Читать книгу Last Groom Standing - Kimberly Lang - Страница 10

ONE

Marnie Price took a deep breath to assess the situation and her options. This was not the time to react thoughtlessly. After a moment to think, she did what any rational, reasonable, adult woman would do in a situation like this.

She pulled the wine bottle from the ice bucket and filled her glass right up to the rim.

Despite the fact she’d had several already tonight, she remained frustratingly sober. It was a happy occasion—Cassie was married and bridges she’d thought burnt beyond repair were slowly being mended. She should be happy—and she was, by God, she really was.

Except, at the same time, she wasn’t. She’d started the day by cleaning out her desk at work and ended it with finding out her friends had been lying to her for years and that years of estrangement had been all her fault. In the middle, she’d gone to a wedding and found out her brother was sleeping with Gina—again. Mercy, when losing your job wasn’t the worst thing that had happened to you, the day officially sucked.

Hence the need for more wine. Lots more wine.

Her mother was probably spinning in her grave—ladies didn’t overimbibe, much less in public—but this was New York City, not Savannah, and Marnie had intentionally given up the quest to be a “lady” years ago.

Old habits were hard to break, but she could drown the Southern guilt in another glass of Chardonnay.

The large table in the corner of the trendy Tribeca Terrace held the remains of Cassie and Tuck’s small wedding reception, and Tuck had pulled Cassie to the dance floor a little while ago. It didn’t take a genius IQ like Cassie’s to see that they would be off to their wedding night very soon. Carter and Gina and Mason and Reese were also on the dance floor, doing that slow sway that said both couples would be leaving soon as well to a happy night themselves.

Marnie sighed into her glass. None of her friends had walked the easy path to happiness, but that was what made their stories so wonderful. The passion. Passion might be messy and difficult, but the proof it was worth it was right in front of her. And that’s what she wanted. If she’d wanted a predictable and staid and unremarkable life, she’d have stayed in Savannah.

But the pairing off of the others had left her alone at the table with Dylan Brookes. Their party of eight had really been three parties of two and two parties of one, but that hadn’t been too obvious or strange until everyone else coupled up. Being an extra wheel was awkward enough, but this situation took awkward to a new place.

Dylan had stood as Tuck’s witness today, but it was just plain weird to have him around. Tuck was Dylan’s best friend, but he was also Reese’s cousin, and he’d met Cassie at what would have been Reese and Dylan’s wedding—except that Reese had practically jilted Dylan at the altar in favor of Mason. It had been quite a mess. Reese and Dylan seemed okay with it now, but everyone else—including her—found the situation awkward at best.

Watching your ex-fiancée canoodle with the guy she threw you over for had to be uncomfortable, but if Dylan had a problem with that, he’d done a good job of hiding it.

He was currently typing something on his phone, and if he was feeling like an extra wheel, it didn’t show.

Either he was a very good actor, or he simply didn’t care. Marnie wasn’t sure if she should envy him or pity him.

The music wasn’t overly loud, but it was thankfully loud enough to not make the conversational silence at the table too noticeable. Not that she was in the mood for small talk, anyway. There was just way too much circling in her mind. She needed to process it all.

No one wanted to ruin Cassie’s celebration, so conversations had been hushed and behind bathroom doors, everyone trying to bring her up to speed without involving the entire party or casting a pall over it. The result was information and emotional overload, and the beginnings of a massive headache.

By the time she finished this glass, she could head on home without anyone thinking it was odd. There was wine in her fridge, and drinking herself into oblivion seemed the best way to finish out this horrid day. Tomorrow would be soon enough to try to make sense of it all.

“I think I’m supposed to ask you to dance.”

The comment caught her by surprise, as Dylan hadn’t said much to her all night, choosing to talk to Tuck and oddly Carter mostly. “Excuse me?”

Dylan half pointed in the direction of the dance floor, where Reese was making gestures over Mason’s shoulder that did seem to translate into: “You two, dance.”

The last thing she needed was a pity dance from him. “Thanks, but no.”

“No, thank you.”

Marnie had a brief flash of irritation at the relieved sigh in his voice as Dylan turned back to Reese and shrugged. Reese’s lips pressed together in annoyance before she peeled herself off Mason and stalked over to the table.

“You need to dance, Marnie.”

“Why?”

Reese seemed to think for a second. “Because it’s bad luck for the bride and groom if the guests don’t dance.”

Reese should really know better than to try that. In three years at Simmons College, fourteen of her sorority sisters had walked down the aisle. There wasn’t a wedding tradition or superstition she didn’t know inside and out. “You made that up.”

She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I think it’s bad luck.”

“Well, I don’t think Dylan really wants to dance,” she countered. “And it’s bad luck to dance with an unwilling partner.”

She could tell Reese was trying to decide if that was an actual superstition or not. Finally, Reese cut her eyes in Dylan’s direction. “But he will be willing if you just say yes. This is a celebration, and you two are sitting it out. I think that’s a little rude, don’t you?”

Reese knew right where to hit. The desire not to be rude was ingrained into her very soul and hard to ignore. Marnie weighed her options. Once Reese got an idea, it was nearly impossible to change her mind. She was a peacekeeper, a smoother-outer, the perfect hostess who wanted everyone to participate and have a good time. Reese had been born on the wrong side of the Mason-Dixon line; for a Yankee, she could channel a Southern matriarch with the best of them. Marnie could give in gracefully now or be politely and lovingly badgered to death.

“Fine.” She took a long swallow from her glass and stood. Dylan, wearing a look that might have been boredom or annoyance—it was really hard to tell which—pushed to his feet, as well. Talk about rude...

“Excellent.” Reese smiled as Mason pulled her back into his arms.

Marnie let Dylan lead her to the dance floor, his hand at the small of her back, and she caught at least one or two jealous looks being shot her way by other women. She totally understood why. Dylan Brookes was smart, successful and handsome, and the news he was back on the “eligible bachelor” list had brought a cheer to the lips of nearly every unmarried woman in the city looking to marry well.

Dylan looked every inch the Park Avenue aristocrat he was—which seemed a ridiculous contrast to the all-American frat-boy good looks of his best friend, Tuck. He radiated a suaveness, like he belonged in a tuxedo drinking dirty martinis at swanky events. Even tonight, with his dark hair slightly mussed, collar open and shirtsleeves rolled up over tanned forearms, the adjective that sprang to mind was “debonair.”

Her departed mother might be mollified now, as Dylan Brookes—the smart, rich, well-connected and respected attorney and philanthropist—was exactly the kind of man Miss Marnie Suellen Price, the only daughter of Marshall and Alma Price—God rest their souls—of Savannah, Georgia, was supposed to dance with.

And she hadn’t danced with that kind of man—intentionally—in over five years.

She knew Dylan’s type—she’d grown up surrounded by men just like him. Well-bred, well-read, and well-groomed, raised with every perk money could provide and trained to step right into their daddies’ shoes and run the world. Bloodless, boring, and usually arrogant, but disguised under a thousand-dollar suit.

But she’d suck it up for one dance.

Dylan took her right hand in his, placed his other at her waist, and they moved gently to the music, both of them staring off into the distance.

God, this was worse than junior prom. A good foot of space separated their bodies. She bit her lip to hold back the snicker as the memory flooded back. Peter Stevenson, son of Savannah’s mayor and the young man lucky enough to win the Price family seal of approval as a proper escort, had had sweaty palms. Looking back, it may have been the first time he’d ever actually laid hands on a girl. They’d kept that respectable distance between them all night—up to and including the chaste and proper good-night handshake on her front porch. And she’d been both satisfied and pleased, convinced it was proof Peter respected her.

Even now, she could still hear Gina’s bark of laughter at the recounting of that story, and her sincere judgment of “How very pathetic.” Even after everything that happened, Marnie had always been thankful to Gina for opening her naive eighteen-year-old eyes to the real world.

“What’s so funny?” Dylan’s question caused her to jump and brought her back to the present.

Her cotillion instructor would be horrified to know that she was neglecting the most basic rules of etiquette by ignoring her dance partner. But since she doubted Dylan would be happy to hear himself compared to her nervous seventeen-year-old prom date, she rapidly searched her mind for something appropriate to say.

She’d met Dylan a few times in social situations after he and Reese moved from coworkers to couple—their engagement party, that Thanksgiving she’d had lunch at Reese’s parents’ house—but she’d never really spent much time talking to him. She knew all about his career achievements, giving her a specific picture of Dylan, and she’d always been a little sad Reese had engaged herself to someone so dry, staid, and frankly unexciting. And if there was more to him—a hidden fire, exciting depths—Reese had never shared that information. Reese was just so private about things that there hadn’t been much girl talk deconstructing their relationship during their infrequent lunches in the city.

So while she kind of knew Dylan, she couldn’t say that she knew him well. And what she did know wasn’t all that helpful at the moment.

The obvious seemed the safest conversational course. “Just thinking what an odd couple Cassie and Tuck are, but yet they’re so happy together.”

Dylan nodded. “You ladies did a good job with this party. I know they both appreciate it.”

She grabbed the conversational rope gratefully. “Tuck...yes, and Cassie wouldn’t care unless Tuck did. We just couldn’t let her get married without some kind of celebration. It just seems wrong not to. It’s one thing not to have the big white wedding, but just a run to the courthouse wasn’t nearly enough.”

Dylan nodded, and that topic was finished. How long is this song?

She laughed. “It just seems like I’ve been neck-deep in weddings since June...”

“I know the feeling. I’m rather tired of them myself.”

Damn it. I shouldn’t have brought that up. “My apologies. That must be a sore topic.”

Dylan shrugged. “Not really.”

Her curiosity got the better of her manners. “Does it not bother you?”

“Does what bother me?”

“Being around Reese. Seeing her with someone else like that.” Seeing Reese so openly cuddly with Mason made Marnie realize that she’d never really seen Reese act openly affectionate toward Dylan when they were engaged—nor vice versa. Reese and Dylan had made a good-looking pair, but it would be a stretch to call them a “couple” based on their behavior.

“I’m not a huge fan of witnessing large amounts of PDA from anyone, but beyond that, no.”

Maybe that explained the lack of showy affection between them when they were together. “Well, you’ve been very understanding and decent about it.”

His eyebrows went up. “There was another option?”

She tried to picture Dylan in a jealous rage or even a mopey lovelorn depression. Neither image worked. “I guess not.”

“We’re friends and I wish her well. I just hope she’s not making the same mistake twice—”

It was rude to interrupt, but... “You think Reese and Mason are a mistake?”

“For her sake, I hope not. But the odds aren’t good.”

She rushed to defend Reese. “I’d say that after all they’ve been through, their odds are pretty damn good. They love each other—”

Dylan actually snorted.

“What? It’s true.”

“Yes, and love is probably the worst reason there is to get married.”

That threw her off her game. “What other reason is there?”

“You’re a romantic.” His tone clearly said he saw that as a fault.

That wasn’t entirely true. She had no starry-eyed misconceptions about the realities of relationships, but to just dismiss love outright? “For thinking love is a good reason to get married?”

“Love is ephemeral. Good marriages need a stronger foundation than that for a solid and successful partnership.”

Ugh. She’d heard variations of that before. But even being taught that marriage was about creating a strong family foundation—usually with the wife playing the helpmate to her husband—love was still at least given lip service in the equation. “So you think that Mason and Reese won’t have a solid and successful partnership? Simply because they’re in love?”

“Would you marry someone just because he was good in bed?”

The bluntness of that question quite literally caused her to stumble. Dylan’s hand tightened against her back as she regained her balance, and she wondered if Dylan had tried to shock her on purpose. No, Dylan wasn’t the type. Gina might try to bait and shock, but Dylan... She couldn’t really picture it. “Like love, it shouldn’t be the only reason to get married, but it’s a damn important one.”

Dylan merely smiled at her response, and she could almost feel the metaphorical pat on the head. It had been a long time since anyone had patronized her like that, and she wondered what Reese might have said about her to make him think...

“Wait a second.” She stopped the sway. “If love isn’t the right reason to get married, are you saying that you never loved Reese?” Reese might be happy in love now, but she’d sworn to only marry for love and finding out that Dylan hadn’t loved her at all would still hurt.

“Of course I loved her.” What would normally be a passionate declaration in any decent romance novel sounded flat instead. Dylan could have been speaking about how much he loved pizza for all the emotion behind the statement. Wow. Reese had definitely dodged a bullet with this one.

“Well, Reese seems to be pretty good at avoiding mistakes these days.”

An eyebrow arched up at her statement, but the music finally came to a stop, keeping Dylan from responding to her snark. Instead, he stepped back, and with a mocking bow, said, “Thanks for the dance, Marnie.”

He walked over to Tuck and spoke quietly to his friend. A moment later, their whole party was tossing a shower of flower petals at Tuck and Cassie as they ran out the door and climbed into a black town car for their getaway.

She felt a hand on her elbow and turned to see Carter. Gina was hanging back a step behind him, seeming a little unsure. It brought back the weight of all that thinking she still had to do. Damn. If nothing else, she owed Dylan a debt of thanks for taking her mind off all that for even a few minutes.

“We’re going to go, too,” Carter said. “I’m sure we’ll see you while I’m in town.”

Marnie still wasn’t quite used to the idea of that “we.” It was going to take time to wrap her head around the fact that Carter and Gina were a couple. In the last ten years, her relationship with her brother had gone from good to really bad and finally landed in “strained” territory, and she wasn’t entirely sure if his new relationship with Gina was going to improve that situation or not. But she and Gina seemed to be on the brink of repairing their damage, and she realized she very much wanted that to happen. She’d deal with Carter somehow. She’d have to. “Yeah. We’ll do lunch or something.”

Gina seemed uncharacteristically reticent to say anything, but Reese stepped in, purse over her shoulder, obviously ready to leave, as well. She wrapped her arms around their shoulders and pulled them in for a celebratory squeeze. “I think we did well today, ladies.”

Gina nodded. “We did.”

“And us?” Reese asked quietly, “Are we okay?”

While she’d asked the question generally, Marnie knew they were primarily waiting on her to answer. While she and Gina still had some baggage to unpack, Reese had to be feeling some weight, as well—after all, she’d known about Gina’s pregnancy and miscarriage when it had happened and had kept that knowledge from Marnie all this time.

Yikes, something else to process. But Marnie returned Reese’s squeeze and placed a hand on Gina’s arm. “We will be.”

Gina met her eyes directly and nodded, and that nod somehow helped clear through the noise. She felt her eyes burning. “I’ll talk to y’all later.”

“You’re not going all the way home tonight, are you?” Reese asked.

The long train ride out to Brooklyn didn’t hold much attraction now—wine waiting in the fridge or no. Thankfully, she had another option, and there were many stores between here and SoHo where she could pick up another bottle. “No, I’ll probably stay at Sven’s.”

“We could drop you off on our way.”

Gina’s eyes widened. “Wait, there’s a Sven?” she asked.

“Sven is gay and lets me crash at his place when I need to,” she explained to Gina and then declined Reese’s offer. The last thing she needed right now was more quality time with her friends. God only knew what other bombshells could drop. “I’m actually going to finish this wine and have a bit of a think. I’ll grab a cab later.”

Reese looked a little concerned, but nodded. There were general good-nights all around and Marnie pulled Gina aside. “One more thing... Please don’t mention to Carter that I got laid off. I really don’t want to deal with that right now.”

“Gotcha.”

The lack of hesitation warmed her. Yeah, they were going to be okay.

She waved off the other two couples and sank back into her chair with a sigh. Then she emptied the last of the Chardonnay into her glass.

“That’s a waste of good wine.”

She’d forgotten about Dylan, who seemed to also be finishing off a drink—something dark in a glass on the rocks.

“It’s excellent wine and it’s not a waste. I fully appreciate each and every delicious, mind-numbing drop.” She backed up that statement by taking a large swallow.

“Tough day?”

Oh, so now they were going to do the small talk? “You could say that. I’m really happy for all of my friends, but...”

“Oh, God, you’re not going to get all ‘always a bridesmaid, never a bride,’ are you?”

She nearly snorted the wine. “I actually wish that was the problem. It would be a lot simpler. Unfortunately, not all sorrows needing drowning stem from a love life or lack thereof.”

Dylan’s mouth might have quirked, but he didn’t say anything. Was he waiting for an explanation? Was this actually a conversation now, making it rude for her not to provide one?

She didn’t know what or how much Dylan knew about her past with Reese, Cassie and Gina, and she really didn’t want to go into it. But she’d opened the door, and it would probably be polite to explain why she was pounding Chardonnay. Gee, was it good or bad that she had another, equally valid, reason to give? “I lost my job this morning.”

“That does suck.”

She bit back her surprise at his word choice. “I knew it was coming—budget problems, you know—but I really liked that job.” Her glass and the bottle were now empty, and she debated having another before heading out.

“I think I should buy you a drink.”

She didn’t need the charity. She could well afford to buy her own drinks, even without a job—at least as long as the Price Paper Consortium continued to turn a profit. And she didn’t really need his company, either, as it made far more sense to get hammered in private. At the same time, though, there was something pathetic about drinking alone. Dylan Brookes wouldn’t have been her first choice of drinking partners, but it did beat a total stranger, and he didn’t seem in a hurry to leave. Plus, he hadn’t been abstaining tonight, either, and had to be working on a pretty good buzz himself, making her wonder if maybe he had a few woes to drown, as well.

It would be the polite thing to do. “All right, then.”

“Another Chardonnay? Or perhaps something stronger?”

Either she was imagining things, or there was a challenge in his voice, and she was in the mood to call him on it. She waved over a server. “I’d like a shot of Patrón, two limes, with a Dos Equis back, please.” She turned to Dylan and shot him an innocent smile. “And for you?”

Dylan shot her a smile that said there was some sign of life in there. Maybe he had layers. “Same.”

As the server left, Marnie turned to Dylan. “I know—and now you know—why I’m drinking. What’s your story? Woman troubles?”

“As you said, not all sorrows needing drowning necessarily stem from a love life or lack thereof.”

Oh, she was now dying to ask if it was the love life or lack of.

“You’re not the only one who can have a bad day,” he continued. “Although since I didn’t lose my job today, my day probably wasn’t as bad as yours.”

The server returned with their drinks, and Dylan lifted his shot glass in a toast. “To crappy days and the booze that gets us through them.”

She lifted her own glass and nodded. Then Dylan licked the salt off the rim of the glass and she nearly fell off her chair in shock.

Things were looking up.

* * *

There was something very strange about watching perky blond cheerleader-looking Marnie Price throw back tequila shots like a barroom champ. Not that he could claim to know all that much about her, but Reese had always talked about her as some sweet little thing, and on the few occasions he’d been around her, Dylan hadn’t seen anything to the contrary.

He’d been proven wrong tonight. Whatever she was drinking to forget, she was well on her way there. And honestly, he was happy to join her. It was a good way to end off a bitch of a week, and he was unexpectedly having a good time. He normally limited himself to no more than two drinks over the course of a public event, preferring to keep his mind clear and situations under control, but he’d found himself matching Marnie shot for shot and beer for beer all night.

Marnie might look like one of Botticelli’s angels—all soft curves and rosy skin—but she had a wild streak under there. And while he couldn’t say he knew her all that well, on the few occasions he had been in her company, Marnie had always been perfectly polite, but a bit distant and, in general, cool toward him. That had changed.

They’d covered everything from politics to Marnie’s debutante ball, and she was both smart and funny as hell. While they had absolutely nothing in common beyond Reese, he was having a damn good time.

It was just what he needed, and he hadn’t even known it.

When Reese had pulled him aside before she’d left and asked him to keep an eye on Marnie and make sure she got into a cab okay, he’d initially wanted to say no, not wanting to babysit for the evening. But he’d relented, and before he knew it, the bartenders were making the last call.

And while he’d consumed a ridiculous amount of alcohol, he didn’t regret the choice, either.

And now Marnie was finishing up her monologue on the differences between Southern women and the rest of the world. “I’m just sayin’, you do not want to tangle with Southern women. We can eat your heart from your chest and not even burp daintily afterward.” She cut those big blue eyes at him in the most perfect flirt he’d ever seen. “And we’ll make you love it. In fact, you’ll thank us for it.”

Marnie’s accent had thickened throughout the evening, and the drawl was now so pronounced, her vowels were in the back of her throat and he could almost hear the Spanish moss hanging off her words. Maybe it was the booze, but that accent was almost hypnotic, honeyed and thick, sucking him in with each word and doing strange things to his insides. Seemed he had a hidden hot spot for Southern belles he’d never discovered until now.

“How on earth do you hide that accent every day, Miss Marnie?” he teased, mimicking her cadence.

“It’s hard, but I’ve had lots of practice. Repression skills are taught right alongside the history of the War of Northern Aggression.”

War had gained an extra syllable and, for laughs, he tried to repeat it back to her.

She frowned. “Don’t mock me. I drink and drawl. It’s a real problem.” She sighed. “And since I feel a case of full-on magnolia mouth comin’, I think that’s my cue to go home. I’m hammered.”

A little flash of disappointment cut through him. The flash sharply changed direction when Marnie licked her lips.

But that hadn’t been a flirt, he realized, as Marnie laughed. “Yep. Lips are numb. I’m not even sure they’re still attached.”

That reminded him of the real purpose he was here with her. “I assure you they still are.” He signaled for the bartender to close the tab. “Come on. I’ll walk you out. We’ll split a cab.”

She shook her head. “That’s okay, I’ll walk.”

“To Brooklyn? You are hammered.”

Marnie laughed again. “No. I have keys to a friend’s place, and he’s away for Labor Day. It’s only about five blocks from here. And, anyway, it’s not exactly on your way back to your Park Avenue penthouse. Wouldn’t want you to be seen slumming it in SoHo.”

That was a slam, especially since he now knew she’d grown up a debutante. “I live on East Sixty-Fourth, thank you very much.”

Marnie grinned. “Close enough.”

There was no way he was letting Marnie walk anywhere alone—not this late and after that much tequila. “Then I’ll walk you.”

“That’s very kind of you, but really not necessary.”

“I just got an entire lecture on gentlemanly behavior from a Southern belle, so I’ll err on the side of caution. I don’t want my heart eaten from my chest.” He offered his arm, and Marnie hesitated for a moment, looking up at him through her lashes before finally taking it.

“Why, thank you, sir. That’s ever so kind of you,” she drawled in a combination of Scarlett O’Hara and Blanche DuBois.

For someone who claimed to be hammered, Marnie was stable enough on her feet, and they walked the first block without incident. She took a deep breath of the night air and looked around. “I just love this area. I might have to look for a place here.”

That caught him by surprise. Marnie didn’t seem like the right fit for this area. Brooklyn seemed better somehow. “You don’t like Brooklyn?

“Oh, I like it there just fine, but I only moved to Park Slope because it was close to my job. Without that...” She shrugged. “I’m not attached to the area, and I’ve always wanted to live around here. Or maybe in the Village. Someplace really vibrant and in the middle of things.”

“Looking for excitement in life?”

She grinned at him. “Always.”

“No desire to go back to Savannah?”

He might have heard a tiny snort from Marnie. “None. I like being from Savannah, but I don’t want to be there. Does that make sense?”

“Sure.” He wasn’t entirely sure it did, but he agreed nonetheless.

They walked quietly for another moment, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Finally Marnie said, “Thanks for hanging out with me tonight. It was fun.”

“It was, and you’re welcome.”

“I’m kinda sorry I didn’t get a chance to know you better when you and Reese were...well, before. We could’ve been friends.”

There was such a sigh in her voice that he wanted to laugh. Except that she seemed serious. “And we can’t be now?”

“I think it might be awkward and uncomfortable—for everyone.” She looked at her feet for a moment, then back up at him. “But anyway—and regardless of what you said earlier—I am sorry you and Reese didn’t work out.”

And so was he. Theirs hadn’t been a great love match like Marnie sang praises of, but it had been stable. Secure. Solid. “Thanks. We made a great team. But Reese loves Mason.”

“But you said love isn’t a good reason to get married.” He couldn’t see it, but he knew she was rolling her eyes.

“I said it wasn’t the only reason to get married, but it’s especially a bad idea when one of the parties loves someone else. I think I knew all along that something wasn’t quite right, but getting married seemed like the thing to do at the time, and you get to a point of no return pretty quickly. I was almost glad when Mason showed up and finally forced Reese’s hand.” That was true, too. If Reese really needed that kind of relationship to be happy, he wasn’t the man to give it to her.

“So you’re really okay about it?”

“Are you asking me if I’m over Reese?”

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

He nearly laughed. That was something very few people had the nerve to ask to his face. “Reese and I were friends and we’re still friends. But I’m not carrying a torch for her.”

“That is a ridiculously reasonable and mature statement, all things considered.”

He shrugged. “It’s for the best. If you can’t go into a marriage knowing absolutely sure it’s the right choice, then you shouldn’t do it. It won’t end well.”

Marnie laughed, but it was bitter sounding. “I actually agree with you on that.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “I witnessed that in my brother’s marriage. I encouraged them both to go through with it—and by ‘encouraged,’ I really mean ‘browbeat’—and they were very unhappy until the day the divorce was final. It pretty much ruined my relationship with his wife, Missy, who I’d known most of my life and considered a dear friend, and it didn’t help things between me and Carter, either.”

He’d noticed the distance between Carter and Marnie. They’d barely spoken to each other all day, and the ride from the courthouse to the restaurant had been heavy from the tension hanging between them.

She patted his arm. “For both your sakes, I’m glad you figured it out before it was too late.” Shaking her head, she smiled crookedly at him. “One could wish you two had figured that out before people bought non-returnable bridesmaids’ dresses, though.”

“I thought Reese picked dresses you all could wear again.”

Marnie snorted. “That’s a lie all brides tell themselves and their bridesmaids. I’ve been in more weddings than I can count and I’ve never worn a bridesmaid’s dress twice.”

“My apologies. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

“Next time? Jumping right back into the saddle, are you?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it jumping, but I do plan to get married at some point. Don’t you?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe. One day. A very long time from now, though.”

“Not such a romantic after all, then.”

“Just picky. And not at all in any rush.”

“Me, neither,” he clarified, “but I think I’m getting to a point in my life where I’d like to have that stability.”

“Stability?” Marnie laughed. “That’s so romantic, I just might swoon.”

Her heel caught in a grate and Marnie stumbled. He grabbed her arm to steady her as she regained her balance. “I didn’t know you meant that literally.”

“Don’t sass me, mister.”

Just to be safe, he offered her his arm and tucked her hand in.

Marnie shot him a look like she was sizing him up for something. Then she sighed. “While I swore I would never get involved in someone else’s love life ever again, I will break that vow long enough to offer you one piece of advice.”

He’d had plenty of advice, but he’d humor her. “And that would be?”

“When courting a lady, I’d avoid mentioning your philosophy about how marriage is more about a solid partnership than love and the importance of stability.”

“And why is that?”

“Because it sounds ridiculously antiquated. Like a woman’s value lies solely in her ability to be the perfect helpmate to her husband. You might as well just barter with her father for land and cattle, too.”

How’d she get there? There was definitely bitterness under that statement. It seemed far safer, though, to just let it pass rather than open up a subject he had no idea how touchy she might be about it. He wasn’t a therapist. He nodded. “Noted.”

But Marnie was warming to her subject. “Women—I won’t say all, but most—want some passion and excitement in a relationship. Something to get the heart pumping and the nerves sparking. A woman wants to be desired, not judged and rated on how successful a partnership it will make.”

Partly just to goad her, he shook his head sadly. “Passion is highly overrated.”

“Never.”

“You do realize I run a foundation for victims of domestic violence, right? I think many of them would trade passion and excitement for stability and peace.”

“You’re twisting the definition of passion. Just because it can go bad, that doesn’t mean it will. Or that there’s something inherently wrong with it.”

He shrugged.

“Maybe you should spend less time at the foundation and more time finding a woman who makes your heart beat fast just to be near her.”

Nope. “I thought you were only going to offer one piece of advice,” he teased.

Marnie paused and turned to face him. Those blue eyes were laughing as she rose onto her tiptoes and grabbed his shoulders earnestly. “I believe you have layers, Dylan Brookes. Discover them. Embrace them. Find that passion and the woman who brings it out of you.”

She was close, very close, her lips only inches from his, and her light citrus scent filled his nose. Something in the air around them shifted, and Marnie swallowed hard. Then she released his shoulders and stepped back.

Clearing her throat, she pointed to a nondescript door nearby. “That’s my stop. Thanks for walking with me.”

There was that strange feeling of disappointment again, only this time it held an edge he hadn’t expected. “You’re welcome, Marnie.”

“Um...if you just go up to the end of the block, you shouldn’t have any problem hailing a taxi.”

The comfortable camaraderie had turned awkward and was only getting worse. “I’ll be fine.”

With a bright, but maybe slightly forced, smile, Marnie held out her hand. “Good night, Dylan.”

He took hold of it, and like he’d done with any number of female friends, leaned in to kiss her cheek lightly. He’d done the maneuver hundreds of times, but instead of landing on her cheek, somehow his lips landed on hers.

There was a brief moment of frozen shock, but Marnie didn’t pull away. Instead, her mouth softened and she leaned in to him, tightening her grip on his hand. Her lips were smooth and warm and the kiss sent a bolt of fire straight through him.

That edge made total sense now. He’d been wanting to kiss her. Since forever, it seemed. And that feeling was more of a surprise than the kiss itself.

The world seemed to contract, until there was nothing else except the taste of Marnie and the feel of her body molded against his like she’d been custom-made only for him. That light scent of her perfume filled his lungs with each breath, and his hands tangled in the soft silk of her hair, holding her in place as his mouth devoured hers.

He heard Marnie’s low moan, a nearly primal sound that reverberated through him, bringing every nerve in his body to life to beg for more of her touch, her taste. That response was new, as if Marnie was the first and last woman he’d ever get to touch. It put a sharp, almost desperate edge on the desire slicing through him, but it felt so good he only wanted more.

He didn’t understand why or how Marnie could do this to him, but he didn’t really care, either.

That kiss went on and on, until they were both gasping for air and his heart felt like it was pounding through his chest. His whole body felt hard and tight, and it took willpower he didn’t know he had to break the kiss and set Marnie back on slightly unstable legs instead of pushing her up against the metal door and losing himself in her.

Marnie’s eyes were wide and dark, her lips slightly swollen and moist. She gave herself a small shake and then blew out her breath. “Well.”

What she meant by that, he had no idea, as his blood wasn’t exactly circulating in the direction of his brain at the moment, and his mind was full of images and ideas that might scare Marnie if she knew.

“Um...” she began, only to stop and clear her throat. “I’m sure that Sven has a bottle of...um...” She paused again to swallow. “Something that probably needs drinking.”

Her hand was shaking as she reached out to toy with the button of his shirt. His skin was hot; it should have scorched her just from proximity. Those big blue eyes met his, and what he saw there nearly brought him to his knees.

“Would you like to come up for a nightcap?”