Читать книгу The Bodyguard And The Bridesmaid - Metsy Hingle - Страница 8

Prologue

She hated weddings, Clea Mason decided, scowling at the bridal bouquet of white roses and lilies that had managed to land in her hands. Silently she cursed Ryan Fitzpatrick. If he hadn’t distracted her, she never would have caught the blasted bouquet.

“Oh, Clea, you’re going to be the next bride!”

“Not if I can help it,” Clea muttered to her newly-married assistant, Gayle. There was no way she intended to get married—ever.

“You’ll change your mind when you meet the right man. Just like I did when I met my Larry,” the other woman replied dreamily before being ushered off for the garter toss.

Relieved to relinquish the spotlight, Clea glanced at her watch and frowned. Just how long does the maid of honor need to remain at these things? Recalling her two sisters’ weddings, she nearly groaned. If memory served her correctly, she’d have to stay at least until the newlyweds left, and they didn’t look like they would be going anytime soon.

Resigned to being stuck a while longer, Clea studied the guests who had turned out for the wedding of her assistant at Destinations. Most were employees of the travel agency, Clea noted. Not surprising, since the bride and groom had no family in Chicago and the agency’s owners had insisted on hosting the reception. Clea paused as her gaze fixed on Ryan Fitzpatrick.

Even huddled with the tuxedo-clad groomsmen, he stood out, and not simply because of his height. The man was flat-out gorgeous, Clea admitted. With his sharp-edged features, deep blue eyes and wicked grin, he reminded her of a fallen angel. His dark hair brushed the collar of his shirt in a way that made a woman itch to run her fingers through the wayward curls, she thought, and tightened her fingers around the stem of the bouquet. As though sensing her scrutiny, Ryan looked up and flashed her that lady-killer smile.

Her traitorous pulse jumped. Blast the man, she thought. Turning away quickly, she barreled right into Sean Fritzpatrick. “I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step back to steady herself.

“I’m not. You can run into my arms anytime,” Sean informed her with a grin. He shifted his gaze to the flowers in her hands. “I was going to ask you to dance. But what do you say we just skip the dancing part and get married instead?”

“Ignore him,” Michael Fitzpatrick said, shouldering his younger brother aside before she could even catch her breath. “Marry me. I’m a much better catch.”

Clea laughed at their outrageous proposals, the tension inside her evaporating. Amused, she relaxed as the brothers bickered over which of them she should marry. Nephews of the owners of Destinations, the pair were familiar faces at the agency she managed and the source of more than a few fantasies among her female staff. Given their good looks and reputations with the fairer sex, Clea was grateful she’d never been tempted to engage in anything more than friendship with either man. Too bad she couldn’t say the same thing about their brother Ryan. Ryan disturbed her in a way no other man had for a very long time.

“Clea, tell my thick-headed brother here that he’s wasting his time,” Sean insisted.

“You’re both wasting your time,” came Ryan’s deep voice from behind her. “Clea isn’t going to marry either one of you clowns. She’s going to marry me.”

Stunned, Clea whirled around. Her pulse hammered furiously as she stared at him. Mischief sparkled in his eyes as he twirled the bride’s garter on his index finger. A smile played across his lips. “Marry you?” she repeated, her temper spiking at his arrogance. “Why I—”

“Can hardly wait. I know, darling. I feel the same way.” And before she could utter a word of protest, he hauled her into his arms and kissed her.