Texas Two Step: Texas Montgomery Mavericks, Book 1

by Cynthia D'Alba

“Mr. Landry, Wes has asked that you stand in for him during rehearsal. Okay? Good.” The wedding planner didn’t wait for an answer.

  Mitch’s gaze met Olivia’s. He arched an eyebrow as if to ask if she was okay with this.

  Olivia shrugged one shoulder. Did she—or he—really have any choice but to go along with the bride and groom’s wishes? Any reaction other than cheerful participation would put a damper on the whole weekend and her best friend’s wedding—something Olivia wasn’t going to do. Stiff upper lip and all that nonsense. She would get through this weekend and get back to her routine on Monday.

  Mrs. Peters clapped her hands again. “Okay, people. Let’s get started.”

  The bride and groom each had five attendants. As Mrs. Peters walked the first two bridesmaids down the aisle demonstrating the pace, Emily slipped up alongside Olivia. “I am so sorry I had to send you to pick up Mitch this morning. Wes couldn’t find any of his groomsmen to go. I swear. You were my last resort.”

  “I didn’t mind,” Olivia lied. “I knew I’d see him this weekend anyway, so it wasn’t a big deal.” If her name had been Pinocchio instead of Olivia, her nose would now be a tree.

  “Thanks for being my stand-in tonight. I know it’s foolish to be so superstitious, but…” Emily bumped her shoulder into Olivia’s, “…I’m taking no chances.”

  With a lump in her throat, Olivia hugged her friend. “Not a problem,” she lied again. “I’m glad to help. Besides, you and Wes are made for each other. Nothing could jinx y’all.”

  “I wish Adam could have been the ring bearer. He’d have been darling in a mini-tux. But I know that’s impossible.”

  Tamping down the panic that rushed at the mention of her son’s name, Olivia took a quick glance around to ensure Emily and she were far enough from the others not to be overheard. She managed a stiff smile and whispered, “I do too.”

  “You still haven’t told him, have you?” Emily didn’t have to spell out for Olivia who the him was.

  Olivia shook her head. “I can’t. Too much time has passed, and well, maybe it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “I hate I don’t live in Dallas anymore. I miss you and Adam so much. He is growing up to be so handsome, not that I’m surprised with his gene pool.” Emily clasped Olivia’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you for not hating me for letting Wes ask Mitch to be his best man. I couldn’t tell him he couldn’t without explaining why not. And I haven’t—and won’t—tell him anything until you tell me I can. I promise.”

  Before Olivia could reply, Mrs. Peters clapped her hands. “Bride. Maid of honor. You’re not paying attention.”

  Olivia and Emily exchanged embarrassed glances and the grins of guilty children.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Peters,” Emily said.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Peters,” Olivia echoed and stifled a smile. She and Emily had received many such reprimands back in their high school days. They hurried over to where the wedding planner stood waiting.

  “I want you both to walk with me down the aisle,” Mrs. Peters explained. “That way you can get a feel for the speed I want you to enter the room for the ceremony and…” she looked at Olivia, “…since you aren’t actually practicing your role tonight, you can see exactly where you need to stand tomorrow. Then I need you, Olivia, to walk in again as the bride so the attendants can practice turning as a group. Got it?”

  When they nodded Mrs. Peters said, “Great. Let’s go.”

  Mrs. Peters walked the bride and her maid of honor down the aisle at the pace she wanted them to proceed during the actual wedding. As soon as Emily stepped into the designated maid of honor’s position, Olivia hurried to the back of the room to be the stand-in bride.

  “Now,” Mrs. Peters announced to the group, “the attendants will continue facing toward the audience and not turn until the bride reaches the front and stops. Then you will all turn as a group toward the couple. Start walking,” she said to Olivia. Olivia had taken one step when Mrs. Peters thrust a bouquet of silk flowers in her hand. “For practice in handing off.”

  Olivia gave a nod of understanding and tried to swallow, but her mouth had become the Sahara Desert. The white silk roses hissed as the petals scratched against each other in her shaking hands. Her breathing dropped to a shallow, rapid pant. She prayed she wouldn’t pass out from lack of oxygen. As she made her way toward her make-believe groom, she wobbled the first couple of steps before she got control of her trembling legs. The walk down the aisle toward Mitch felt surreal, almost painful. Could this weekend get any worse?

  To Mitch’s right, Wes stood as rigid as a statue. Mitch understood. His stomach was queasy and he wasn’t even the real groom.

  Livie took her first step down the aisle. The black silk dress accentuated her curves, shifting with each swing of her hips. The diamonds in the necklace laying in her soft cleavage—his birthday gift to her seven years ago—winked as the heart locket jostled with each step.

  Mitch hardened at the sight of Olivia walking toward him carrying a bridal bouquet. He tilted his head toward one shoulder and then the other, trying to loosen the stiffness in his neck. Although he wore a custom-made shirt, the collar was strangling him. He resisted the urge to tug it away from his neck. The shirt felt two sizes too small. The material squeezed everywhere—his shoulders, his chest, across his gut. He moved his shoulders around in a circle, thinking—hoping—the motion might loosen the material at the neck and back. Nothing helped. If anything, the damn shirt shrank more with each step Livie took toward him.

  Tiny tingles pricked his toes. He wiggled them. His new cowboy boots seemed to have also shrunk, cutting off the blood supply to his feet. Discreetly, he stomped one foot, then the other. It didn’t help. The tingling continued.

  Olivia stopped after taking a couple of steps. The white flowers shoved in her hands shook slightly before she began again.

  Mrs. Peters stepped alongside her. “You’re walking a little too slow. I would say most girls would rush down the aisle to him.” With a wink, she tilted her head toward Mitch.

  Heat infused Mitch’s face. Wes slapped Mitch’s shoulder with a loud guffaw. The rest of the wedding party tittered.

  Mrs. Peters looked at Emily and raised her voice. “Tomorrow, you’ll want to walk at about this pace.” With measured steps, she walked about halfway down the aisle. “Got it?”

  Emily nodded.

  “Let’s start again.”

  Olivia started her walk down the aisle at a pace that put a smile on the wedding planner’s face.

  Mrs. Peters flashed a thumbs up and returned to her position near the door. “Much better,” she shouted from the rear of the room.

  A band tightened around Mitch’s chest as Livie walked toward him. Each breath required concentrated effort. Figuratively and literally, this woman from his past took his breath away.

  Her long blonde hair had been secured into a twist at the back of her head. As she moved, the glow from the overhead lights sparkled off her hair. Her modest dress highlighted every curve of her body. The sexy swoosh of silk stockings teased him as she neared. He swallowed hard. Mitch’s heart got a beat faster with each step she took, until it raced as she stepped beside him.

  She smiled and all those years fell away. Six years ago, this wedding could have been for them. He’d tried to forget her. Tried to move on without her. Tried to love another woman. But getting past a love like theirs had proved damned impossible. What an egotistical fool he’d been to decide what was best for her, instead of grabbing the best thing that’d ever happened to him.

  Together they turned toward the wedding’s chaplain.

  Following Mrs. Peters’ tutelage, they walked through the gestures of holding hands, handing over the bridal bouquet and retrieving the rings from the maid of honor and best man.

  “At this point,” the chaplain said, “I’ll pronounce Wes and Emily husband and wife and tell him he can kiss his bride.”

  Mitch turned toward Olivia, smiled and pul
led her into his arms. Her hands rested on his chest. Confusion and maybe some trepidation infused her eyes. He dipped his head and brushed a kiss across her lips. When she didn’t push away or try to avoid the contact, he kissed her again, taking it deeper, allowing himself the pleasure of touching her, kissing her again. Her lips were hot and soft, and after a brief moment, they parted, allowing his tongue to slide into her warmth.

  She tasted like sin and fine whiskey. Past and future.

  His whole body grew hard and tight with need for this woman. Not just any woman, but this woman. The love of his youth. The woman he’d once believed to be the love of his life. Was this love relegated to stay in the past or did it have a part in his—no, their—future?

  She swayed closer, her hands sliding up and over his shoulders. Warm fingers stroked his neck, then into his hair. She answered his kiss with long, soft strokes of her tongue.

  For six years, he’d been a walking, talking zombie. A hollow version of himself, lost in the day-to-day running of his ranch. Living, but not alive. Under her touch, he felt as though he’d awakened after a long sleep. Blood surged his veins. His heart leapt like a deer over a fence.

  He grew harder against her soft belly. Desire flamed inside him. Between them. Needing more, he jerked her tight against him, her full breasts flattening against his chest.

  Loud whoops and a firm slap on the back broke Mitch from the kiss. He stared into Olivia’s dazed eyes, her face flushed, her lips swollen and luscious. Her tongue darted out to lick her upper lip and then she swallowed, her throat lifting and falling with the action.

  The chaplain coughed. “Like that, but maybe not as, um, long.”

  Wes snorted and Emily let out a giggle.

  Mitch ran his hands down Olivia’s naked, soft, warm arms until he could grasp her hands. Squeezing them once, he stepped back into his role as stand-in groom. He hoped that kiss wasn’t a mistake on his part. He hoped she got his message. Give us a chance, Livie.

  Mrs. Peters clapped her hands. “One more time, people.”

  Olivia didn’t need to look over her shoulder to know Mitch watched her walk away. She could feel his gaze on her backside. Forcing herself to stroll up the carpet as though she was kissed mindless on a daily basis, she put a little wiggle in the walk. Maybe she could still make him regret losing her.

  Why did she kiss him back? Dumb question. She knew the answer. Because his kiss could make a nun question her vows.

  I cannot let him get under my skin again. Come Sunday, he’s gone. Be sensible. Think with your head, not your heart, or rather your raging libido.

  Emily met her about halfway up the aisle and they linked arms. “Whew. That was some kiss. I hope my honeymoon is half that hot.” Emily fanned her face with a hand. “Are you okay?”

  Olivia bumped her hip against Emily’s and laughed to hide her own reaction. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  The third run-through went the same as the first and second, except for the deep, soul-searing kiss. It was only after everyone swore to Mrs. Peters they knew their places and their roles that she dismissed the wedding party for dinner.

  “Wow. What a slave driver,” Emily whispered to Olivia. “But she’s the best, and since I don’t live in Dallas now, I needed someone like her. Thanks for being my feet on the ground here.”

  Olivia nudged Emily’s shoulder. “She was great. Very organized. Tomorrow will go without a hitch. I feel it.”

  Emily smiled. “It doesn’t matter. I’m marrying the love of my life tomorrow. That’s all that matters to me.”

  The love of her life. Did Emily have any idea how incredibly lucky she was? Did she realize how many women would give anything to not only find but to marry the love of their life?

  Olivia had once believed Mitch Landry to be the love of her life. But the love of your life doesn’t leave you with assurances it’s for the best because you’re too young to get married. He doesn’t walk away because he’s not ready for marriage, only to marry another woman a short six months later.

  The memory of his phone call to explain his marriage still turned her inside out. His voice had been strained, emotionless, almost clinically cold. She hadn’t argued. Hadn’t told him why he shouldn’t marry Joanna. She’d let him say what he’d needed to say and then she’d hung up. The next day, she’d changed her phone number and tried to get on with her life. Their baby was growing inside her and needed her to be strong. Without Adam, she might have curled into fetal position and died from the pain.

  Wes leaned between the two women. “Let’s see,” he said, “which lady do I have a date with tonight?”

  Both women laughed as Emily laced her fingers through his. “Baby, I’m your date for the rest of your life.”

  He kissed her knuckles. “Lucky me,” he said then hurried off with his fiancée for the rehearsal dinner.

  Olivia smiled as she watched them, their faces aglow with love. She was happy for her friends, but a twinge of jealousy stabbed her heart. She’d had that kind of love once, or at least thought she had, but she’d let it—him—go without a fight. More than once she wondered if maybe she should have fought for a future with Mitch. Would he have come running if he’d known about Adam? She’d thought about her decision to let him go, knowing she didn’t want him to want her because of Adam. She wanted him to want—no, need her.

  She sighed. After tomorrow night she’d have to let him go again. Would it be easier this time than it’d been last time? Somehow, she doubted it.

  Mitch stepped up beside her, took her fingers and pulled them into the crook of his arm. Trapped between the heat of his palm and the hard muscles of his forearm, her hand burned. She tried to pull away but he tightened his grip to keep her firmly in place.

  “You look beautiful,” he whispered in her ear. “Thank you for wearing the necklace. Did you put pictures inside?”

  The combination of warm breath in her ear and the softness in his voice sent chills rippling down her spine. Everything inside her tightened. Reflexively, she touched the locket then shook her head. “No,” she lied. “Never did.” She shivered and he gave her hand another light squeeze.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded, unable to force words past the knot in her throat. Oh Mitch, if I could tell you everything, would you understand? Would you hate me? Would you have come if I’d called?

  Mitch was her past and she needed to keep reminding herself of that reality. Until today, she’d been positive her love for Mitch had died years ago. As she walked beside him, touching him, smelling him, her heart inflamed with feelings, she feared she was no longer in control of her emotions. Heck, she was pretty sure she was close to out-of-control. And right now, she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  Together she and Mitch followed the rest of the wedding party to the staircase leading down to the hotel’s wine cellar. Shoes thumped on thick carpet. Voices filled with laughter and joy echoed off the walls as the wedding party trooped down to an area designed to hold far fewer people than were currently filing in.

  Olivia stepped through the door with Mitch close behind, the palm of his hand scorching her lower back through the silk of her dress. Her heart throbbed painfully in her throat. How could she possibly swallow food around the boulder resting there?

  She stepped forward, trying to put some distance between them, but he moved swiftly, matching her step for step, staying close, continuing to touch her.

  She glanced at the single, round table set with fresh flowers, candles and seventeen place settings of fine china. Seventeen chairs crowded around a table meant for fifteen. Flickering flames from the candles tossed dancing shadows along the walls and on the ceiling. All in all, an incredibly romantic setting with extremely cozy seating.

  A setting she did not feel safe sharing with Mitch Landry.

  Too close.

  Too intimate.

  Too painful.

  Before she could escape to the far side of the table away from him, Mitch pu
lled back a chair. He tipped his head toward the table and said, “I believe we’re supposed to sit here.”

  Olivia looked at the china then noticed the place card with Ms. Olivia Montgomery Gentry mocking her from above the plate. Her gaze slid to the right. Mr. Mitch Landry.

  What she said was, “Oh, okay.”

  What she meant was damn it.

  She sat and Mitch took the chair next to hers. She scooted to the left. He followed. His thick, muscular thigh pressed against hers. She pulled her legs together and broke contact, but not for long. Within seconds, he was pressed against her again.

  She didn’t need the heat from his leg to remind her he sat beside her. His unique spicy cologne filled her nose. The taste of him remained on her lips, in her mouth. Her back still burned from the branding of his palm. Her fingertips stung from his touch. Her body was on fire. Her nerves were arcing like a clipped electrical wire.

  Hotel staff poured champagne into the flutes on the table. She didn’t need any champagne tonight. She was already drunk on Mitch Landry.

  The food must have been good. The Grayson staff was known for excellent cuisine, but one would never know from her plate. She barely touched her steak or the vegetables, or even the turtle cheesecake, her absolute favorite dessert. Mostly, she moved the food from one side of the plate to the other. The food she did put in her mouth tasted like Mitch’s tongue. Every aroma smelled like Mitch, dark and sexy.

  She was in heaven…and hell.

  Mitch slid his chair back and stood. He rapped his water glass for attention then rested his hand on the back of Olivia’s chair. His fingertips brushed the nape of her neck. She pressed her thighs together as arousal dampened her panties. She glanced down, wondering if anyone besides her could see the material of her dress moving with the pounding of her heart or the arteries in her neck pulsing rapidly at the simple brush of his fingers.

  Mitch cleared his throat. “Wes. I was with you the night you met Emily. At the end of the evening you said, ‘Mitch, I’m going to marry that woman’. I thought you were just drunk.”