by Nora Roberts
clicked along, posing various groups and couples—and smoothly avoiding any pose that put the feuding maid of honor and best man together.
The minute she was finished, Parker took over.
“Parker’s going to line them up for the introductions. We’ll go around this way.”
“Let me carry the bag for you.”
“No, I’m used to it.” She led him around, through doorways, through the kitchen bustling with catering, and out into the Grand Hall. “I’ll get some shots as they come in. B and G have the sweetheart table there. It’s a plated meal, numbered tables. Once everyone’s down, it’s just a matter of keeping an eye out for an op. How are you holding up?”
“Fine. You’re doing all the work.”
“We’re still on red alert. We need to keep an eye on the CBBM. If he leaves the hall, one of us has to go after him, make sure he’s just going to pee or catch a smoke. When we’re done in here and move up to the Ballroom for the dancing, that’s when it’s going to get crazy. Less structured, and harder to keep a bead on him.”
SHE WAS RIGHT. HE STUCK WITH HER WHEN HE COULD ONCE the party began in earnest. Guests took advantage of the band and danced, or gathered in groups to chat. Some wandered in, some wandered out. Since he knew what to look for, he noted various staff members by the exits. It was oddly exciting.
“I think we might be clear.” Laurel joined them. “I’m bringing the cake out after this next set, and he hasn’t made a move. No sign of the target either. The B and G don’t look worried about it.”
“Couldn’t look happier,” Mac agreed. “Another ninety and we’re clear.”
“I’m going to check the dessert table.”
“Wait till you get a load of it,” Mac told Carter. “The cake. It’s amazing.”
“Carter? Carter!” A pretty blonde in a red dress dashed over to grab his arms and beam up at him. “I thought that was you. How
are you?”
“I’m fine. Ah . . .”
“Steph. Stephanie Gorden. Corrine’s friend. How quickly they forget.” She laughed and tipped up to her toes to kiss his cheek. “I didn’t realize you were friends of Naomi and Brent.”
“Actually, I’m—”
“Brent’s my cousin. What a beautiful wedding. This place is just fabulous. Really, imagine having an actual
ballroom in your own house. Of course I suppose the Browns lease it out for events so they can maintain it. I’m going to have to find Greg—you remember my husband, Greg, don’t you? He’ll be so surprised to see you. What’s it been? It’s been a year at least. We haven’t seen you since you and Corrine—”
She broke off, gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry that didn’t work out. We thought you were perfect for each other.”
“Uh, well. No. This is Mackensie Elliot. The wedding photographer.”
“Hello, how are you? You must be exhausted! I’ve seen you running around, snapping pictures. Naomi must be making it easy for you. She’s such a beautiful bride.”
“It’s been . . . a snap.”
“I’ve gotten some really nice pictures myself. Those digital cameras practically work themselves, don’t they?”
“Hardly need me at all. You’ll have to excuse me. I have to go pretend to work.”
When Carter caught up with her, Mac was taking candids on the dance floor.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think she meant to be insulting, but she’s an idiot and can’t help it.”
“No problem.” She switched cameras, handed him the other. “Fresh memory card. Remember how to do it?”
“Yes.”
“They’re decorating the limo. I want to go get a few shots out there before they bring in the cake.” She started out with Carter in her wake. “So a year ago—the breakup?”
“The . . . right. More or less. We were together almost that long, and lived together for about eight months. Maybe it was nine. Then she decided she wanted to live with someone else. So she did.”
Mac paused. “She hurt you.”
“Not as much as she should’ve been able to, given the situation. Which means we weren’t perfect for each other. Far from it.”
“If you lived with her you must’ve been in love with her.”
“No. I wanted to be in love with her. It’s not the same thing at all. Mackensie,” he began as they moved outside.
“Shit, damn, fuck!”
“Excuse me?”
“SBP. Red alert!” she said into her headset. “SBP sighted south side of main entrance. CBBM’s with her. Come on, Carter, we’ve got to head them off until reinforcements get here.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HE WASN’T SURE WHAT HE INTENDED TO DO, AND WAS LESS sure of what she intended to do. But when Mac cut across the snowy lawn, Carter instinctively picked her up.
“What? What?”
“You’re only wearing shoes.”
“So are you! Put me down! I can’t project a stern and forbidding demeanor when you’re carrying me. Down, down, or they’ll get by us.”
The minute he set her down, she was off. In a kind of lope, Carter thought. A long-legged gazelle leaping through the snow. He wasn’t graceful, he knew. But he was fast when he had to be.
He passed her. Carter figured his ungainly slide on the path, thanks to his now ruined and snow-slicked shoes, cut back on the impact of the barrier, but he blocked the forward motion of the furious best man and his current amore.
“I’m sorry. Mr. and Mrs. Lester have expressly ordered that Ms. Poulsen not be admitted to this event.”
“She’s with me, and we’re going in.”
Not just furious, Carter noted, but a little bit drunk. “Again, I’m sorry, but we have to respect the wishes of the bride and groom.”
Just slightly out of breath, Mac reached them. “You were told, specifically and repeatedly, that your friend here isn’t allowed.”
“Donny.” Roxanne tugged on Donny’s sleeve. “You said it was all right.”
A combination of anger and embarrassment heated Donny’s face. “It’s all right because I say it is. It’s my brother’s wedding, and I can bring whoever I want to bring. Meg’s bent, and that’s too bad. But she doesn’t run my life. Out of my way.” He jabbed a finger at Mac and Carter. “You’re just the hired help.”
“She’s not going in,” Mac said. Too many trips to the bar, Mac calculated, so his ego, his pride, his resentment all swam in a pool of alcohol.
Where the hell was the backup?
“You just said it yourself, it’s your brother’s wedding. If she’s more important to you than his happiness today, then you can turn around and go with her. This is private property, and she’s not welcome at this time.”
“Donny.” Roxanne tugged at his arm again. “There’s no point—”
“I said you’re with me.” He whirled back to Mac. “Who the hell do you think you are? You don’t tell me about my brother. Now move!” Temper ripe in his eyes, he planted a hand on Mac’s shoulder and shoved.
Like a flash, Carter stood between them. “Don’t touch her again. Now, you’re drunk, and you’re obviously stupid so I’ll factor that in. You need to cool off and calm down, because you really don’t want to do this.”
“You’re right. I want to do this.”
He smashed his fist into Carter’s face. Carter’s head snapped back, but he didn’t give ground. Roxanne squealed, Mac cursed. Before she could leap forward, Carter pushed her back behind him.
“She’s not going in. You’re not going back in. All you’ve proven is that you’re too selfish to think of anyone but yourself. You’ve embarrassed Ms. Poulsen, and that’s a shame. But you’re not going to get the opportunity to embarrass your brother and his wife today. Now you can leave on your own, or I can help you with that.”
“Why don’t we all help him with that?” Del said as he and Jack flanked Carter.
“I don’t think there’s any need for that.” Parker clipped down the path, then mus
cled her way through. She stood, an ice queen in Armani, and stared down the best man. “Is there, Donny?”
“We’ve got better things to do. Come on, Roxie. This place is a dump anyway.”
“I’ll make sure they leave.” Del shook his head in disgust. “Go on back in. How’s the face, Carter?”
“It’s not the first time I’ve had a fist smash into it.” He wiggled his jaw experimentally. “It always hurts though.”
“Ice pack.” Parker watched the CBBM and SBP’s departure with cold eyes. “Emma.”
“Come with me, Carter.”
“It’s all right. Really.”
“Ice pack.” Parker’s tone brooked no nonsense. “I’ll signal the all-clear, and let’s get back inside. Nobody hears about this.”
“Did you see what he did?” Mac murmured.
“He who?” Del asked.
“Carter. He just . . . Every time I think I have him figured out, he shifts on me. It’s confusing.”
Somebody else had it bad, Del noted as Mac hurried down the path to finish her job.
IT TOOK NEARLY TWO HOURS BEFORE MAC COULD FINISH AND track Carter down in Laurel’s kitchen. He sat alone in the breakfast nook, reading. As she came in, he glanced up, took off his glasses. “All clear?”
“More or less. I’m sorry it took so long. Carter, you should’ve gone home. It’s after midnight. I should’ve gotten word back to you. Oh, your poor face.” She winced at the bruise on his jaw.
“It’s not so bad. But we decided I should stay here. If I’d come back out, I might’ve had to explain how I came by this.” He touched his fingers gingerly to the bruise. “I’m terrible at lying, so this was simpler. Plus, as promised, there was cake.”
She slid in across from him. “What are you reading?”
“Oh, Parker had a copy of a John Irving novel I hadn’t read yet. I’ve been tended, entertained, and fed. Your partners made sure of it. And both Jack and Del each came back for a while. I’ve been fine.”
“You didn’t even wobble.”
“Sorry?”
“When that stupid bastard belted you. You barely reacted.”
“He was half drunk so there wasn’t that much behind it. He shouldn’t have put his hands on you.”
“You never even raised your voice. You shut him down—I could see it happen in his face, even before the troops arrived. And you never touched him or raised your voice.”
“Teacher training, I suppose. And a wide and varied experience with bullies. Did the newlyweds get off all right?”
“Yes. They don’t know what happened. They’ll find out, I imagine, but they had their day—and that was the point. You were a big part of that.”
“Well, it was an experience. All it cost me was a sore jaw and a pair of shoes.”
“And you’re still here.”
“I was waiting for you.”
She stared at him, then just gave in to the shimmer inside her heart. “I guess you’d better come home with me, Carter.”
He smiled. “I guess I’d better.”
MISTAKES HAPPENED, RIGHT? MAC REMINDED HERSELF AS SHE opened the door of her studio. If this was a mistake, she’d fix it. Later. When she could think more clearly. But at the moment, it was after midnight, and there was Carter in his three-piece suit and ruined shoes.
“I’m not as tidy as you.”
“
Tidy’s such a fussy word, don’t you think?” He gave her an easy smile. “The sort that makes you think of your great-aunt Margaret and her tea cozies.”
“I don’t have a great-aunt Margaret.”
“If you did, she’d probably be a tidy sort with a tea cozy. I prefer the word
organized.”
Mac tossed her coat over the arm of her couch. Unlike Carter, she didn’t have a coat closet. “I’m organized then, when it comes to my work, my business.”
“I could see that today. It seemed you knew exactly what to do, where to be, what to look for before it was there.” He laid his coat over hers. “That’s creative instinct married to organization.”
“And I use them both for the work. Outside of that, I’m a messy woman.”
“Everyone’s messy, Mackensie. Some people just shove the disorder into a closet or a drawer—at least when company’s coming—but it’s still there.”
“And some people have more drawers and closets than others. But since it’s been a long day, let’s step back from the edge of the philosophical cliff, and just say I’m telling you this as my bedroom isn’t at its best.”
“Are you looking for a grade?”
“As long as there’s a very generous curve. Come on up, Dr. Maguire.”
“This used to be the pool house,” he said as she led the way.
“The Browns did a lot of entertaining, so they redesigned it as a kind of spare guest house. Then when we opened the business, we redesigned again for the studio. But up here, it’s all personal space.”
A master suite sprawled over the second story, layed out, Carter saw, to accommodate a sitting area where he imagined she might read, nap, watch TV.
Color dominated, with the muted, misty gold of the walls serving as a backdrop for strong blues, greens, reds. Like a jewel box, he thought, with everything cluttered in, tangled, and gleaming. Clothes draped over the arms of chairs. Bright sweaters, soft shirts. Throws and pillows tumbled over the bed, the couch, like bold stones and rivers.
A wildly ornate mirror hung over a painted chest that served as a dresser. The top held jumbled and fascinating pieces of her. Earrings, magazines, bottles, and pots. Photographs served as art, portraits of those close to her. Posed and candid, pensive and joyful. With them scattered over the walls, she’d never be alone here.
“There’s so much of you here.”
“I try to shovel some of it out every couple of weeks.”
“No, I mean it reflects. Downstairs reflects your professional side, and this, the personal.”
“Which circles back to my point about being a messy woman.” She opened a drawer, pushed in a discarded sweater. “With a lot of drawers.”
“So much color and energy in here.” It was how he saw her. Color and energy. “How do you sleep?”
“With the lights off.”
She stepped to him, laid her finger on his bruised jaw. “Still hurt?”
“Actually . . . yes.” Now, alone in her jewel-box room, he did what he’d wanted to do all day. He kissed her. “There you are,” he murmured when her lips warmed to his. “Right there.”
She let herself lean into him, let herself sigh as she rested her head on his shoulder. Yes, she’d think later. When he wasn’t holding her, when her mind wasn’t fuzzed with fatigue and longing.
“Let’s get you into bed.” He kissed the top of her head. “Where are your pajamas?”
It took her a minute to process the question, then she leaned back to stare at him. “My
pajamas?”
“You’re so tired.” He stroked a finger down her cheek. “Look how pale you are.”
“Yeah, and me with my ruddy complexion. Carter, I’m confused here. I thought you were staying.”
“I am. You’ve been on your feet all day, and waged war for part of it. You’re tired.”
He unbuttoned her suit jacket in the practical way that reminded her of the way he’d once buttoned her coat.
“What do you sleep in? Oh, maybe you don’t.” His eyes came back to hers. “Sleep in anything, I mean.”
“I . . .” She shook her head, but none of the thoughts inside it fell into place. “You don’t want to go to bed with me?”
“I am going to bed with you. To sleep with you because you need sleep.”
“But—”
He kissed her, soft and slow. “I can wait. Now, pajamas? I hope you say yes because otherwise one of us isn’t going to get much sleep.”
“You’re a strange and confusing man, Carter.” She turned, opened a drawer to pull out flannel pants and a faded T-s
hirt. “This is what I call pajamas.”
“Good.”
“I don’t have any in stock that’ll fit you.”
“I don’t actually wear . . . Oh. Ha.”
He’d change his mind when they were in bed, she thought as they undressed. But he got points for good intentions. Yes, she was tired, her feet ached and her brain felt dull, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t find energy for sex.
Especially really good sex.
When he slid into bed beside her, she curled into him, trailing her hand over his chest, lifting her mouth to his. She would arouse and seduce, and then—
“Did I tell you about the lecture I’m planning on methodological and theoretical analysis of the novel, with a specific emphasis on home—both literal and metaphorical—as motif ?”
“Ah . . . uh-uh.”
He smiled in the dark, gently, rhythmically rubbing her back. “It’s for seniors in my advanced classes.” In a quiet monotone designed to bore the dead, he began to explain his approach. And he explained it as tediously as possible. He gauged it would take five minutes, tops, to put her to sleep.
She went out in two.
Satisfied, he rested his cheek on top of her head, closed his eyes, and let himself drift off with her.
SHE AWOKE WITH THE WINTER SUN SLANTED OVER HER FACE. She awoke warm.
Sometime in the night he’d spooned her, and now she lay snugged back up against him, wrapped close. Cozy, she thought, rested and relaxed.
He’d wanted her to sleep, so she’d slept. Wasn’t it funny how he managed to get his way without demanding, without pushing?
Sneaky.
Well, he wasn’t the only one.
His arm wrapped around her waist. She took his hand, pressed it to her breast.
Touch me. She pressed back against him, sliding her leg between his.
Feel me.
She smiled when his hand moved under hers, when it cupped her. And when his lips pressed to the nape of her neck.
Taste me.
She turned so they were face-to-face, so her eyes could look into the soft blue of his. “I feel . . . refreshed,” she murmured. And still looking into his eyes, let her hand glide down his chest, over his belly until she found him. “Hey, you, too.”
“It often happens that certain parts of me wake up before others.”