The Wedding War

by Talley, Liz

  Because she knew Charlotte was very aware of her unspoken message.

  “Another drink?” the waitress asked, coming by after picking up a check at a nearby table.

  “Absolutely,” Melanie said, making a bit of a racket as she slurped down the last sip and handed the empty glass to—she squinted at her name tag—Sharla.

  Kit’s eyes widened. “Careful, honey. You’ll be tipsy.”

  “If I remember correctly, you always liked me tipsy,” she said with a sly smile.

  Her husband looked pleased with that flirtation. Another score for Team Wife.

  Suck it, Team Whore.

  “And I’ll have a water with lemon,” Charlotte said, almost primly.

  Well, well. Who was the boring one now?

  Those words of Tennyson’s came back to her. Melly, you’re so boring. She didn’t used to be. Tennyson had always made sure of that. She used to like herself when she was Tennyson’s friend because the trouble they found together was always so freeing. And somehow life was much simpler because of it. Imagine that. Her life had felt simpler because she’d had a friend who didn’t let her settle, who wouldn’t let her be sensible, who wouldn’t let her buy an ugly dress. For a few minutes in the dressing room at Stanley Korshak, Melanie had remembered the girl she used to be. She pretty much had to because Tennyson had finally huffed over all her pussyfooting about the cost of the dress and told Melanie that if she didn’t buy the damned dress, Tennyson would do it for her. And then the whole cake thing. For a few seconds of frosting-smeared joy, she’d loved being the person who would hurl cake across a table.

  Melanie plucked the delicate tulle overlay of the dress.

  What would Tennyson do?

  WWTD?

  She damned sure wouldn’t let Charlotte one-up her.

  Melanie leaned over to the older gentleman at the table next to them. “Excuse me. Can I bum one of your cigarettes?”

  The man smiled. “Sure.”

  He tapped out a cigarette and handed it to her. Then he pulled out his lighter and, with a questioning hook of his brow, asked if she needed a light. She nodded, stuck the cigarette between her lips, and cupped her hand so the flame wouldn’t be extinguished by the sea breeze.

  She took a deep drag and exhaled with a sigh. “Thanks.”

  When she turned back to Kit and Charlotte, they were staring at her like she’d just sacrificed an infant and had quenched her thirst with its blood. “What?”

  “You don’t smoke,” Kit said, his eyebrows almost touching his receding hairline.

  Melanie smiled, a very Tennyson-esque smile. “Yeah, I do. Sometimes.”

  “Who are you?” Kit laughed.

  So she said the words her ex–best friend but current enemy had uttered a week ago. “I’m exactly who I want to be.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Tennyson had twenty hours to get everything in place for the Tour of Italy shower the next day, but at present she could only think about the man who now stood in her kitchen wearing a pair of athletic shorts, a tight T-shirt (tucked in, of course), and a pair of running shoes. In other words, Officer Joseph Rhett looked absolutely delicious. He held a gas station disposable cup of coffee and sipped it thoughtfully as she made waffles. Which was to say she put a frozen waffle into the toaster and pressed the button.

  “You really eat that stuff? I thought you shopped at Whole Foods.” Joseph eyed the toaster.

  “I don’t eat it for breakfast. This is a protein waffle, and I’ll spread peanut butter on it as an after-workout snack. I did two sessions today, and I’m starving.”

  He didn’t say anything. Just watched her as she fetched the lower-fat peanut butter and cut up the strawberries to place on top.

  She’d just gotten home from her barre class, all sweaty and tired from doing two classes in a row, when Joseph pulled in behind her, upholding his promise to stop by and check on her. He’d looked plenty appreciative of the way she looked in her shorts and racerback Lycra, so she’d invited him in to look around and make sure the house was safe. He thought that was funny. Then she almost asked him to shower with her and do her back.

  And her front.

  Tennyson smiled at that thought. She wondered what he would say if she asked him to wash her back in the shower. And then roll around on her clean sheets.

  She hoped the good officer was down for that.

  “Can I get you one? Have you had lunch yet?” she asked.

  “No. I’m good. I had a big breakfast this morning.”

  “So you’re fueled and ready to go. That’s good.” Tennyson fetched the popped waffle and slathered peanut butter on it. Her stomach growled at the delicious smell of the vanilla waffle colliding with roasted peanuts. Even the sweet homegrown strawberries she’d bought at the farmers’ market tickled her nose with the smell of summer. “So tell me more about yourself. All we’ve talked about is TV and popular culture when we’re on the phone. You a Shreveport boy? Where’d you go to school? Have you ever been married? Want to shower with me later? Do you have kids?”

  Joseph laughed, and she damned near had an orgasm.

  Shit, the man was so abnormally good looking. She imagined women of all ages trying to get a speeding ticket or praying that he asked them to step from the car so he could run his delicious hands all over their bodies as a sort of hot-cop silver lining to a ticket.

  “I like how you ask questions,” he said, setting his coffee down and rounding the kitchen island.

  Tennyson stayed stock-still, leaning against the counter, a flirtatious smile hovering as she picked up a waffle and took a bite. “Mmm.”

  Joseph set a hand on either side of her, leaning in close. “I grew up in Arcadia, about an hour east of here. I went to Louisiana Tech and majored in business. I’m divorced. I would love to, and I have two kids.”

  His eyes were starbursts of blue, his jaw like a piece of granite. Joseph had thick eyebrows that a girl would have to pluck, a tiny mole on his earlobe, and a mouth that looked absolutely capable of sin. She would put that mouth to good use. Since he seemed up for it.

  “How old are your kids?” she asked, taking another bite, even though she really longed to lick his neck.

  He sucked in a deep breath, his gaze lowering to her mouth. “Five and eight. Both girls.”

  Tennyson set the waffle on the edge of the counter and looped her hands around his neck. “You’re very good at this game, you know.”

  “What game?” he asked, trailing a finger over her lower lip. She realized he’d wiped away a smudge of peanut butter just as he sucked his finger into his mouth.

  His action made her go a little weak at the knees.

  “This game we’re playing. The one where we pretend that we’re not trying to get into each other’s pants,” she said, dropping a tiny kiss on the pulse point of his neck.

  Joseph inhaled sharply, and she leaned back with a shark smile.

  Then he turned the tables by stepping forward so his body touched hers in all the right places. “I thought that was subtle foreplay. If you’re done with that, we can get on with the obvious foreplay. Wait, do you have some nongirly soap? I have to go in to work later, and I don’t want to smell like a field of flowers.”

  She lifted onto her toes because he was tall. Pressing her lips against his lightly, she whispered, “So smell like me.”

  He may have growled or something equally hungry sounding, but she didn’t have time to think about that because he was all over her, his mouth taking hers, hands on her ass pulling her to him, and it felt incredible. The man knew his way around a kiss and a woman’s body. He was very competent with his pat down, too. If she were prone to wearing weapons, he’d have found them right off the bat.

  Tennyson was so wrapped up in Joseph taking her breath away that she didn’t comprehend the phone ringing until it started a second round.

  “Joseph,” she murmured against his hair. “I have to get that.”

  “Mm?” he groaned against t
he sensitive flesh of her neck. One hand had already dipped into her shorts and cupped her bare backside, while the other had crept around to invade the tight elastic of her sports bra. Her nipples were hard, her panties wet, and she hadn’t felt this good in a year. Maybe two years. Could be three.

  “The phone. It’s my mom’s ringtone, and I have to answer.”

  He lifted his head, his blue eyes heavy with desire. “Seriously?”

  “Like, yes. Just let me grab my phone, make sure she’s okay, and we can take this to my really big shower with the dual heads.” She kissed his chin and untangled his hands from her body.

  Her mother was on her way to spend the weekend with her and attend the bridal shower. Bronte was also coming up to join them that evening, and that night they were having a girls’ night in, watching old movies and drinking wine. Loretta O’Rourke was perfectly capable of driving in from Texas by herself even though Tennyson had tried to buy her a plane ticket. In the words of her mother, it was “too much money and too much of a hassle,” but her mother was also a terrible driver and prone to getting lost. And she never called two times in a row.

  Tennyson scooped up her phone and went back into the kitchen. She hoped Joseph wouldn’t change his mind. He stood with his back to her, staring out the window over her sink. Her abandoned waffle teetered on the edge of the counter.

  “Mom?” she said when Loretta answered.

  “Oh, hey, I can’t remember if I’m supposed to wear a dress. Because I didn’t pack one. I just drove through Tyler and remembered a cute little store I once shopped at, and it reminded me to ask you. But it’s probably too late because I won’t have time to go shopping. Well, maybe your sister could take me if you’re otherwise engaged.”

  “You don’t need a dress. But you’re okay, right? I mean, you never call me twice in a row.”

  Joseph turned to her, his mouth curving into a sexy little smile. Maybe he was waiting to see why she’d pulled away and answered the phone. Maybe now he understood why she had to answer. She was a good daughter, and maybe that was somewhat sexy, too? Or maybe just responsible enough to show Joseph she wasn’t a selfish rich bitch looking for a boy toy.

  Because she wasn’t.

  Well, maybe she was looking for a boy toy.

  Her mother made a contrite sound. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but it felt very important for a few minutes because I don’t want to disappoint Emma and Andrew. And I suppose I’m a bit bored. This is such a long trip. What are you doing?” Loretta asked. Tennyson could hear Air Supply singing in the background.

  Should she say I’m doing Officer Rhett?

  Probably not.

  Her mother was devoutly Catholic and not approving of casual sex. Committed sex she had no problem with. In fact, Loretta was a big proponent of experimentation. She’d once sent Tennyson some really strange sex toys from an “intimate” party she’d attended with her friends. Tennyson hadn’t known whether to send a thank-you note or check on her father.

  “Um, I’m cooking breakfast,” she said, gasping a little when Joseph’s lips grazed the back of her neck.

  “Mm, you taste salty,” he whispered in her ear.

  A little shiver ran down her spine as he slid his hands under her top, crossing over her stomach and bringing her back against his front.

  “You don’t cook,” her mother said in her other ear.

  “Um, well, I am boiling water,” she managed, closing her eyes as his fingers started delicious slow circles working up to her sports bra. His mouth was doing wonderful things to her neck.

  “For what?” her mother asked, sounding genuinely intrigued.

  “Uh, just some, uh, tea,” Tennyson said as Joseph slid his hands beneath her bra and palmed her breasts. She hadn’t been super into guys messing with her breasts since she’d had the boob job, but the way he plucked her nipples and made little noises against her neck was driving her crazy. She couldn’t think straight. She couldn’t even think curvy.

  “You drink tea?” her mother asked. “I never knew you liked tea.”

  Joseph ground his hips against her ass, and her knees went a lot weak. His soft laugh against her skin made her smile.

  “I don’t. Mom, I’m just going to be straight with you. You don’t need a dress, and I have to go because there is a policeman here who has to interrogate me.”

  “Body search in progress,” he growled into her ear as he spun her around. Tennyson grinned at him. The spark in his eyes made her happy. Very happy. Because she was almost certain that Officer Joseph Rhett was about to make her day. In a non–Clint Eastwood way.

  “Oh my stars, are you in trouble?” her mother asked, her voice going all high and panicked.

  “I hope so,” Tennyson said, laughter escaping her. “I hope he realizes what a bad girl I’ve been and maybe even uses his handcuffs on me.”

  “Tennyson Marie O’Rourke, you better be joking with me,” her mother said.

  Joseph was now working his way down her neck to her chest. His hands were busy, too, and she may have sighed as he did something that wasn’t a standard pat down.

  “I am. Truly. I have to go, Mom.”

  “Are you sure? You sound weird, like you’re all out of breath and . . . oh. Oh.” Her mother went silent.

  Tennyson started laughing. “I’ll see you soon, Mom.”

  “Dear Lord, Teeny. You’re going to be the death of me. Bye.” She hung up.

  Tennyson tossed the phone onto the counter. “My mom is good. Let’s shower.”

  Joseph lifted his head, picked her up, and set her legs around his waist. He briefly ground his hard parts into her soft ones, using the counter for leverage.

  “Is that your nightstick, Officer?” she joked, biting his earlobe.

  “You’re about to find out,” he said with a laugh, palming her ass as he walked toward the hallway that led to her bedroom. “Good thing I know where your bedroom is.”

  Tennyson covered his mouth with hers, giving him the most passionate kiss she could manage while being bounced toward her bedroom. “I’m so thankful for raccoons right now. They’re, like, the best animal in the whole animal kingdom.”

  When they reached the bathroom, he lowered her onto the double vanity and kissed her with a heat that made her toes curl against the smooth, white cabinets.

  “Yeah, I’m now a huge fan of raccoons. About that shower,” he said, looking at her large walk-in shower. “We probably don’t want to get our clothes wet.”

  An hour later, Tennyson rolled over and blinked at Joseph, who was lying on his back on her king-size bed, looking quite similar to the fat raccoon they’d shooed out over a month ago. Sated, pleased, and perhaps a little dangerous.

  Okay, dangerous in the sheets.

  The man had skills. Who would have thought Mr. Buttoned Up would be a total animal in the shower, against the wall, and on the soft goose down duvet?

  Score.

  “Shower is the theme of the weekend. I’m going to be squeaky clean come Sunday,” she said, making a loopy-loop in his chest hair with her index finger.

  “Huh?”

  “Tomorrow is the bridal shower for my son’s fiancée. I’m doing an Italian theme, and the planner will be here in thirty minutes.”

  “Are you booting me out?” he asked with a sleepy smile.

  Tennyson sat up and covered her breasts with her hands. “No. Well, yes. Sorta.”

  “Don’t do that,” he said, tugging her hands from her breasts. “They’re too magnificent to cover.”

  He pulled her to him, bestowing a kiss on each tip. Immediately she felt like straddling him again. Both their breathing kicked up a notch. She could probably go another round, but Marc would be prompt. She knew this because he’d essentially told them that he was never late, timing was everything, and he expected reciprocation from them on this very important element of their client-planner relationship.

  So she pulled back and looked down at her breasts. “Yeah, they’re good work. I
had them done after I nursed Andrew. Kids are hell on the body.”

  “And the pocketbook. Especially girls. Mine are still young, and it’s already started with the certain brands of shoes and clothes. Boys are easier, right?” he asked.

  “Until they get to be teenagers and want pickup trucks, sound systems, and Nike high-tops. Oh, and you have to go to the grocery store three times a week in order to have anything in the pantry for yourself. Or in my case, order groceries. I’ll miss that about Manhattan.”

  “Um, I think they have delivery here. We’re not totally backward. Just halfway,” he said, sitting up and looking around for his clothes.

  “Still in the bathroom,” she said, pulling the soft angora throw from the foot of her bed and wrapping it around her breasts and the rest of her body. He made a sad face. “You can come by tomorrow night. My sister is taking my mother to her place in Natchitoches for a few days, and I will have lots of fancy Italian food left over. Tiramisu and brandy-soaked cakes.”

  He pulled on his boxers, and she noted in the light of the bathroom how spectacular his ass really was. Hard, curved stone, like a model’s ass. She made her own “don’t put that away” sad face.

  Which made him smile.

  “Cake doesn’t persuade me,” he said, tugging on his shirt and running a hand through his hair. He didn’t have to smooth his hair. It was so short, it hadn’t gotten mussed by her hands in it. But he seemed very particular about looking “right.”

  “Okay, well, then I’ll have Italian beer—Peroni and Ghisa—and plenty of fun cocktails.”

  He pulled on his shorts, doing the automatic tuck thing, which made her smile. “Um, I don’t drink, so . . .”

  “You don’t? Are you a saint? Or wait, are you a Puritan?” she joked.