by Linda Grimes
dream. Realy. She couldn’t wait. She was pregnant.
After everything she’d done to orchestrate this momentous day, you’d think she’d be the last person to leave the actual walk
down the aisle to someone else. But it turned out she realy was more interested in being married to Trey than in the trappings of
the occasion, no matter how much she had entertained herself with the planning.
The truth was, she was more than a little concerned she would never get through the day without decking Dragon Mama,
pregnancy hormones being what they are. Personaly, I thought that would help set the right tone for future relations with the
woman, but I don’t get paid to think. Mina wanted beautiful pictures for her wedding album, and blood flowing from her mother-in-law’s nose would not provide a happy remembrance to share with her future children.
I sighed. At least I was getting paid wel. After I sent her Trey, with a ring, Mina thought I could do no wrong, and was wiling
to alocate quite a substantial sum to keeping me on retainer for possible future visits with the in-laws. She promised to triple my
pay whenever I could find someone to fil in for Trey, too. My business prospects were looking up.
Mina’s father met us at the back door, glowing with paternal pride as he held out his arm for me. He was also glowing with two
or three martinis, and who could blame him? I’d drink heavily today, too, if I could get away with it.
I smiled at him and whispered, “I love you, Daddy,” as we started down the petal-strewn path beneath the tent on the lawn.
Fourteen bridesmaids, twin flower girls, and a terminaly cute ring bearer had blazed the trail for us.
At the end of the aisle Mina’s groom waited. Or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof. Naturaly, Mina wasn’t going to sit
back and alow me to marry the real Trey. No, he was hidden away with his bride at my undisclosed island hideaway, enjoying a
private honeymoon after their private—and smal—real wedding. The lucky bastards.
Standing in for Trey was Mark. Or maybe Bily.
And therein lay the real source of my discomfort. It was killing me not knowing which one of them I was marrying.
Mark had been puled into a sensitive job as soon as we hit the home shore, and had enlisted Bily’s help. When I’d sent out
my SOS about the wedding they hadn’t been certain who would be available; they’d only sworn one of them would be here. It
shouldn’t matter who it was—this wasn’t realy us—but somehow the mass of butterflies swarming in my stomach didn’t take that
into consideration.
Though we hadn’t had a chance to speak privately since the incident on the boat, Mark had hinted, on our way back to the
States, that there would be a long talk in our future. But who knew what that meant? I stil had a major crush on him—old habits
die hard—but it could be he was just sorry he’d gotten caught up in the heat of the moment, and wanted to apologize. (Not that
the whole thing was entirely his fault. I mean, I had wiggled.)
And Bily … geez. I didn’t know what to think about him. It was like there were two of him occupying my head: the one I’d
grown up with—my best friend-slash-nemesis—and the one who’d kissed me senseless while eating pancakes, and made me feel
ten feet tal when he cheered my victory over Per.
Gaaah.
As the priest spoke words I could barely absorb, I gazed into Trey’s ocean-blue eyes and tried to detect some clue as to his
real identity. His face gave nothing away. We both spoke the words we were supposed to, and the deed was done. Mina and
Trey were married in the eyes of the world.
The kiss. Surely I’ll be able to tell after the kiss …
No such luck. It was a pleasant kiss, but as unlike Bily’s or Mark’s as a good adaptor could make it. Not the slightest hint of
anything non-Trey detectable, damn whoever the hel it was. Probably Mark. He never let any of himself leak through an aura, no
matter what.
On the other hand, it would be just like Bily to torment me.
Whoever it was maintained his cover perfectly throughout the posed shots with the control freak of a photographer. My cheek
muscles ached from holding Mina’s face in a perpetual smile—which wasn’t easy with her new mother-in-law poking her nose
into every shot—but the groom breezed through the whole session with perfect aplomb. The non-Chiclets smile wasn’t nearly as
endearing as it once was.
I got through most of the reception with my radiant bride-face on autopilot, pretending to know a multitude of people I’d never
met. Mr. Perfect never dropped his facade for an instant.
Finaly, just in time to save my sanity, I saw something that infused my smile with sincerity. Two burly members of the catering
staff carried out the showpiece of the evening: a breathtaking, six-tiered Matterhorn of a cake.
For the first time al day I didn’t care who my groom was. Mark. Bily. Jay Leno. Hel, he could be Groucho Marx’s bastard
grandson, as long as I got a piece of that beautiful confection.
Trey and I were about to cut the ceremonial first slice when Dragon Mama insinuated herself into the picture. Again. I gritted
my teeth, a trifle peeved on Mina’s behalf. And, okay, maybe my blood sugar was a little low. She realy shouldn’t have tried to
come between me and the cake.
“Excuse me, Mother Harrison,” I said politely, delighting inwardly at the pained expression on her face when she heard it. For
Mina’s sake, I didn’t snicker. “I think I should probably be the one standing next to my husband.”
Oh, direct hit! She frosted me with her eyes. “Do cal me Helene.”
Ha. I’d rather cal her “Granny” and watch her face melt. But that would be a major violation of my contract with Mina. She
and Trey should have the pleasure of sharing that joyful news with her themselves. Stil, there was no harm in poking her just a
little, was there?
“But we’re family now, Mother Harrison. Or would you prefer ‘Mom’?” I kept Mina’s smile sweet. Realy. It was more fun
that way.
“Helene. I insist,” she said, ever so drily.
“Okay. Helene,” I capitulated. I was sure Mina wouldn’t want to cal this woman Mom, anyway. “Now, about my husband…”
Her eyes narrowed as she warped her mouth into a smile. “Of course. After just a few pictures. You don’t mind, do you? Just
in case. You know how it is. So many marriages don’t work out, and it would be a shame not to have a picture of Henry in his
finery without…” She lifted one eyebrow delicately.
My smile stiffened, and I looked to Trey for support. Count, he mouthed to me. Deep breaths. One, two, three …
Right. Good advice, something that could have come from either Mark or Bily. One … two … three … I could do this …
four … five … six …
No, I couldn’t.
I sidled over to Dragon Mama. “But our marriage wil last forever. I promise. Forever. So let’s get a nice, cozy shot of the
three of us, okay?” I moved closer, took careful aim, and—oops!—accidentaly stepped on her foot with my stiletto heel. (Some
accidents take more finesse than others.) The screech was music to my ears. I only hoped one of the three roving videographers
got a good shot of her tonsils.
Dragon Mama teetered on one foot, leaning over and holding the other with both hands. “Why, you little—”
“Oh, dear,” I said, noting how close we were to the cake, and thinking it would be a darn shame if she toppled right into it.
Yessirree, a darn shame. So I reached out to … um, steady her.
; But Trey got to her first, damn it.
He carried her to the nearest chair, shooting me a warning look as he spoke to her. “Mother, you poor thing. Here, sit down.”
He signaled a waiter to bring ice while he continued to talk over her protests. “You just stay right here and let the staff wait on you
hand and, uh, foot.”
“But she did it on purp—”
“Don’t be sily. It was an accident. Wasn’t it, Mina?” he said pointedly. Huh. Must be Mark. Bily probably would have helped
me push her into the cake.
I crossed my fingers in the folds of my gown. “Of course it was. I just can’t seem to see where my feet are going under this
dress. I am so sorry, Mother Harrison—I mean, Helene. Can you ever forgive me?”
Okay, so I played to the crowd a little. Most of them seemed pretty amused by the whole thing. Let’s face it—weddings are
basicaly boring. The least I could do was provide a little entertainment.
Noting the avidness of the audience, Mrs. Harrison reined in her temper. I’d have to warn Mina she might want to employ a
food taster at any family meals for a while. But at least she would be guaranteed a good number of pictures without her mother-in-law in them, which ought to count for something. Heck, there might even be a bonus in it for me.
Trey and I left Ava the Ace to gloss things over with Dragon Mama while we got on with more important matters. I was
perfectly happy once I had cake (dense chocolate fudge under a rich, white butter cream icing, which almost made up for the
pinching shoes) and champagne. Nothing like sugar and alcohol to brighten one’s mood. Two pieces and three glasses melowed
me out so much, I could even smile benignly at the tug-of-war between the two bridesmaids who conjointly caught the bouquet.
The garter toss was another matter entirely. My sugar-and alcohol-induced serenity fled when bold fingers tickled their way up
my leg, overshot the garter by several inches, and settled on the bare skin above my stockings. Hidden as his hands were, Trey
—damn it, which one was he?—felt no pressing need to maintain decorum.
“Help me out here, hon,” he said, eyes aglow with mischief. It had to be Bily. “Tel me when I’m getting warmer.” His fingers
crawled northward, stopping within centimeters of—
“Hot!” I squeaked. Then again, it might be Mark. His hands had been pretty free and easy on the boat, and he obviously
wasn’t bashful in public places. Also, after that kiss I was pretty sure he couldn’t think of me as a kid sister anymore.
“Sorry, babe. It’s hard—”
“I’l bet!” a drunken male voice boomed from among the spectators.
“—working blind.” Trey ignored his buddy. “I better take a look, or we could be here al day.”
He disappeared under my skirts, flailing his arms in a mad parody of a search. Whoever it was, I was going to kil him. I took
aim at the moving lump I judged to be his head, and struck. Connected on my third attempt. “Enough, Romeo!” I said, laughing.
He slipped the garter from my leg and made his exit from beneath my gown—but not before leaving a warm, openmouthed kiss
high on the inside of my thigh. Being the professional I am, I didn’t gasp. Much.
He shot the elasticized bit of silk and lace, rubber band style, into a group of single men who had been herded together by the
bridesmaids, and then led me into a final dance without waiting to see who caught it.
“Can we go yet?” he whispered.
He didn’t have to ask me twice. After a flurry of good-byes, the two of us ran the gauntlet through a blizzard of white rose
petals, and found ourselves stuffed into the backseat of a limo. I tried my best to tame the dress that kept popping up between us,
but it was like playing Whack-a-Mole—every time I mashed one part down, another sprang up. Trey finaly subdued it for me.
The privacy barrier was closed between the driver and us. I couldn’t stand it for another second. “Okay, who are you?”
Heat flared in his eyes. “It’s our honeymoon. I’l be whoever you want me to be.”
I swalowed hard, trying to quiet my suddenly pounding heart. Who did I want him to be? I opened my mouth to speak, but no
words came.
“What’s the matter? Can’t decide?” He reached over and tugged a wisp of hair that had escaped my satin-flowered headpiece.
Billy. Of course it was Bily. I let out my breath and smiled. “You know what I want, don’t you?”
He laughed. “Sadly, I’m afraid I do. You’ve been limping for the past hour.” He reached under my dress and slipped off my
shoes one at a time, caressing my silk-encased toes in passing.
Once my feet were on his lap, and my shoulders suitably reclining against a cushy armrest, he started to massage. The cramped
muscles relaxed under the pressure of fingers that knew instinctively where to dig deep and where to glide easy. He wiggled my
toes back and forth gently, avoiding blisters, loosening joints I’d feared would be permanently bent at stiletto angles. It felt so
good I wanted to weep with ecstasy.
I was glad it was Bily. Not that I would’ve kicked Mark out of the limo, but Bily sure knew how to give a foot massage.
His hands moved up a little. Goody, an ankle massage, too. He took his time, revisiting my feet frequently, until my head loled
back and I closed my eyes.
“Mmmm…” I said, which he apparently took as a signal my calves needed attention, too. Since the pressing matter of my
cramped feet had been seen to, my aching lower legs agreed with his assessment. I sighed happily. But when he took that as an
invitation to include my thighs in his tender ministrations, I sprang upright and halted his hands.
“What are you doing?” I said, nerve endings on ful alert.
His hands slid back over my calves to my ankles, circling them and puling me closer as he dropped Trey’s aura. I had to clutch
his shoulders to keep from toppling over backward.
“The windows are tinted,” he said quietly, flattening the highest mountains of material with his elbow. “The driver can’t see us
behind the screen. The intercom is off. Relax. And lose that aura.”
“We’l be in our room soon. We should wait,” I said, but since I’d inhaled deeply before speaking, and noticed he smeled even
better as himself than he had as Trey, my protest was maybe not stated as firmly as I intended. However, I did not give into the
urge to sniff his jawline, which I counted as restraint.
He shook his head. “I can’t stay long. Mark is probably already frothing at the mouth. He thought I was jeopardizing the
assignment by leaving at al—and, to be fair, he’s right about that—so I have to go. But first I want to see you.”
“But…”
He cocked his head and looked at me with those damned Doyle eyes. At this range, that was al it took. I caved. Dropped
Mina, leaving myself more buried than ever in clouds of hideously expensive fabric. I felt out of place, but Bily’s eyes filed with
obvious approval as he reached one hand behind my head to pul me closer.
“Wait!” I said at the last second.
“You said you were tired of sitting on the sidelines. You wanted in the game. So let’s play.”
“Look, I don’t know if I can get used to thinking about you this way. And … wel, what about Mark? What happened to
waiting until he’s out of my head?”
He grinned. “After careful consideration, I’ve decided on a more proactive approach. You could use a little help pushing the
spook out.”
“Proactive?” I said, curious but wary. Proactive combined with Bily could be … interesting. Then aga
in, we al know where
curiosity got the cat.
“That’s right. I figure the more of me in there,” he said with a tap on my forehead, “the less room for him.” He leaned his head
toward me.
I drew back again. “But we’re—”
“Damn it, Ciel, we are not technicaly related. I promise you it’s not perverted. Besides, you enjoyed it the last time I kissed
you. A lot.”
“Of course I did—you tasted like maple syrup. You know how much I love maple syrup.”
“You love me, too.”
“I do n—”
His mouth swalowed the last word. This time he tasted like expensive champagne and wedding cake. How was I supposed to
resist a combo like that?
It was futile and I knew it, so I didn’t try, not even when his hand slipped back under my skirts. Realy, his touch was so light
and my heart hammering so heavily, how could I be sure it wasn’t just my fevered imagination? And it would be rude to wrongly
accuse him. Best to make sure before I—oh, hel, who was I kidding? His hand was there al right, his fingers dancing delicately
back and forth, slowly working their way past my garters, until they found what they were looking for, and lingered.
Okay, so protest was one option. But honestly? There’s a lot to be said for lingering fingers, especialy when they’re moving
slowly in time with a tongue already doing insanely delicious things to your mouth.
Ditto for a dizzying scent—geez, was that cologne? or just him?—going straight from your nose to points south, adding fuel to
the fire. I whimpered. Oh, yes, a lot to be said for that. Basicaly I didn’t stop him because … wel, it felt realy, really good. It
was like there were fizzy little bubbles racing through my bloodstream, tickling every erogenous zone I had, and finaly popping
against my … OH!
Al thoughts of protest suddenly moot, I puled my lips from his and buried my face in his neck, trying unsuccessfuly to stifle a
sound of pure pleasure. I was a little embarrassed about the moaning, but the rational part of me figured it was at least better than
screaming, Yes! I do love you! No way was I going to jump off that bridge first, even if what I was feeling was love and not just
lust.
He hugged me to him, giving me a moment, then kissed my forehead and raised my chin. “Were you thinking about him just
