by Lori Wilde
Quickly, she stiffened her legs and dropped her gaze before she burst into flames. Who cared who he was? That was just estrogen talking, and the fact that she hadn’t had a date in oh . . . quickly, she mentally counted on her fingers and came up short. Thirteen months.
Neither was she the only one ogling Mr. I’m Too Sexy for This Earth. Half the women in the bakery were giving him come-hither glances. He was definitely blessed with a deep gene pool. Who could miss those broad shoulders, pearly whites, and proud nose?
Oh, the damage he could do to her.
Unsettled, Meg loudly cleared her throat. “Ahem.”
Sheepishly, Brady and Ellie broke apart.
With her cheeks blushing pink, Ellie turned to the man behind the counter. “I called earlier. We have an appointment to sample wedding cakes.”
“Jan will be right with you,” the man said and motioned for them to step aside so he could wait on the next customer.
“Excuse me for being rude. I just had to have some Brady sugar first,” Ellie said and extended a petite hand. “I’m Ellie.”
“Hi.” Meg upped the wattage on her smile, giving it her best I-Run-a-Dude-Ranch welcome. “Megan Stoddard.”
“Brady’s told me so much about you.” Ellie’s dark eyes sparkled like rainbow obsidian in direct sunlight. “I just know we’re going to be close. I’ve never had a sister.”
The woman possessed an arresting combo of natural blond hair and ebony eyes. She was even more beautiful in person than in pictures, and Meg could see why Brady was attracted to her. Not only beautiful but intelligent, too.
Brady wrapped his arm around Ellie’s shoulders, pulled her close, pressed his lips to the top of her head.
“He’s told me a lot about you, too,” Meg said, holding on to her skepticism in the face of Ellie’s overwhelming optimism.
Yes, Ellie seemed really nice and genuine, but she might just be a truly gifted swindler. Meg noticed Mr. I’m Too Sexy for This Earth looked as dubious as she felt. At least they had something in common: mutual mistrust of their friends’ marriage madness.
“This is my best friend, Shane Freemont,” Ellie introduced. “He’s my man of honor.”
Shane stepped forward, an I’m-barely-civilized smile on his handsome face, a roguish glint in his blue eyes. He stuck out his hand. Big. Square. Neatly trimmed nails. Callused palm.
Meg took it.
And was totally unprepared for the jolt of skin-to-skin contact. Her heart flipped up into her throat. She gulped it back down. It flipped up again. Her palm was seared to his. She wanted to pull it away, pull it out of the fire.
But she was transfixed by his lush, full smile. Mesmerized. Awestruck.
Commanding, steely, and yet somehow totally genuine, he carried his Top Gun good looks like he had no idea he was a rare eagle.
“Good to meet you,” he said, his words normal, pedestrian even, but his voice . . .
Oh my God, that voice! Low and deep and smooth. A charming voice, so warm and cozy it stoked images of crackling logs in a fireplace, snowbanks outside the window, and bare skin on plush rugs.
Hot sex, Meg thought and blinked at him vacantly, struggling to keep her breathing slow and easy. “You too.”
He was still holding on to her hand, pumping it leisurely. His stare pinned on hers.
She should look away. A smart person would look away. She didn’t look away. Stupid.
Meg hissed in air through her teeth. “You . . .”
“Yes?” His blues eyes were incandescent. Or maybe it was just the bakery lighting. And he smelled so good. Like sandalwood and leather and sage. A musky, manly scent that unraveled her.
“You can let go now,” she murmured.
“Huh?” he said, as if he’d been so busy peering into her he’d gone momentarily deaf.
“My hand. May I have it back?”
“Oh.” His face dissolved into a genuine smile. “Sure. Yes. Right.”
But he didn’t drop her hand. Instead, he leaned in, tugged her toward him slightly, and she thought, Holy vegan cupcakes, he’s going to kiss me.
Chapter Two
Shane Freemont did not, in fact, kiss her.
Meg felt both desperately relieved and wildly disappointed. Her heart spun like a whirligig in a wind tunnel. What was the matter with her? She wasn’t the kind of woman who wished for strangers’ kisses.
Instead, he ducked his head close to her ear and whispered, “We need to talk.”
What? Hmm. Yep. Sure. Anything for Mr. I’m Too Sexy for This Earth.
He let go of her hand then and, untethered, she floated dizzily. Before she could gather her thoughts to make a coherent reply, a side door opened and a plump woman with a cherubic smile and dangly Ewok earrings emerged.
“Hi.” She motioned them to follow her into the back room. “I’m Jan. Are you ready to taste wedding cakes?”
Yes! Chocolate. Sugar. Butter. That was precisely what she needed to ground her. Lead on, Jan.
Brady took Ellie’s hand and they went together, leaving Shane and Meg to bring up the rear. Meg purposely held back. She didn’t want to walk abreast with the man who’d sent her ovaries into overdrive.
But Shane held back, too, flourishing his arm for her to proceed ahead of him. “Beauty first.”
Oh, he was a charmer. “No, you go. I insist.” She motioned him forward. She tried not to ogle him, but he was so damn gorgeous. Her eyes were magnetically drawn to him.
He didn’t budge. “After you.”
“Are you using this as an excuse to stare at my butt?”
That sly smile was back. “It is worth staring at.”
Meg snorted, pointed. “You go.”
“Seriously,” Ellie called over her shoulder. “Is the entire wedding going to go like this with you two?”
“Get a move on,” Brady added. “Who cares who goes first?”
A sheepish expression crawled across Shane’s face. Meg felt dopey as well for making a big deal of it and she moved forward.
But so did Shane.
Their shoulders collided in the doorway, and for a moment they were momentarily stuck. Sandwiched by the doorframe and each other.
Instant heat fled across her shoulder, down her body, and flooded her pelvis. Embedded there. Swam around. Got comfy.
Good grief. What was this nonsense?
“You go forward,” Shane said, his voice sandpaper gruff. “I’ll step back.”
Hmm, he sounded unsettled. Maybe more unsettled than she.
Who cares? Get away from him.
Away from the feelings that touching him provoked.
She gave a little hop, broke free of the doorway and his shoulder. But landed awkwardly on the kitten heels of her open-toed sandals and wobbled. What she wouldn’t give to be wearing her cowgirl boots.
With spurs.
Shane grabbed her elbow to steady her.
For god’s sake, stop touching me!
She wrenched away, but that upset her balance even more, and he snaked his arm around her waist to hold her in place.
Anchored. Secure.
Meg thought the shoulder-touching thing had been bad, but it didn’t begin to compare with the hormonal explosion when his broad hand was splayed just under her right breast and his body was pressed against her and his face was so close to hers that if she turned her head, their lips would touch.
The nearer he got, the better he smelled. Good enough to lick.
Or eat.
He could seduce a woman with his scent alone. What was that aftershave? Versace? Paco Rabanne? Ralph Lauren? Except he hadn’t shaved this morning, as evidenced by the scruffy jaw, so no aftershave.
Could it be his natural bouquet?
If this was his natural fragrance, he was the Lamborghini of pheromones, Meg decided, struggling to regain her equilibrium. You could never trust that kind of power. A man who smelled like that was bound to attract women far and wide. A cornucopia of women would fall at his feet, rendered
helpless by such an enticing aroma.
Even ol’ Jan, who was clearly married from the wedding ring on her finger, inhaled deeply when she walked by him.
Ah, crap!
Meg was toast the minute he’d wrapped his arm around her waist. A light-seeking moth scorched by his insanely good-smelling flame.
“You okay?” Shane asked.
“Fine. Thanks.” Why did she have to sound so breathless?
She staggered away from him, blindly entering a room set up with slices of various cakes for sampling. Disoriented, she glanced around.
Ellie and Brady were already feeding each other bites of strawberry cake with fondant icing and grinning at each other like they knew the secrets of the universe and weren’t about to enlighten anyone.
Why was she here? Oh yes, Brady. She’d agreed to be his best woman. Meet Ellie. Help the happy couple choose the perfect wedding cake.
She accepted the thin slice of strawberry cake Jan passed to her. It tasted like summer, red and sweet and ripe.
Jan extended a plate to Shane, but he waved it away.
“Shane doesn’t like strawberries,” Ellie said. “So this one’s out.”
“Shane’s not the groom,” Meg said, belatedly realizing how sharp she sounded. She wasn’t a sharp person. Normally she was very upbeat and happy. But something about this guy knocked her off her game. “Um . . . I’m just saying, it’s your day. You should have the cake you want.”
“Agreed,” Shane said. “If you want strawberry, Ell, get strawberry.”
“There are many more cakes to taste.” Jan cut off small chunks of another cake. “Banana with peanut butter cream cheese frosting.”
Meg liked that one, too, but hey, it was cake. What’s not to like?
“Too Elvisy,” Ellie said. “Maybe in Vegas, but not for a dude ranch wedding.”
“You’re getting married at a dude ranch?” Shane grunted.
“Meg’s dude ranch,” Brady explained.
Shane shot her a look. “You own a dude ranch?”
She hot-potatoed his gaze, focused on tasting the cake. “My parents own Hawk Creek Ranch. But they’re retired now and live in town. I manage it.”
“What’s wrong with a dude ranch?” Ellie studied Shane as if his approval meant the world.
“Nothing’s wrong with a dude ranch,” Shane said. “It’s just not you.”
Ellie linked her arm through Brady’s. “Brady’s a cowboy.”
Shane eyed Brady, who was wearing cowboy boots, starched jeans, and a Stetson. “No kidding. What’s that got to do with anything?”
Tension ripped through the room, as thick and solid as royal icing.
“Something you want to say, Shane?” Brady asked, resting a hand on his hip as if there was an invisible holster strapped there.
“Ellie’s not a cowgirl and it’s her big day. Why can’t she have someplace she’d enjoy?”
“The dude ranch venue is free,” Meg said. “My wedding gift to them.”
“Listen up,” Ellie said in a voice so strong and firm that Shane’s eyes widened. “I want to get married at the dude ranch. I’m in love with a cowboy. My life is changing. I’m changing.”
“Yeah, bending yourself into a pretzel for a guy you barely know.”
“Shane!” Ellie scolded. “This isn’t the time or place.”
Shane looked like he wanted to say a lot more but clamped his lips closed, nodded curtly.
Brady stepped closer to Shane. Meg’s pulse accelerated and she held her breath, fought an impulse to start a wedding cake food fight to defuse the situation.
“Let’s call a truce. Put our feelings aside and make this work. We both love Ellie and want the best for her.” Brady extended his hand. “Deal?”
Shane glanced at Ellie, who had her hands clasped together in front of her heart, in a prayer pose, her bottom lip tucked up between her teeth in a disarmingly waifish gesture.
Saps.
Ellie had both men wrapped around her pinkie. But Meg was on to her. Ellie was one of those eyelash-batting women who made guys feel all strong and protective. She was manipulating them every which way but loose.
“Deal,” Shane said and shook Brady’s hand.
Everyone fake smiled and went back to tasting cake. Waters calmed. Fires doused. Crisis averted.
“Which one is your favorite?” Jan polled after they’d sampled all the offerings.
“Carrot cake,” Shane said, which didn’t surprise Meg. All that spice.
“Chocolate,” Brady voted. Of course. The old standby. Brady was nothing if not steady and consistent.
“Meg?” Ellie asked. “Which one is your pick?”
“It’s not my wedding.”
“But you have an opinion.”
“What was your favorite?” Meg asked Ellie.
“White chiffon cake with white chocolate icing, blackberry mousse, and fresh raspberries.”
The most expensive cake on the printed price list, Meg noticed. The cheapest was the chocolate. “I vote with Brady.”
Ellie reached over to stroke her finger down Brady’s jaw. “We can get chocolate for the groom’s cake. Or—” she turned to Jan. “Can we get a half-and-half groom’s cake? Half carrot cake, half chocolate, to please the two men in my life?”
“Sure. Whatever you’d like,” Jan said.
“There now.” Ellie smiled sweetly, her face a moonbeam. “Everyone’s happy.”
“But it will cost double,” Jan added.
“Money’s no object when it comes to my beloved’s happiness,” Brady cooed, opened his wallet, and took out his American Express Black Card.
Beloved? Cooing? Flashing his credit card? This was her Brady?
Though his net worth was somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty million, Meg had never seen Brady be frivolous with money. She didn’t like the changes she saw in him. Not one bit.
And she couldn’t help wondering if her best friend was following his heart to ruin.
* * *
“Wait.” Shane put a restraining hand on Meg’s elbow to keep her from leaving the room as Brady and Ellie followed Jan to the front counter to settle up their order. Felt another shock of energy run up his arm the same way it had when they’d shaken hands and bumped shoulders in the doorway.
Meg tensed.
Did she feel it, too? The heat? The electricity? The sparks?
Forget about that. Get to the point. He had to talk to her about the wedding.
She turned to face him, her expression cool, unruffled. She possessed liquid green eyes, a cynical mouth, and slender, expressive hands.
His pulse galloped. What was it about her that threw him off-kilter?
“Yes?” Her cool, arid tone made him think of Salt Lake City.
He widened his smile, hoping to charm her, but her eyes turned frostier. “Could we go somewhere after this?”
She stared at him warily. “Why?”
“We need to talk.”
“About what?” She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, as if she thought he had ulterior motives.
“Them.” He gestured in the direction Brady and Ellie had gone. “May I buy you lunch?”
“No, thanks. I’m full of cake.”
“I saw a park across the street. We could walk and talk.”
She hesitated for so long he was sure she was going to say no, but then she nodded. “I’ll leave first. You can meet me over there. I don’t want them to think we’re talking about them behind their backs.”
“But we are.”
“They don’t need to know that.” She turned, cut off the conversation, and hurried after the happy couple.
Shane canted his head and watched her walk away, smiling. She could put that swing in his backyard anytime.
“Stop staring at my butt,” she called over her shoulder and disappeared around the corner.
When Shane got back into the bakery lobby area, Meg was already telling Brady and Ellie good-bye. They invited him to lu
nch with them, but he declined. Waited until they’d left the bakery parking lot before trotting over to the park across the street.
He stood feeling the warm sunshine on his face, searching for Meg. When he didn’t immediately see her, he wondered if she’d blown him off.
“Ahem.”
He turned to find her standing in line at a kiosk that sold snacks for humans as well as the park ducks. Sunglasses perched on her nose, she looked adorable, and a spontaneous smile broke across his face.
“There you are,” he said, coming up beside her.
“Here I am,” she said dryly. “What do you want?”
You. With whipped cream and a cherry on top.
Meg took her turn at the counter, ordered duck food. The gangly teenager in the kiosk gave her a paper cone filled with little pelts and change for a five. Before moving away from the spot, Meg counted her change.
“Do you always do that?” Shane asked.
“Do what?” She slipped the coins into her pocket and moved off.
He followed her. “Count your change.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s just silly. What if a clerk shorted you?”
“It’s change. What’s the most you could lose? A few cents?”
“It’s not the money,” she said. “It’s the principle.”
“Being?”
“It’s not fair to shortchange someone, whether it’s due to thievery, incompetence, or laziness.”
“Wow,” he said. “You’re idealistic.”
“I believe in justice.”
“Do you hand the money back if they give you too much change?”
“Absolutely. Fair’s fair. It cuts both ways.”
“At least you’re not a hypocrite.”
“Did you think I was?”
He studied her straight posture, the proud tilt of her head. “It hadn’t occurred to me, no. You seem like a moral, upstanding citizen.”
“Thank you.” She slid her sunglasses down on her nose and assessed him over the top of the rims.
“Listen,” he said and momentarily got sidetracked by the fine freckles sprinkled over the bridge of her nose. He had a thing for freckles. Freckles were friendly, even if Meg Stoddard hadn’t been exactly welcoming.
She craned her neck, blinked. “I’m listening, but you’re not talking.”
