Читать книгу Her Kind of Trouble - Sarah Mayberry - Страница 9
ОглавлениеCHAPTER ONE
March 2004
“WELL. WHAT DO you think? Do I still look like an overstuffed silk sausage?”
Vivian Walker winced as her sister spun to face her, the taffeta of her wedding dress rustling. She would never live down the scathing commentary she’d given the day she’d gone dress shopping with her sister. Next time someone asked for her opinion, she needed to engage her edit function first.
“It looks gorgeous,” she said, because it was true and because the big day was tomorrow and there was no way she was critiquing the gown her sister had chosen.
Jodie smoothed a hand over her hip. She’d been dieting like crazy and the classic fit-and-flare dress clung to her curvy figure perfectly, with not a hint of overstuffing. The lace overlay was delicate, the strapless sweetheart neckline flattering, the dove-grey silk belt the perfect accent for her slender waist. She really did look beautiful.
“You don’t think I should have gone with something more modern?” Jodie asked, flicking her long, dark red hair over her shoulders.
“We can dash down to the mall now, see what the rental place has,” Vivian suggested, poker-faced.
“Ha, ha, smarty-pants. That was your cue to tell me that this is the perfect dress, that there isn’t a more perfect dress anywhere in the world, and that I look like a regal, sex-goddess-princess in it, et cetera, et cetera.”
The guilt that had been hovering since her sister unzipped the dress’s garment bag bit hard. Vivian scratched her nose to hide her reaction from her sister.
Was there anything worse in all the world than letting down someone you loved? She’d yet to find it, if there was.
“You look amazing, Jodie. Really, really stunning,” she said, meeting her sister’s eyes.
It wasn’t a lie, not by a long shot, but they both knew that if things had gone according to plan, Jodie would be wearing a dress Vivian had designed. A one-of-a-kind creation that—in theory—would have been the culmination of all the hard work Vivian had put in over the past three years studying clothing design at the Melbourne Fashion Institute.
If only she hadn’t made that stupid, impulsive offer when they’d gone shopping six months ago. If only she’d paused for a second to consider what she’d be taking on before she asked her sister to let her design something. But she’d been so disgusted by the safe, homogenized, boring dresses, and so full of herself after winning praise at a recent exhibition of student work at the institute, the offer—bold, brash, confident—had simply popped out of her mouth.
Jodie’s eyes had lit up on the spot, and she’d done a happy dance around the changing room. “Viv, that would be so fantastic. And I know that whatever you come up with will be my dream dress, because you are so amazingly talented.”
Panic had set in about thirty seconds later. This was her sister’s wedding day. Whatever Vivian came up with needed to be off-the-planet extraordinary. It needed to be the best, most creative, most sublime thing she’d ever designed.
Was it any wonder she’d choked every time she sat down with her sketch pad to try to rough out ideas in the following weeks and months? Was it any wonder she’d made no less than twenty starts on twenty wildly different designs before throwing each and every one of them out? And was it any wonder her sister had finally let her off the hook after three months of unreturned phone calls and excuses, assuring Vivian that she was more than happy to buy a dress off the rack if designing one was proving too difficult?
That Jodie had wound up selecting one of the dresses Vivian had so vehemently critiqued and rejected on their shopping expedition was the icing on the cake of her guilt and discomfort. “What do you think of the veil? I’m still on the fence about whether to wear it over my face, or to do something with it in my hair, or maybe not wear it at all.” Jodie picked up a lace-edged confection of white froth. “I tried all three options when we did the practice run on my hair and makeup, but I still can’t decide.”
Vivian pushed her feelings aside and stood. “Let’s have a bit of a play, see what we can come up with.”
She fiddled with the veil, trying different ways of pinning and draping it before slipping out to her car to retrieve her workbox. Big, black and heavy, it was actually a portable tool chest that she’d modified for her own purposes, the compartments filled with all manner of trims, haberdashery and sewing supplies she’d collected over the years. She rummaged through the sections until she found what she was looking for—delicate grey feathers that had been dusted with silver and some paste diamond jewelry she’d picked up at a yard sale. She tried a few different options before hitting on the right combination of antique brooch and feathers, pinning the veil so that it fell in delicate, sensuous folds down her sister’s back.
“Oh, wow.” Jodie inspected herself in the mirror. “Viv, I love it. Thank you,” she said, flinging her arms around Vivian.
Vivian hugged her sister, even though she knew she didn’t deserve her gratitude. “If you like, I could come up with something similar for your belt, embellish it a little. I could do it tonight, have it ready for you tomorrow morning.”
Jodie’s smile faltered and Vivian knew she was thinking about the dress-that-never-was, along with all the other things Vivian had screwed up over the years.
“We’ve got the dinner tonight. I don’t want you to feel pushed for time,” her sister said diplomatically.
“I won’t be. It’ll take me an hour, two tops. I really want to do this, Jodie.” She left the rest of her plea unspoken. They both knew that a few embellishments on a belt and veil didn’t come even close to compensating for how badly Vivian had let Jodie down, but it was something.
“Okay. Sure. Why not?” Jodie said, and it killed Vivian that she could hear her sister talking herself into trusting her again.
“I’ll draw up some sketches before dinner and run them past you.”
“You don’t need to do that. You have wonderful taste. Whatever you do, I’m sure I’ll love it.”
The bedroom door opened then and their mother and the other two bridesmaids barged in, laden with champagne and glasses, all of them talking at once.
“God, Jodie, you look gorgeous! Like a fairy-tale princess,” one of them said.
Vivian smiled to herself as she cleared her things out of the way. The princess reference was sure to meet with her sister’s approval.
She stayed for one toast, but the belt was playing on her mind—she refused to let her sister down again—so she made her excuses and retreated to her childhood bedroom to sketch some ideas.
Their mother had converted Jodie’s room into a study the moment she moved out, but she’d kept Vivian’s as it was when she’d struck out on her own a year later, “just in case” Vivian needed it. The message being that while sensible, down-to-earth Jodie couldn’t possibly fail to succeed in the adult world of rent and utility bills, flighty, unreliable Vivian was a much shakier proposition
The galling thing was her mother had been right. Vivian had had to move home twice—once when she’d lost her job working in retail fashion, the second when she’d had a falling-out with her housemates. Worse, things were looking shaky at the apartment she shared with two other students at the moment, too.
Vivian sighed. It would totally suck to crawl home a third time.
Sitting on her bed, she arranged the remaining feathers off to one side, placing a selection of antique brooches next to them. She had another rummage through her workbox and unearthed a packet of pewter-grey and white sequins, along with some seed pearls.
Perfect.
Taking up her pad and pencil, she started to sketch. She had roughed out a design and arranged the component pieces on the belt when someone rapped on her door. She looked up, only registering how long it had been since she moved when her neck objected.
Her mother entered, dressed in a bronze silk pants suit, her faded red hair sprayed into a stiff helmet, gold jewelry gleaming at her ears, throat and wrists.
“Vivian. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. We leave for the restaurant in twenty minutes.” Her expression became exasperated when she saw that Vivian was still in her jeans. “You’re not wearing that, are you? This is the first time we’ll be meeting some of Jason’s extended family.”
Vivian resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her idea of fashion and her mother’s had diverged a long time ago, but even she knew jeans were not acceptable for the private dining room of a swanky restaurant.
“I’ll be ready,” she said. “And I brought a dress.”
Her mother’s gaze dropped to the bed. “That’s not Jodie’s belt, is it? Does she know you have it?” Her mother started forward, clearly determined to rescue it from Vivian’s clutches.
Vivian rested a protective hand over the arrangement she’d spent hours perfecting.
“Jodie gave it to me. I’m finessing it.”
Her mother pursed her mouth. “I hope this isn’t going to be like the dress. The wedding is tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Mum, I’m well aware of that.”
“There’s no need to take that tone. I’m thinking of your sister. This isn’t the time for you to go off on one of your whims.”
“I’ll finish tonight.” Vivian ground out the words.
It was one thing to admit to yourself you were a screwup, but it was another thing entirely to have it pointed out by your nearest and dearest. Repeatedly. Ad nauseam.
“I’ll leave you to change, then.” Her mother gave the belt one last mistrustful glance before leaving.
Viv growled, then carefully unfolded her legs so as not to disturb the sequins and pearls. She didn’t have time for a shower, so she concentrated on fixing her makeup before shedding her clothes and pulling on her dress. One of her own designs, it was made from an inky-blue wool crepe and had a loose blouson top with a peekaboo central split and a fitted pencil skirt. She’d been growing her strawberry-blond hair out of a short crop for the wedding, and she pinned it up before spritzing on perfume and racing downstairs.
“Only five minutes late.” Her father made a show of checking his watch. “Got to be a new record.”
Vivian wrinkled her nose at him. “But worth every second,” she said, twirling for him.
He whistled appreciatively.
Her mother made a clucking noise. “You’re a born flirt, Vivian. Try not to give anyone a heart attack tonight, okay?” She tried to close the peekaboo slit that revealed a hint of Vivian’s décolletage.
“Relax, Mum. I know CPR.”
Jodie laughed. “Not much to say to that, is there?”
They trooped out to the car, her and Jodie piling into the backseat.
“So is what’s-his-name going to be there tonight?” Vivian asked as the car pulled into the street.
“I may need a little more detail than that,” Jodie said dryly.
“Jason’s brother. What’s-his-name.” The mysterious best man who hadn’t made it to either the engagement party or the wedding rehearsal because he’d been “touring with his band.”
“Seth. You might want to make a note of his name, since he’s going to be your brother-in-law. Sort of. Family by association anyway.”
“Goodie. I always wanted a brother.” Mostly when one of her boyfriends had turned out to be a jerk-wad.
“Yeah...Seth isn’t really brother material.”
Vivian gave Jodie a look. “What does that mean?”
“I think I’ll let you work it out for yourself.”
It was tempting to badger her, but Jodie was clearly bent on being mysterious so Vivian let the subject drop and asked about the itinerary for the honeymoon.
Their father was cursing under his breath by the time they entered the restaurant, ticked off after having to park on a side street because the restaurant’s lot was full. Their mother murmured soothing words to him as they made their way to the private dining room.
Approximately half the guests had already arrived and her parents began to circulate, apologizing for being late, while Jodie made a beeline for a smiling Jason. Vivian lingered in the doorway to appreciate the lavish decor—over-the-top red velvet curtains with gold tassels, a long dining table surrounded by button-backed chairs in black velvet, lots of glittering candles and bevel-cut mirrors. Fancy.
Not really her cup of tea, but she could appreciate that a wedding called for a bit of pomp, and her parents would have the opportunity to do this only once, since it would be a cold day in hell when she agreed to marry someone. She might be barely twenty-three, but she knew that much about the life she wanted to carve out for herself. There would be no cozy domestic arrangements in the suburbs in her future. No matching rings and big white dress and public vows. There would definitely be no babies.
She was going to be a clothing designer. She was going to launch her own line and build it into a force to be reckoned with. One day, she would send a collection down the runway at Paris fashion week, and women would covet clothes bearing her brand.
One day.
The thought was still lingering in her mind when the huddle of people gathered at the far end of the table opened up and she caught sight of the tall, dark-haired man in their midst.
Hello, sailor.
His hair was raven-black, brushed back from his widow’s peak in a careless, windswept style reminiscent of an old-school, bad-boy movie star. Unlike everyone else, he’d eschewed a suit and tie and instead wore an open-necked black shirt and leather jacket with a pair of tuxedo pants and scuffed biker boots. She wanted to smirk at how try-hard the ensemble was—he might as well have the words wannabe rock star tattooed across his forehead—but was forced to admit that he more than carried off the look.
He was, in a word, sexy. And boy, did he know it. The knowledge was reflected in the way he held himself, the way he studied the people around him and in the small, knowing curve to his lips. He thought he was too cool for school and the best thing since sliced bread all rolled into one, with a helping of God’s gift to women thrown in for good measure.
So, this was Jason’s mysterious, never-around brother, Seth Anderson.
Interesting.
A waiter glided by bearing a tray of champagne flutes and she plucked one for herself before he could disappear. Sipping at the bubbles, she went to greet her aunt and uncle, watching Seth out of the corner of her eye every step of the way.
He was easily the hottest guy in the room. She guessed he was about her age, maybe slightly older. She tried to remember what else Jodie had told her about him, but apart from the fact that he was lead singer in a band called Skunk Punk, Vivian came up blank. Since she’d never heard of his band—and who could forget that name?—she figured that his music career wasn’t much to write home about, despite all the time he apparently spent touring.
But, hey, what did she know? Maybe he was about to break out and be heralded as the next Michael Hutchence.
He glanced up, scanning the room until he arrived at her. For a breathless moment their gazes locked, and a ripple of something forbidden and hot and reckless licked through her. His eyes were espresso-brown, and the glint in them was downright wicked.
He cocked an eyebrow, his mouth quirking into a speculative, assessing smile as his gaze traveled down her body and up again. Not to be outdone, she raised an eyebrow at him and gave him the same treatment, deliberately lingering on his crotch, just so he knew who he was dealing with.
He raised his glass in her direction, an unspoken acknowledgement that she’d trumped him. Or so she chose to think.
She turned her shoulder on him as she joined her aunt and uncle, exchanging kisses and greetings, doing her damnedest to appear as though she had better things to do than engage in eye-foreplay with him. Even though she was burningly aware of him.
Definitely interesting. Maybe this wedding wasn’t going to be all pomp and circumstance, after all.
* * *
SETH TOOK A pull from his beer, not taking his eyes off the redhead who had just walked into the room. She was pretending that she wasn’t aware of him, but he knew she was. He’d known it the moment their eyes locked. She was trouble, with a capital T, and he’d always had a thing for trouble.
He let his gaze slide down her body again. She had a great ass, something that was more than evident thanks to the fits-like-a-glove dress, and unless he missed his guess, she was rocking a C cup upstairs.
Very nice.
He bet she went off in bed—not because she was a redhead, but because of the suggestive curve to her lips. No fake orgasms and holding back for Red. She’d go all the way and then some.
Someone nudged him and he turned to find his brother scowling at him.
“No.” Jason sliced a hand through the air.
“What?” Seth put on his best innocent face.
“That’s Jodie’s little sister, Vivian. She is absolutely out of bounds.”
Vivian. The name suited her. A bit different and naughty.
“She doesn’t look out of bounds.” Seth gave her another once-over. Her high heels were serious business, the stilettos made from shiny silver metal.
Hot.
Jason moved to block his line of vision. “Think of her as a nun.”
“Never gonna happen.”
“Then think of my hand around your throat, squeezing slowly until your ever-loving eyes pop out of your head.”
Seth laughed. “Wow, you are really serious about this, aren’t you?”
“These people are about to become my family. Apologizing for my humpy-dog brother is not high on my list of things to do.”
Seth sighed heavily and turned his back on the siren across the room. “Fine. She’s off-limits.”
Jason stared as though he was trying to work out if Seth was sincere. Seth rolled his eyes and drank the last of his beer. When had his brother turned into such a freakin’ stiff?
“I so need another one of these.” He dumped the empty on the table and, hands shoved into the pockets of his pants, headed for the waiter.
There were four years between him and Jason, but right now it felt like four decades. In the space of a couple of years, his brother had gone from being a fun guy who loved to party and hang out to a stay-at-home, cardigan-wearing family-man-in-training. He’d even bought a set of golf clubs last month, for Pete’s sake.
Seth blamed Jodie. Not that she was inherently evil, but she had clearly done something to his brother’s brain, changed its fundamental chemistry so that Jason was now a different man. And he was about to become a husband.
Seth shuddered. Was there a worse word in the English language? Herpes, perhaps. Maybe fungus. But husband had to be up there.
He snagged a beer and surveyed the room. His parents were schmoozing with Jodie’s parents, all of them looking as pleased as punch that they would spend the next thirty-odd years doing exactly the same thing at extended family gatherings. His grandmother was seated, her cane dangling from the table by its crook. But his gaze kept sliding to Vivian.
To her ass, if he was being strictly accurate.
Her skirt was tight with no V.P.L. He bet she wasn’t wearing underwear. She might be wearing a thong, of course, but he preferred his version.
He glanced to where his brother was talking with Jodie and some of her cousins. Jason was preoccupied, his head tilted toward Jodie as he listened to something she was saying.
So attentive. So domesticated.
Since he was otherwise occupied...
Seth headed across the room, only stopping when he was a few feet away from Vivian in her sexy blue dress. She made him wait a full ten seconds before pretending she’d just noticed him.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t see you,” she said, her eyes sending him a very different message.
A shame he wasn’t allowed to play with her properly. She’d give him a good run for his money.
“Seth,” he said, offering her his hand. “And you’re Vivian. We’re about to become family, they tell me.”
She considered his hand for a beat before sliding hers into it. Her skin was soft and warm, her nails surprisingly short and businesslike.
“Jodie warned me you aren’t brother material.”
She was more of a strawberry-blonde than a true redhead, he decided. Her eyes were an intriguing blue-green, her skin creamy smooth.
He bet she tasted good.
“Did she? I wonder why?”
“You think maybe it has something to do with the whole Marlon Brando On the Waterfront thing you’ve got going on?”
“Damn. And here I was, aiming for James Dean in Giant.”
“You’ll need a cowboy hat to pull that one off.”
“A cowboy hat, huh? I’ll add it to my shopping list. So, Vivian, what do you do when you’re not being the sexiest woman in the room?”
She huffed out a little laugh. “Wow, you don’t mess around, do you?”
“Just calling it like I see it.”
She took a sip from her champagne flute, considering him over the rim. “So, how do you see this working? We slip out between the main and dessert and I do you in the alley? Or were you thinking the bathroom?”
He choked on his beer, going from semihard to hard in no seconds flat. Then she arched her eyebrows and he knew she was yanking his chain.
“Funny.”
“Just calling it like I see it.” She lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug.
The movement caused the slit in her bodice to flare momentarily, offering him a heart-stopping view of cleavage. He was about to respond when he felt the heavy pressure of someone staring at him. He glanced around and met his brother’s dark glare.
Okay. Time to wind up this little chin-wag before his brother burst an artery.
“Vivian, it was nice meeting you. I look forward to seeing you at the altar tomorrow,” he said, offering her a mocking half bow.
“Tomorrow’s a whole other day. And you know what they say about weddings.” She winked then, the sexiest move he’d ever witnessed in the flesh.
Since he knew he couldn’t top that, he offered one last smile and turned away. Jason was angling toward him, and Seth headed in the opposite direction and sat beside his grandmother. As he’d guessed, Jason stopped short, unwilling to give a lecture about keeping his pants zipped in front of an octogenarian.
Wimp.
“Seth, sweetheart. Good to see you. Tell me about all the trouble you’ve been causing,” his grandmother said, patting his hand.
“I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but I’ve been busy working. No trouble here.”
She laughed heartily, tickled, and he set himself to entertaining her. And all the while he puzzled over Vivian’s parting words. What, exactly, did people say about weddings? And did it mean he was in with a chance tomorrow or not?
* * *
VIVIAN STAYED UP half the night hand-stitching the sequins, seed pearls and feathers onto the belt. She was bleary-eyed when she finished, but the belt was gorgeous and she was certain that Jodie would love it.
It wasn’t a dress, but it was something.
She set her alarm before burrowing into the pillow and willing herself to sleep on the narrow bed. For some reason, her conversation with Seth slipped into her mind as she drifted off. Man, he was cocky. So confident he was almost offensive.
Almost. If he actually delivered on the promises he made with that body and those eyes... Well, it would be a whole lot of fun.
She fell asleep with a smile on her face, slept through her alarm and then had to shower in a panic before joining her sister downstairs to have her hair and makeup done with the other bridesmaids.
“Vivian,” her mother said reproachfully as Vivian slipped into the lone empty seat at the kitchen table.
Vivian widened her eyes. It wasn’t as though the makeup artist or hairdresser had eight arms and was able to work on more than one person at a time. She would have been sitting around twiddling her thumbs if she’d been on time.
The next hour flew by in a waft of hairspray and a dusting of powder. Then it was time to get dressed. She and the other bridesmaids shimmied into their pale green sheaths before helping Jodie dress. Then, holding her breath, Vivian handed over the belt.
“Oh, Viv.” Jodie eyes popped as she reached for it reverently. “It’s so beautiful.”
“Good. I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it.”
Vivian was pretty sure she’d remember the look on her sister’s face for the rest of her life.
There were photographs to take next, then the drive to the church. In the vestibule Vivian and the other bridesmaids helped arrange the small train on Jodie’s dress, then Vivian tweaked the veil one last time. The doors to the church proper opened, the organ chimed the opening chords to “Here Comes the Bride,” and Vivian started down the aisle, her suddenly sweaty hands clutched around her bouquet.
She might not want this for herself, but it hit her that this was a big deal. Jodie was getting married. She was about to become someone else. Mrs. Anderson. She was about to lay the foundation stone for starting her own family.
Vivian blinked rapidly, worried she would ruin her makeup. Then her gaze found the tall figure of Seth standing at the head of the aisle, and she saw the smirk on his lips, as though he fully expected her to turn into a slobbering sentimental wreck any second. She sucked back her tears and lifted her chin. She loved her sister, but she had her dignity to consider.
The ceremony passed in a blur, the only stand-out moments in her memory being when Jason and Jodie exchanged rings, and the time when she got caught staring at Seth’s profile and had to let her gaze drift as though she’d been examining the stained glass window over his shoulder and not wondering what kind of a kisser he was. She wasn’t entirely sure he bought it, but she’d tried.
There were more photos—endless photos—after the ceremony, then they piled into the cars and drove to the Fairfield Boathouse for the reception. The food came quickly, which was just as well as Vivian was starving, having somehow forgotten to eat breakfast and lunch in all the rush. The champagne flowed freely, and before she knew it they were at the speeches part of the evening. Her father spoke well and made everyone cry, then Jason’s mother took the floor and made them laugh. Seth told droll stories and earned his brother some raised-eyebrow looks from her sister. Then it was Vivian’s turn to talk about the happy couple.
She’d never been crazy about public speaking, so she chugged down her glass of champagne before taking the mike. She’d written out her speech, and she pretty much stuck to the script as she shared how happy she was for Jason and Jodie, and how she thought they made a great couple and couldn’t wait for little Johnny and Jan and Jill to come along. Everyone seemed to think that was funny—phew—so she finished on a high note.
With the official stuff out of the way, the music started. Vivian knocked back more champagne while watching her relatives make idiots of themselves on the dance floor, then went in search of the ladies’.
Afterward, she couldn’t quite face returning to the rowdy din. Not just yet. She slipped out the front entrance onto the covered balcony that circled the Victorian building. The river was dark as night, but fairy lights circled the gum trees nearest the boathouse and the world seemed mysterious and full of promise.
The scent of smoke drifted to her and she glanced to her left. Someone stood in the shadows of the balcony, the tip of his cigarette glowing.
She smiled, because she knew exactly who it was. Full of champagne and mischief, she went to talk to Seth.
* * *
WHATEVER ELSE A person thought about Vivian—and Seth had had a few very detailed, very specific thoughts regarding her in the twenty-four hours since they’d met—it was impossible to ignore the fact that she knew how to move. There was a swing to her hips, a strut to her walk that issued a challenge.
Look at me. Take me on.
Watching her walk toward him, half her face in shadow, he could only admire the way she worked it.
“Ms. Walker. Taking a break from the festivities?”
“Avoiding the ‘Chicken Dance.’”
He winced. “Really?”
“Yep. There will be some ‘Greased Lightning’ and the ‘Bus Stop’ before the night’s over, too.”
He swore under his breath and took another drag on his cigarette.
“You got another one of those?”
“Didn’t realize you smoked.”
“Only when I’m drunk.”
He gave her an assessing look. She wasn’t swaying on her feet or glassy-eyed, but her cheeks were a little flushed. She waved a hand dismissively.
“Relax. I’m not there yet,” she said.
“Hey, whatever gets you through the night.”
God knows, she’d get no judgment from him. He’d been guzzling champagne since they’d arrived at the boathouse, trying to anesthetize himself against the knowledge that his brother’s life was officially over.
He offered her a cigarette and lit it, breathing in her perfume. Spice and musk. Nice.
“So I hear you’re a fashion designer?” he said as she blew a stream of smoke into the darkness.
“Been asking about me, James?”
It took him a moment to remember their James Dean/Marlon Brando conversation from last night.
“My mother mentioned it. She seemed to think we might have a lot in common.”
Her eyebrows shot skyward and she looked as horrified by the notion that his mother had matchmaking on her mind as he had been.
“Yeah, I know. I laughed so hard I think I broke my funny bone,” he said.
“What is it with people always trying to pair everyone off in neat little couples? News flash—not everyone in the world wants to file two by two onto Noah’s Ark and live like the Brady Bunch for the rest of their lives. There’s a hell of a lot more to life than paying taxes and making babies.”
“Man, don’t get me started,” he said, thinking of the grief his father gave him every few months about giving up the band to do something “realistic” with his life. No matter how many times he explained that music was his life, it never seemed to get through.
“No offense, but I nearly choked on my own tongue when Jodie told me Jason had asked her to marry him. I mean, she’s only twenty-six. That is young to be getting married these days.”
“You think I didn’t freak when Jason told me he’d popped the question? Your sister is nice and everything, but come on.”
She held her hands in the air. “Hey, preaching to the converted here.”
He reached for the bottle of champagne he’d smuggled out with him and took a swig before passing it to her. He watched her pale throat as she tilted her head back and drank deeply.
“I’ve got to ask this, because it’s been bugging me. What is it, exactly, that people say about weddings?” he asked.
She handed him the bottle. “I don’t know. Why?”
He shook his head, confused. “You’re the one who said it.”
“Did I?”
“Yeah, last night. You said tomorrow is another day and you know what people say about weddings.”
She laughed, the sound loud and delighted. “That’s freakin’ hilarious.”
He watched her, unable to stop himself from smiling even though he had no idea what was so funny. “You want to let me in on the secret?”
“Sure. I have no idea what people say about weddings. I was trying to be mysterious. You were doing your whole brooding thing, and I wanted to make sure you knew I wasn’t a pushover.” She laughed again and this time he joined in.
“Well, mission accomplished. Congratulations.”
“Why, thank you, James.” She grabbed the bottle and took another swallow.
He took advantage of the opportunity to check her out again. The other bridesmaids looked okay in their dresses, but Vivian looked amazing. He especially liked the split in the side of the skirt that had tantalized him with glimpses of her thigh all day.
“I bet the other bridesmaids were pissed when they heard you’d be maid of honor,” he said admiringly.
“You don’t need to butter me up, James.”
“Don’t I?”
“Nope.” Her gaze held his, and he was pretty damn sure that he wasn’t imagining the invitation in hers.
Well, happy birthday, Mr. President.
“In that case, maybe it’s time for me to bring out the big guns.” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out the joint he’d rolled earlier.
“I see you’ve really committed to the whole rock-and-roll lifestyle.”
“You got a problem with that?”
She gave him a slow, steady head-to-toe appraisal. “Not in the least.”
He closed his eyes for a brief moment of thanks. Sometimes, out of nowhere, the universe delivered a perfect moment. He was going to grab this one with both hands and run with it.
* * *
VIVIAN WASN’T SURE if the limo was her idea or Seth’s. It was all a bit hazy in her mind after that first kiss on the balcony. One minute they’d been talking, then she’d been pressed up against the building with Seth’s body against hers and his tongue in her mouth.
And holy hell, could the man kiss.
He’d stormed her mouth and her body as though he owned her, and she’d been wet and desperate for him within seconds. The feel of him, hard and demanding against her belly, had her thinking of getting naked and horizontal pronto. Then he’d broken their kiss, taken her hand and led her to the stairs.
Now, he slipped the driver some money to take a walk. She shivered with anticipation as Seth opened the door and waved her inside.
“Madam.”
One word, but so loaded with promise she had to squeeze her thighs together to contain her excitement. She crawled onto the backseat, kneeling as he got in and closed the door.
“You’ll have to unzip me.” She offered him her back. It didn’t take three years of design school to know that precious little action would happen while she wore a figure-hugging, floor-length sheath.
“Totally on it,” Seth said, his hands on her zipper.
She felt the fabric loosen, and she wriggled until she’d pulled it off and draped it over the driver’s seat.
“Oh, man.” His gaze was avid as he stared at her cream-colored balconette bra and matching panties.
She loved the slightly dazed look in his eyes.
“Brace yourself, I’m climbing on board,” she said, slipping a leg over his body and straddling him.
“Permission to board granted. And anything else that strikes your fancy,” he said. “And speaking of fancy...”
She bit back a moan as his hands slid onto her satin-covered ass, curving his hands to the shape of her body as he pulled her close. They kissed, his hands massaging as she ground against his erection. He smoothed one hand up to the clasp of her bra, and seconds later she felt it slacken around her rib cage.
“You’ve done that before,” she murmured as she slipped the straps down her arms.
“I was a Cub Scout.” He swore under his breath as her bra fell from her breasts. “Vivian, seriously. Could you be any freakin’ hotter?”
She didn’t get a chance to respond because he leaned forward and pulled one of her nipples into his mouth and she was lost.
Utterly gone.
Never had a man’s mouth on her breasts felt so good. Hot and wet, his teeth and tongue teasing her. She gripped handfuls of his hair and held him in place, riding the waves of desire sweeping through her. Then he slid a hand onto her belly and beneath her panties and took her to a whole new level.
The feel of his clever fingers between her thighs was crazy-making, the pressure both too much and not enough. She started to pant, and when he slid a finger inside her she gave a low, guttural moan.
“These have to go,” he said, and she heard a rip as he tore her panties off.
A part of her wanted to laugh at how mad and desperate it all was—the cramped quarters, him tearing her clothes off, their harsh breathing. But then he found her with his thumb at the exact moment that he bit her nipple and she was too busy coming, her head dropping forward as she clutched at his shoulders, needing an anchor to keep her earthbound.
Moments later she opened her eyes to find him watching her with a huge grin on his face.
“Like a handheld flare,” he said.
“Sorry?”
He reached for the buckle on his trousers. “I’ll explain later.”
She stared as he slipped himself free from his pants. Wow. This was going to be good.
“Want to do the honors?” He held up a condom.
She smiled, relieved that they weren’t going to have to have that battle. “Don’t mind if I do.”
She pulled the latex from the foil, slipped it over the head of his very hard erection and smoothed it on. The moment she rolled it home, she took him in hand and guided him to her entrance. Holding his eye, she slid onto him in one slippery, wet rush.
His breath sighed out on a wordless exclamation, and when she started to move, his hands tightened on her hips. He felt so good inside her, so thick. Desire tightened inside her again, stoked higher by every stroke of his body. He drew her closer, tonguing her nipples. She tilted her hips and ground herself against him, one hand on his shoulder for balance.
For long moments there was only the sound of their breathing and their bodies coming together. He reached between them, finding her with his thumb again, and she keened desperately, so, so close to coming a second time.
Her movements became urgent, fervent, as she raced toward oblivion. This time he went with her, his hips surging off the seat, his hands dragging her down as he buried himself, his body shuddering. Her body tightened around his as she climaxed, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she kissed him deeply.
She lay limp as a rag doll on his shoulder for what felt like a long time afterward, trying to muster the energy to move. So many things to do—get rid of the condom, get dressed, check her makeup, go back to the reception—but she was so boneless with sated pleasure she could barely blink.
“How you doing there?” he said, his voice a rumble near her ear.
She pushed herself off his chest, letting out a gentle sigh. “I’m pretty good. How about you?”
“Fair to middling.”
They began to laugh, then a car started nearby and they both ducked instinctively.
“Shit. What time is it? People must be leaving already,” Vivian said.
She slid away from him, leaving him to do whatever it was men did with the condom, and reached for her bra. He made himself decent and buckled up, then helped her wriggle into her dress. It was impossible to pull the narrow skirt over her legs while kneeling, so she cracked the door slightly, did a quick scan, then got out. Standing in the V of the open door, she smoothed the skirt down.
“Decent?” she asked.
“Hardly.”
“I meant the dress, funny guy.” She rolled her eyes. Leaning past him, she scooped her panties from the limo floor. No way was she making the rookie’s mistake of leaving those little puppies behind.
“You look fine.”
He got out of the car and she gave him a once-over. It was hard to see much in the dim lighting, but apart from being a little rumpled, he looked fine, too. Which meant they were clear to head into the reception.
She glanced toward the boathouse, not sure how to say what needed to be said.
“Listen, Seth...I had a great time. But just so you know, I’m not really looking for anything. I’ve got a lot going on with my studies, I’ve got a graduate show to prepare for...” She trailed off awkwardly.
He was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “So, what, this was just one night of the best limo-monkey-sex ever, no strings attached?”
She couldn’t tell if he was pissed or not. He didn’t sound pissed, but there was something about the way he was holding himself that made her a little nervous.
“That’s another way of putting it.”
He grinned hugely, his posture and expression relaxing. “I knew you were my kind of girl when I met you, Vivian Walker.”
She punched him on the arm, aware that he’d played her. “Thanks for freaking me out, James.”
“My pleasure.” He tugged her ruined panties from her hand. “I’m keeping these, too, by the way.” He slid them into his pocket.
“Adding them to your collection, are you?”
“I’m going to frame them and hang them above my bed.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Man, you are so full of it.”
But so charming and sexy, too. And, God, was he good in bed. Or, if they wanted to be strictly accurate, in car.
He pulled the cigarettes from his pocket and offered her one. She shook her head, and he lit up.
“We probably shouldn’t go back in together,” she pointed out.
“You want to go first or will I?”
“You go,” she said.
He considered her for a moment, then reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “See you ’round, Vivian.”
“Back at ya.”
He started walking toward the boathouse, trailing smoke. She watched him, a frown forming as the repercussions of what they’d done finally made their way through her hazy, champagne-muddled brain.
Her sister was married to his brother. She and Seth would see each other at family functions for the next forever. Probably getting naked with him at the first opportunity hadn’t been the best way to kick off their relationship.
Then she remembered his kiss, and the feel of his hands in her panties, and the hard, thick slide of him inside her, and she waved a hand in the air, shooing her concerns away like an annoying fly.
What had happened between her and Seth had been inevitable from the moment they’d laid eyes on each other. They’d simply gotten it out of the way sooner rather than later.
Which was a good thing.
Smoothing her hands over her hips, she took a deep breath and went to rejoin the party.
