Sean set off, leaving Daniel adrift in his memories of Zoya.
Another wedding reception. Another lifetime. Same lightning-bolt sensation of electricity crackling between them.
“Hey.” Daniel swallowed hard, his voice rough with nerves as he approached her for the first time in an alcove off the ballroom. “You’re the cellist. From the ceremony. The groom’s a buddy of mine.”
She looked around in surprise, giving him a quick once-over. Her eyes widened a telltale fraction. Color flooded her cheeks. “Hey. The bride’s a friend of mine.”
He stared at her. The rest of the world fell off a cliff, leaving him alone with this woman who seemed to travel with her own spotlight. She demanded all his attention and he surrendered it happily. In that startling moment, if someone had given him the choice of looking away from her or swimming down the Hudson to Manhattan, he’d have asked for a wet suit and a pair of goggles.
“I, ah...” he tried.
That was as far as he got.
Amusement lit her face, making her eyes dance.
Jesus, she was something. How she managed to pack it all into that tiny body was a true feat of a loving and benevolent universe.
Big brown eyes. Full lips designed for kissing, nipping and sucking. Sleek brows and cheekbones that gave her an edgy look, as though she wouldn’t hesitate to laugh at him—or anyone—or to cut them down to size when needed. Not too much on top, although what was there looked perky and perfect, and a KA-POW ass that he’d be wet-dreaming about later.
Yeah, she was really something.
Too much for his lungs to take, apparently, because they seized up, joining his stopped heart in refusing to do their job.
She cocked her ear and waited for him to say something else. He tried to think of something else to say, but it wasn’t that easy when confronted with the hottest thing he’d ever seen. Plus, he’d used up all his courage just to walk over and say hi to her, and no one could reasonably expect him to be articulate at this unprecedented juncture.
“Do you have a name?” she demanded.
He fought a growing sense of alarm, knowing that while he may amuse her, his opportunity clock was running out. Another ten seconds of his foolishness would end with a jarring you’re a loser game show buzzer and her pivoting on those sky-high heels and walking out of his life forever.
“Daniel,” he said. “Harper.”
She grinned, a flash of white so sexy he didn’t care that it was at his expense or that it made his heart skitter. Hell, at least his heart was somewhat back online.
“Do you always say your name with a period in the middle like that?” she asked.
What could he do but laugh at himself? He did, the nasty case of nerves leaving his body. She’s only a woman, Harper, he reminded himself. Get your shit together.
“Not usually.”
“That’s encouraging. So I shouldn’t walk off?”
“No,” he said quickly. “You shouldn’t walk off.”
“Well, let’s see what you’ve got. Dazzle me with your witty conversation. Unless you’re just a pretty face...?”
“I’m a ruggedly handsome face—”
She laughed. The sound was so throaty and joyous that an instant addiction was born.
“—and you need to cut me a break here. It’s hard to think straight and look at you at the same time.”
“Sadly unoriginal, Daniel Harper.” She made a face. “I’m not mad. Just disappointed.”
“I demand points for sincerity.”
“I don’t grade on a curve. And I don’t hook up with guys I meet at weddings, so you’re wasting your time with me.” Rueful smile. “Sorry.”
She turned to go.
He grabbed her hand.
And pressed it to his chest, where his heart was doing its level best to pound its way through his starched shirt.
She stiffened and looked back over her shoulder, her startled gaze flicking up to his. The connection between them stretched beyond that point of contact and included unwilling fascination on both ends, heat and desire, the beginnings of something extraordinary.
Until she blinked and snatched her hand back as though she’d been scalded.
Satisfaction surged inside him.
She affected him. Now he knew he affected her. Knowledge meant power and courage.
He took a deep breath. “Tell me about your cello.”
Pretty color flooded her cheeks. “My cello?”
“The way you played. I didn’t know a cello could sing like that. I didn’t know the cellist could sit and play and dance like that. It was like a ballet. Like you were making love to each other.”
Words seemed to fail her for several long seconds. Until a smile crept up to the edges of her lips. “That’s nothing. You should see Yo-Yo Ma when he plays his cello.”
He grinned. “Yeah, that image isn’t doing the same thing for me.”
“You’re not a classical music fan?”
“I am now,” he said, sobering. “That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
She hesitated, her expression heating, then turning wary. Uncertain. “You’re not going to get into my head, Daniel Harper.”
“Already have. If you’re not a professional musician, you should be. And that’s no regular cello, is it?”
“I’m a junior in music theory. My father just bought the cello for me.”
“It’s not a Stradivarius—?”
“I wish. It’s my baby, though. Italian. From the early eighteen hundreds.”
“Wow. Birthday present?”
“No. I was admitted into this classical music retreat in Vermont last summer. It was very competitive. My father always told me if I made it, I’d get the cello.”
“Money well spent. Are you at Cornell?”
“I am,” she said.
Daniel had the funniest feeling suddenly, as though puzzle pieces of his life—his future—were falling into place and forming a clear picture where before there’d only been vague outlines and unformed ideas about what to do after graduation in two years. Work for his father? Join the military? Now he got it. This girl had brought all the puzzle pieces with her.
“I’m a junior. Viticulture and enology. And just so you know? If you know what that is, I’m going to have to marry you one day.”
He shot her a warning look to let her know he wasn’t entirely joking.
He wasn’t sure what he was at the moment.
Her expression morphed into an odd mixture of humor (she knew he wasn’t entirely joking) and wary excitement (she knew there was something special budding to life between them).
“I know what viticulture and enology mean.”
He raised a brow.
“I’m not sure I want to tell you,” she said softly.
At that, Daniel succumbed to the urge he’d been fighting this whole time. Five minutes with this girl and he hadn’t kissed her yet? Surely he’d earned his A+ for effort and no one could require any more of him.
So he leaned down, cupped her velvety cheeks in his hands, and kissed her. Once...twice...three brushes of her dewy lips, his mouth absorbing the sweetness of her soft gasp. Her tiny mewl for his ears alone.
His little kitten.
“Tell me,” he said, losing himself in her glazed eyes as he pulled back. “Be brave.”
She didn’t hesitate. “You’re learning how to grow grapes and make wine.”
“Yeah,” he said, stealing another quick kiss and relishing how eagerly her face tipped up to meet him. “I’m going to marry you one day. So you’d better tell me your name.”
She turned away, unable to hide her grin. “Zoya.”
“Zoya.” Taking her hand, he tugged her toward the bar. “I just turned twenty-one. Let’s get a drink.”
“Zoya,” Daniel echoed, and the sound of his own foolish voice snapped him out of it.
Now he was daydreaming and talking to himself, proving that he was either drunk or insane. Possibly both.
/>
Time to call it a night and go home before his renewed obsession with that woman got any worse.
Chapter 4
“James still hasn’t spilled any clues about where he’s taking you?” The reception was finally winding down, and it was almost time for Miranda and James to leave for their honeymoon. So Zoya had accompanied her to the bride’s suite in the pavilion to help her with her gown, which she unzipped. “Do you really not know where you’re going? Or are you just pretending so you won’t hurt his feelings that you figured it out weeks ago?”
“No, I really don’t know.” Miranda emerged from all that cream-colored satin, smoothed her hair, toed her shoes off and reached for her pants. “He told me to pack a bathing suit and some sweaters.”
“Maybe you’re going to Reykjavik. You can lounge around in the hot springs”
Miranda laughed as she zipped up and slid on her top. “As long as there’s a bed, I don’t really care.”
Zoya hung the gown and slipped it back into its garment bag. “I’m happy for you and all, but as someone who hasn’t had sex this quarter, I really wish you’d shut up. No offense on your wedding day.”
Another laugh. Miranda zipped up her overnight bag. “None taken. But you have to do what I want for another hour or so because it’s my wedding day.”
“Noted,” Zoya said glumly.
“We’re trying for a honeymoon baby, FYI.”
“You are? Oh, my God. That’s so awesome!”
“Well, we’ve been trying for a couple months.” Miranda’s smile faltered. “No luck so far.”
Zoya snorted. These people. Honestly, there were days when Zoya felt like the on-call psychiatrist to everyone she knew.
“Excuse me, but how are you supposed to get pregnant when you’re all stressed out planning a wedding and raising twin boys? Don’t get yourself bent out of shape, okay? That’s what honeymoons are for. Just relax and have sex.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” Miranda said fervently.
“Damn straight.”
Miranda hesitated. “So are we going to talk about it, or are we going to pretend it’s not happening?”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Zoya said blithely, throat tightening as she picked up the strappy heels Miranda had worn and packed them into their box. “The cake was delicious, by the way. I know you were worried about whether you should stick to the red velvet, but I think people really liked the caramel, too.”
“So we’re pretending it’s not happening.” Thoughtful nod from Miranda. “And maybe there’s a touch of denial there.”
“I just pointedly changed the subject,” Zoya said, exasperated. “You’d think you’d be too excited about getting married to have time to nose up into my business, but no. Can’t say I’m surprised.”
“As I mentioned, you must indulge me for another hour,” Miranda said, tapping her watch. “How do you feel about Daniel being back?”
“It’s fine. Whatever.”
It was best to keep all emotions on absolute lockdown, Zoya figured. The reception would be over soon, and then she had all the time in the world to go home and wonder why she felt so unreasonably alive, as though she’d sleepwalked through most of her thirties but was now as bright-eyed and ready for excitement as a baby waking from her nap. And while she was at it, she could wonder why her emotions were once again so close to the surface when she’d sworn, years ago, that that man would never have another smile from her lips or tear from her eye.
All she had to do was hang on until the reception was over, then go home and nurse her still-oozing wounds.
“You don’t look fine,” Miranda said gently.
Zoya did her best to keep her voice light. “Looks can be deceiving.”
“So will you see him again?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“It’s a small town. You’ll probably run into him at Java Nectar, if nothing else,” Miranda said, referencing her coffee house, which was ground zero for all gossip and social activity in Journey’s End.
All the feelings trapped in Zoya’s throat surged an inch higher. Meanwhile, her pulse thumped in her ears. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
“So you’re over him?”
“Of course.”
Miranda made a disbelieving noise. “I just don’t see how—”
The monumental effort of keeping her shit together suddenly became too much for Zoya.
“Will you leave me alone?” Her high-pitched voice rang through the room. “I can’t deal with Daniel and this interrogation. Just leave me alone. For God’s sake!”
Miranda recoiled, staring at her in shocked silence. “Okay,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry. I’ll back off.”
Zoya turned away so she could arrange her features into something that didn’t scream batshit crazy. “It’s my fault,” she said, her throat tight and her cheeks hot. “Didn’t mean to yell at you on your wedding day.”
“It’s okay. It’s what I’m here for.”
“Verbal abuse on the best day of your life?”
Miranda laughed. “No. Blowing off steam. Are we good?”
“We’re always good. Come here.”
They hugged it out. When they pulled apart, Zoya kept her gaze lowered and did her best not to see the concern in Miranda’s eyes.
“Come on,” Zoya said. “Let’s get you out of here. You’ve got a honeymoon to get started.”
“Okay.” Miranda grabbed her purse and her overnight bag. “Thanks again for watching the boys when Griffin goes out of town.”
“No worries.”
“Try not to kill them. Even when you want to.”
“No promises.”
They laughed. Miranda opened the door and headed out. “You coming?”
“Not yet. I want to do a final sweep of the room. Make sure I didn’t miss anything.”
“Okay. Bye.”
She left. Zoya surveyed the room, inventorying everything as she stacked it in the chair nearest the door. Shoes? Check. Makeup bag? Check. Gown? Check. Oh, and there was the cashmere shawl Miranda had worn earlier, draped across the foot of the unused bed. Check. Housekeeping would clean up the champagne, cheese and crackers and other tidbits from before the ceremony.
So...looked like she was done. As soon as she ran this stuff to her car, she’d fulfill her last duty as maid of honor, praise the Lord.
Oh, but no. First, she had to join the other guests to wish the newlyweds well as they drove off in their Just Married car.
Sighing—would this night never end? —she opened the door, clicked off the overhead light and stepped into the deserted hallway.
A movement caught her eye.
Way down at the other end, Daniel emerged from the men’s room, his expression grim. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he studied the tips of his shoes as he headed in her direction—toward the exit and the parking lot.
Oh, no. Oh, God.
Shit.
Zoya stopped cold, her feet weighed down with sudden dread. Not now. Not again.
With nowhere to hide, she felt as vulnerable as a newborn robin that had fallen out of the nest. Since she was going back to the reception, she had no choice but to head toward him.
Despite her frantic prayers for invisibility, she didn’t quite manage it. Especially when the door to the bride’s suite creaked as she swung it shut.
Daniel’s head came up.
He saw her immediately. Even from the distance of thirty feet or so, she could see the way his focus narrowed, zeroing in on face. His stride lengthened. His pace sped up.
Deep in the pit of her chest, her heart began to thud. Still, she hiked up her chin—never let him see you sweat, girl—squared her shoulders and set off.
Daniel kept coming and watched her, his hard gaze skimming her from head to foot.
She impersonated a runway model and kept going, praying she didn’t trip in her heels.
He hogged the hallway as he came abre
ast of her, striding right down the middle in an infuriating power play.
Pretending he didn’t tower a foot over the top of her head, she stared him in the eye until the last possible second, when she thumped him with her shoulder as she glided past.
His soft chuckle rose behind her. “You never know when you’re outmatched, do you?”
Nothing had ever goaded her more than the sound of this man’s laugh at her expense.
She pivoted to face him, never breaking stride as she walked a few steps backward.
“I’ve never been outmatched,” she said, and had the smug satisfaction of seeing his amusement wither and die.
Grinning to herself, she pivoted back around and resumed her march to the reception, being careful to infuse a little more hips and ass in her stride. Maybe next time, the arrogant SOB would think twice before he—
Without warning, he was suddenly right there, hot on her heels, grabbing her by the upper arm and swinging her around to face him.
That was startling enough, but then she caught a quick glimpse of the wicked intent in his expression.
It was all there in his face, just the way she’d remembered it:
Lust.
Determination.
Unleashed power.
A flare of panic forced her back a step. “Don’t you dare—”
His lips curled. His grip tightened.
And the next thing she knew, he’d picked her up and deposited her over his shoulder like an unruly sack of flour.
“Put me down!” she squawked, well aware that the hallway was empty and she could screech her fool head off as much as she wanted to, but no one was likely to hear her over the pounding bass of the Black Eyed Peas’ “I Gotta Feeling.”
He laughed.
“Put me down right now, Daniel!” The indignity of her plight enraged her. She was not some freaking rag doll to be thrown around at this man’s will. “I will kill you!”
She punctuated kill with a hard thump to his kidney, but it didn’t slow him down any—he was taking her back to the bride’s suite, she realized with a renewed flare of panic—and his laughter continued.
Unforgettable Page 5
