Книга - Best Man…with Benefits

Best Man...with Benefits
Nancy Warren


May the best man sin…Lauren Sanger is practically the perfect maid of honor, except for one tiny flaw. She hates the best man. Jackson Monaghan is beyond hot–his body is the stuff of sexy lady dreams–but he's just such a jerk. So when a prank lands them in the same bed, Lauren should have flipped out…instead of having the best sex of her life with the best man!Jackson can't figure out how two people with anti-chemistry during the day can have such a wickedly hot sexual chemistry at night. Worse still, he wants more. Enough to dare Lauren into doing the last thing she should be doing–him. But friends with benefits is one thing…enemies with benefits is quite another.







May the best man sin...

Lauren Sanger is practically the perfect maid of honor, except for one tiny flaw. She hates the best man. Jackson Monaghan is beyond hot—his body is the stuff of sexy lady dreams—but he’s just such a jerk. So when a prank lands them in the same bed, Lauren should have flipped out...instead of having the best sex of her life with the best man!

Jackson can’t figure out how two people with anti-chemistry during the day can have such a wickedly hot sexual chemistry at night. Worse still, he wants more. Enough to dare Lauren into doing the last thing she should be doing—him. But friends with benefits is one thing...enemies with benefits is quite another.


He found himself touching warm, soft female skin...

What?

Oh, she smelled good.

Jackson eased closer. The curving line of her shoulder captivated him. He couldn’t resist—he put his lips where her shoulder met her throat. A pulse beat there, slow and steady. His hand moved downward to capture her breast.

And then she made a sound like a purr and turned to him.

He raised his head to look at her more carefully in the darkness of the hotel room and at the same time she opened her eyes.

His heart stopped. Her eyes opened wide.

Holy hell...

He knew this woman’s name perfectly. And most of the time wished he didn’t.

What was Lauren doing in his bed?


Dear Reader (#u70e52d70-5ecb-5f24-b738-b5f29d402830),

If you’ve been to the famous Hotel del Coronado near San Diego, then Hotel Messina might seem a little familiar. I love that part of the world. When I dreamed up my latest Mills & Boon Blaze I was living in Southern California, so it was natural to incorporate my favorite places, including Napa and San Francisco.

When I thought about plot, I drew on the best plotter of them all, Shakespeare. This is my riff on Much Ado About Nothing, with the cynical couple who banter and snipe at each other, but are deep down crazy about each other, and the second couple, the ones who are in love with their ideal vision of love, but the minute the going gets tough they start to fall apart. Naturally, this is a modern and much sexier tale, but I owe William for the initial inspiration.

As always, I love to hear from readers. Please come visit me on the web at nancywarren.net (http://www.nancywarren.net).

Happy Reading!

Nancy Warren


Best Man...with Benefits

USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR

Nancy Warren




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


USA TODAY bestselling author NANCY WARREN lives in the Pacific Northwest, where her hobbies include skiing, hiking and snowshoeing. She’s the author of more than forty books and novellas for Mills & Boon and has won several awards. Visit her website at nancywarren.net (http://www.nancywarren.net).


For Elizabeth Jennings and the Matera Brainstormers.


Contents

Cover (#u087c8693-673e-52d3-89f5-ade818aac115)

Back Cover Text (#u5888d939-eb17-5dec-89e6-520d104538dc)

Introduction (#u2b36af53-d807-57b1-b0b2-072f6ad67e56)

Dear Reader

Title Page (#u01b2215c-4b06-5de4-a656-08034ddcf39e)

About the Author (#u69a1ab39-e9df-5a08-aced-ee29d12470ab)

Dedication (#ufae0d15e-2b53-5504-b8a9-3b7b2c9af8de)

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Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


1 (#u70e52d70-5ecb-5f24-b738-b5f29d402830)

QUESTION: HOW DO you know when someone is truly your best friend? Answer: you love her enough to put up with her semi-douchy fiancé and his completely douchy best buddy.

Asked and answered, Lauren Sanger thought, as she sat on a private patio of Hotel Messina, the swish resort located on a small island off the California coast where, in a few hours, she’d be maid of honor in her best friend’s wedding.

Built at the turn of the century, Hotel Messina had housed royalty and A-list celebrities, and been the setting for movies and thousands of weddings.

Amy Ruehl had dreamed of getting married here since she and Lauren had first seen the hotel in a movie back when they were kids. Her parents could afford the outrageous expense, and all the guests had made the trek over to spend the night, celebrate Amy and Seth’s wedding, and then go back to their much more mundane lives.

Or maybe that was just Lauren.

The wedding would take place at four in the afternoon. That’s what it said on the thick vellum invitations, and with the military precision with which the wedding planner and hotel staff had worked this thing, that’s precisely when the ceremony would begin.

It was two now, and the bride and her maid of honor were taking a late lunch break. Their hair was done, makeup awaiting final touches, and their dresses were pressed and neatly hanging.

She and Amy already wore their fancy underwear beneath the thick hotel robes with the gold M logo on the breast pockets.

While they munched on salad and cold cuts and sipped wine, they enjoyed a spectacular view of the white sand beaches and summer blue water that surrounded the hotel. The weather was perfect. A June day without a cloud in the sky and waves that seemed to laugh as they hit the beach.

“Are you nervous?” she asked her best friend. They’d talked about their weddings a lot when they were young. Amy was a firm believer in fairy tales and happy endings. Lauren not so much, but she couldn’t be happier that her BFF’s dream was about to come true. Seth wouldn’t have been her choice, but Amy was crazy about him and that was all that mattered to Lauren.

Amy shook her head, a smile of pure happiness on her face. She always took everything in stride and didn’t worry much about the future. Lauren wondered what it would be like to be such an optimist and was fairly certain she’d never know.

“Seth is the man I’ve waited my whole life for,” Amy said. Her voice trembled ever so slightly as she added, “I love him so much.”

“No messing up the makeup,” Lauren warned, leaning forward to pat her friend’s hand.

Amy blinked rapidly, dispelling the momentary wetness. “My only wish is that my best friend and Seth’s best friend could like each other, at least a little bit.”

Not even for her best friend would she lie and feign any affection for Jackson Monaghan. All she said was, “Hey, we both love you guys. That’s all that matters.”

“But we’re going to be seeing you two all the time. You’re the first people we’ll have for dinner in our new place, you’ll be the godmother of our first child, obviously, and Jackson will be the god—”

“You’re pregnant?” Lauren’s voice rose. How had she never suspected?

Amy waved a freshly manicured hand in front of her face. “No. I’m just saying.”

“Stop planning so far ahead.” She put a hand to her chest. “And stop freaking me out.”

Amy’s face suddenly took on an expression that Lauren would call fatuous if Amy wasn’t her best friend. She only wore that expression for one person.

She followed the bride’s gaze and, sure enough, two men came into view on the sand below them. Seth, the groom, and Jackson, the best man.

Clearly, the routine for the men of a wedding party was a lot more lax than for the women. The guys were walking barefoot in the sand, wearing their board shorts and sunglasses. They’d ditched their shirts.

She could picture the pair of them scrambling to get dressed fifteen minutes before the ceremony started.

They were a nice-looking pair, she’d give them that.

Seth was a little on the chunky side. He’d been a football player in college and working a desk job, he’d gone a bit to seed. Jackson, on the other hand, was pretty drool-worthy, she had to admit. He sported the torso of an athlete—no doubt, the result of regular workout sessions with a personal trainer at a fancy gym somewhere. He had the permanent five-o’clock shadow of a jaded rock star. His eyes were an Irish blue; his hair a tousled brown that she suspected was salon-highlighted. Everything about him annoyed her.

She scratched her arm. That’s what Jackson was like, she thought. Like an itch. The more she tried to get rid of him, the more he irritated her.

“Why don’t you like Jackson?” Amy broke into her thoughts. “Every woman I know is crazy about him.”

And that was one more thing that irritated her about Jackson Monaghan. He strutted around as if he was God’s gift, and the sad part was plenty of women were apparently foolish enough to buy in to the ridiculous notion.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” she said. “I guess it’s a chemistry thing.”

Amy sighed, finished her wine. “Well,” she said, “I’m going to do everything I can to get you two to like each other.”

Oh, goodie.

* * *

JACKSON MONAGHAN LOVED the feel of sun on his skin and sand beneath his feet. Wearing a monkey suit and being in a wedding party, not so much.

But, for the guy who’d pretty much saved his life, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do.

He and Seth went way back. When Jackson had lost his folks, his grandparents hadn’t known what to do with a grieving twelve-year-old. They’d packed him up and sent him to boarding school.

He’d never been exposed to rich people. Didn’t know shit about life in a dorm, and the other boys had sensed weakness the way sharks smell blood.

He had been scrawny back then. Sensitive. He’d thought nothing could be worse than losing his parents to a car wreck. He was wrong.

Those first few weeks of boarding school were brutal. Until Seth stepped up. Seth was the kind of kid the other boys respected. He was big, tough, not so good at school but great at sports. From Seth, Jackson had learned how to be one of the boys. And he’d learned how to fight back.

So, if Seth wanted him to show up in a tux and pass a couple of rings to a minister and make a speech, he was down.

He wasn’t sure Seth had made the best choice in brides, but his buddy was clearly convinced that Amy was an angel and he wasn’t one to make waves. The fiancée’s best friend, though?

Ouch. Lauren Sanger was hot, no question. But that mouth that looked as though it had been designed to kiss sweetly and talk dirty mostly hurled insults. At him.

“In a couple of hours, I’ll be a married man,” Seth suddenly said.

“Yep.”

“I always knew I’d get married, have some kids—it’s what a man does. But now that it’s here, I can’t believe it.”

“I can’t believe you’re getting married, either.” Everything was going to change. The beers after work, the weekly squash games, the poker games that lasted all night, the Sunday afternoons spent tossing a football around in the park, the snap decisions to fly across the country to watch a hockey or a football game. All that would be over.

“Nothing’s going to change,” Seth said, sounding almost desperate.

“Of course, nothing will change,” Jackson assured him, knowing that nothing would ever be the same.

“Amy’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” Seth announced. He’d taken to gushing sentiments like this, and Jackson never knew what the correct response was. Usually he said something like, “That’s great.”

“That’s great,” he said now.

Seth stooped to pick up a smooth, round pebble. He turned and tried to skim it across the waves, but the pebble bounced once and sank.

“I just wish you and Lauren could get along.”

“Probably never going to happen.”

“What’s the deal with you two, anyway? She’s gorgeous, smart, funny.”

“I don’t know. Some kind of weird chemistry thing.” He’d thought gorgeous, smart and funny, too, the first time he’d met Lauren. But from that first conversation on, they’d pretty much disagreed on everything. She seemed to spare no effort to get up his nose. And, being a scrapper with a lot of Irish in him, he gave it right back to her.

Desperate to change the subject, he said, “But Amy’s great.”

That got them off the tricky subject of Lauren and they passed the rest of their time talking about Amy and Seth’s plans for the future. Seth had gone to work for his family’s real estate firm and Amy came from money, so it wasn’t as if their future was uncertain.

Not like his. With his brains and his education in software design, he’d been recruited by all the big firms, but he’d chosen to throw in his lot with a start-up. He’d liked that they were involved in clean energy, harvesting wind and wave power. Jackson didn’t have any money. His grandparents had spent what little money his folks had left on that boarding school and given him what was left to pay for university. With no money to invest, he relied on his own hard work. Going for the start-up over the sure thing was the Irish in him asserting itself again, he thought. He preferred the gamble, where he could seriously make a difference to a company’s future, to being just another software engineer at a global social networking company.

He and Seth returned to the hotel with barely enough time to shower and change.

The bride and groom had opted for a garden wedding with a ballroom booked as a bad weather backup, but one look at the sky told Jackson that no backup plan would be needed. Seth and Amy were probably the luckiest couple he’d ever known. Nothing ever went wrong for either of them. They were loved, pampered, rich and nauseatingly happy with each other. Of course there wouldn’t be a cloud in the sky on their wedding day.

Jackson took a final glance in the full-length mirror in his hotel room before heading out. His tie was straight, fly done up. Rings in one pocket, speech in another. He was good to go.

His room was on the third floor where most of the bridal party and a few of the guests were staying. The bride and groom were spending their wedding night in the penthouse bridal suite and the remainder of the guests were scattered throughout the hotel.

Seth knocked on his door and he opened it. “Ready to do this thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” And they strode off down the hall.

The wedding planner had given them a staging area in the lobby, and they showed up with a minute or two to spare. The woman standing there with a headset and a clipboard wasn’t the main planner. She was some kind of assistant. She checked them out, stepped forward and straightened Seth’s tie. “You have the rings?” she asked Jackson, and he nodded.

She spoke into a headset. “I have the groom and best man ready to go.”

They stood around for a few minutes like soldiers waiting to go into battle. It would have been less nerve-racking if there were more guys in the platoon than just him and Seth. But for all that she’d wanted a fancy wedding, Amy had insisted she only wanted Lauren to stand up for her. Which meant Seth only got a best man. No groomsmen.

The assistant pulled out two florist’s boxes, and he was forced to stand there while she attached a white rose boutonniere to his jacket. The smell of roses always reminded him of the only funeral he’d ever attended. He hated that smell.

“And you’re cleared to go,” the young woman said to them, as though they were a pair of jets on a runway.

“Good luck, buddy,” he said.

Seth turned and gave him an awkward hug. They slapped each other on the back, and then they made their way out to the wedding venue.

The garden looked like something out of a cheesy movie he would never watch. Something with Hugh Grant in it and a load of English accents. There were flowers everywhere—on a rose arbor that he and Seth had to walk under, on the chairs lined up precisely on the lawn where the guests were already seated, and all over the gazebo where the ceremony would take place. A harp was playing softly.

The guests were dressed so well, some of the women in hats, that he barely recognized anyone.

He trod down the aisle and paused, as they’d rehearsed, in front of the minister, who consulted a book so earnestly it looked as though he was refreshing himself on the words of the marriage ceremony.

Behind him, he heard shuffling and low conversation. Somebody was sniffling. Crying already? Or allergies? he wondered idly.

After a minute or two, the intro to “Here Comes the Bride” started up. He knew the piece had a real name, but he only ever heard it played at weddings.

He and Seth both turned, as did every person in the audience.

Lauren started walking up the aisle.

He might find spending time with her as fun as, say, stumbling into a hive of hornets and escaping only to land in a field of poison ivy, but he had to admit she looked good.

Gorgeous, even.

Her dress was a pale green that left her shoulders bare. He’d never really noticed what nice curves the woman had or that her legs were spectacular.

She wore her dark hair piled high and whoever had done her makeup had highlighted her big, dark eyes and colored her lips so they looked plump and kissable.

As though she felt his gaze on her, Lauren looked his way and he felt sucker punched.

Quickly, he averted his gaze but not before he’d seen her eyes widen and felt a completely unexpected and absolutely unwanted stab of lust.

That was the trouble with weddings, he’d always thought. They made a person act like a fool. People were forever hooking up at weddings with girls they wouldn’t be caught dead with normally.

He wasn’t going there.

Even as his breath caught in his throat, he assured himself he wasn’t going there.


2 (#u70e52d70-5ecb-5f24-b738-b5f29d402830)

LAUREN WENT THROUGH the motions of being the perfect maid of honor. She took the bouquet from Amy when it was time for her and Seth to exchange rings. Helped her adjust her dress after she and Seth had kissed and they were officially married, then fell in behind the beaming bride and groom with Jackson by her side.

There was an invisible force field between her and the best man. They couldn’t stand each other, so what had that strange moment been about when he’d stared at her as though he’d never seen her before and she’d felt for a second as though she couldn’t breathe?

No doubt he’d seen as much crazy hooking up at weddings as she had. Or maybe he was one of those guys who thought bridesmaids always wanted sex.

She’d rather have sex with—well, she couldn’t think of anybody she’d rather have sex with right at the moment, but the point was she didn’t want to have sex with Jackson Monaghan.

Although, looking around the crowd at the number of women checking him out, she seemed to be the only single woman who didn’t.

They were stuck side by side in the receiving line, and she shook hands and kissed cheeks and smiled politely as guests passed by on the way to congratulate the bride and groom. A woman named Cynthia who had gone to school with her and Amy held on to Jackson’s hand a little too long.“You look so good in a tux,” she gushed. Then, still holding his hand, she turned to Lauren. “Doesn’t he? Doesn’t he look good in a tux?”

“Yes. He looks like you could slip him a twenty and get seated at the best table in the house.”

“Oh, I know exactly where I’d seat you,” he said to her, his eyes narrowing.

Cynthia giggled awkwardly and moved on.

She blinked her eyes. “Not the best table? What would that take? Fifty bucks?”

He squinted his eyes like a gunslinger at high noon. “We could work together. In that dress you look like the cigarette girl at the bar in Mad Men.”

There was a break in the stream of guests coming down the receiving line. Amy turned to her and said, “How are you holding up?”

“Fine. Except Jackson thinks I look like the cigarette girl at the bar in Mad Men.”

Amy’s eyes grew wide. “That’s so weird. That’s exactly what you said when you first tried on the dress.”

It was one thing to say it about yourself, and another thing to have a guy say it about you. But Amy had already turned to greet the next guest who stopped before her.

The wedding was designed so that guests could enjoy drinks and appetizers outside while the wedding party had their photos taken and then move inside for dinner and dancing later.

Amy was so happy it was impossible not to feel happy for her and an equally elated Seth, pleased everything had worked out for them and hopeful for their future.

The wedding party spent an hour with a professional photographer who had the easiest job in the world since the location was nothing but one big photo op and Seth and Amy were two blissful, attractive people.

But Gunter, the photographer, was German and a perfectionist. He took ages setting up each shot, ordering his assistant to move Amy’s bouquet slightly to the left, waiting for the slight breeze to drop before snapping a photo of the newlyweds.

Then he brought Jackson and Lauren into the photos. They stood stiffly side by side, not touching. Gunter stared through his viewfinder, shook his head, muttered, “Nein,” and then muttered some more in German. He stepped forward and placed Lauren’s bouquet in her right hand and took her left. He picked up Jackson’s right hand and posed his arm so that Lauren rested her left wrist over his, her palm resting on the back of his right hand. Gunter then turned the two of them so they angled toward the bridal couple, which put her body up against the best man’s.

She felt ridiculous and awkward with the warmth of his arm beneath hers and the feel of his hand under her palm. She felt the rigid hardness in him that was probably a combination of muscle tone and the same tension she felt.

“Smile like this is the happiest day of your life,” Gunter instructed them.

“I’m not that good an actress,” she muttered before pulling out a fake smile for the camera.

Amy suddenly turned, breaking the stiff pose. “Isn’t this fun?” she cried. “Can you imagine anything better?”

“Being trapped in an airless glass tank crawling with tarantulas?” Jackson said softly.

“Swimming with sharks while bleeding from an artery?” Lauren said.

“Plunging to earth right after the parachute doesn’t open?” he countered.

She was so glad when the photo session was over and they were released to join the party.

Even though Amy and her mother had tried to keep the numbers down, there were well over a hundred guests. Including the frat boys, as she and Amy called Seth’s school friends.

The frat boys had all grown up together in a fancy boarding school, and as far as Lauren could tell, they’d never outgrown their schoolboy pranks.

If Amy and Seth walked into the bridal suite and found a naked porn star reclining on the bed, or a copy of Sex for Dummies on Seth’s pillow, she wouldn’t be surprised.

She wandered among the guests, chatting to those she knew, making small talk with strangers. Her index finger throbbed from where she’d burned it last night. She’d stayed up late finishing her wedding gift for Amy and Seth. She was a stained-glass artisan and she’d completed a tricky window for the townhouse Amy and Seth had bought in downtown San Francisco with some generous financing from their parents.

She hoped Amy liked the piece. It was one she was really proud of. She fished an ice cube from the glass of ice water she was drinking and held it to her sore finger.

“What happened to your hand?”

She hadn’t even noticed Jackson come up beside her. “I burned it.”

She waited for some smart-ass comment, but he actually looked like a human being for a second. “Ouch.”

They both looked down at her hand. Her nails were short, and with her line of work, she almost never painted them so it was strange to see them perfectly manicured in pale pink. “Occupational hazard.”

“I thought you worked in a winery.”

She glanced up, surprised that he knew even that much about her. He seemed a bit embarrassed himself. “Seth mentioned it,” he said.

“I do. Leonato Estate Winery funds my real work, designing and making stained glass. Not a high-paying profession.” She dropped the ice cube back into her drink with a plop. It was true. She loved what she did. Had found her calling when she’d traveled to Europe after college. She and Amy had gone together, and as much as she’d enjoyed seeing the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower and the Colosseum, it was the churches and cathedrals with their stained glass that had transfixed her. Venice and its glass makers had inspired her to change her career plans from a vague notion of getting a business degree to studying the ancient art of stained-glass work with an eye to making it look modern.

She was doing okay for an artisan. She sold her work through a couple of galleries and high-end craft markets and a few architects called her from time to time. Maybe she wasn’t getting rich, but she was managing. In a couple of years, if her sales continued to increase, she’d be able to quit the winery and work on her glass full-time.

“Amy’s mom sent me to find you. Dinner’s about to start.”

“Oh. Right.”

They entered the ballroom together into a sea of tables. The surfaces of the tables were crowded with the printed wedding programs, place cards and specially made chocolates wrapped in foil the same color as Lauren’s dress.

Naturally, she and Jackson were seated at the head table with Amy and Seth and both sets of parents.

Her place card put her between the two douches.

She knew exactly what food would be served and which wines, just as she’d known the foiled candies would match her dress. Because Amy had discussed every detail with her.

Even if she’d been bored by the details, she had to admit that Amy had been right. All her planning was paying off. From the wafer-thin slices of smoked salmon and capers, to the main meal (a choice of beef Wellington, chicken in a champagne sauce or a vegetarian plate) everything was perfect. From her perch at the head table, Lauren could see that everyone was having a wonderful time.

The frat boys acknowledged the solemnity of the occasion by banging on their wineglasses with their cutlery until Amy and Seth kissed.

“If I ever get married, I’m eloping,” she muttered.

She didn’t realize she’d been heard until Jackson said, “Me, too.”

The frat boys made Amy and Seth kiss a few more times throughout the meal until, finally, it was time for the speeches. To her surprise, Jackson’s toast to the bride was both intelligent and funny. Seth’s toast to the maid of honor was more about himself and how lucky he was that Amy’s best friend liked him, to which Lauren gave a good-natured two-thumbs-up, hoping that thumb-raising didn’t constitute actual lying.

Just when it seemed that the formal part of the evening was ending, the frat boys started banging away on their glasses again. Really, those servers needed to take their spoons away and send them to their rooms.

Amy and Seth rose, and Willy, whom she’d nicknamed Head Frat Boy, yelled, “Everybody at the head table. Let’s see some kissing.”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“Oh, no,” she said.

At the same moment, Jackson muttered, “I don’t think so,” but as the sound of cutlery on glassware increased, the two sets of parents struggled to their feet. She and Jackson both remained seated until Amy and Seth laughed down at them, Amy saying, “Come on, you guys,” and Lauren realized they’d only appear more foolish refusing to play along.

“I am so eloping,” she said as she rose reluctantly to her feet.

“Me, too,” Jackson agreed. “Let’s get this over with,” he added, in the tone he’d probably have used on his way to a firing squad.

And then he kissed her.

Glasses clinked and wolves whistled and wedding guests clapped and cheered.

And she felt his mouth on hers. Warm. Not icky at all, in fact, but kind of nice. It was pretty much the briefest possible press of closed lips to closed lips, but still, there was a tiny buzz of something that snapped back and forth between them.

She sat back down as quickly as she could, banging her butt on the chair.

A couple of dances, she said to herself, circulate, make more small talk, and then I can go to bed. She’d been up way too late working, and then Amy had called her way too early this morning to remind her to bring a bathing suit. “Because we are going to hit the spa.”

Lauren had no idea when they were going to squeeze in time at the spa, but she’d thrown her bathing suit in her suitcase anyway and, giving up on any more sleep, padded to her tiny kitchen to brew coffee.

The short night and long day were catching up with her now. One of the perks of her position of maid of honor was that Amy’s parents had insisted on paying for her room. She had a lovely room on the third floor overlooking the ocean. It was dominated by a big, decadent bed, where she could sleep as long as she wanted.

Hotel Messina was the kind of hotel that contained a sprung dance floor at one end of the ballroom and a stage large enough for a big band. In its heyday the hotel had boasted its own band and the rich and famous had waltzed and fox-trotted many a night away here. The French doors were all open to the breeze when the orchestra struck up, and the MC called out the wedding couple for their first dance.

“Hope I don’t fall off my heels,” Amy said as she walked behind Lauren and giggled.

“You’ll be fine,” she whispered back.

Maybe it was corny and sentimental, but she had a moment, watching her best friend dance with her brand-new husband. They held each other briefly and then began to move with the music they’d chosen. She’d tried to talk Amy out of it, but ever since she’d seen Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio on the prow of the Titanic she’d been determined that “My Heart Will Go On” would be her wedding song. Lauren had assumed she’d grow out of that idea, but no. And yet, as she watched her best friend in the arms of her new husband, waltzing to Celine Dion, she felt a real hope that they’d be this happy forever.

“And now, would the parents join Mr. and Mrs. Beauregard, please. And the maid of honor and the best man,” the rich voice said into the mic.

Oh, crap. This was the part she’d dreaded.

Jackson looked as thrilled as she was as he led the way to the dance floor. They didn’t touch until they were pretty much forced to.

He put a hand on her waist.

She put a hand on his shoulder.

He took her other hand. “Ready?”

“I’ll fantasize I’m having electric-shock therapy. The time will pass.”

He moved her in a circle. “I’ll pretend I’m having a last cigarette before the firing squad. I’ll enjoy it.”

“You smoke?” Gross.

“No. But I think if I knew my life was going to end in a couple of minutes anyway, I might take it up.” He twirled her around Seth’s parents. “I’d ask for a king-size cigarette. No filter.”

She watched Amy and Seth, holding each other so close he kept stepping on her dress. “Think they’ll make it?” she asked.

She felt him shrug as his shoulder rose up and down under her hand. “They’ve got a fifty-fifty chance, statistically.”

* * *

ACROSS THE ROOM, a table of men who’d all gone to boarding school with Seth and Jackson were making full use of the open bar. They’d moved on from the dinner wine and were now doing shooters.

“Would you do her?” Willy Ragan asked in a general way, his gaze semi-focused on the dance floor.

“Amy?” Rip Sherken asked.

“No. She’s married, asshole. The other one.”

“The bridesmaid?”

“Yeah.”

They all studied Lauren.

“She’s hot.” Rip burped politely behind his hand. “Bet she goes for Jackson. They always go for Jackson.”

“Not her. Haven’t you noticed? She hates him. Look at them. Acting like a couple of brooms dancing.”

Rip snorted. “The chicks are always all over Jackson. And he gets stuck with the one woman who thinks he’s dog meat. Excellent.”

And between that shooter and the next, Willy came up with a plan that was way funnier than their original idea to TP the bridal suite.

Willy outlined his plan rapidly while all his buddies concentrated on the details.

“How you gonna get her room key?” Rip wanted to know.

“It’s probably in her purse, which she left on her seat,” Willy said. “I saw her leave. Her room’s just down from mine, so I know which one it is.”

Tricking the maid of honor and the best man, who hated each other, into sharing the same hotel room was, they agreed, way better than their original plan. Though, if there was time for both, they still planned to toilet paper the suite.

“We better get her key now, while they’re all dancing,” Willy said.

He got up and found Lauren’s clutch purse on her chair as he’d expected. The clasp took his thick fingers a second to work out, but he soon had it open. There was nothing in there but a couple of tissues, some lipstick and her room key.

He pocketed the room key and then, while he was standing, realized he needed to pee. He veered off to take care of business while he mentally perfected the details of the plan. They weren’t too complicated. Mostly, the plan involved getting Jackson drunk.

* * *

LAUREN ENDED UP having a lot more fun at the reception than she thought she would. A couple of single guys hit on her, as did one older, very drunk, and very married friend of Amy’s father. She laughed with Amy and her girlfriends and, when Amy threw the bouquet, made certain to stand way out of the line of fire.

Then Amy and Seth headed off up the bridal suite and her duties were over.

Still, she hung around for another half an hour or so before slipping away. That luxurious room with the huge bed and the balcony looking out to the sea beckoned her.

Her supposed escort, the best man, had abandoned his tuxedo jacket a while ago and sat hunched around a table with the rest of the frat boys where the booze was flowing. A couple of women had drifted over, and she suspected there’d be some pairing up when the night finally ended. Cynthia was sitting next to Jackson, she noted, hanging on every word he said. Pathetic.

She found her clutch, which had somehow fallen to the floor, and slipped out of the emptying ballroom. Before she got to the elevator, she dug in her purse for her key card, but it wasn’t there.

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she went to the front desk, where they gave her another.

With a sleepy thanks, she headed up to bed.

When she entered her luxurious hotel room, she threw open the balcony doors and watched the ocean for a few minutes. The moon gilded the waves and the sand stretched endlessly in either direction. A couple, guests of the hotel, probably, walked on the beach. They seemed happily in love. Good for them, she thought, as she went back inside and brushed her teeth. She donned the pretty nightgown she’d brought with her and stretched out in the huge, decadent bed.

She imagined Amy and Seth were right this moment enjoying married sex up in the bridal suite, and that was her last thought before she fell into exhausted sleep.

* * *

JACKSON PULLED OFF his tie and settled around the table with his buddies. He’d done his part, made a speech, danced with the ice queen herself, and now he could simply hang out. He passed on the shooters, but he accepted a scotch. He felt he’d earned it.

That went down so smoothly he drank another.

He went way back with these guys. They were part of the gang that Seth had introduced him to at boarding school. They’d stayed tight ever since. Seth was the first of them to get married. He knew there was a kind of melancholy to them hanging out getting hammered while Seth was off having sex with his new wife.

This was the way of the future. One by one, they’d all get married or move across the country for new jobs or whatever. Their carefree youth was slowly coming to an end.

It was how life was meant to work. But, while they were all still here, minus one, they partied.

Of course they didn’t exclude women from the party, and between the dancing and the drinking and the laughing, it was late when Jackson figured he’d better call it a night. Cynthia tried to slip him her room key but, even though she was an attractive woman and he was a single man, he couldn’t work up the enthusiasm. He claimed he’d drunk too much and took her number. Which he knew he’d never call.

The band had packed up, and the tired-looking bartender gave them the fish eye. He knew they were going to be a sad and sorry bunch come morning.

He got to his feet.

“Okay, I gotta go to bed.”

To his surprise, all the guys rose at the same time.

“Jackson—” Willy threw drunken arms around him “—you’re too drunk to drive. I’ll walk you home.”

He opened his mouth to tell Willy none of them would be driving and realized there was no point even trying to reason with Willy.

“Have to be quiet,” Rip warned them, staggering along. “People sleeping.”

“Right.”

They piled into the elevator. He pushed the number three. Nobody pushed another button. Seemed they were all on the same floor.

The whole mob of them stumbled down the corridor. He rooted around in his pocket. Pulled out a valet parking ticket. Nope. Other pocket.

There it was. His room key card.

Willy grabbed the card out of his hand. “Allow me,” he said, as if he were the bellhop.

“You angling for a tip?”

They all snickered as if he was Chris Rock. Willy stopped at a door and made an exaggerated gesture. “Your room, sir.”

“No, my room’s down there.” At least he thought it was.

Willy shook his head. “Good thing we walked you home.”

He stood back and waited. Willy was more wasted than he’d thought. When the key didn’t work, he’d... Well, his room was around here somewhere. Down the hall. He’d find it.

But, to his surprise, when the key slid home, the green light glowed.

Willy opened the door, put the key in his hand and patted him on the back. “Night, Jack.”

“Yeah, night.”

Right before the door snicked shut, he heard a gale of laughter. He shook his head, wondering what they’d found to laugh about and hoping they all made it back to their rooms okay.

He stripped rapidly and stumbled into the bathroom. Peed, brushed his teeth. Damn, he’d bought the spearmint toothpaste by mistake again.

He drank a huge glass of water, knowing his morning self would thank him. Then he flipped off the bathroom light and walked back into the bedroom where he fell, naked, into the king-size bed.

As he closed his eyes, he smelled something light and floral and sexy. Someone had worn that fragrance tonight. He couldn’t think who, but his body stirred in memory.

He edged closer and found himself touching warm, female skin.

What?

Apart from Cynthia, one more woman had tried to slip him her room card, but he was sure he hadn’t taken it.

Had he?

Oh, she smelled good.

He eased closer; the curving line of her shoulder captivated him. The curtains were open, as were the French doors, and moonlight cast the palest glow on her skin. He couldn’t resist: he put his lips to the curve where her shoulder met her throat. A pulse beat there, slow and steady.

And then she made a sound like a purr and turned to him.

He wished he could remember her name. Damn.

He might be drunk—okay, he was drunk—but he wasn’t going to have sex with someone he didn’t even know.

He raised his head to look at her more carefully and at the same time she opened her eyes.

His heart stopped.

Her eyes opened wide.

Holy shit.

He knew this woman’s name perfectly. And most of the time wished he didn’t. What was Lauren doing in his bed?

She blinked slowly, not moving or turning on the light or calling security. In fact, she didn’t say anything. He recalled that moment when their gazes had caught, when she was walking down the aisle, and he’d felt that punch of—of something he had no name for. Recognition was the closest he could come.

For a long moment, they simply looked at each other. He wanted to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come, wanted to move, no idea which way. Backward? Forward?

She lifted a hand. If she was going to slap him, he was ready. He’d explain, except he had no idea what had happened. Then he recalled the snorts of laughter after his old school buddies had walked him home, and he thought he knew exactly how he got here.

She didn’t slap him, though.

She laid a hand on his cheek, slid it to the back of his head and, to his shock, pulled him toward her.

They’d kissed already tonight. That forced kiss, close-lipped and dutiful, in front of a crowd. He still recalled the feel of her soft lips under his, the light scent that was now teasing his senses.

And then she put her mouth on his.


3 (#u70e52d70-5ecb-5f24-b738-b5f29d402830)

JACKSON EXPERIENCED THE slam of lust, sharp and fierce, as she kissed him. Not some dry-mouthed kiss your great aunt Mildred would give you, like the one they’d shared earlier, but a deep, wet, hungry soul kiss.

He pulled her against him, feeling her soft, warm skin, the silky slide of a nightgown that was definitely in the way.

When she moved her mouth like this, he wasn’t reminded of firing squads or poison ivy. He thought of hot skin sliding on hot skin, of what her nipples would taste like on his tongue, the sounds she would make when he brought her to climax.

He ran his hands lightly up over the silky gown to stroke her breasts through the fabric and felt her nipples respond, hardening beneath his palms.

Her body began to grow restless, but something about this place, the romantic location, the soft hush of the ocean coming from the open French doors, the moonlight, the wedding, made him want this to be special for her.

Their first time to be special.

Those clever artist’s hands of hers began to move over his body, learning him, exciting him. When her hand closed around his cock, his hips jerked helplessly against her hand. He wanted so much more; he wanted her wet heat surrounding him and he was too excited for much handling.

As though she’d read his mind, she moved on, stroking his chest. Then she pressed herself against him as though their entire bodies were kissing.

As they rubbed and teased, she rolled right on top of him. She’d taken her hair out of its updo and it spilled over her shoulder in sexy loose curls.

He reached for her, but she kept rolling until she was off the bed.

What the hell?

Stunned, he watched her dash into the bathroom, heard rustling and then she returned carrying—oh, yes—condoms. He liked a woman who traveled prepared.

She tossed a trio of square packs on the bedside table beside him and then, still standing, the moonlight glinting on her skin, she put her hands to the hem of her short, silk gown and slowly raised it.

He watched, not daring to blink in case he missed something, his eyes taking in every superb inch as she revealed herself.

Long, elegant legs, rounded hips with that glorious triangle beckoning, then the long, lean abdomen of a runner, and the small, perfect breasts.

She pulled the gown over her head and let it float to the ground.

Naked, she walked to the bed to join him.

* * *

LAUREN HAD NO IDEA what she was doing, but ever since she’d woken to find Jackson mysteriously in her bed, she’d followed her instincts.

For all she knew, she was dreaming, and this was nothing but a wet dream.

But what a wet dream.

When she kept his mouth busy doing other things besides insulting her, he was good company. Especially naked. And as she looked at that mouth, she knew she was going to keep it very busy for the next few hours.

She slid back into bed, settled herself against him once more and put all thoughts of tomorrow out of her mind.

This was a sex fantasy, she reminded herself.

Nothing but a wet dream. And dreams were always gone in the morning.

As he moved against her, she loved the feel of his hair-roughened skin against her smoother flesh, loved the muscles—and who cared how he’d come by them, really.

When he slipped a hand between her thighs and found that perfect spot, she forgot to think at all.

Sensation. That was all she had. The quiet lap of waves outside mingled with their soft sighs as their excitement increased.

The moonlight cast the night in the colors of a dream.

The tiniest taste of scotch when she kissed him, and the taste and smell of hot, horny male when she moved her mouth down to his chest.

He played at her wetness, taking her relentlessly up. Slipping a finger inside her to stroke deep. She felt herself growing slicker, felt her hips dance in time with his knowing fingers.

The first climax took her so sweetly it was on her almost before she knew it, so she felt tossed as surely as one of those waves out there lapping the beach.

She kissed him: part gratitude, part demand.

She wanted more, so much more, and based on the rock-hard cock pushing against her thigh, she wasn’t alone.

He fumbled for a condom from the night table and, with a lot more haste than finesse, sheathed himself.

When he rolled over her, she opened for him, finding, to her surprise, that she was trembling. Almost a year had passed since she’d last been intimate with a man. She’d been so busy working a second job to support her stained-glass business that she hadn’t missed the time commitments of a relationship, or the sex.

Or had she?

He kissed her deeply as his body entered hers. There was a moment, when they were fully connected and his hips rested against hers, that she felt as though she couldn’t breathe, that she’d fallen off a cliff without noticing it was there.

Then he kissed her once more and the strange feeling fled. He began to move, slowly at first, and then faster. When they moved together she felt stunned that their bodies had a perfect ease that their daily selves had no idea of.

She felt a kind of magic happening. His face was shadowed where he gazed down at her and she wanted to see him.

She nudged him, and they rolled together until she was on top of him, her knees anchoring her to the bed. She felt him deep inside her. As she began to move, finding the perfect angle, she felt the beginning tremors of another climax. She gripped his hands, stared into that rugged, way too gorgeous face, blue eyes that could suck a foolish woman into their depths, and rode him until her head fell back as she cried out. Even on the echo of her own cries, she heard his.

When she floated back to earth, she slumped down on top of him and he put an arm around her and stroked her back.

Hours later, her well-loved body finally fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Lauren wasn’t sure what woke her. Her eyes felt heavy, her body completely relaxed. When she opened her eyes it took her a split second to recognize where she was and another split second for memory to flood her.

She turned and discovered what had woken her. Jackson was dressing. A glance at the bedside clock told her it was 6:00 a.m.

In the dawn light he seemed like a shadow, this man who had shared her bed and brought her so much pleasure. They’d gone through all three condoms and each time she’d thought nothing could ever feel as good. And then the next time it had been even better.

She realized that, from the time she’d opened her eyes long after midnight to find him naked beside her, until now, they hadn’t exchanged one word.

As though feeling her gaze on him, he looked over at her, his Irish blue eyes questioning.

“What happened last night...?” he began in a husky voice that petered out as though he had no idea how to finish the sentence.

“Nothing happened last night,” she said. And as the words came out of her mouth she understood that was exactly the way they needed to play this.

Somehow he’d ended up in her room and she recalled the expression on his face when he’d realized he was in her bed. He’d looked as shocked as she’d felt. She strongly suspected their night together had been orchestrated by the frat boys.

The best way to spoil their juvenile fun was to let them think their schoolboy antics had failed.

Nothing about last night had been a prank, or a joke.

It had been a sexual fantasy come true. If the man who’d rocked her world answered to anything other than Jackson Monaghan, she could imagine hoping this was the beginning of something.

But the man was Jackson Monaghan.

“Nothing. Happened.” She repeated the words, knowing he understood exactly what she was saying.

To her relief, he nodded, and after opening the door carefully and glancing up and down the hallway, he sent her a wave, and was gone.


4 (#u70e52d70-5ecb-5f24-b738-b5f29d402830)

LAUREN SHOWERED, DID her hair and makeup with more care than usual and then dressed in the outfit she’d brought with her, knowing that she’d be seeing most of the wedding party and quite a few of the guests at breakfast.

There was no formal meal, but since checkout was at eleven, she imagined most of the guests would wander in and out before then.

She walked into the restaurant where the hotel served breakfast. She’d agreed to meet Amy’s parents here for breakfast and she had a feeling that Amy and Seth would make an appearance, too. Then they’d be heading off the island and driving to LA for their evening flight to Italy, where they were spending their honeymoon.

Amy’s parents were giving her a lift back to the mainland, where she’d left her car.

She quelled the cowardly impulse to hide in her room until ten fifty-five and then dash down to drop her key at the front desk and claim her ride with Amy’s folks. But, she told her reflection in the mirror as she swiped a confident berry shade on her lips, that might give Jackson the idea that he’d rocked her world or something and that she was too shy to face him this morning.

That thought was enough to get her out the door with her head held high.

When she got to the restaurant it was all very unexciting. No gales of laughter or crude jokes from the frat boys greeted her. Not one of them had made it down yet. She suspected hangovers to be the cause and was only too happy to be spared.

A swift glance told her that Jackson wasn’t here, either, so she was able to relax and join Amy’s parents, who welcomed her with big smiles and a hug from June, Amy’s mom, who was very much a second mother to Lauren.

Looking at June was like looking into the future and seeing how Amy would look in a quarter of a century. June was still an attractive woman who dressed well and never let a week go by without a trip to the hairdresser. Amy struggled with her weight, and with June you got the feeling that she’d given up the fight years ago.

“Thank you, Lauren, for doing such a fabulous job yesterday. You were the perfect maid of honor. You know we’ve always thought of you as a second daughter.”

June got a little misty-eyed, which of course made Lauren get misty, too. “I feel like part of your family, too. It was a lovely wedding.”

“It was. I was just saying to Ted that I can’t wait to see the photographs. I think we got some good ones yesterday.”

They settled at the table for eight, which Ted had grabbed, hoping Amy and Seth would join them as well as Seth’s parents.

“Did you sleep well, dear?” June asked as she poured coffee for Lauren from the big carafe on the table. They’d known each other so long she didn’t have to ask.

The more appropriate question would’ve been, “Did you sleep at all?” But because she tried never to lie if she could help it, she answered with a truth. “I never spent a better night.”

“That’s good. The beds are so comfortable that I’m going to find out where they get them and think about ordering one for home. Ted usually wakes up with a sore back, but you didn’t this morning, did you, darling?”

“No. Only sore feet from dancing so much last night.”

“Try it in high heels,” his wife murmured.

Their waitress came by for their breakfast order, but they decided to wait a few minutes to see if anyone else would show.

“And when you see your daughter, for God’s sake don’t ask her how she slept,” Ted said to his wife.

“But I always ask—” Then her expression changed as she realized what he was referring to. “Yes, of course not. Their wedding night.” She leaned across the table to Lauren. “Sometimes I can be tactless. I never mean to be, I simply say things without thinking them through. Ted gets embarrassed by me.”

“She’s known you for twenty years, June. I think she’s noticed.”

Lauren hadn’t had enough sleep to be able to come up with the right response so she sipped her coffee and hoped Amy and Seth would show up soon.

Seth’s parents arrived next. Natalie and Lance. Lance, like Seth, had been a college football star in his day. He’d worked at the family real estate firm, married a pretty girl from a good family and lived a country-club lifestyle. His son was well on the road to being exactly like him.

As the two sets of parents settled at the same table, she was conscious of how careful they were around each other. Clearly, they were all trying to get along.

“The wedding was absolutely perfect, June,” Natalie gushed. “I can’t remember a lovelier wedding. Exactly what we would have chosen if we had a daughter.”

“And Amy’s a great girl,” Lance added. “Great girl.”

“We couldn’t be happier to welcome Seth to our family,” June countered. Ted made a noncommittal sound that could have meant anything. Lauren was fairly certain that he was having trouble accepting that his little girl was all grown up now and had another man in her life.

While they drank coffee, the first frat boy staggered in. Behind him was the rest of the sorry crew.

Ted eyed them in distaste. “I’ll be lucky if last night’s bar tab doesn’t ruin me.”

“Oh, Ted,” his wife said. “We’ve got plenty of money. And they certainly look well punished this morning. Good morning, boys,” she called out.

“Morning,” they all mumbled. Those who weren’t up to mumbling nodded.

“Breakfast?” the cheerful hostess asked them.

“Coffee,” Willy groaned.

She saw Willy and a couple of other guys glance at her curiously, then at the empty seats on either side of her. She said, “Good morning,” and went back to her coffee.

As they were being seated at a table close by, Jackson strode in.

His timing couldn’t be worse, for now they had an audience of people to witness them seeing each other for the first time since he’d left her room at six this morning.

His hair was wet and he was wearing sweats. He’d clearly been working out in the hotel pool or the gym or somewhere. Compared to the frat boys, Jackson was a poster boy for clean living. If she hadn’t known absolutely, positively that he hadn’t slept all night, she never would have believed it from looking at him. His blue eyes were clear and bright, and he carried himself with energy.

He greeted everyone generally. His gaze skimmed over her and she willed every cell in her body to stay calm and not to even think about making her blush.

She did not want to feel fluttery. Jackson was an entitled twit who was completely full of himself and did everything he could to make himself a chick magnet. She’d always prided herself on being immune to him.

Now, thanks to a stupid prank, she’d ended up naked in bed with the man and nature had taken its course. Maybe if they hadn’t been at a luxurious hotel and alcohol had not been consumed and they hadn’t found themselves all but naked in the same bed, nature would have left them well enough alone.

However, what had happened, had happened. She had no regrets. If anything, last night had reminded her that she was a woman who really liked sex and that she’d gone way too long without it.

Why, it had been rather nice of Jackson to come along and give her such a thoroughly satisfying wake-up call to her own needs. Now she could go on with her life and meet someone who would not only give her great sex but also wouldn’t make her want to gag with his annoying personality.

She knew that, hungover as they were, the frat boys were still watching her and Jackson closely.

It gave her immense satisfaction to see that Jackson looked and acted exactly the same as he always did. And, to her relief, she could tell that she neither blushed nor squirmed.

Good thing they couldn’t see inside her, where everything was aflutter. So long as the frat boys didn’t check her pulse, they’d never know how successful their little trick had been.

“How are the heads this morning, boys?” Jackson asked, giving Rip a good-natured slug on the arm.

“The shooters may have been a mistake,” a chubby guy named Chad admitted.

Seth walked in at that moment, followed by a faintly blushing Amy. The distraction was exactly what Lauren needed. Now all eyes were on the newlyweds.

“Morning, everybody,” Seth said, looking heavy eyed and pleased with himself.

Jackson was preparing to sit with the frat boys, but Seth stopped him. “Come on, bro, keep the wedding party together one last time.”

Lauren felt his hesitation. He wanted to sit at the same table with her as much as she wanted him there. Which was to say, she’d rather go out front and eat sand right off the beach.

But with Ted and June, plus Natalie and Lance, joining in, encouraging him to sit with them, there wasn’t much he could do. “Sure,” he said. “Thanks.”

There were seats on either side of Lauren, and one in the corner beside Ted.

He squeezed past June and Ted and took the empty seat that was as far from Lauren as he could get.

Oh, she could do better than that. With a big smile, she said, “I don’t want to split up the bride and groom. I’ll move so you two can sit together.” And she moved in the opposite direction to Jackson, taking the seat as far away from him as the table allowed.

Amy settled herself beside Lauren, and as Seth made to join them, he glanced at his school buddies and said, “Toilet paper in the bridal suite? Really, guys?”

“At least one of our pranks worked,” Rip muttered, too hungover to keep his voice down.

Her gaze went immediately to Jackson, who glanced at her at the same moment. His face never changed expression, but he sent her the ghost of a wink.

While Seth, with his excellent manners, thanked both sets of parents for the fantastic wedding, Amy leaned in to Lauren and in a very low voice said, “That was the best night of my whole life.”

She looked so blissed out that Lauren couldn’t help smiling. “It’s not like it was your first time,” she reminded her best friend.

“I know, but being married made it so much more special. Every time he touched me, I thought, ‘This is my husband,’ and when he kissed me and looked right into my eyes I felt like he was looking into my soul.”

As happy as she was for her friend, Lauren experienced a pang of worry. Amy sounded almost too happy. She’d always been such a romantic that Lauren feared she was going to be disappointed when the real world intruded on her fantasy.

Then she mentally smacked herself. She was cynical about marriage for a lot of reasons that had nothing to do with Amy or with marriage. She should be happy that Amy was the kind of person who believed that perfect love existed. Maybe she’d even been lucky enough to find it.

So, Lauren put away her cynicism for a minute and squeezed Amy’s hand. “I am really happy for you.”

“I hope one day you find a man like Seth. I really do.”

She smiled, but knew that a man like Seth would never do for her. He was a nice guy, in his way, but, like Amy, he’d never been tested by life. He’d grown up rich, healthy and sheltered. He didn’t seem like a person who thought deep thoughts or had big dreams. He’d work in his family’s business, as he’d been born and bred to do, and he and Amy would have a few kids and join the right country club. She hoped they’d continue to be as happy as they were today, or at least manage to enjoy the future that she could see rolling ahead like a movie of the week she’d already seen.

“You were such a beautiful bride,” she said, because she’d rather talk about Amy’s wedding than the likelihood that she would ever end up with someone like Seth.

“You were such a great maid of honor. You’re the sister I never had.”

“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” she replied.

It was true. The odds that she and Amy would have ended up best friends were insanely low. She’d only met Amy because after her parents divorced, her mom had rented a former pool house on the property next door to Amy’s parents.

Since they were the same age, they’d played together all summer and in the fall, when she’d started school, Amy had already been her best friend.

Lauren’s mom worked long hours as a nurse and Amy’s mom, wonderful woman that she was, had opened her home and her arms to the lonely child. She’d often gone over to Amy’s after school and had so many sleepovers at her friend’s place that she’d started leaving extra clothes and a toothbrush over there.

Her mom had done her best, but she’d always been tired from work and bitter over the divorce. She’d been only too happy to let someone else help rear her only child.

Lauren’s dad had married again soon after the divorce and she’d overheard more than one telephone argument between her parents as her mom complained that he didn’t take Lauren often enough.

As her father went on to have a second family, she’d seen less and less of him. The pain had softened, but she knew herself well enough to know that she would always bear the emotional scars.

Her mother had remarried not too long ago, to a radiologist she’d met at work. Her mom finally had the big house she’d always wanted and she’d cut her work hours way back. They tried to be close, she and her mom, but deep down she knew it was an effort for both of them.

“Excited about the honeymoon?” she asked.

“I can’t wait. Remember when you and I went to Venice? I always thought it was the most romantic place in the world. I picture us eating wonderful food, and seeing all the sights. And having fantastic sex every single night.” She shivered. “I love being married.”

Lauren had decided on eggs Benedict for breakfast, but when the waitress took their order, to her annoyance, Jackson ordered eggs Benedict. She decided to change her order to something else, then mentally chided herself. If she wanted eggs Benny, then that was what she’d order. So she did. Like Jackson, she also ordered freshly squeezed orange juice. Because she wanted it.

After breakfast, she packed up, freshened up once more and then headed down with her travel case. She dropped off her key and was waiting in the main foyer for Amy’s parents when Jackson came toward her with his own overnighter. She knew the second he caught sight of her. His steps faltered and she could see him debating whether to duck off into one of the hallways or face being alone with her.

After an infinitesimal pause, he continued toward her.

She was pretty sure that, in his shoes, she’d have ducked down another hallway.

When he got close to her, she saw that he had a newspaper tucked under his arm and a take-out coffee. He stood close but not too close. Nodded.

She checked her watch. Eleven on the dot. Where the hell was everyone?

“Well, we got through it okay,” he said.

“Yes. We did.”

She did not want to have a conversation with this man. She wanted to be far away from his annoying presence and the hot, hot memories it evoked.

He clearly felt the same. He moved a step away and flipped open his newspaper.

Not to be outdone, she pulled out her cell phone and checked her email.

Not that there was much email on a Sunday. She had an invitation to submit a piece to a curated exhibit, which was flattering. A note from a supplier that the copper oxide she’d ordered was going to be delayed, which didn’t please her at all.

Since she didn’t want anyone thinking she was the kind of loser who got only two work-related emails on a summer weekend, she took her time replying to both of them. By the time she was finished, Amy and Seth had arrived with both sets of parents in tow.

Amy and Seth were driving their own car and heading to the airport. Seth’s folks were driving back to their home, and she was riding with June and Ted to their house where she’d left her car.

Since they were all heading to the same ferry back to the mainland, they saved the hugs and final goodbyes.

The Ruehls’ Lincoln pulled up in front and the valet attendant flipped the trunk and helped load their luggage.

“Jackson,” June Ruehl said, “can we offer you a lift back to the city?”

“No, thanks, June,” he said. “I’m catching a ride back with Willy.”

“All right, dear. We’ll see you soon.”

When they were all settled in the car, Lauren in the backseat, June gazed out the window at Jackson, who was throwing his case in the back of Willy’s Mustang. “That Jackson is such a lovely young man,” June said. “I wish he could find a nice girl.”


5 (#u70e52d70-5ecb-5f24-b738-b5f29d402830)

THE TROUBLE WITH being an artisan, Lauren decided as she picked up her soldering gun and prepared to turn chunks of colored glass into art, was that it gave her too much time alone with her thoughts. Sure, she could join an artisans’ co-op, share a warehouse with painters and sculptors and potters, but she’d never wanted to. She created alone.

However, that meant there was no easy way to distract herself from her thoughts and her memories.

Those memories were hotter than the metal liquefying under her solder iron. She knew exactly how it felt. For the curated show, she’d decided to make a window that paid homage to the impressionists. She always liked the music in her studio to reflect what she was working on so she had Debussy playing in the background.

When she was in the midst of designing, nothing got in her way. Her mind was completely focused. But once she got to the semi-mechanical state of production, it was too easy to drift. And for some insane reason, her thoughts inevitably found their way to That Night.

How was it possible that a guy she couldn’t stand could be the one to have brought her so much intense pleasure? It didn’t make any sense. And, even worse, every time she thought of that night, her body grew restless and wanted more.

She was going to have to make time to get out more. Start dating.

Guys were always hitting on her in the tasting room at the winery. She always turned them down, but maybe she should start being more open. Why not?

She wished Amy were here. This was what a BFF was for. Times like this when you were stuck in your own head and something wild and crazy had happened. Who else could she talk to?

But Amy had left on her honeymoon. She’d received a short email from her telling her that Italy was fantastic and that she was having the best time ever. She’d ended her post with “ciao” and a happy face.

Which was great. But Lauren had to accept that now that Amy was married, she wasn’t going to be as available for everything from girls’ nights out to Saturday morning brunches and shopping expeditions.

Life as she’d always known it was changing.

She glanced at her watch and then began putting away her tools. She was on shift at two o’clock and it was almost one.

She didn’t make a huge amount of money pouring wine in the tasting room, but her meager wage came with a cottage on the property. She’d also wheedled the use of one of the outbuildings as a studio for her stained-glass work. The winery was family owned and run, and since she liked the owners as well as the wine, she enjoyed her job. Besides, having to get out there and interact with people stopped her from getting so caught up in her craft that she became a weird recluse, something that Amy insisted would happen to her if she didn’t work out a better balance in her life.

Whatever.

Back in her cottage, she showered, quickly put a few curls in her hair with the curling iron, slapped on some makeup and slipped into jeans and a crisp white polo shirt with the Leonato logo on the pocket. The only reason her work shirts were crisp and always gleaming was that they were sent out for cleaning and pressing.

She strode up the gravel road, enjoying the sight of all those green grapes fattening on the vines. The sun was warm and her work was going well.

If she could get rid of the constant buzz beneath the surface of her skin when she thought of That Night, she’d be having a really great day. A week had passed—when was she going to stop waking at night, hot and restless, reliving the hours of bliss? This had to stop soon.

She let herself into the back of the low, wooden building that housed the offices and the front tasting room. The Leonato family had come from Sicily and a tradition of wine growing. The same varieties of grapes did well in Napa and the business had grown.

She heard the buzz out front that suggested quite a few people had decided to tour wineries on this sunny June Saturday afternoon. She hurried through to the front and immediately got busy.

She’d been doing this job for three years now, ever since she’d finished art college. Naturally, artists didn’t generally make a living wage, but she’d been lucky in finding both a job and a place to live. The Leonatos had commissioned her to create a showpiece window in this very tasting room and even carried some of her creations, so long as they were wine-related.

She’d come up with a line of stained-glass wine holders, each one unique, that sold pretty well during the holiday season.

After three years, she was adept at reading the people who came in. She could identify the tourists who could barely tell red wine from white, and the wine snobs who liked to discuss varietals and soil and the weather of each particular vintage. Some of them were big spenders, others time wasters.

Usually, they started visitors on the simpler, cheaper wines. If they showed real interest or knowledge or were obviously planning to buy something, she would move them on to taste the premium wines.

Usually, everybody had a good time. Including her.

Today was typical. When she walked in, Sharon Leonato was pouring samples for a well-dressed couple she seemed to know.

She nodded when Lauren walked in. They’d catch up when they had a break.

Lauren checked stock, opened a new bottle of the standard Shiraz, wiped down the counter. A guy in his thirties strolled in with a woman he was clearly trying to impress. Lauren offered the guests the regular spiel that went with each wine, but the man soon took over from her, giving his date more in-depth knowledge than she probably cared for. He waved away the first-tier wines and went straight for the premium. Since Lauren had a strong suspicion he was going to continue trying to impress his date by buying an expensive bottle or three, she happily obliged.

Two couples came in, well dressed and obviously enjoying each other’s company. As she served them, it turned out that one of the couples was from London and, while visiting their friends in California, were planning to cook a gourmet meal. They’d come to the winery to purchase the wine for dinner. After an hour of tasting, they bought a case of wine to take with them. She rang up the sale with a pleasant feeling of accomplishment. She hadn’t been pushy, but she had a way of encouraging people she knew could afford it to splurge a little. Why not? Both her livelihood and that of the Leonatos depended on it.

As they were leaving, the British woman caught sight of her wine coolers and raved about them so much—even picking one up and carrying it to the window so she could see how the sun streamed through the panes of colored glass—that her husband gave in and pulled out his credit card.

Sharon caught sight of the transaction and walked over to tell them that Lauren was the artist. Of course they raved some more and the woman even asked Lauren to autograph the little card that went with the cooler.

“Lauren created that window for us,” Sharon told them, indicating the stained-glass creation. It depicted the Leonato family crest surrounded by grapes and foliage in big, bold colors. The window might not be what she’d have created without their input, but that was the thing with commissions. You had to give the customer what they wanted.

Yes, she thought as she waved them away, today had been a good day.

A minivan pulled up and out piled twelve older people. Leonato was listed on a few wine tours and they often got groups coming through.

She and Sharon exchanged a look and Lauren reached for the bread crisps they kept in bowls on the counter. The idea was to use the crisps to cleanse the palate between wines, but they’d found from experience that the tour bus groups usually feasted on them as if they hadn’t been fed for days.

This group was no exception. They sampled their wine and emptied all the bread bowls while either listening to her descriptions of the various wines, or pretending to. The tour guide, Michael, added information about the region and then reminded them to make use of the restrooms as it would be more than an hour until their next stop.

The group made some modest purchases and took a few photos.

Lauren waved the last of them off and then began refilling all the bowls.

Her skin prickled suddenly and she glanced up.

Jackson had just walked through the door.

For a second, she thought this was just another one of the sexual fantasies that had plagued her over the past week. He looked so good. His dark brown hair that had felt so thick and luscious when she ran her fingers through it had the shiny look of a recent washing. He wore a beat-up leather jacket, a black T-shirt that hugged his torso the way she longed to, and jeans that molded to his strong thighs.

He walked over and sat on one of the bar stools in front of her. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi.” A million thoughts jumbled together in her head, ranging from What the hell are you doing here? to Do me, now. She didn’t voice any of them, though, and simply stared at him.

“I took an afternoon off,” he said. “Thought I’d taste some wine.”

Wine tasting. Of course. That was where they were. In a wine-tasting room. “You came to the right place,” she managed. She put the bag of snacks away and was suddenly thankful that her spiel was so practiced she could describe each of the Leonato wines in her sleep.

She handed him the menu. “Welcome to Leonato,” she said.

“Thank you.”

She knew she should launch into her standard speech about the winery and each of the wines, but she didn’t have it in her. She said, “Take a look at our wines and let me know what you’d like to try.”

He didn’t even open the handsome leather folder with the Leonato coat of arms emblazoned in gold on the front of it. He gazed at her face. “What do you like?”

She felt hot and cold flashes dance over her skin. What did she like? Who knew better than he did? In one night he’d brought her more pleasure than she’d experienced with anyone before.

She felt like telling him in exact detail exactly what she liked in case he might have forgotten in the past seven days. She felt like begging him to take her somewhere and do every one of those things to her until she could get some relief from the wanting.

Instead, she pulled herself together and said, “My favorite wine is our cabernet sauvignon from 2011. It won some awards. Normally, we don’t sample that one, but we opened a bottle earlier, if you’d like to try it.”





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