By Invitation Only

by Wilde, Lori; Etherington, Wendy; Burns, Jillian

  Then again, maybe the balmy breezes were a beginning.

  7

  TARA HAD PROMISED HERSELF she wasn’t going to eat anything at the nightclub party.

  There were, of course, the ethics of eating something she hadn’t been invited to sample, which was technically stealing. This was further complicated by her lover-of-less-than-an-hour-ago being in charge of keeping people like her behind the velvet rope—and there literally was a velvet rope. Purple, to match the bridesmaids’ dresses. And lastly, but no less importantly, she wasn’t keen on consuming anything Carla’s crowd had whipped up.

  But chocolate fountains rocked!

  And they were apparently the one thing Carla couldn’t make tasteless and boring. Maybe that’s how she stole her clients.

  She’d have to remember to ask Maynard if that particular carrot had been dangled when Carla had given her proposal for the wedding.

  Though now that Tara was about to meet the powerful cattle rancher, she found her stomach churning. Either nerves or an overdose of chocolate were no doubt to blame.

  Either way, she was reluctant to move from her viewing spot at the end of the long, curved bar trimmed in neon blue lights. The nightclub’s DJ had the glittery crowd bumping and grinding to pulsing hot music. The bartenders’ talent for mixology and the dessert fountains kept the partygoers from caring about the other boring culinary offerings.

  And then there was Wade…prowling the room like a restless shadow and looking for trouble.

  Sighing, Tara propped her chin on her fist and tracked him with her gaze. He really was dreamy. She could happily spend the next several hours, maybe even days, just watching his hunky body move. For the first time in years, her business wasn’t her greatest priority.

  She wanted him as much as solvency.

  “Hey, honey. Are you Tara?”

  Tara turned toward the male voice and found herself face-to-face with J. D. Maynard Sr.

  Despite the tropical heat, he wore a long-sleeved white dress shirt, jeans, cowboy boots and a well-worn brown Stetson. His single nod to island life was an orange hibiscus tucked inside the band. “Texas Vacations in the Caribbean” would be the caption in the gossip mags.

  She swallowed her jitters and held out her hand, which he shook as he slid onto the stool next to her. “I’m Tara. I guess Wade told you why I’m here.”

  Grinning, Maynard lifted his hand in the bartender’s direction. “Nope, he just told me a hot brunette wanted to talk to me and told me where to find you.” He winked. “My current wife is a brunette.”

  “The current one?” Clearly the rumor about Maynard’s diminished physical attributes wasn’t true. “How many have their been?”

  “Four.” Thankfully he turned away to look at the dancers, including his son, who were having the time of their lives, so he didn’t see Tara’s jaw drop. “Hope Junior has better luck. Who knows, though? Those Hollywood types are kinda flighty.”

  “Holly seems like a sensible girl, and she’s totally devoted to J.D.”

  Maynard angled his head as the bartender set a glass of whiskey over ice in front of him. “You a friend of theirs? I know we haven’t met. I’d remember those beautiful blue eyes.”

  “Oh, well, thanks.” She’d expected a bit more formality, or even suspicion from the billionaire rancher née oil executive, and wasn’t exactly sure how to tell him she wasn’t supposed to be there at all. “Actually, I’m not one of the guests.”

  Maynard looked confused. “But Wade keeps real close tabs on all the guests. I asked him to. I can’t have Junior’s big day full of more reporters than friends.”

  Tara nodded. “I’m not a reporter. I’m a caterer. A few months ago, I met with your assistant to tell her about my menus for the wedding. I spent weeks on the proposal. I planned on local ingredients and dishes, while realizing a rancher’s need for high-quality beef and also adding vegetarian options for the West Coast crowd. In short, I thought I had everything covered. At the tasting, your people seemed thrilled, but I didn’t get the contract.” She closed her eyes briefly. “My business is in serious trouble, Mr. Maynard. I’ve lost a lot of clients to Posh Events. I need to know why. I need to know what I’m doing wrong, or me and my staff will be looking for new jobs. So I’m crashing your son’s wedding to spy on my competition.”

  To her surprise, Maynard didn’t order her out of his party or even call Wade. He hunched over his cocktail glass. “You the one whose mom has that TV show?”

  How did he know that? “Yes.”

  Looking suddenly deflated, he took a gulp of whiskey. “My assistant wanted to hire you. She went on and on about how great your food was and how enthusiastic and competent you were. Plus, she thought Holly would love bragging to her friends about a celebrity chef’s daughter catering her wedding.”

  “But you didn’t think so?” Tara had been around enough high-powered executives to know they didn’t like decisions shoved down their throat. “Maybe she pushed too hard?”

  “I—” His gaze cut to hers, then jumped away. “I had bigger concerns than cakes and crab puffs.”

  “I’m sure you did, and I’m sorry to confront you like this. I don’t like admitting it, Mr. Maynard, but I’m desperate. You’re a successful businessman. You know being one takes planning, attention to detail and great sacrifice. I just want to know what I’m doing wrong.”

  “I wish I could help you.” He rose from his bar stool. “Have a drink on me and enjoy the wedding tomorrow. I officially invite you.”

  She laid her hand on his arm, stopping his retreat. “I don’t want an invitation. I want an explanation.”

  He brought the back of her hand to his lips. “You’re not getting one, honey. Sorry.”

  “Problem, Mr. Maynard?”

  Tara was never so upset to hear Wade’s deep voice than in that moment.

  Maynard was about to sail off—though she still had no idea why he’d clammed up so abruptly—and Wade would demand she tell him everything they’d talked about. She’d look into that commanding face and spill every word. Then, like a hero, Wade would defend her to Maynard. He’d get fired, and Maynard would tell all his influential friends not to use that so-in-so Wade Cooper for their security.

  She saw the whole, terrible scene like a movie reel on fast-forward.

  “No problem,” Maynard said to his security chief. “Give Tara whatever she wants. I’m going back to the party.”

  Wade’s gaze slid to Tara.

  She tried to erase any expression from her face, but she didn’t expect to succeed. Wade had been trained to sense even the slightest hint of trouble; she doubted he’d fail to see a problem now.

  Wade wrapped his hand around his employer’s arm and guided—maybe even forced—him back to his seat. “Stay for another drink, sir. I have something relevant to say.”

  “Wade, please,” Tara began, only to have him silence her with one glare of those sober gray eyes.

  Knowing what was coming, and dreading the role she’d played in ruining everything, she nevertheless fell in love.

  Wade was going to sacrifice himself for her, just as he’d done for years in Washington. Her cause was much less important, but she knew that wouldn’t matter to him.

  He was doing his job and standing between her and the bullet.

  “I’D LIKE TO EXPLAIN ABOUT Clive Anderson,” Wade said, standing between his lover and his boss.

  There was an almost comical pause where the fierce annoyance on both Tara’s and Maynard’s faces turned to confusion.

  Maynard recovered first and attempted to stand. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Cooper, but I’m paying for this party, and I’d like to enjoy it.”

  Wade laid his hand on his boss’s shoulder to keep him in place. “I’d like to explain about Clive Anderson,” he repeated.

  “I can handle this, Wade. You don’t need to defend me.” Tara’s eyes widened like saucers. “You really shouldn’t.”

  “Clive Anderson,”
Wade went on as if he hadn’t heard her protest, “is a sleazy, small-time private investigator with a serious gambling problem. He’s currently keeping his bookies at bay with supposed gainful employment at Posh Events.”

  “Wade, you have to stop—” Tara stopped on her own as his words apparently penetrated that gorgeous, stubborn head of hers. “Why would a caterer need a P.I.?”

  “Exactly the question I asked myself.” He shifted his attention to Maynard. “Particularly one who specializes in blackmail.”

  “Blackmail?” Tara echoed. “Some P.I. with a gambling problem has forced Carla to hire him to help her cater?” She shook her head ruefully. “Really, Wade, I appreciate you trying to help, but doesn’t that seem a little—”

  “Carla isn’t the blackmail victim,” Wade said, his glare locked on Maynard’s face.

  After a long pause, Maynard’s bony shoulders slumped. “Fine. Geez. I should have known better than to hire an ex-government agent if I wanted to keep my past in the past.”

  “Wade wouldn’t betray you,” Tara said, her eyes bright with annoyance.

  How long had it been since somebody defended him instead of the other way around? Even playing college ball, he’d protected the quarterback. “I’m not interested in your past,” he said to his boss, shortly before shifting his attention back to the remarkable woman at his side. “I wanted Tara to know it’s not her fault she didn’t get the wedding contract.”

  She brushed her lips across his cheek. “Thank you.”

  She smelled like vanilla and chocolate. How much was a man supposed to endure for the sake of his job? Bullets he could handle, but not sweet devotion and chocolate-scented breath. This party certainly couldn’t end fast enough.

  “If you two need a moment alone…” Maynard began, again attempting to escape his stool.

  Wade held him in place. “We do, in fact, but for your benefit, sir, I’d like to add that it’s never a good idea to make a deal with a blackmailer. They always come back wanting more. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask the DJ to play something slow. I’m going to take a ten-minute break to dance with Tara.”

  Wade wrapped his hand around Tara’s and took a single step when Maynard said, “Wait.”

  Maybe the old guy isn’t as tough as he thinks. “Sir?” Wade asked, turning toward him.

  “I cheated on my wife,” he said, his tone low, and he looked around to be sure he wasn’t overheard. “Not the current one. The first one. Junior’s mother.”

  Tara covered his hand with hers. “And Carla’s P.I. found out?”

  “Yeah.” His face flushed with embarrassment, he sipped his whiskey. “It was a onetime thing. With a stripper, for pity’s sake. I confessed to my ex, but she couldn’t get past it. We divorced, and she promised never to tell our son if I’d swear I’d change. Neither of us wanted our boy growing up with a lecher for a father. And I did change—sorta anyway. I’ve had a lot of wives and lovers, but no mistresses. I never strayed again.”

  At least as long as divorce and prenups were available in bulk, Wade thought. But he admired his employer for wanting to protect his kid.

  Maynard gripped his glass like a lifeline. “Junior can’t find out his old man is a cheater when he’s about to marry the girl of his dreams.”

  That witch Carla had impeccable timing. And absolutely no conscience. Handy when you had a catering business and couldn’t cook or manage your staff worth a crap. “I’d imagine Carla not only forced you to hire her, but threatened to go to the gossip magazines, too.”

  Maynard jerked his head in a nod.

  “She’s absolutely awful,” Tara said, patting his hand.

  “I’ll help you get rid of her,” Wade said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Hope lit Maynard’s eyes. “How?”

  “We’ll talk about it when we get back to Austin.” Wade was fairly certain he could get the P.I.’s bookies to call in some markers. And somebody from vice at the Austin P.D. would probably be interested in Posh Events’ little side business. “Enjoy your weekend. Even if the food is lousy.” He cast a glance at Tara, who nodded. “And I bet we can find somebody who has a good relationship with the resort staff to improve the meal for tomorrow night’s reception.”

  Maynard jumped to his feet, and this time Wade let him. He pumped both of their hands. “I’ll pay. I’ll pay well.”

  Tara kissed his cheek. “Seems to me you already have.”

  A ridiculous spurt of possession darted through Wade’s veins. “But we’re still billing you.”

  “Sure, sure.” Maynard shook their hands again, then strolled off with a definite spring in his step.

  Wade found himself smiling as he watched the glittering crowd embrace his boss on the dance floor. “Fighting the bad guys is pretty damn cool.”

  Tara laid her hands on either side of his face. “You shouldn’t have interfered. Though I’m obviously glad you did.”

  “You needed me.”

  “I did, but how did you know the right moment to show up?”

  He leaned down, anticipating the moment her lips would merge with his. “Just one of those little superhero gifts.”

  8

  TARA SIGHED AS A WARM HAND slid slowly over her hip.

  When the fingers of that hand dipped between her legs, the sigh became a moan.

  The aroused male embracing her from behind brushed his lips across her shoulder. Though she knew she wasn’t dreaming, she didn’t open her eyes but lifted her arms to hook them around Wade’s neck.

  The hand not currently making her breathless glided up her torso, cupping her breast. She arched her back, pressing her body farther into his heated touch. His erection swelled, and she recalled the pleasure they’d shared during the night.

  Unfortunately, duty called today.

  It was no doubt early morning, as Wade had told her his ritual waking time was 6:00 a.m.

  But for now only the two of them mattered. The world with all its complications and uncertainties waited beyond the door. Shut out.

  Her breath hitched as desire tumbled into pure need. Turning in his arms, she covered his mouth with hers. Their tongues tangled. He clutched her against his bare body.

  She gloried in the erotic sensations jumping through her. She wanted and ached. Wrapped around him as surely as a blanket, she wondered how they could ever be separated.

  But the world would call, so she had to grab this glimmer of pleasure while she could. When the weekend was over, she wasn’t sure what they’d have. She wanted something more and thought he might, too, but they’d shifted from strangers to lovers with dizzying speed.

  Come Sunday, it could all be over.

  Rolling, he moved to his back, still holding her tight. She straddled him, and he held up the condom packet between two fingers. She snatched it, knowing he liked her protecting him. The deed done, she loomed over him, kissing him long and deep before her hips inched their way over his erection.

  “Do it again,” he whispered against her throat.

  She obliged, lifting herself to the tip of his penis, then pushing back down with infinite slowness. He closed his eyes and gripped her hips.

  After a single night in his arms, she knew he was gathering his strength, fighting to hold back and draw out the pleasure for both of them. She rocked slowly, then increased the speed and pressure when the itch became too great not to satisfy.

  She hit the peak a heartbeat before he did, her body convulsing around him, drawing him deeper inside, binding him…at least for the moment.

  As she collapsed onto his chest, she inhaled the scent of his skin, reveled in the warmth of his touch—and she longed for more, for them to have a chance at finding out if there was more.

  Yesterday they’d agreed to dinner when they got back to Austin, but she imagined there were a great many temporary women in Wade’s past. His job defined him, probably always would. Was he capable of commitment? Was she?

  Her job was her passion, her life.


  Yet they’d struggled at their professions, each betrayed by circumstances they had no way to control. Was this thing between them a reaction, a solution or a beginning?

  “I have to go,” he said quietly, his hand gliding across her back.

  “I know.”

  Still, neither one of them budged.

  “You could come to spa day,” he suggested. “Maynard owes you a princess-style treatment.”

  “He doesn’t. He was protecting his family.”

  “He still screwed you.”

  Grinning, she lifted her head.

  Wade’s eyes sparkled with silver as he rolled them. “Okay, maybe he doesn’t have exactly that pleasure.”

  “That one’s elusive. Reserved for the best.” She pressed her lips to his. “I’m the one who owes you a massage.”

  He rolled them again, then swung her into the cradle of his arms. “And I intend to collect very soon.”

  She was a pretty self-sufficient woman, but she liked being held so securely, so confidently.

  Wade Cooper was a man. A broad-shouldered, commitment-oriented, honor-bound man that, frankly, she thought the world could use a lot more of.

  He’d set her down beside the shower when a phone rang. “That’s mine,” he said, then kissed her forehead. “Don’t get too soapy without me.”

  She turned on the water as she heard him answer the phone. Stepping under the hot spray, she closed her eyes. Without the burden of spying and confronting J. D. Maynard Sr., she could actually relax and enjoy the beach if she wanted.

  When she got home, she had hope for the success of her business. Though she still wasn’t sure how she’d counteract Carla’s underhanded tactics, she finally understood the problem and was confident she’d find a solution. There had to be something illegal about using a catering business as a front for extortion.

  “I have to go.”

  Tara rubbed the water from her eyes and opened them. Wade was peeking around the curtain. His hungry gaze roamed her body before settling on her face. “Now?”

  “Unfortunately. And you need to come, too.”