Taste of Temptation

by Moira McTark

  The possessive rage that overcame him in that split second had every cell in his body calling for blood. The groom got off lucky with the girly dead-leg assault. Another second of unwelcome contact and Jason would have been on him ... and the damage he'd have inflicted wouldn't have left the bastard able hobble out of the hotel.

  When the staff had rushed to her aid, Jason backed away, trying to get past the veil of red that blinded him to the idea of anything but punishment.

  "By the time I came in, it was done.” Talk about a limp apology.

  He'd been a jackass to bring it up. But now that he had, there was something he'd been wondering about. Trying to get back to a cavalier tone, he went fishing. “The bride's mother walking in then was perfect timing. Took the pressure off you to do anything about it."

  Laine fixed him with a hard stare, but he couldn't stop.

  "Connie has a strict policy of one freebie for grab-ass grooms, but this guy was serious. Would you have told the bride if her mother hadn't been there?"

  Laine rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. “Connie almost fired me for not heading the mother off, but I wasn't even going to try. I'm glad that girl found out what he was capable of, and on their wedding day no less. He deserved to lose her.” Her expression lost the fight she normally flaunted, and his chest tightened. “Besides, he was rough."

  His fists balled at his side as he dragged the breath in through his nose. She'd been scared. She'd been scared, and three weeks later was still upset, yet he'd walked away, afraid that he would kill the man who'd threatened her. He should have. “I'm sorry, Laine."

  She hadn't exactly said that she would have told the bride, but it was close enough. Laine would have done the right thing if it had been left to her. He could see in her eyes that she knew Connie was wrong in her policies.

  Hell, he knew her. He shouldn't have even had to ask.

  "Don't be sorry.” Her pouty mouth twisted up to the side, and the unflappable façade returned with a dismissive humph. She didn't like to look vulnerable. She rarely let him see what she was really thinking for more than a moment at a time, but when her guard was down ... he lost all resolve to stay unattached and indifferent. When Laine showed the woman beneath the flawless veneer, he wanted nothing more than to gather her into his arms and never let her go. When her guard returned, flying up to fend off his probing questions, and she offered him her most adversarial stare, he wanted nothing more than to get her underneath him, penetrate that false shell and touch the parts of her she couldn't disguise. Either way, she had more control over him than he liked any woman to have.

  "It was a lesson in prevention,” she continued, shaking her head. “I need to be more aggressive about keeping potential problem grooms reined in. No opportunities on my watch. Day-of cancellations kill reputations, and Connie can't have that."

  Jason curled his lip. “Wow, Laine, you really are full-service. Peddling that kind of romance every weekend, it's no wonder you've got a waitlist of brides clamoring after you."

  Laine's glare shot to him. “Bite me, Jason."

  He took one step toward her and dropped his voice. “If that's how you like it, give me the chance and I will."

  The blush that flooded her face was as priceless as the stunned flutter of her eyelids and her sharp intake of breath. Heat and anticipation sparked in the space between them, the weighted pause sending blood rushing to his cock. Christ, she almost looked like she was considering his offer.

  Laine looked away first, giving him the closest thing to a win over her he'd ever had. When she turned back it was all business. “Have you tried Dolce for a cake yet?"

  The question took him by surprise, but he should have seen it coming. She was playing hardball.

  His mouth pinched into a tight line. “No. But be my guest. The phone's right here."

  Laine slipped her foot back into her heel and lazed across the carpet, taking a seat in the open club chair closest to the phone. She leaned forward, and for one split second, Jason thought he was going to be rewarded with the sight of her perfect breasts popping free from the top of her dress. He waited as she stretched, twisting, until the full swell was nearly exposed, and his mouth watered for that last little bit of flesh, the cherry tip. God, he wanted her.

  He was hot, his cock erect within his pants, his chest feeling like he'd been rock climbing instead of lounging in his office, trying to find a cake to appease this sexy little wedding imp.

  Back in control, the tension she'd shown was gone. With one hand, her fingers danced over the number pad, while the other twirled the phone cord. Her hands were long and thin, elegant. She never seemed at a loss for what to do with them, and Jason couldn't stop wondering how they would feel on him.

  "Dolce? Hi, Laine Malone from Blissful Brides ... I have an emergency. Is there anything you can do to get me a cake for three hours from now—?” She yanked the phone away from her ear as the clerk on the other end bellowed at her request.

  Jason let out a short laugh as he watched her, wondering how much she knew about the Henley rift with Dolce. Couldn't be much, or she would have thrown it in his face before this. Tried to use it for leverage in negotiations to get some bride's most ridiculous fantasy met.

  She stared back at him with narrowed eyes and, when the bellowing ceased, pulled the phone back to her ear. “I'm at the Henley Hotel here and ... Hello?” She looked at the earpiece on the phone with shock, as though she thought it might explain why someone would have hung up on her.

  Ha. Apparently she didn't know enough to keep her mouth shut about the location of the wedding. Her only shot would have been to offer to pick the cake up, or meet it at the intersection two blocks down. So much for Dolce. “No dice, eh?"

  Watching her incredulous expression, he wanted to laugh but tried to rein it in.

  "He hung up on me.” She licked her lips and slowly settled the receiver back into its cradle. “I know rude. I deal with it on a daily basis. But that was exceptional."

  "They don't do business that involves the hotel."

  "So it would seem,” she said, eyeing him carefully.

  He cleared his throat and shrugged, then, keeping his tone matter-of-fact, offered a half-hearted explanation. “Dispute over a wedding a few years back."

  "That must have been some dispute."

  She wanted more information, and he was half considering giving it to her when the partially open door slammed against the wall. Dil careened into the private office, his face red and dotted with sweat. “Jay, I've got a cake."

  Laine flopped back against the chair. “Dil, I love you."

  Oh sure. Dil brought her a cake and she was in love. The guy always came through.

  "Fine, fine. Dil, we owe you. Laine, go deliver your cake news."

  She was up and dancing out the door in a flash.

  Jason glanced over at Dil with a smirk. “This one's gonna cost me isn't it?"

  Dil's grin said it all.

  Laine paused outside of the suite. Within, she could hear the hum of the bridal party in full consolation mode. Good luck to them, she thought, at the high-pitched lash of the bride's temper. Great.

  Bridezillas like Melinda Langdon were not the reason Laine got into the nuptials business. Not that it mattered. Blissful Brides was contracted to do a job, and every bride deserved a perfect day. So regardless of Melinda's extreme nasty factor, Laine was determined to give her the wedding she always dreamed of.

  Pushing through the door, she had the sense of entering a world of snarky, back-biting, silver-wrapped Hershey's kisses. The bridal party, shimmering in matching metallic gowns, bustled around, whispering insincerities and unfriendly speculations, while the bride-to-be sniffed loudly against the something borrowed heirloom lace hanky her mother had loaned her.

  Laine planted a near-maniacal smile on her face and broke through the crowd. She would read as happy and confident. It was damage control time. Cutting through the swarm of formal wear, Laine widened her eyes and,
at risk of severe cheek cramp, beamed an exaggerated smile.

  "Mel, the most incredible news. Jason Henley, the owner of the hotel, is having a fabulous new cake brought in just for you. I honestly can't believe it. He's never done anything like this for a bride before, but he's gotten his favorite bakery to make something special ... just for you!” The giddy squeal at the end was as key to the sell as the mandatory just-for-you business, so she put everything she had into it before letting her delighted expression fall into faux concern. “Oh, my God, Mel—” they were like sisters now, “—has something happened?"

  Melinda's shellacked lower lip stuck out like a roost for a small bird. “My ... my special day ... it's ruined,” she screeched, burying her face against Laine's bare shoulder, leaving a cold, wet trail of what, God willing, was tears and tears alone. Melinda's words choked off into unintelligible sobs, and suddenly she was just a girl with a lifelong dream on the verge of falling apart.

  Laine's mind stopped running in business mode, and her body softened as Melinda quaked against her. Smoothing back the bride's neat curls so they wouldn't be crushed between them, Laine shushed out a long breath. “Come on now,” she soothed. “Hey, it's all going to be fine. We've got the cake taken care of. But some silly cake isn't what's going to make this day special for you. It's the beginning of your happily ever after. You and Ed are going to be man and wife. This is just one big party to celebrate ... love. It can't be ruined."

  Melinda sniffed loudly. Her body settled. Her small voice sounded stronger as she spoke over Laine's shoulder. “But ... this is my special day. What will my wedding be without my cake?"

  Of course. So much for that. “Okay, honey. The cake will be here and better than ever.” She ticked off her mental to-do list: Dry clean hanky for mother of bride, makeup artist ASAP, order cucumbers for the bags, make sure the bar watered down the groom's drinks, ream florist for the thorn in the bouquet, ream Jason for ... the hell of it. The last thought made her smile. She'd keep a reaming slot open for him—something was bound to come up. She couldn't believe he'd asked her to dinner.

  Melinda pulled back, her lips all puffy.

  "Oh, stop it this minute, Mel.” Laine pushed Jason from her mind and put on her best grandmother voice. “Nothing is ruined except this makeup, and there's no law against the beautiful bride getting a touchup. Now give me a smile."

  Behind them the suite door opened to a chorus of oohs and ahhs. Laine spun around to see Jason smiling at the bridal attendants as though each were the vision they dreamed of being. A natural charmer. Finally, his gaze settled on Melinda, his eyes showing nothing but approval. The man had a game face all right. Pushing through the crowd, he walked up to the splotchy bride and dropped a chaste kiss on her cheek. “Beautiful."

  Jason popped the cork on a bottle of champagne and toasted Melinda. He was an operator, but he'd added to the calm of Bridezilla, so she was on his side.

  At the risk of looking like she had a tic, Laine offered up another wink. “I'm going to go check on some details. You girls enjoy a glass of champagne, and we'll have everyone ready to walk down the aisle with time to spare.” She had a cake to confirm, a groom to check up on and crystallizing snot to chisel off her shoulder, so she needed to move.

  Jason turned to her and offered up a phony smile to top all others. “Ms. Malone, I'll accompany you out. Enjoy the preparations, ladies."

  Outside the suite, Laine turned on him. “What gives? Is there a problem with the cake?"

  "It'll be here in fifteen minutes.” He extracted a white hanky with a flourish and sopped up the bit of gunk Melinda left behind on Laine's shoulder.

  "Thank you."

  He nodded, offering an exaggerated wink just to get under her skin. She couldn't help but laugh.

  "My pleasure,” he said, guiding her by the elbow down the narrow hall. “How many attendants does the boo-hoo bride have in there?"

  "Eleven maids, four juniors and two flower girls."

  Jason's brow arched. “Wow, is this the biggest bridal party you've handled?"

  She stole a sidelong glance at Mr. Chit-Chat and rolled her eyes. “Yes, professionally, anyway.” Way to add the qualifier. It was an open invitation. She could have slapped herself.

  "That's right, you've got a slew of married sisters. Six? What was the biggest bridal party?"

  "Sixteen maids."

  "Bet your dad wished he'd had some boys in the mix."

  Laine knew he was just trying to fill the dead space, but talking about Malone weddings wasn't the most calming experience for her.

  Jason glanced over at her. “You must have had a lot of experience with planning pretty early then. That what got you hooked to make a career of it?"

  She ignored the question, trying to will it and the image it conjured—a tear-streaked face vanishing down a distant corridor in a flurry of silk and sobs—out of her mind. At the end of the hall, Jason punched the down button at the bank of elevators.

  Swallowing hard, she shook off the memory and forced the practiced smile back to her lips.

  Jason stared at her, his clear blue eyes curious and intent.

  "What?” she snapped, hitting the already illuminated down button a few more times.

  "Nothing, just wondering what was behind that sad look you covered with your stock smile."

  Her breath hitched in her throat. It was disconcerting to feel like he saw through whatever façade she put up. How was it that Jason, of all people, would be immune to her pretense? Was it that he saw her more clearly than everyone else, or, more likely, that the playboy/professional was so skilled in the art of masking emotions all her old tricks were transparent to him?

  Regardless of the answer, making light seemed an apt solution. “I'll have you know, this smile is professional grade. It's gotten more brides—with zits the size of spitballs, nasty mothers-in-law, and fights over china patterns—down the aisle than you could shake a stick at. Why? Because this smile ... is effective. Makes people trust me. Don't knock it because your professional smile is just a poor man's version of mine.” There, she sounded flippant, fine, but deep in her core, she trembled.

  "What are you talking about?” Concern etched across his furrowed brow. Ack, he was infuriating, seeing everything she didn't want him to see.

  Suddenly she felt hot, claustrophobic, like the neutral walls and subtly patterned carpeting were closing in around her. She didn't want to talk with him about the hows and whys of Laine Malone—she didn't want to think of them either.

  Enough of this. “I'm taking the stairs to clear my head. Thanks for the cake."

  "Laine—” he started, his fingertips grazing her elbow.

  Screams sliced down the corridor, cutting him off.

  Without a pause, Jason charged down the hall with Laine trailing behind. This was her floor—everyone booked on it was a wedding guest. Her heels dug in. Whatever it was, she'd manage it.

  The hallway T-ed off, and Jason darted to the right, shouting into his phone for someone at the front desk as he vanished around the corner. The screams ceased, giving way to a barrage of obscenities from a voice all too familiar.

  Laine's stomach lurched.

  Bridezilla.

  Rounding the corner, she nearly slammed into Jason's back, hitting the wall instead to stop herself.

  Her eyes went wide as she took in the scene within the small soda and ice alcove. Jason grabbed for Melinda, trying to drag her back from Ed, who was frantically tucking his shriveled penis into his fly. One of the bridesmaids, half-hidden behind him, had her silver, bubble-hemmed dress bunched up around her boobs and her pantyhose around her ankles.

  There was no saving this day.

  * * * *The reception hall was empty. It had been a mass exodus of tuxedos and taffeta dresses as the entire wedding party followed behind the bride and groom, who left the hotel screaming at each other. Everyone shouting into cell phones, booking flights back home early, bellowing threats at their would-be in-laws. People wh
o would have been family, if fate hadn't stepped in, in the form of a 5'8” blonde bridesmaid cousin who liked it from behind.

  Laine's shoulders slumped as she stood within the small prep-room off the reception hall. Staring at the enormous cake in front of her—delivered, in true insult to injury form, ten minutes after the wedding had imploded—her thoughts lost in how to convey the catastrophe to Connie. It wasn't as though they wouldn't get paid for their services—the bills got paid whether the “I do's” were said or not. It was a matter of reputation. The perception of bad luck and marriages-that-might-have-been was enough to close the doors for good. This was the second wedding Laine had coordinated that had been lost hours before the ceremony—and both within a month. She was screwed.

  Her stomach tensed; her eyes closed. Why did people want to get married if they couldn't keep their hands from roaming into forbidden territory the very day of the ceremony? She could wonder all she wanted, but weddings brought out a side of some people she would never understand. A need to have it happen, to check it off their “life list", regardless of the circumstances.

  "Damn it, damn it,” she muttered under her breath, not sure what she felt worse about, the fact that she hadn't kept a tight enough rein on the grab-ass groom, or the fact that she would even consider trying to keep a grab-ass groom in check.

  At least it hadn't been her call to tell the bride as Melinda discovered the guilty parties herself. Laine had tried to talk to her, to make sure she was okay, but couldn't get a word in edgewise between the string of ten decibel curses Melinda directed at the groom as she ran out with a strangely possessive groomsman tucking her under his shoulder.

  Maybe she'd be okay. Laine would call her later.

  The door shut behind her. She didn't have the strength to see who it was, though she had a pretty good idea. Jason. “Do you need me out of here to clear all this?” she asked.

  "No, I told the staff to give us some privacy. They'll wait. Shame, after so much work to get this cake in here, only you and I get to see it."