And Eve had a massive migraine the size of Paris Hilton's ego.
She was screwed, all right.
The floor tilted just enough to make her sway. Sweat beaded on her upper lip. Her hands went damp and she had to readjust her grip on the heavy bridesmaid's bouquet.
Geez, it was hot. And stuffy. And bright.
She blinked away the tiny black dots dancing in front of her eyes and swallowed against a rising wave of nausea.
“Are you all right?” The whispered question came from the woman who stood just to Eve's left. Skye Farrel-MacAllister was the matron of honor and the expectant mother of twin boys.
“I'm fine.” Eve swallowed again as reality weighed down on her.
She had definitely been drop-kicked into an alternate universe. It seemed like just yesterday her oldest sister had been as anti-marriage as their mother. Even more, while Skye had always liked kids, they'd been just a far-off, maybe someday thought. Skye hadn't been able to keep a boyfriend long enough to add his name to her electric bill, much less start a family.
“You don't look fine,” Skye said under her breath as the exchange of rings finished and the minister declared, “What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.” Skye caught Eve's trembling hand in a gesture that looked more like an older sibling's sign of affection rather than the subtle, but crystal clear screw-this-up-now-and-I'll-kick-your-ass warning it truly was. “You look like you're going to throw up.”
Big Brother had nothing on Big Sister.
“I'm fine.” Eve swallowed and cleared her throat. “Really.” She drew a deep breath and gave her older sister a reassuring squeeze before disengaging her fingers.
Pulling her shoulders back, she clutched the monstrous blend of yellow roses, buttercups and daffodils stem-wrapped in ribbon and sweetheart lace. Lace that matched the trim on her dress. Which matched the color of the tulle and bunting draped around the set. Which matched the giant satin bows marking each row of chairs. Which matched the hue of the daisy petals sprinkled on every aisle.
“…marriage is a joyous union that marks the beginning of a new life together…” The minister's voice droned on.
A drop of sweat tickled its way down her right temple and heat smothered her. The razor burn under her arms prickled and she damned herself for not toughening up her skin by shaving for more than just special occasions.
“…and now by the power vested in me…”
She blew out a deep breath and inhaled again. Her nostrils burned with the sickeningly sweet scent of flowers coupled with the half gallon of perfume the wedding coordinator had spritzed her with prior to the walk down the studio aisle. Her stomach pitched and rolled.
“…I now pronounce you man and wife…”
Get it together, Eve told herself. Now.
She hadn't made a huge name for herself in the erotic video market by upchucking every time a difficult situation arose.
She was Eve Farrel, for heaven's sake—the ballsy, headstrong producer and owner of Sugar & Spice Sinema, the fastest growing production company in L.A. and the only one that specialized in how-to sex videos for couples. Her life was one crisis after another. She worked with temperamental actors and actresses. She endured the endless pressure caused by tight production schedules and small budgets. She dealt with know-it-all cameramen and clueless production assistants and snotty set caterers who couldn't tell a blueberry bagel from a raisin and cinnamon.
“…and now let us seal this blessed union with a kiss…”
She was not going to throw up, despite the hot lights and the horrible dress and the overwhelming smell and her mother's adoring stare.
Rather, she was going to paste a smile on her face and make it through the few minutes it would take to waltz back up the aisle. Then she was going to head for the reception like the headstrong, confident, capable woman that she was. And then she was going to do what any headstrong, confident, capable woman would do in her present situation.
She was going to drink.
Heavily.
Three hours later, after an endless stream of pictures, a question-and-answer session with several local radio shows and an interview for Entertainment Tonight—they weren't about to miss out on the biggest reality event of the year—Eve finally walked into the Crystal Ballroom of the Beverly Hills Hotel.
The reception was already in full swing, the room packed with guests. The live band belted out Kool & the Gang's classic “Celebration” for a dance floor full of people. Waiters squeezed this way and that, carrying silver serving trays offering everything from appetizers to champagne. Candelabra towered over the banquet tables and flickered with candlelight. Large sprays of flowers filled every nook and cranny. French doors opened out into a garden filled with more tables and people.
The place was nearly bursting at the seams.
Thankfully.
While Eve would have given her right eye—her throbbing eye thanks to a headache from hell—for some peace and quiet, chaos was preferable at the moment. The more people, the easier it would be to steer clear of her mother.
Or so she hoped.
She retrieved a frozen margarita, bypassed the seats reserved for the wedding party and headed for a round banquet table in the farthest corner of the ballroom.
Eve had just downed half the icy drink and slid off her shoes when a six-foot plus, sometimes green-eyed, sometimes blue—depending on her contact supply—woman collapsed into the seat next to her. Trina Carlington had gone for the green tonight, and had her long hair dyed a vibrant red to complete the look.
“I am so glad you invited me,” Trina declared in a breathless, excited voice. Trina was the chief marketing director for Sugar & Spice Sinema, a go-getter when it came to advertising and product perception, and an ex-Playboy Playmate. She had an impressive background that included a degree from Stanford University and an internship with the prestigious Bart & Baxter Ad Agency, and an equally impressive list of measurements, thanks to L.A.’s leading plastic surgeon. She wore a slinky, strappy dress that clung to her shapely body and made Eve seriously consider torturing her own body with a Pilates class.
“Weddings aren't usually my thing,” Trina went on as she pulled out a mirrored tube from her gold Fendi bag and retouched her flaming red lipstick, “I always end up dancing with somebody's dorky cousin or drooling uncle.” She licked her lips. “But I've already done the Macarena with the vice president of a major network, the Electric Slide with one of the cameramen from The Today Show and the Twist with some rich guy who's staying in the hotel's penthouse suite and just popped in because he's in the mood for wedding cake. Speaking of which, why aren't you dancing and having fun?”
“I'm too busy having a nervous breakdown.” Eve scooted her chair even further into the shadows of a huge potted palm that sat next to the table and effectively hid her from full view of the rest of the ballroom. Namely, from the woman seated across the sea of wedding guests, near a silver fountain flowing with champagne punch.
“I'm actually the good daughter now! Can you imagine that?” She shook her head. “I've never been the good daughter. I can't be the good daughter. Then I'll have to put up with more than one visit a week from my mother and I can barely handle that.”
“She's a busy lady. Do you really think she'll try to spend more time with you?”
Eve watched as Jacqueline Farrel downed her fourth glass of punch and glanced around for the countless time, as if searching for someone. Her gaze paused on the potted palm.
Eve ducked to the side and grabbed her friend's arm. “My mother didn't see you come over here, did she?”
“How would I know?” Trina wiggled her perfectly arched eyebrows. “I have much more interesting people to watch besides your mother.” She smiled. “Check out those hot bodies over there.”
Eve's gaze shifted to the four tuxedo-clad hotties who stood near the bar. They talked and laughed, seemingly oblivious to the cameras that clicked around them and captured each of their expre
ssions on film.
“They must be actors or stuntmen or something,” Trina said.
“NASCAR drivers.” At Trina's questioning look, Eve added, “Since Clint was attending the wedding with Skye, the show's producers decided to tape a “Hot New Men of NASCAR” interview for their brother channel—Spike TV.”
“Clint's been racing forever. He isn't exactly a NASCAR virgin.”
“No, but three out of the four drivers for his race team are. He must have invited them to tag along to the reception.”
“I've never been into NASCAR—Sunday is my day to catch up on all the reality shows I tape during the week—but I'll have to start watching.” Trina's eyes gleamed as she pointed a red-tipped nail. “I'd definitely trade the last three Bachelors for that one cutie right over there.”
Eve's gaze shifted to the blond hunk who stood near a giant ice sculpture shaped like a hammer (made in honor of her new brother-in-law, who was the founder and owner of Hire-a-Hunk Construction). The man looked mouthwatering in a black tuxedo. He had his arms draped around two different women—a brunette on one side and a strawberry blonde on the other—while he smiled and flirted with a very attentive female reporter who was holding a microphone in front of him.
“It's all good, sunshine.”
The deep, rich southern drawl echoed in Eve's memory and awareness skittered up her spine. She frowned and ignored the crazy sensation. “I might trade in that football-playing Bachelor—he did pick the wrong woman—but the rest of those drivers are definitely preferable to Linc Adams.”
She watched as the reporter laughed at something he said and leaned in even closer. Eve's frown deepened. “He is every womanist's worst nightmare.” Which was why, when her newly married sister had mentioned a fix-up with Clint's new driver, Eve had actually agreed. She'd needed to do something to win back the Rebellious Daughter title she'd held for so many years. Big mistake. “He guzzled beer out of a bra cup at the Victoria's Secret after-show party.”
“That was him? I saw that on E!” Trina shook her head. “He looked a little…different.”
“He doesn't usually dress this well. He lives in board shorts and T-shirts and a very inebriated grin.” When he wasn't wearing his racing suit, that is.
Eve's thoughts rushed back to the Napa Valley race she'd attended, where the first race car designed and manufactured by and for the MacAllister Magic Race Team had been introduced.
She hadn't felt near the rush when she'd seen her brother-in-law's groundbreaking car as she'd felt when she'd glimpsed his new driver. The after-race date had taken on a different meaning when he'd climbed from behind the wheel and smiled at her. Forget about pissing off her mother. Eve had thought that she might actually have a great time. Linc was a handsome guy, in a blond, blue-eyed, All-American sort of way.
While Eve didn't usually do the All-American type—she gravitated more toward dark, brooding, deep men with tortured souls and non existent bank accounts—she'd been ready to make an exception. Until the race had ended, and her fantasy of stimulating conversation, followed by hot, wild sex on the hood of Linc's car had melted away.
He'd shed his racing suit, pulled on a worn, ripped pair of shorts and a T-shirt that read, I & and proceeded to flirt with every female within hearing range during their dinner date. She'd promptly told him off in a voice that made most men tremble, but he'd simply smiled at her and murmured, “It's all good, sunshine.” She'd called him a colorful name, tossed a bread-stick at him and walked away, and that had been that.
“I can't remember,” Trina's voice pulled her back to the present. “What sort of bra did he drink out of?”
“What?” Eve's attention shifted back to her friend and the familiar predatory light in her eyes. Trina was a go-getter, all right, even when it came to men.
Especially when it came to men.
“What sort of bra?” she asked again.
“What difference does it make?”
“I'm wearing a Very Sexy Body Bra. Double D.” She grinned. “That should hold a lot of beer, don't you think?”
“He might not be in a beer mood tonight,” Eve heard herself say. “He might not be drinking at all, for that matter.”
Yeah, right.
From the rumors being printed in the tabloids and broadcast on every major show from the fun CMT's Celebrity Homes to the more serious ESPN's Live and In Color, NASCAR'S latest and greatest wasn't just racing for the championship. He was drinking and partying his way into the Bad Boys Hall of Fame. Undoubtedly he was drinking tonight, and doing any and everything else Trina might have in mind.
Trina pulled her shoulders back, pushed out her ample chest and grinned. “You never know when thirst will strike. I think I'll walk over and introduce him to Pam and Dolly.” She cast one last glance at Eve. “You'll never hook up sitting in this corner. Men are visual.”
“So is my mother, which is why I'm staying right here.”
For the next five minutes she watched as Trina made her way through the crowd toward Linc Adams. When her friend reached him and drew his attention away from the reporter, Eve downed the rest of her margarita in one long gulp.
Linc's gaze swept over Trina and he smiled, and Eve pushed to her feet. He was obviously drinking tonight, and so was she.
“I'll have another margarita,” she said when she reached the bar a few minutes later.
The rumors circulating about him had to be true. He was a dog, all right. The hound of all hounds. Mr. Tramp himself. Number one on the pound's Most Wanted—“There you are!” The familiar female voice shattered her thoughts. “I've been looking all over for you.”
“Make that two,” Eve said to the bartender before turning to greet the woman who'd stepped up behind her. “Hi, Mom.”
THE EDITOR'S DIARY
Dear Reader,
All work and no play make for dull romance. But what if you could combine work and play and get more romance and excitement than you ever dreamed possible? Find out in our two Warner Forever titles this October.
Publishers Weekly raves that Karen Rose ’s previous work “offers heart-racing thrills, both in the bedroom and the forensics lab” and that “readers will…rush to the novel's thrilling conclusion”. Well, fasten your seatbelt—her latest, I'M WATCHING YOU, is going to take your breath away. With the highest conviction rate of any prosecutor in the state, Kristen Mayhew is passionately devoted to locking criminals up. It isn't just a job to her—it's the most important thing in her life. But one night, she opens the trunk of her car and discovers pictures of three dead bodies with a cryptic note that vows retribution on the few criminals that have gotten away, signed “Your Humble Servant”. As the death toll rises, Kristen and broad-shouldered Homicide detective Abe Reagan follow the clues to the serial killer while finding comfort—and love—in one another's arms.
Journeying from heart-stopping suspense to sugar, spice and everything nice, we present Kimberly Raye ’s SOMETIMES NAUGHTY, SOMETIMES NICE. Vicki Lewis Thompson raves “Kimberly Raye is hot, hot, hot!” So good luck trying to cool down! Xandra Farrel knows men are only good for two things: sexual pleasure and procreation. As the owner of Wild Woman, Inc., the largest erotic aid manufacturer, Xandra is about to launch her best product yet that promises mind-numbing pleasure for women. One problem: she needs a guinea pig for a test drive. So when Beau Hollister reappears, she thanks her lucky stars. Beau is a blast from her past, responsible for her absolute worst sexual experience ever, and she's certain that if she can have a deliciously naughty night with him, her product's success is a sure thing. But after one kiss, it's romance—not work—that's on her mind.
To find out more about Warner Forever, these October titles, and the author, visit us at www.warnerforever.com.
With warmest wishes,
Karen Kosztolnyik, Senior Editor
P.S. The holidays are right around the corner so put down that turkey baster and enjoy these two reasons to give thanks. Amanda Scott pens a sexy and magical Scottish m
edieval of two devoted lovers overcoming their warring clans and the betrayal that threatens to rip them apart in HIGHLAND PRINCESS; and Diane Perkins delivers the poignant and evocative story of a man who returns from war only to discover that a beautiful, pregnant stranger is claiming to be his wife in THE IMPROPER WIFE.
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