“Me?”
“Maynard Sr. was on the phone. The caterer’s gone AWOL.”
“COME ON,” WADE SAID, holding hands with Tara. “Paul spotted her.”
For the past hour, they’d been searching every corner of the resort for Carla and her staff, who weren’t adhering to the schedule and bringing chocolate-covered strawberries to the bridal party, who were at the spa, or prepping the reception dinner. Since the resort staff had specifically set aside a work area for Posh Events in their kitchen, they were annoyed. The groom’s father was worried. Wade was pissed. The bridal party, thankfully immersed in oxygen facials and seaweed wraps, were oblivious.
“Where?” Tara asked Wade as they strode through the hotel lobby.
“Calling a cab from the valet stand.”
“What?”
“With her luggage.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know, but I’ve got a pretty good guess.”
Her mind whirling, Tara searched for reasons and could come up with only one. A really bad one. “She can’t be bailing out. The wedding is in less than twelve hours.”
“Something’s got her running. Maynard’s behind this, I’ll bet.”
“You think he actually fired her? But that would mean…”
“That would mean he finally manned-up and took responsibility for his mistake.” Wade maneuvered them around a young couple on their way to the door. “Bad timing, though.”
“I’ll say.”
Though Tara didn’t know Junior or Holly, she felt horrible that their luxurious island wedding might end in disaster. Every bride and groom deserved to feel special on their big day. They couldn’t leave the glowing ceremony and not have the party of their dreams.
The one that had, in fact, already been paid for.
But surely Carla and her staff had begun setting up the reception ballroom and the beach tents last night. The preparations for a wedding this elaborate took many long hours. And Carla couldn’t be leaving. A big fish like Maynard Sr. wasn’t something she’d let get away—even if she was a ruthless, unethical bitch.
As the automatic doors between the hotel lobby and the front drive swooshed open, Tara nearly stumbled.
Carla stood outside, arguing with the valet, her designer luggage scattered around her.
How could she abandon her clients? Didn’t she have any integrity?
“Going somewhere, Ms. Castalano?” Wade asked as he approached her.
“What—” She whirled, then glared at Wade. “Oh, it’s you. And you,” she added, focusing on Tara. “How did you get here? You’re not invited.”
“I’m a personal friend of the groom’s father,” Tara shot back.
“In your dreams, honey.” Carla smirked. “Not that I care. I’m off to the airport. I’ve had enough of this tacky affair.”
“So Maynard did fire you,” Wade said.
“I quit.”
“You signed a contract,” Wade reminded her.
“After the way I’ve been treated, I’m certain my lawyer will fix that. I can’t be expected to work under these abysmal conditions.”
Wade tracked his gaze around their luxurious surroundings. “Yeah. Tough gig.”
“I’ve had absolutely no cooperation from the idiot staff here, and my client had the nerve to complain about my performance.” Carla examined her manicure—which looked fresh—as if that were the most important task on her agenda. “Of course I reminded him I’ve got three tabloids on speed dial.”
She was ruining the wedding and spilling Maynard’s secret? “What are the bride and groom supposed to do about the reception this late?” Tara asked in disbelief.
Carla’s smile was malicious. “As of 2:00 a.m. this morning, that’s no longer my problem.”
Tara fought back a frustrated groan. What the devil had Maynard done? Couldn’t he have waited until after the wedding to give Carla a piece of his mind?
Wade’s eyes flashed dangerously. He lowered his voice and leaned close to Carla. “You might have the press on the line, however, you might want to remember that certain people you employ have weaknesses of their own.”
Carla looked as if she’d swallowed one of her own horrible canapés.
“Loan sharks are such nasty characters,” Wade continued. “I’d hate to see what they might do to that shiny new downtown office of yours.”
“How do you—” Carla snapped her jaw closed so quickly it was a wonder her teeth didn’t shatter. She recovered quickly, though. “Is that Cooper with a C or a K?”
“C.”
Carla punched keys on her cell phone, no doubt entering information about Wade. “I’m sure a pathetic rent-a-cop like yourself has a skeleton or two he’d rather stay in the closet.”
Wade looked amused. “I certainly have some secrets. But then the Treasury Department is fairly protective of their own.”
As Carla’s confidence changed to confusion, a cab pulled in front of the hotel, and the valets jumped to store Carla’s luggage in the trunk. No doubt, they’d be as glad to get rid of her as everybody else.
Wade opened the back door. “Have a nice trip, Ms. Castalano. I have the feeling we’ll be talking again real soon.”
“Sure we will.” With one last flip of her hair, she was inside the car and gone.
Tara dusted her hands together. “Good riddance.”
The valets, their gazes following the cab as it rolled away, grinned.
“Feel like catering a high-profile wedding reception?” Wade asked her.
“I’d already planned to help.” She smiled confidentially, though she grew dizzy as she considered all the work to be done. “Are there really two reception locations and two concerts during the receptions?”
“Yep.”
She linked arms with him. “I hope you brought your cape, your power ring and the entire superhero posse.”
9
“PAUL, YOU MIGHT NOT KNOW a fake ID from a hole in the ground, but you do have a way with icicle lights.”
Glancing past Tara to Wade, Paul flushed, but Wade didn’t think the compliment was completely unwelcome. When they all got back home to Austin, he figured mutual business cooperation might go hand in hand with more hot romance.
One thing was certain—he had no intention of leaving his relationship with Tara on the island. They might have jumped into this whole thing pretty damn fast, but he was going to make sure they slowed down for a little savoring once they closed the book on the weekend.
“Well?” Tara asked this all-important question as she turned a circle in the middle of the ballroom where one half of Junior and Holly’s reception was due to start in just under two hours.
Wade clasped her hand in his, giving it a supportive squeeze. “Perfect.”
And he didn’t just mean the decorations.
After consulting with the resort’s head chef, giving the kitchen team some recipes and letting them add their own specialties, Tara, Paul and the banquet staff had begun to tackle the immense task of turning the blank canvas of the ballroom, plus the beach behind the hotel into the sleek island fantasy the bride had requested for the ceremony and reception. Well, technically, receptions.
The ceremony was to take place on the beach under tents, along with the buffet, surrounded by a centerpiece fountain of a dolphin and sea horses, no less. Outdoors was the country concert, featuring singer Mack Street. Inside was a pop concert, with a dance floor and light show.
Tara had called a wedding planner she knew back in Texas, who’d helped her design a backdrop with blue, purple and pink gossamer material purchased from the dress shop’s alterations department. Long buffet tables had been draped in white linen. The resort florist had used some of the basic flowers already ordered, but had been thrilled to be given free rein in adding her own touch of tropical glamour.
They’d made the most of what they had, as well as adding a few inspirations when lacking. The valets were seen swiping palms and other greenery from various parts of
the hotel and bringing them to the ballroom. Tara had convinced the manager to dig into the holiday decorations to supplement the twinkling ambience.
And Wade’s security crew helped hang and place it all.
It was a team effort. Something Carla could never hope to understand or appreciate.
Wade had spent the day calming down the groom, the bride, the groom’s father, then alternating among the three.
From Secret Service agent to gun-toting babysitter. Yet, strangely, he wasn’t discouraged by the transition.
He was part of a winning team again.
Tara leaned against him. “Let’s hope Junior and Holly like it, because I have to go cook now.”
Wade braced his hands on either side of her face. “My beautiful warrior.”
Her eyebrows winged up. “Yours, huh?”
He kissed her—long enough and thoroughly enough to have the workers in the ballroom hooting and whistling. “Oh, yeah.”
She held on to him, the regret to part clear in her blue eyes. “I do have a staff who can cook.”
“I have a staff who’s decorating.”
“So I guess you need to go.”
“Uh-huh.” But he still didn’t loosen his hold on her.
“How’s the wedding party?” Tara asked, laying her head against his chest as if she planned to spend the rest of the day there.
“Getting ready in their suites, though the groomsmen have called room service twice already for more rum, so who knows whether the guys will actually make it to the ceremony.”
“Is the press behaving?”
“So far. But then they’re both awed by and afraid of me.”
She giggled and leaned back. “Spotted any more crashers?”
“Nope. Besides, I caught the only one who matters.”
She searched his gaze. There was more to say, but no time to do it now. “Maybe we could find some time to talk later?”
He pressed his lips against hers one last time. “Among other things.”
As he turned to go back to his duties, Tara shouted, “Hey, Paul! You know anything about rolling out fondant?”
AS POP SINGER SIMONE LEAH moved into the pink spotlight and launched into her latest pulse-pounding hit, Tara took her first sip of champagne.
The bride and groom, plus their family and friends, had been dazzled by the decor. The seafood buffet was a hit. The signature cocktail of soda water, tropical juices and local rum had been indulged in by many.
Some a little too much. But what was a celebrity wedding except over-the-top indulgence?
Still, drama and last-minute scrambling aside, the loving couple had pledged their lives to each other beside the crashing ocean waves and in front of everybody who mattered to them. They were thrilled, and a happy client made for a happy caterer.
“It’s a damn fine party, Tara.”
Turning, she smiled at J. D. Maynard Sr. “Thanks, sir.”
“I don’t know how you pulled it off, but I’m grateful. My business, as well as anybody’s within shouting distance of me, is yours.”
“I appreciate the offer, and believe me, I’ll take you up on it.” Her gaze moved to Junior and Holly, holding each other on the dance floor. “But business isn’t the only thing in my life anymore.”
“Wade’s a fine man.”
Unfortunately Wade had his hands full with tipsy guests and rogue photographers attempting to pose as waiters, so she couldn’t tell him that herself for quite a while.
“Just because something starts impulsively doesn’t mean it can’t work out long-term.”
Tara angled her head. “This is an odd conversation to be having with you.”
“Yeah, well, after all my marriages, I’ve figured out some things.”
“Like the value of a solid prenup?”
J.D. paused as he was about to take a sip of his whiskey. “You’re a sassy young lady.”
“Sure, but—”
J.D. wrapped his arm around her waist. “I like sassy. Wanna be wife number five?”
“Ah…no.” One randy Texan was about all she could handle at a time. “Thanks all the same.”
“You’re gonna need to take your hands off her immediately, Mr. Maynard.”
Speaking of which…
Tara extricated herself from J.D.’s arms and moved to Wade’s side. “J.D. was just congratulating us on a job well done.”
Wade stared at his boss. “He can do that with his mouth, not his hands.”
Tara expelled a lustful sigh. She was a self-assured, independent woman and all, but that possessive streak was sexy as hell. “He was. I thought you were tied up keeping out the press.”
“Did that. Tossed ’em in the ocean.”
J.D. coughed. Tara laughed and wrapped her arms around Wade’s waist. “That’s probably not a good idea. You’ll only be compelled to go save them later.”
He studied her. “Will I?”
“Yeah. You know, superhero code and all that.”
His eyes silver with desire, Wade slid his thumb across her cheek, and Tara wondered how quickly they could fade into the background of the party. With all the bonuses J.D. had offered to the hotel staff to make sure everything went off flawlessly, they had a full cleanup crew ready to go.
J.D. raised his glass to them. “Make sure I’m invited to your wedding.”
Shaking her head, Tara watched him walk away. “That man has a serious nuptials addiction.”
“Maybe, but he’s right. I love you.”
Tara’s head lurched around toward Wade. “You what?”
“I love you.”
Even though the same thought had crossed Tara’s mind, she didn’t see how she could be in love. They hadn’t had time for feelings to get that deep. “But— Are you serious?”
“Never been more so.”
He sure looked serious. Her heart pounded, reminding her of her own commitment to make a relationship with him work. Was she being ridiculously impulsive or had she found way more than just her confidence the past few days?
“J.D. seems to think we can move beyond this weekend,” she said slowly.
“I’m not sure that’s encouraging.”
“Good point.” She searched his gaze for doubt and found none. “You and me? It’s crazy. We don’t even know each other.”
He shrugged those amazing, strong, broad shoulders. “So we’ll learn.”
Impulsively she threw her arms around his neck. He lifted her so her feet dangled off the floor. “I love you, too.”
His arms contracted around her. He kissed her temple and exhaled a breath that felt like relief. “I was hoping.”
They were both taking a big chance on an island romance that had begun with them as adversaries who had only failing careers as the focus in their lives. But the risks weren’t scary. And the rewards exponential.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, setting her on her feet and guiding her from the glittering ballroom. “I planned a private party for the rest of the night.”
“For us?”
“Guest list of two. Plus a chocolate fountain.”
Her steps faltered, but he kept them moving. “I really love you.”
“I figured that would do it.”
SECRET ENCOUNTER
Jillian Burns
This story is dedicated to
hard-working teachers everywhere.
Acknowledgments:
This story came about due to the wonderful idea
of the hidden Mayan Codices plot given to me
by my dearest friend and
Rita® Award-winning author, Evelyn Vaughn.
College English teacher by day,
and my best TV buddy by night;
I couldn’t have done this one without you, Von.
1
WHY ON EARTH HAD SHE thought she could do this?
Peyton Monahan squinted out the window of her taxi at the exclusive Rapture Island Resort, but the whole scene was a blur. She switched the desig
ner sunglasses she wore for her prescription glasses and then wished she hadn’t.
Lush palms and vibrant pink hibiscus headlined the expertly landscaped entrance to the hotel, beckoning her inside, but the armed guards in dark uniforms with headsets and clipboards? She shrank into the seat. Maybe she should fly straight back to Princeton and forget this crazy idea.
“Este es el hotel, la señora,” the cab driver said. “Are you sure you don’t want me to bring you to the front door?”
“No, gracias, señor.” Peyton paid him and got out around the corner from the entrance. She couldn’t be seen getting out of a taxi.
After the cabbie drove off, she stood there hugging a Gucci bag to her chest and bit her lip. Her entire professional career was riding on this. If she didn’t get into this wedding, her dreams of locating the Mayan codices would go up in smoke.
Stick to the plan, Monahan.
Step One: Use her disguise to get past security.
Step Two: Find Mr. Edward Prescott.
Step Three: Convince him to fund the Mayan expedition to Mexico to find the codices.
Hopefully, she’d be in and out of the hotel before anyone was the wiser.
Focused on the guards, she crossed the lawn to the circular drive.
A cherry-red sports car roared past her and screeched to a halt at the valet’s podium. A sandy-haired Greek god jumped out wearing a bright Hawaiian shirt and khaki cargo shorts that revealed long, muscular legs. He reached into the passenger seat for a black leather garment bag. As he bent over, Peyton couldn’t help but admire his taut gluteus maximus.
The man glanced at her, sweeping his eyes up and down her body as he slung his bag over one broad shoulder. Her stomach tightened, and Peyton spun away, pretending to stare at the sky. Could she be any more lame?
From the corner of her eye, she watched him stride to the valet and hand him his keys, no doubt warning him about scratching the precious car.
Oh, the trials and tribulations of the rich and famous. Get used to it, Monahan. This place was going to be swarming with them. And she was disguised as the belle of the ball. Gathering her courage, she yanked off her thick glasses, replaced them with the sunglasses and approached the front doors.
By Invitation Only Page 13
