The Wedding from Hell, Part 1: The Rehearsal Dinner

by Ward, J. R.

  Dear Reader,

  It’s a classic recipe for disaster: Take one bridesmaid who thinks pink is the root of all evil. Mix with a best man who’s hotter than a four-alarm fire. Add in their explosive sexual attraction, a nightmare bridezilla, two catfights, and an emergency call, and you have the wedding from hell! Come get to know Anne and Danny, the heroine and hero of Consumed, and see their relationship go from friends with innuendo to holy-$&*#-did-that-just-happen?! Is this the start of something good for them? Or just an erotic one-night stand that rocks them both but is never to be repeated? Only their hearts know the answer to that, much as their minds might disagree.

  Happy Reading,

  J.R. Ward

  chapter

  1

  Thursday, October 29

  T minus 48 hours ’til blastoff

  College Row, New Brunswick, Massachusetts

  Because women are not frickin’ groomsmen! That’s why she can’t be in the goddamn wedding!”

  As Anne Ashburn walked in the back door of the shotgun apartment, that happy little explosion was not only what she’d expected all along, it also offered her the out she’d been praying for. And it was probably the one and only time she was ever going to agree with the bride.

  Not about the role of females in bridal parties, but that Anne wasn’t going to be in the “goddamn wedding.”

  Everyone standing in the kitchen turned and looked at her: Deandra Cox, the impending wearer of the white dress; Robert “Moose” Miller, her exhausted fiancé and Anne’s fellow crew member down at the 499 firehouse; and . . . Dannyboy Maguire.

  Who was the only one she really noticed and, for that reason, the person she refused to look at.

  Too bad Danny always made an impression. Like most firefighters, he was in great physical shape, his big body thickly muscled and ready to snap into motion in an instant. With his heavy arms linked over that chest and his long legs crossed at the boots, he was leaning back against the chipped countertop, his too-blue stare missing nothing. He was fresh from a shower, his glossy black hair wet, and Anne tried not to picture him naked under the spray, his tattooed torso arching as he rinsed the shampoo out of his—

  She put her hands up to stop herself as much as the argument. “Look, I don’t want to cause any problems. I’m happy to step aside—”

  “And now I have one too many bridesmaids.” The bride-to-be refocused on her intended. “My count is wrong. You wait until two days before the wedding to tell me this when you know I’m not going to like it, and now my count is off!”

  As the groom focused on the linoleum floor, it was impossible not to picture a wax version of the couple on a multi-tiered cake: Deandra in skinny jeans and that tight cashmere sweater, her dark hair streaked blond, her body cocked forward like she was going to throat-punch the man she was going to marry; Moose in his New Brunswick Fire Department T-shirt, all broad-shouldered and bearded around the face, easing back like someone with the flu was about to sneeze in his face.

  Ah, true love.

  “I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Moose muttered. “Anne’s a member of the four-nine-nine crew, and everyone else is with me.”

  “She’s a girl.” Deandra pointed at Anne. “It throws off everything.”

  “I really don’t want to cause any problems.” Anne put her hands up again. “So I’ll just be in the congregation. It’s perfectly fine—”

  Deandra’s glare swung Anne’s way. “The count is still wrong. And my friends have already paid for their dresses. They were a hundred and twenty dollars apiece.”

  And that’s my cue to go, Anne thought. Moose may have volunteered for this, but no one else had or needed to—

  “I think women can be whatever they want.”

  As Danny spoke up, everyone looked at him—including Anne, who suddenly felt shades of what Deandra was throwing out.

  Don’t you dare, she mouthed at him behind the bride’s back.

  Danny just shrugged like he’d thrown on a pantsuit and was channeling Oprah, Michelle Obama, and Hillary Clinton all at once. “I mean, Deandra, you’re above all that sexism, aren’t you? No one’s going to tell you what’s right and wrong for your own wedding. You’re more secure than that.”

  I am going to kill you, Anne vowed. “I think Deandra wants things done properly for her only wedding.”

  Danny frowned in pseudo-confusion. “So you’re saying it’s okay to have a double standard for men and women? That’s a shocker given how you are at the station. I thought you believed in equality.”

  “I do,” Anne snapped. “But this isn’t about equality.”

  “You sure? I don’t know how you can support traditional gender roles when it comes to a wedding ceremony at the same time you defend the right for women to be firefighters, cops, and on the front lines in the military.”

  “Spare me someone who’s never been in a dress having an opinion about women’s issues, okay?”

  “I’m just pointing out that you don’t want women out of dresses.”

  “It’s her wedding.” Anne jabbed a finger at Deandra. “She’s the bride. She gets to say what’s right and wrong for her, and she does not need some man telling her what to do.”

  “Even if I’m defending the rights of women?”

  “Until you grow a set of ovaries, you can shut the hell up about our rights!”

  As Anne’s voice ricocheted around the kitchen, she realized that she’d marched right up to Danny—and that Deandra and Moose were watching the two of them in total stillness.

  She cleared her throat and took a step back. “Anyway, Deandra’s made up her mind. And I support her decision.”

  Deandra’s eyes narrowed on Danny, and something about the way the woman looked at him didn’t seem right.

  “Actually,” the bride said, “maybe she should be in the wedding party.”

  Anne prayed her expression stayed neutral. “Don’t compromise your vision on my account.”

  “I won’t.” The woman stared at Danny. “Fine. Let’s put her in a tuxedo like the rest of the men. She can walk my sister down the aisle, just like a man should. Her shoulders are too big for a gown, anyway, and that way my count stays the way it should.”

  Anne rolled her eyes. Let’s hear it for girl power.

  “So it’s settled,” Deandra said with a tight smile. “You need a tux. Unless you already own one.”

  For a moment, Anne waited for somebody to argue with the woman. Like Moose. But he was clearly done falling on swords over the wedding details, and Danny had just gotten what he wanted so he wasn’t going to say a damn thing.

  And the truth was, after how many years of fighting fires with these men, they were her brothers in all but blood. Even though she thought Moose had lost his ever-loving mind marrying this beautiful but sour woman after knowing her for a matter of months, Anne was still going to stand up for the guy if he wanted her to—and he did. He’d asked her down at the stationhouse specifically.

  “Where did you guys rent your suits?” Anne said to him.

  “Tuxedoes,” Deandra corrected.

  The groom blinked like he’d forgotten how to speak English. Then again, he’d been doing that a lot at the firehouse lately. “You’re actually going to wear one?”

  “What the hell do I care?”

  “Yes, she is wearing one,” Deandra cut in.

  Danny spoke up. “I’ll go with you. I know where the place is.”

  * * *

  Danny Maguire prepared for a death ray to get sent in his direction, and man, did he call that one. Anne’s eyes were like the sights of a pair of sniper rifles trained on him,
and he was surprised that his skull and the cabinets behind him didn’t vaporize on impact.

  Then again, Anne had always had that effect on him. From the moment she’d walked into the open bay of the 499 two years ago, she had gotten his attention—and not just because she was the younger sister of the New Brunswick fire chief, Thomas Ashburn, Jr. Even as a newbie fresh out of the academy, she had had a confidence and competence that had been intimidating.

  And then they’d started working scenes together.

  Anne was his favorite partner on a charged line because there was never any question what she was going to do or where she was going to be. They thought the same, reacted the same, moved in sync.

  He could always read her mind.

  Like right now? She was castrating him, throwing his balls down the disposal in the sink and hitting the switch.

  “Just tell me which place it is,” she gritted out at Moose.

  Leaving that question hanging in the breeze, Danny straightened off the counter and headed for the back door. Outside, her Subaru Outback was parked next to his truck and he went around and got in its passenger seat.

  When she came out and saw where he was, she stopped on the back stoop and glowered like she wished she could blow her own car up.

  God, you’re beautiful, Danny thought.

  Funny, how the right woman could turn running tights, a black fleece, and Brooks trainers into a ball gown and stillies. Forget Deandra and those fake cubic zirconia earrings, the wafts of perfume, the lash extensions, and the push-up bras. Anne was all natural; from her sun-streaked hair that was pulled back with a band to her clean face and her soap-and-shampoo scent, she didn’t have to add anything to be a knockout.

  And speaking of KO’s, the object of his lust and fascination marched over and ripped open her door. “You are such an ass.”

  He put his palms up. “I’m helping. And supporting the women’s movement.”

  “The hell you are.” She got in and glared at him some more. “I had an out and you threw me under the bus.”

  He smiled. “Come on, you can’t miss the drama. This wedding from hell is going to be a cross between a UFC fight and that dress show Deandra forces him to watch whenever she’s over here.”

  “Say Yes to the Mess.”

  “Is that what it’s called? And seriously, you think I’m going through this shit on my own?”

  “Yes, I do.” She shut them in together. “Moose is your roommate—”

  “He’s on your crew—”

  “—and this doesn’t have anything to do with me and—”

  “—so it would be weird if you were not there—”

  “—more importantly, Deandra can’t stand me.”

  “—and Deandra doesn’t like anybody.”

  They both stopped at the same time. Then Anne put her hands on the wheel and slumped. Looking over, she shook her head. “I had the best excuse on the planet and you screwed me.”

  His eyes dropped to her lips before he could stop them. To cover up the slip, he laughed. “Like I said, it’s you and me against the world for this train wreck.”

  “Even if you have to pretend to be a feminist, huh.”

  “Hey, I love women.”

  “I know, your reputation precedes you.”

  Danny frowned as she started the car. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean, why is he marrying her? I’ve never met more of a production in my life—”

  “Anne. What was that crack about?”

  Her eyes swung back to him. “Oh, come on, Danny. I know you try to hide it from me because I’m the ‘girl’ on the crew, but your exploits are always a topic of discussion, if not legend.”

  “They are not.”

  She put them in reverse and twisted around to look behind them. “You know they are. Look, I don’t judge. It’s none of my business what you do in your personal life, for one thing, and for another, it’s just not that interesting to me. Do not, however, try to play like you’re a shy retiree with the ladies.”

  As Anne hit the gas and shot them down the thin lane that ran parallel to the tall, narrow duplex, that fleece did little to hide the contours of her body, and those leggings highlighted the sleek muscles of her thighs. And when he noticed each and every thing about her, he thought it was crazy that until he’d met her, he hadn’t realized he had a type.

  Turned out he liked no-nonsense, straight-talking athletes who had a work ethic to match his own.

  “I don’t have a girlfriend,” he muttered.

  “Thank God or you’d be making a fool out of her with all those other females.” Anne K-turned in the street. “But again, it’s not anything I’m worried about. Now, where are we going?”

  Nowhere, he thought. Goddamn it, we’re going nowhere.

  “Mike’s Tuxedo Rental, down on Chester and Main.” He put his seat belt on to kill the dinging. “And you really have the wrong opinion about me.”

  “Like I said, it’s not relevant.” She hit the gas, sending him deep into his seat on the acceleration. “All I care about is how well you fight fires and there are never any complaints on that—”

  “I mean just because I’ve gone on a couple of dates—”

  “Is that what you call doing the receptionist of that hair salon in the back room?”

  “That was six months ago.” That was also Deandra, but there wasn’t any reason to put a name to it. “And before you even bring the Fourth of July up, I was not the one who had sex in the middle of the parade on that float.”

  She glanced across the seats. “Yes, you were—”

  “No, I was not,” he snapped. “That was Duff. Don’t bring me into shit I have nothing to do with.”

  “Why are you getting so defensive?”

  “Because you’re accusing me of being a whore and I don’t appreciate it.”

  “Sorry.”

  As he crossed his arms over his chest, he glared out the side window. Nothing was worse than a trap of your own invention, but the truth was, ever since Anne had come into his life with her NBFD T-shirt and her take-no-prisoners attitude, every other woman had looked like a box of Kleenex to him. Unfortunately, his previous exploits were a speeding car with too much momentum for the brakes to catch: Even though he’d changed, there was no denying what he’d been like before, and that was what preceded him.

  Reflecting on his many mistakes, he was reminded of why he hated taking any R&R. It led to too much thinking, and the last thing he needed was time to dwell on how impossible it was for him to ever know what Anne Ashburn felt like. Tasted like. Looked like first thing in the morning and last thing at night.

  These four days off for Moose’s stupid idea were going to depress the fuck out of him.

  chapter

  2

  Mike’s Tuxedo Rental was a bolt-hole of polyester knockoffs sandwiched between a Dunkin’ Donuts on the corner and a local flower shop on the other side. As Anne parallel-parked across the street from it, she checked the clock on her dash and was relieved they had an hour before the shop closed at five.

  “So you want something to eat?” she asked her morose passenger. “I got a Fiber One in my workout bag.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “No, you’re hangry.” She reached back into her Nike duffel. “Here. Eat this before you haymaker someone.”

  As she held the bar out to him, Danny stared at her. His eyes were the blue of an autumn sky, so clear and resonant they almost hurt to look into, and those lashes were as black and thick as his hair. He had what looked like a sunburn, but the color in his face was actually from the night before. October in Massachusetts could be cold, and they’d battled a two-alarm over by the New Brunie campus at four a.m. The water from the hoses had been blown back at them, and the thirty-two-degree temperature had turned it into freezing rain.

  “You’ve got the wrong idea about me,” he said.

  Anne looked away. “I don’t have any idea about you. Which is the way it sh
ould be. We work together.”

  “If we didn’t, what then.”

  All the air seemed to get sucked out of the Subaru, and she could sense his body as if she were touching him: Proximity had somehow become contact, somehow, the undercurrents that she always convinced herself were misinterpretations on her part now an alchemy that was unexpected . . . and yet inevitable.

  “Hypotheticals are a waste of time.” Her voice was so damned hoarse. “Total waste of—”

  “Answer the question anyway.”

  But that isn’t a question, she thought. It’s an invitation that I may not be able to turn down.

  Cursing herself, she tossed the Fiber One in his lap, popped her door and got out. “Eat that and come on. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  With a pounding heart, she jaywalked through the light traffic and hopped up on the curb. Marching over to the tuxedo shop, she yanked open the door and walked into—

  A sea of flowers.

  Instead of mannequins sporting black-and-white penguin suits, she was surrounded by roses and carnations and bundles of baby’s breath in buckets. There were clay pots of orange and yellow mums, and then all kinds of novelty witches, ghouls, and vampires strung on fishing line from the ceiling.

  “May I help you?” the lady behind the counter asked.

  “Ah, no. No, I’m fine. Thank you—”

  The bell on the door chimed, and Danny came in. “The boutonnieres are already ordered.”

  “What?” Anne backed into a vampire mobile, all sorts of Dracula getting tangled in her hair. “Excuse me—oh, all right. Okay, let’s not . . .”

  She pulled the caped bloodsucker off her and yanked her fleece back into place. “Right. Already ordered. Of course. Let’s go next door. Thank you for your time.”

  Head up, shoulders set, she made it back out to the sidewalk without putting her foot in a tub of roses. And then with determination more appropriate to a military crusade, she went over to Mike’s Tuxedo Rental and nailed the entry, walking into the right place.

  Yup, nothing but racks of suit jackets and slacks in black, white, and red, and displays of pre-knotted satin bow ties with matching cummerbunds. The fake wood paneling of the place reminded her of Raymour & Flanigan furniture ads from her childhood, and the posters of male models from the eighties pulling Zoolanders and sporting perms made her worry that the establishment only rented stuff from the Flock of Seagulls era.