“Make the cupcakes, then we’ll see.”
The grin widened. “Deal.”
The smile had Wade clinging to his professionalism by a thread—a state he’d never found himself in. He’d lived his job for a long time and had a hard time with relationships. Women wanted closeness and sharing. He didn’t get close or share.
“Before you officially toss me out, you should know I have a good reason for being here.”
Wade glanced back at the door leading to the party, then shifted his gaze to Tara’s and lifted his eyebrows.
She sighed. “Okay, so technically I’m already out.”
“And you can’t tell me you’re here because you’re a big fan of Holly Addison’s.”
“Why not?”
“You barely glanced at her when she walked by you earlier.”
“I suppose I didn’t.”
“And you’re not one of J.D.’s—Sr. or Jr.—exes.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I’ve seen a lot of them.” He let his gaze rove her from head to toe. She had plenty of curves, but they were subtle and—he’d bet his Justice Department Commendation for Valor—real. “You’re not the type.”
“Why am I not flattered?”
“But you should be.”
“You’re very…enigmatic.”
He nearly smiled. “Am I?”
“Definitely. Do you want to hear my sob story for crashing or not?”
“Until the bachelor and bachelorette parties start, I’m all yours.”
“When’s that?”
He flicked a glance at his watch. “Twenty minutes.”
“Fine. Never let it be said I delayed scheduled debauchery by starlets and cattle ranchers.” As she crossed her arms over her chest, her expression turned fierce. “I’m trying to save my business.”
“What business?”
“I’m a caterer.”
“That explains the tasting and grimacing.”
“I’m starting to get a little creeped out by the idea that you’ve been watching me so closely for the last hour.”
He shrugged. “It’s my job.”
“So you should understand why I’m trying to save mine—and those of my employees. The catering company Maynard Sr. hired for the wedding, Posh Events, has been swiping contracts from me for months. Sometimes they undercut my prices to the point that they have to be operating at a loss. But most times their prices are higher, yet they still get the booking instead of me. It’s driving me crazy.” She paced in a tight circle. “It’s driving me out of business. So maybe I went a little overboard by coming here, but I had to find out what was so great about Carla and her Posh Events firsthand.”
She fisted her hands at her sides as she faced him. “My food is good, Mr. Cooper. Maybe I’m not famous like my mother, but I know how to cook.”
He held up his hand. “What does fame have to do with catering?”
She rolled her eyes as if to say you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. “Reputation is everything in the food business. Serve a good meal, make one person happy. Serve a bad meal, make twenty enemies.”
“I rarely make anybody happy in my business, so you’re way ahead of me.”
“But you protect people’s lives. How can they be mad about that?”
“Easily.”
“Weird.”
He shrugged.
“You’re also not much of a talker.”
“If it helps, I’ve said more to you than to anybody in the last two hours.”
“So you understand, right?” she asked, her tone taking on a hint of pleading. “You could let me hang around the events this weekend. I won’t bother anybody, then I can find out—”
“No.”
She looked astonished by his abrupt response. “No?”
“I appreciate the difficult position you’re in, Ms. Lindsey, but I have a job, as well— One I’d like to keep.” Though he had no idea why. “Stay away from the wedding events, and we’ll get along just fine.”
She seemed truly disappointed. “You won’t help me?”
“I can’t.”
As he turned away, she laid her hand on his forearm. Shock and desire shot through him. Damn.
“You must have some sympathy for my cause,” she said softly. “You waited awhile before confronting me. Why?”
“Curiosity and boredom.”
She moved around him, standing close enough that their torsos nearly touched. “And are you still bored?”
She smelled amazing. Like vanilla and spice, comforting and warm. Like a scent from his childhood or his grandmother’s kitchen.
He empathized with her wanting to save her business and reputation. He liked that she seemed to understand what he was thinking without him saying much, if anything. He appreciated her honesty and directness.
And he was crazy about those eyes.
“Are you planning to seduce me to your cause?” he asked, his heart picking up speed in hopeful anticipation.
Heat swam through her eyes for a second, then she stepped back and let go of his arm. “No.” She shook her head, as if clearing it. “No, I’m not.”
Too bad.
Even as his libido surged with that thought, he dismissed it. He had a job to do. Didn’t he always?
“Boss?” The crackling deep voice came from the walkie-talkie clipped to his belt.
“Yeah?” Wade answered, knowing his time with the lovely Tara Lindsey was truly about to come to an end.
“Code Lavender,” Marco returned from the depths of the speaker.
Already? Hell. “I’ll be right there.” He returned the walkie-talkie to his belt and knew his reluctance to leave wasn’t simply because of the mundane ridiculousness of his job.
“What’s Code Lavender?” Tara asked.
“Drunk bridesmaid.”
“I take it back, Mr. Cooper,” she said with an amused smirk. “Your job is in much greater jeopardy than mine. Don’t let me keep you from it.”
“Saving people from themselves seems to have become my specialty,” he muttered as he walked away.
He didn’t look back at first. But then he remembered the sacrifices of his past had led to a present he wasn’t all that crazy about and a future promising more of the same. This was all he had, all he’d ever have.
He’d already lost the love of his life. Why shouldn’t he make time for something else for a change?
Stopping, he turned toward her. “Maybe we could have a drink at the bar later? One not on J. D. Maynard’s tab.”
“Sure,” she said, the sarcasm clear. “Call me anytime.”
Wade finally smiled. Along with blowing him off, she was apparently confident he had no idea how to get in touch with her.
She didn’t know he was a first-rate investigator.
At least he used to be.
3
“YOU CAN’T HAVE ANY MORE crappy roast beef, Ms. Lindsey, but you can have me.”
Tara moaned. She really wanted him. His broad, strong body hovered over hers. His raspy, commanding voice echoed in her ear. His blue-black hair glinted in the moonlight.
As his hand caressed her bare thigh, her body pulsed in response. Maybe this was moving too fast. Her ears rang.
Literally.
Dragging her way out of the dream, she groped for the phone on the bedside table. “Is the hotel on fire?”
“No,” said a familiar and commanding voice.
Despite her sleep-deprived state, Tara shivered in delight. “Do you know what the hell time it is?”
“Two-fifteen.”
Tara shot straight up in bed. “You’re kidding,” she said, though the bedside clock confirmed his response.
“You said call you anytime.”
“That was sarcasm.”
“I know. So how ’bout that drink?”
Struggling to shed the vestiges of sleep from her brain, she rubbed her temples. Maybe if he spent some time with her, he’d understand how badly losing this
contract had damaged her business and her confidence. Maybe she could convince him to look the other way while she spied on Carla and her staff.
Besides, when was the last time a hot stranger had invited her anywhere?
“That’s a really long pause,” he said into the silence.
“Okay, fine. I’ll meet you in the bar in fifteen minutes.”
She dropped the phone in its cradle before either of them could change their minds.
She was, by nature, an impulsive person. A curse the French pastry chef at her mother’s NYC restaurant had tried unsuccessfully to exorcise from her DNA at regular intervals over the years.
“Zee pastry is like a fragile child” he’d said at least a thousand times. “You must have patience, mademoiselle.”
Yeah, yeah. In a minute.
With a little concealer, blush and mascara in place, and her mass of waves pinned on top of her head, she appeared in the bar only a couple of minutes over the promised time.
The entrance guard was gone as were the buffet tables, the somewhat disturbing steer-shaped ice sculpture and the paparazzis’ wet dream throng of guests.
Wade Cooper, Security Chief, was sitting at the bar’s far end with a cut crystal glass of amber liquid in front of him.
Dark and sexy, he was as hot as she remembered. Which, frankly, she would have thought impossible a few hours earlier. Plus, he’d piqued her curiosity. There was no way a guy like him had as his biggest ambition bouncer-bodyguard at a celebrity wedding.
What was his story?
“The lady would like a look at your wine list, Bobby,” he said to the bartender as he pulled out the stool next to him.
Tara started to wave away the small, leather-bound book out of sheer stubbornness, but she was curious. “How could you possibly know I was going to order wine?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders—his seemingly favorite gesture. “You look like a wine woman.”
“Uh-huh.” Curiouser and curiouser. “What does a wine woman look like exactly?”
“You.”
“Do I?”
She held his gaze a moment, but the smokiness in his eyes was as unreadable as ever. Certain she wasn’t going to solve his puzzle anytime soon, she focused on the menu, then ordered a glass of pinot noir.
When the glass of deep red liquid was in front of her, she grasped the stem and lifted it in a toast. “To mind reading.”
As she sipped, he eyed her skeptically. “You don’t really think I read your mind, do you?”
“No.” But he was very observant. Did she give off wine vibes? And what were those exactly? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “How was the debauchery?”
“Controlled.”
“That doesn’t seem like the usual agenda for a bachelor or bachelorette party.”
He ran the tip of his finger around the rim of his glass. “It is when I’m in charge of them.”
With the finality of his tone and the awkward silence that followed, she sipped her wine. The balance of fruit and acidity was excellent, but she found herself struggling to appreciate the subtlety.
This was an odd date-drink invitation. He’d barely looked at her. His body was tense and his manner reserved. She’d gotten out of bed—and a pretty nice dream—at 2:15 a.m. for this?
“Do you want to know why I’m drinking whiskey?” he asked suddenly.
Where is this going? “Uh…sure.”
“I needed it tonight.”
Her alarm increased. What did she really know about this guy? “No kidding.”
“I could barely focus on my job.”
“Why’s that?”
His gaze jumped to hers and held. “I thought about you.”
“Oh.” Should she tell him she dreamed about him? Probably not. Especially given the erotic nature of her dream. She didn’t know him.
Though, somehow, she did.
He seemed alone, even surrounded by people.
“Is thinking about me a bad thing?” she asked, sensing it was.
“When I’m working it is. I’ve always been focused on my job.” He sipped his whiskey. “Even this one.”
Finally, a kernel of what lay behind that strong facade. “You don’t like your job?”
“Yes. No.” He shrugged yet again. “I used to like it more.”
She’d have bet her best set of knives that he was a lifetime lawman. “What did you used to do?”
“Work for the Secret Service.”
She choked on her wine. “As in the guys in suits and sunglasses who run beside the President’s motorcade?”
He narrowed his eyes. “We do a bit more than that, but yes.”
Though the revelation made perfect sense, she found herself wildly impressed. “Why don’t you work there anymore?”
“I was part of an undercover operation to stop a counterfeiting ring. One of the suspects shot me in the thigh, shattering the bone. Afterward, I couldn’t pass the physical to stay in the Service.”
Tara’s heart contracted. She didn’t like picturing him lying in the hospital, alone—it would have to be alone—hurting and jobless. The nation’s leader certainly deserved the smartest, strongest and quickest agents, but what little she knew about Wade Cooper suggested part of him had died knowing he no longer measured up.
Obviously guessing the direction of her thoughts, he angled his body toward her and lifted one side of his mouth in a weak smile. “Sorry. I’m not a fan of self-pity. I should be grateful I can still work at all. You risked arrest to save your job.”
“Not only my job,” she felt compelled to point out, “my company. I have five full-time employees and twelve part-time servers, and most of them are struggling college students, so—”
He held up his hand. “I get it. I’m not going to have you arrested.”
“But you’re not going to let me in, either.”
“I can’t. I have an obligation to my employer, just like you have to your employees.”
The barrier wouldn’t discourage her, but she saw the futility in arguing. For the moment anyway. “We have career struggles in common, I guess.”
“And Texas.”
“I can definitely toast to Texas.”
As their glasses clinked, the awkwardness flicked off and the chemistry from that first moment he’d confronted her was renewed.
Tara learned they’d both gone to the University of Texas and were devoted to Dallas Cowboys football. Wade had even played at UT, but at the time Tara had been involved with the indy music crowd and not sports, so she hadn’t heard of his senior year, record-setting yardage.
They’d both left Austin to work in different cities—Wade in Washington and Tara in Manhattan—but had ended up back in the Texas capitol. Living in the same city, they’d eaten at many of the same restaurants, though they were the places Tara considered occasional junk food forays and Wade used as near staples.
“You’re not going to keep that rock-hard body eating chicken fried steak at Joe’s,” Tara asserted.
“What do you know about my body?”
She let her gaze drift briefly over his broad chest and got a pretty good mental image of the muscled, swarthy skin beneath. Her mouth dry, she managed to respond with “I’ve got eyes.”
He leaned toward her, and the scent of his spice-laden cologne mingled with the whiskey on his breath. “Anytime you want an up-close view, you’re welcome.”
Memories of her dream flitted through her mind. “We barely know each other.”
And yet his compelling presence and the power of impulse mixed with a needy libido as if she’d dumped them all into a food processor.
“I should go. Thanks for the wine.”
He grabbed her hand as she slid off the bar stool. “I didn’t mean to run you off.”
A spark of desire shot from her fingers to low in her belly. “You aren’t. I just…” She made the mistake of looking into his handsome face and seeing a flame behind his smoky eyes. “You’re very tempting.”
The silence stretched for what seemed like minutes before he gave her hand a light squeeze. “I’ll walk you to your door.” He signed the check and escorted her toward the lobby. “I have to be up at six.”
“Six? Surely the bridal party will sleep in.” She didn’t want to elaborate and say she’d heard the guests talking earlier about the dress and tux fittings scheduled for eleven the next morning. Or that she intended to be there.
“They probably will, but the fans and paparazzi won’t. I found one guy last night who’d sneaked into the bar’s walk-in fridge and planned to spend the night.”
“Those things are airtight. He could have died in there.”
“Didn’t seem to concern him. He came out shivering and mumbling, ‘G-got to h-have the sh-shot.’ It was pitiful.”
They fell back into an easy conversational rhythm, as if the enticing invitation and her immediate retreat had never occurred. Tara appreciated the switch, though she doubted any amount of reflection would help her explain her sudden and fascinating attraction to a man she hadn’t known existed twelve hours ago.
Maybe when they got back home they could have dinner, an actual date or something, and see what happened. Right now, she needed to focus on saving her business, and since Wade had made it clear they were on opposite sides of her method to accomplish that, it was best if they kept their distance.
As they headed down the hall toward her room, she halted suddenly. “Hang on. How did you know what room I’m in?”
“I called earlier, remember?”
“But I’m not registered under my name.”
“You used your mother’s. Not a big leap for an ace investigator like me. Especially since I have full access to the resort’s guest records.”
“When I blew you off earlier, I was counting on you not being able to find me.”
“I know.”
“You’re pretty sneaky,” she decided as they resumed walking down the hall.
“Coming from you I consider that a compliment. Besides, I have the feeling I’ll need every advantage with you.”
Did he suspect she wasn’t giving up her quest? Did he realize that, even now, she’d already started Phase II?
Probably, but she wasn’t about to ask. She was a lousy liar, and she didn’t need guilt piled on top of carnal frustration and sleep deprivation.
By Invitation Only Page 9
