The five of them—her, Aine, Tara, Penelope, and Quinn—had been best friends, calling themselves the “tribe of five,” since they met at boarding school when they were seven years old.
None of them came from ideal families, but Quinn had always had it harder than the rest of them. Until recently, her father hadn’t been a part of her life. In fact, she didn’t even know him, although now that they were back in contact, she’d said she remembered him from her early childhood.
Quinn’s mother hadn’t really been a part of her life either, although more than her dad had been. She’d recently passed away under circumstances Quinn wasn’t able to talk about.
“Who chose these dresses?” Ava asked, trying to position the second set of nipple covers.
Aine motioned over at Tara, who looked fabulous in the sage-green halter dress that was cut in such a way that only a backless, strapless, stick-on bra could be worn with it. As well-endowed as Ava and Aine were, they might as well have gone without.
“You’re the maid of honor, shouldn’t you have had a say?”
Aine ignored her like she usually did when Ava was spouting off about something they couldn’t change.
“Do you see where Mom and Dad are sitting?” Ava asked when they were outside, waiting for the processional music to begin.
“Dad is in the second row from the back, with Kelly, and Mom is…um…oh, Lord…in the second row from the front.”
Ava didn’t want to ask what her mom was wearing. Whatever it was would be outlandish.
“She’s got the spaceship hat plastered to the side of her head.”
Ava gasped. “The bright purple one?”
Aine shook her head. “This one is pink.”
Both she and her sister had inherited their bigger-than-average bosoms from their mother, and while neither twin tried to hide them, they certainly didn’t flaunt them the way the woman who insisted her daughters call her “Peggy” did.
What had Quinn been thinking when she invited their parents? And why couldn’t they have simply sent a gift like Tara’s and Pen’s parents did, instead of both actually showing up with their spouses?
Peggy would probably have too much to drink at the reception and suggest she and their dad let “bygones be bygones” and have a dance, to which their father would adamantly refuse while his third—or was this his fourth—wife crossed her arms and pouted.
“Again, you’re the maid of honor. You couldn’t have talked Quinn out of inviting them?”
Penelope glared at them. “Shush.”
Once Pen had turned around, Ava stuck her tongue out. If she was going to be scolded like a small child, she might as well reply like one.
“Can you see Tabon?” she whispered, trying to be quieter.
“Yes,” answered Aine.
“And?”
“And what?”
“How does he look?”
“Like the other five men wearing tuxedos. Actually, that isn’t true. Mercer looks the best. Tabon might be the runner-up.”
The music began, and Ava looked back at Quinn, who was the picture-perfect bride. Only the death grip she had on her father’s arm gave away her nervousness. Ava smiled at her before turning back around and taking a deep breath.
If she looked at Tabon, would he be looking at her? God, this was ridiculous. He probably didn’t even remember meeting her.
She stepped forward after Penelope and Tara started their walks down the aisle, and couldn’t help herself; she had to look.
He was looking right at her, wasn’t he? Or was he looking behind her? He smiled then, and winked, his eyes not wavering as she made her way behind her two friends.
He looked good. He’d shaved the dark stubble she remembered, making his jawline look even more powerful, but his eyes hadn’t changed—they still danced when he smiled at her.
When Aine took her place next to Ava, all eyes turned to where Quinn stood with her father. Those who were seated stood when the music began.
The sunlight hit her friend’s simple, stylish gown, which was adorned with lace, making it glow. Ava peeked around Aine, wanting to see the look on Mercer’s face. As she’d expected, he was mesmerized.
When they reached the front, Kade moved Quinn’s veil from her face, leaned forward, and kissed her cheek.
The minister instructed everyone to be seated and began the ceremony. It wasn’t long like some she’d attended in New York, where it felt more like mass for five hundred than a wedding. Instead, this was a simple, sweet profession of love, consecrated by God, and witnessed by people who cared deeply about the couple.
Ava almost cried, which wouldn’t have been at all like her. Aine, the weeper of the two of them, was making good use of the handkerchief she’d remembered to hold around the stems of the flowers she carried.
The minister pronounced them husband and wife. The two kissed, and then began their walk to the recessional.
Soon, within seconds really, Ava would step forward and take Tabon’s arm as he escorted her to where the bride and groom now stood.
Her eyes met his, and he smiled, holding his arm out for her. “Avarie,” he whispered when she took it, almost making her swoon. How did he know her full name? “You look beautiful,” he added.
He felt good at her side. Strong, confident, almost commanding. There wasn’t an ounce of self-doubt in this man whose arm held hers.
She remembered Quinn saying that Mercer made her feel cared for and safe. It hadn’t been long after she’d met him, and she’d sounded so certain. Ava understood what Quinn had meant now. Just having Tabon by her side made her feel, if not cared for, definitely safe.
—:—
It wasn’t that he wanted to get away from Avarie—she was delightful—but all eyes were on him, or it felt that way. Soon, the photographer would take pictures, and when he did, there would be hard evidence of how much he wanted the “hot little number,” as Gunner had called the woman in the barely-there sea-foam-green dress.
They separated after walking back down the aisle to stand beside Mercer and Quinn: guys to the groom’s right and girls to the bride’s left. Maybe he should’ve said something to her, but there’d be plenty of time to talk later, and if he had stopped long enough to look into her baby-blue eyes, he would’ve taken her behind the tall hedges that separated one part of the garden from the other and kissed the shit out of her.
Instead, he went and stood next to the best man and willed himself to think about anything other than how Ava had felt with her arm in his.
“How ya holdin’ up, Casanova?” asked Gunner when he walked up after escorting the final bridesmaid down the aisle.
Razor stepped forward, and the two walked away from the group.
“I don’t know…she seems kind of…” Razor said when they were far enough away that no one else could hear them.
“What?”
“Young.”
Gunner laughed. “For you?”
It wasn’t just that she was young. There was a certain doe-eyed innocence about her that belied the party-girl act she’d displayed that day on Fire Island. The good-girl vibe she gave off today was opposite of how he remembered her.
“I don’t do good girls,” he said to Gunner.
“Is there some requirement that we do the bridesmaids, because I’ll tell you what, I’d do Penelope in a hot minute.”
“What are you, fifteen?”
Gunner smirked. “If I were, I sure as hell wouldn’t be complaining about the age difference.”
Razor looked over at the group of bridesmaids. Even though Ava and Aine were twins, there was something different about them that he couldn’t define. They both possessed mouth-watering curves, but only Ava’s called out to him and made him take notice. Only Ava made him want to pull the pins holding up her sandy blonde hair, and let it cascade over her tanned shoulders, only to gather it in his hand and grip it tightly as he took her sweet body from behind.
“We’re here another few days,” s
aid Gunner. “Ask her out.”
“Out? For what? A date?”
Razor didn’t do dates. He didn’t take pretty girls out for dinner, or for walks on the beach, or kiss them politely at their front door. He offered them a night of off-the-charts, hotter-than-hell sex, and expected them to be long gone by sunrise.
“Hey, boys,” said Doc, approaching them with his wife, Merrigan, former MI6, and now managing partner of K19. Merrigan, code name Fatale, had been one of the deadliest assassins in the UK’s Secret Intelligence Service, but now, six months pregnant, she seemed perfectly happy managing the day-to-day operations of their business.
“Nice wedding, Doc,” said Razor. “Quinn is absolutely stunning.”
His teammate beamed. “She is, isn’t she?”
Razor wondered if Doc regretted not being a part of his daughter’s life for the last fifteen years. The reason for his absence had been to keep her safe, but there had to be a part of him that wished he’d had the opportunity to get to know her as she was growing up.
Merrigan touched Doc’s arm. “The meeting,” she murmured.
“Right. I hate to bring up business on a day like today, but I got an urgent call from Striker.”
“What for?” asked Gunner.
“Asset protection.”
Griffin Ellis, code name Striker, was K19’s primary contact at the CIA, and was responsible for the majority of work that came into their firm.
“I thought we were closed for business for the next six months.”
“We are,” said Doc. “Except the asset is practically family. It’s one of the bridesmaids.”
“Which one?” Razor asked.
“It might be one of the twins,” said Merrigan.
“What are we protecting her from?” Razor asked at the same time Gunner asked about the other twin.
“I don’t know the answer to either question yet,” said Doc. “We’ll find out when we meet with him later this afternoon.”
He and Gunner exchanged a look. The four partners of K19 had agreed not to accept any new assignments for at least six months, and even then, they’d evaluate whether they wanted to extend their moratorium on new business.
If they accepted, Razor would be the only one of the four available to take it on.
Given Merrigan was pregnant, Doc was out. Mercer had just gotten married, and he and Quinn were leaving on their honeymoon in the morning. As it stood, they had no firm itinerary, nor did they have a planned date when they’d return.
That left two of them, and Gunner was the last of them ready to take on another job involving asset protection. He may never be ready to do that type of work again.
Which meant Razor would be it. What if the twin who needed protection was Ava-of-the-hot-red-bikini? How in the hell would that work?
“Say no,” said Gunner when Doc and Merrigan walked away.
“Is that really an option?”
“Of course it is. Tell Doc you have a conflict of interest.”
Razor scrunched his eyes. “What if it’s the other twin?”
“And what if it’s not? Listen to me, tell him you want in her panties too bad to be able to effectively protect her. You don’t think Striker has active agents he could assign to this, or even other contractors?”
“There must be a reason he came to us.”
“I’m tellin’ you, say no.”
Razor got where Gunner was coming from, but the minute Fatale said it was one of the twins, he knew that if it was Ava and she was in some kind of danger, he would never forgive himself if he didn’t protect her.
Conflict of interest? Hell, yeah, but his conscience would overrule any logic his brain threw at him. Or maybe it was his heart that would do the overruling.
3
“Damn, they’re hot,” said Penelope, coming up to stand next to Ava and Aine.
“Right?” said her twin, looking at Gunner and Tabon like they were pieces of wedding cake.
“You had a thing for Razor, didn’t you, Ava?” asked Pen.
She shrugged. A thing? She had a twenty-minute conversation with him; he bought her a drink, and then she spent the last year fantasizing about him. Yeah, that would probably constitute a thing.
“I’ve got my eye on the other one, anyway.”
“He seems grouchy, Pen,” said Aine. “But then you usually go for that type.”
“Yep, the broodier, the better, I always say.”
Ava rolled her eyes. Aine was right. Penelope was her own worst enemy when it came to her taste in men. Every man she’d dated, as far back as she could remember, was an asshole in Ava’s opinion. Once Penelope set her sights on someone, though, she could be relentless.
“Mercer’s brothers are pretty hot,” she said, wishing she could convince Pen to go for one of them instead.
“Too boring.”
“Mercer isn’t boring,” said Aine.
“Okay, well, that doesn’t mean they aren’t. Plus they’re both too young.”
That was the other thing about Penelope. Unless they out-aged her by at least ten years, they were “too young.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Tara, coming back from the ladies’ room.
“Ranking the groomsmen on a hotness scale,” answered Ava. “I say Tabon is a habanero, Pen says Gunner’s a serrano, and both of Mercer’s brothers are sweet bell peppers.”
“I totally disagree,” said Tara. “Hudson is a Carolina Reaper.”
“Ew,” groaned Pen. “You always go for those baby-faced little boys.”
Tara rolled her eyes. “He’s older than we are.”
“But a hella lot less mature.”
“You’re the one ranking their Scoville scale while you stare at them like they’re filets.”
“Gunner is a Porterhouse, not a filet.”
Ava laughed. “And Tabon is a bone-in ribeye.”
“We should probably stop staring at them,” said her twin.
“Why? It doesn’t look like they’re bothered by it.”
“They’re ready for us,” said Tara, pointing at the photographer who was motioning them over.
Ava tried to walk past Tabon without looking at him, but just like before, she had no willpower where the man was concerned. Maybe this time, he wouldn’t catch her ogling him.
—:—
Razor winked at Ava when he caught her looking at him, and immediately regretted doing so. If what Doc had said was true and the K19 team would soon be responsible for her protection, he had to keep their relationship strictly professional.
When she smiled, he shook his head and turned away from her. Yeah, maybe he’d just hurt her feelings, but it would be far worse if she got it in her head that anything could happen between them.
“Time to pair up,” said the photographer a few minutes later. “Bride, groom, best man, maid of honor, and so on.”
Razor inwardly groaned. Why the hell had Quinn matched him up with Ava? This shit would go on all damn day. First, photos, then he’d probably have to sit with her during dinner, and then, he’d absolutely have to dance with her. Would it be terrible if he and Gunner switched? Yeah, probably.
When she came and stood next to him and the side of her boob grazed his arm, Razor thought he might jump right out of his skin. As though it had a mind of its own, his tricep moved back and forth, sending zingers straight to his groin.
“Be careful, Tabon, or I’ll have a wardrobe malfunction.”
“Wouldn’t bother me a bit.” Jesus, what was wrong with him? Wasn’t his brain communicating with his mouth?
“You might not mind, but Quinn definitely will.”
Tabon reluctantly shifted so no part of his body touched the sexy parts of hers. “Sorry,” he murmured, moving even farther away.
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” she said, her eyes hooded.
She crossed her arms, and Razor’s eyeballs almost popped out of his head. If there was going to be a wardrobe malfunction, that was the surest way to
make it happen. Didn’t she realize what she was doing to her boobs and how little the halter dress she was wearing covered?
Razor looked down at her from the corner of his eye and, sure enough, he could almost see her nipples. Wait. Maybe he could see them. But what did she have stuck to them? Were those band-aids?
“What are you looking at?” Ava hissed, lowering her arms.
“Is everything okay? You know, here?” he asked, motioning toward his own chest.
“What? Oh my God, are you serious right now?” she whispered.
“I thought I saw bandages.”
Ava turned the other way, so her back was to him, but he could still see the flush of her embarrassment creep up her neck.
“They aren’t bandages,” she seethed.
Razor leaned forward. “So what are they?”
She turned around and huffed, covering her cleavage with her bouquet of flowers. “None of your business, and stop looking at me.”
He grinned, wishing he could. Indignant Ava was damn cute.
When the photographer was finished with them, Razor thought about apologizing to her, but she and the rest of the bridesmaids had mysteriously disappeared in a flash.
“I’m tellin’ you,” said Gunner. “You gotta say no.”
He felt the same pang he had earlier, hating the idea of anyone else protecting Ava, unless it was a woman. Now, there was an idea. Maybe they could bring Alegria in. She was one of their pilots, but Razor knew she had asset protection experience. He’d make the suggestion when they met with Striker later.
“Wanna switch?” Gunner asked when they approached the head table.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re seated between the twins, and I’m between the other two. We could switch, and then you won’t embarrass yourself, looking like you want Ava for lunch instead of whatever crappy wedding food they serve.”
“You don’t think Quinn would mind?”
“Hell, no. Look at her. You think she has anything on her mind besides making babies with Eighty-eight?”
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