart beat fast just to be near her.”

  Nope. “I thought you were only going to offer one piece of advice,” he teased.

  Marnie paused and turned to face him. Those blue eyes were laughing as she rose onto her tiptoes and grabbed his shoulders earnestly. “I believe you have layers, Dylan Brookes. Discover them. Embrace them. Find that passion and the woman who brings it out of you.”

  She was close, very close, her lips only inches from his, and her light citrus scent filled his nose. Something in the air around them shifted, and Marnie swallowed hard. Then she released his shoulders and stepped back.

  Clearing her throat, she pointed to a nondescript door nearby. “That’s my stop. Thanks for walking with me.”

  There was that strange feeling of disappointment again, only this time it held an edge he hadn’t expected. “You’re welcome, Marnie.”

  “Um...if you just go up to the end of the block, you shouldn’t have any problem hailing a taxi.”

  The comfortable camaraderie had turned awkward and was only getting worse. “I’ll be fine.”

  With a bright, but maybe slightly forced, smile, Marnie held out her hand. “Good night, Dylan.”

  He took hold of it, and like he’d done with any number of female friends, leaned in to kiss her cheek lightly. He’d done the maneuver hundreds of times, but instead of landing on her cheek, somehow his lips landed on hers.

  There was a brief moment of frozen shock, but Marnie didn’t pull away. Instead, her mouth softened and she leaned in to him, tightening her grip on his hand. Her lips were smooth and warm and the kiss sent a bolt of fire straight through him.

  That edge made total sense now. He’d been wanting to kiss her. Since forever, it seemed. And that feeling was more of a surprise than the kiss itself.

  The world seemed to contract, until there was nothing else except the taste of Marnie and the feel of her body molded against his like she’d been custom-made only for him. That light scent of her perfume filled his lungs with each breath, and his hands tangled in the soft silk of her hair, holding her in place as his mouth devoured hers.

  He heard Marnie’s low moan, a nearly primal sound that reverberated through him, bringing every nerve in his body to life to beg for more of her touch, her taste. That response was new, as if Marnie was the first and last woman he’d ever get to touch. It put a sharp, almost desperate edge on the desire slicing through him, but it felt so good he only wanted more.

  He didn’t understand why or how Marnie could do this to him, but he didn’t really care, either.

  That kiss went on and on, until they were both gasping for air and his heart felt like it was pounding through his chest. His whole body felt hard and tight, and it took willpower he didn’t know he had to break the kiss and set Marnie back on slightly unstable legs instead of pushing her up against the metal door and losing himself in her.

  Marnie’s eyes were wide and dark, her lips slightly swollen and moist. She gave herself a small shake and then blew out her breath. “Well.”

  What she meant by that, he had no idea, as his blood wasn’t exactly circulating in the direction of his brain at the moment, and his mind was full of images and ideas that might scare Marnie if she knew.

  “Um...” she began, only to stop and clear her throat. “I’m sure that Sven has a bottle of...um...” She paused again to swallow. “Something that probably needs drinking.”

  Her
hand was shaking as she reached out to toy with the button of his shirt. His skin was hot; it should have scorched her just from proximity. Those big blue eyes met his, and what he saw there nearly brought him to his knees.

  “Would you like to come up for a nightcap?”

  TWO

  Marnie had nearly forgotten what it was like to wake up curled into the solid warmth of a sleeping man. Drowsy fingers stroked absently over her back, and Dylan’s chest made a lovely pillow, his slow, deep breaths calming and hypnotic.

  It was a nice way to start the day, except for the nagging feeling that this was wrong. Really, really wrong. Which was very confusing because it felt really good at the same time.

  Of the million men in New York that she could have chosen for a drunken hookup, why had she picked Dylan?

  Beyond the obvious, of course. The chest under her cheek was sculpted and tanned, the muscles defined without being bulky and bulging. That had been a pleasant surprise to find under Dylan’s conservative gray suit. And that chest hadn’t been the only surprise waiting for her...

  The want had kicked up out of nowhere last night, slamming into her with an unexpected force that got completely out of hand. Fast. She could try to blame it on the tequila, but she doubted even tequila could explain the overwhelming feeling of yes, now, please that had taken over her body last night.

  It made no sense. She wasn’t attracted to men like Dylan, damn it. She craved artists, musicians, activists...interesting men who carried their hearts and their passions on their sleeves. Not disinterested, distant, society types. Not the Dylans of the world.

  Just the thought caused her to feel the cage bars close in on her.

  She wasn’t sure how it had happened, what threw the switch. One minute she’d been lecturing Dylan on finding his passion, and while she hadn’t quite meant for it to take the turn it did, the next thing she knew, he’d not only shown her he had it, but she’d been caught hard and unexpectedly by that very thing.

  She’d been overwhelmed, to say the least.

  Oh, she had a solid set of reasons to explain how she ended up here, but none of them erased that wrong feeling. Because one tiny fact outweighed them all: