There was another sharp knock. “Claire, it’s Dylan. Can I come in?”
Crap.
Dylan Wade was the last person she wanted to see right now. Actually, he was the last person she wanted to see anytime, but as his knocking became more persistent, she reluctantly walked over to the door and flung it open.
“What do you want, Dylan?”
“Listen,” he began, “I need to—holy fuck.”
The awe and embarrassment that tinged his voice caught her by complete surprise. “What?” she said warily.
Dylan stepped into the suite. His green eyes were glued to her, and the reverent expression on his handsome face was completely unexpected.
“Wow,” he breathed. “Claire, you look…wow…you look so beautiful.”
It took a few dumbfounded seconds for her to fathom that he wasn’t being sarcastic. Since he’d never looked at her with anything other than annoyance or scorn, his visible appreciation compelled her to glance at the mirror again and really study her reflection this time.
A different woman was looking back at her, a woman in a gorgeous satin-and-lace gown with a sweetheart neckline, full skirt and short train. Her auburn hair was arranged in long, flowing waves, slightly pulled back with tiny white flowers threaded through it. Her minimal, shimmery makeup gave her skin a radiant glow, and the heirloom diamond bracelet around her wrist caught the light and sparkled whenever she moved.
God, she did look beautiful.
The realization dimmed some of her panic. If Dylan, a man who disliked her, could appreciate the way she looked right now, then clearly she was about to knock her groom’s socks off.
“Thanks,” she said, keeping her gaze on her reflection.
“Um…” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I came by because I needed to tell you…uh…”
The agitation in his normally confident tone had her turning to face him. Okay, weird. Dylan was shifting around as if he couldn’t get comfortable. His hands slid into the pockets of his black trousers, then back out. His black dress shoes tapped the carpet a couple of times, and then he edged backward toward the door, his expression downright pained.
For the first time in three months, Claire was able to look at Dylan without blushing or visualizing the intensely erotic scene she’d witnessed between him and—nope, not going there.
She shoved the memory right out of her head and focused on the odd tension thickening the space between them.
“What’s going on, Dylan?” Fear darted through her. “Is everything okay? Is Chris all right?”
“He’s fine,” Dylan said quickly.
“Then what is it?”
He shuffled awkwardly, raking a hand through his short blond hair.
“Look,” he started, his voice a tad hoarse, “Chris is…um…aw shit, there’s no easy way to say this, okay? So I’m just going to do it, and I want you to know that doing this brings me no pleasure. You and me…we don’t really get along, and then there was that whole visit thing and…you know, what you saw at my place…which you never brought up again, and I’m really grateful for that, by the way—”
“Oh for the love of God,” she interrupted. “Quit babbling and say what you came here to say.”
“Chris left.”
Claire blinked. “What?”
“He left.” Misery flashed across Dylan’s face. “He couldn’t go through with the wedding. He…uh, he doesn’t think you two are right for each other.”
Shock slammed into her, so powerful she nearly keeled over.
Chris was calling off the wedding?
A rush of humiliation joined the unwavering shock. Oh God. The groom backing out at the last minute was definitely not part of her childhood fantasy.
As tears filled her eyes again, she looked at Dylan with dismay. “I can’t believe this.”
He looked upset. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be the one telling you this. My brother is a bastard for running away, and I promise you, I tried to get him to do the right thing. I told him it was his responsibility to talk to you, but I guess he thought it would be too painful or something.”
“Wait a minute,” she burst out, as something suddenly registered. “What do you mean, he left?”
Dylan’s throat jumped as he gulped. “He left. As in, no longer here.”
“You mean he left the country club?” Her mouth dropped open. “He just drove away?”
There was a quick nod.
Her pulse careened into cardiac-arrest territory, her throat tightening with horror when she realized what that meant. “He’s going to make me face all those guests by myself?” Her breathing went shallow. “I’m the one who has to tell everyone there won’t be a wedding?”
Shock flitted through Dylan’s eyes. “What? No, of course not. Don’t worry, my mom will make the announcement.”
Agony and embarrassment heated her cheeks as she pictured Dylan’s sweet mother getting up there in front of hundreds of strangers and telling them they’d wasted their time in coming here.
“You can’t put that on Shanna,” she moaned. “Oh God. This is so humiliating!”
“Claire. Hey, calm down, honey. Take a deep breath.”
She ignored him, her brain continuing to run over all the mortifying implications of Chris’s cowardice.
“I have to tell my parents,” she mumbled between unsteady breaths. “And Father Thomas. Oh gosh, do you think Frank Lowenstein will expect us to reimburse him for renting out the Lavender Ballroom?”
Her hands started shaking again. More and more thoughts flew into her head. “My boss is out there, and all my colleagues. I can’t go out there and have everyone feeling sorry for me.” Her gaze darted toward the mirror again. “Oh shit, I can’t be wearing this gown when they see me.”
The next few minutes were a blur of irrationality, a heart-pounding, panic-induced daze that somehow ended with Claire’s wedding dress turning into a pool of fabric at her feet. She had no recollection of getting undressed—and apparently no sense of modesty, either—but suddenly she was wearing nothing but a strapless white bra and matching thong, completely on display for her runaway groom’s brother.
And yet when it finally dawned on her that she’d just stripped down to her underwear, she couldn’t even dwell on the fresh round of embarrassment because a new realization had swooped into her head.
“Where am I supposed to go?” she said miserably. “Is Chris at our apartment?”
Dylan looked utterly disoriented, his green eyes moving from her nearly naked body, to the discarded wedding gown, then up to her face. “I don’t know,” he sputtered. “Look. Claire. You’re freaking out and you need to dial it down, okay?”
“Where am I supposed to go?” she repeated, raising her voice over the loud drumming of her heart. “I don’t even have a car! My parents drove. Oh shit, my parents. They’ll want to take me home. I can’t go home with them, Dylan! They’ll hover over me and my mom will stuff me with cookies because she thinks cookies are the solution for all of life’s troubles, and—”
A sharp sting on her cheek made her head jerk up.
She blinked in shock and reached up to rub away the pain. “Did you just slap me?”
Dylan’s perfectly sculpted jaw tensed. “No, I flicked you.”
“You flicked me?”
“Yes.” He moved closer and gripped both her shoulders. “Get it together, McKinley. My brother is the asshole in this equation, okay? My mom is handling the guests, so there’s no reason for you to go out there at all. You don’t need to face your boss or coworkers, and if you’re not ready to talk to your parents, then you don’t have to. And fuck all those country club jerks from Chris’s firm. You don’t owe them any explanations. Understand?”
She nodded, feeling numb.
“But you’re right,” Dylan went on. “Chris is probably at the apartment, so maybe going back there isn’t a good idea at the moment. Unless you’re ready to get the big talk over with?”
She shook
her head. Talking to Chris was definitely on her agenda, but not now. As furious as she was that he’d taken off instead of handling the situation like an adult, she couldn’t deal with him right now. Not until she got far, far away from this stupid country club and made sense of her muddled thoughts.
“I guess I can go to a hotel,” she said in a tired voice. “Can you drop me off?”
Without waiting for his response, she hurried toward the suitcase and carry-on she’d left beside the door. She and Chris had been scheduled to leave for their honeymoon immediately following the reception, so her bags were already packed and waiting.
She kept her back to Dylan, rooting around in her suitcase and pulling out the first item of clothing she found, which happened to be a bright blue sundress. She yanked the dress over her head and smoothed it down her body, not caring that you could see the white band of her bra, thanks to the dress’s backless halter style, or that the skirt was indecently short. This dress had been meant for Aruba, the first stop on their three-week honeymoon.
Except there wouldn’t be a honeymoon. Or a wedding.
“I can’t believe he just left,” she whispered.
The warm hand on her bare shoulder made her jump. “I really am sorry,” came Dylan’s husky voice.
Claire couldn’t help a derisive snort. “No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Bullshit.” For the first time since Dylan arrived to drop his bomb, hot tears stung her eyes. “You’re loving every second of this. You hate me and you probably think I had it coming, huh?”
“That’s not what I think at all, Claire.” Now he sounded irritated.
“Sure, Dylan, because you were dying for me to be your sister-in-law. Well, congrats, you won’t ever have to see me again after today, so just do me a favor and stuff your sorries in a sack, okay? All I want from you right now is to help me carry this stupid suitcase and drive me to a hotel.” Her lips tightened. “Do you think you can handle that, soldier?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, his eyes flashing with resentment, but the hard look quickly faded into resignation. With a curt nod, he picked up her suitcase and said, “I can handle that.”
2
“Mom, I promise you, I’m okay. What? No, I swear, I left of my own free will. I just couldn’t face all those people… I know, but…maybe he was right, okay? Maybe getting married would’ve been a mistake.”
Keeping his eyes on the road, Dylan listened to Claire’s side of the conversation. Despite himself, he experienced a twinge of admiration that even in the face of Chris’s betrayal, she was still protecting him. She had every right to curse Chris until she was blue in the face. Every right to scream and throw things and burn all of his belongings in a ritualistic trashcan fire. But rather than paint Chris as the villain, she was practically defending his decision. Dylan couldn’t help but feel grudgingly impressed.
“Please tell Shanna how grateful I am that she dealt with the guests and the club manager, and tell her I’ll call her tonight, okay?”
Dylan’s shoulders stiffened at the sound of his mother’s name. He hadn’t given her the heads-up before sneaking Claire out of the mansion, and he knew she’d be furious about his desertion, especially with Chris gone too.
But what else was he supposed to do? His first priority had been to get Claire out of that country club. The woman had been seconds away from a full-blown breakdown.
His mouth went dry as the memory of Claire stripping out of her wedding dress flew into his head, and now a different part of his anatomy was stiffening. No denying it—Claire McKinley was a damn sexy woman. All that tousled auburn hair, those X-rated curves, the fuck-me red lips…the woman was designed to get a man nice and hard. To make matters worse, her big brown eyes gave her that perpetually vulnerable look that triggered a man’s hero complex, should he have one. And Dylan, unfortunately, had suffered from a serious case of hero his entire life. He’d never been able to walk away from a damsel in distress—protecting Claire from the embarrassment and questions that awaited her in the ballroom had been instinctual.
“Please don’t argue with me about this,” Claire was saying. “I really want to be alone for a bit.” She paused. “I know you do, but I need some space. I’ll call you from the hotel, okay?”
The second she hung up, the iPhone in her hand started to vibrate. And vibrate. And vibrate some more.
“Oh sweet Jesus, I’m getting like a million text messages,” she muttered.
Dylan glanced over and saw the frustration glimmering in her eyes. “Your mom and dad?”
“Yep, along with my boss, maid of honor, cousins, coworkers.”
“They all have a ton of questions, huh?”
“Duh.” She made a sound of exasperation. “I’m turning it off. This is ridiculous.”
She swiped her finger over the touch screen, then dropped the phone in the cup holder of Dylan’s rental.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she mumbled. “My parents are freaking out.”
“So’s my mom. You’re not the only one with a thousand incoming texts.” He tapped the front pocket of his trousers, where he’d tucked his cell phone. “My leg is going numb from all the vibrating.”
“My mother said the guests are gone and the catering staff packed everything up. She’s going to take all the food home with her, since it’s already been paid for.” Her voice cracked. “Oh, and my dad won’t let me pay him back.”
Dylan fought a pang of sympathy. He’d never understood why the bride’s family was expected to foot the bill for the wedding. Chris’s boss may have arranged for the venue, but the McKinleys had taken care of everything else—food, flowers, string quartet. Judging by how tasteful and beautiful the ballroom had looked, Dylan suspected financing the shindig had been pretty costly for Claire’s parents. He felt bad for them. They’d seemed like really nice people, and his brother had completely screwed them over by running out on their daughter.
“I guess I should text Chris and let him know which hotel I’ll be—what the hell, Dylan? Where are you taking me?”
That she hadn’t noticed their destination until now spoke volumes about her state of mind. As the airport became visible in the distance, he felt Claire’s amber-colored eyes boring into his cheek.
“Where are we going?” she asked in a tight voice.
“The Coast Guard Air Station.” He flicked the turn signal and changed lanes, then sped off the freeway exit ramp.
“Why on earth are we going there?”
“We’re catching a ride with a buddy of mine. He’s a Coast Guard pilot.”
“A ride? A ride to where?”
“I’m taking you back to San Diego with me.”
Silence descended over the interior of the SUV. He snuck a peek at Claire and found her looking at him like he’d just told her he was a closet Backstreet Boys fan or something. The mixture of confusion and horror on her face was almost comical.
He was pretty confused himself. What the hell was he doing taking Claire home with him? He didn’t even like the chick. In fact, for the past year and a half he’d actively been rooting for Chris to come to his senses and dump her.
So really, what he needed to do was drop her at a hotel, high-five Chris for seeing the light, and forget Claire McKinley ever existed.
Except…in a complete twist of insanity, his brother had suddenly soared to the top of Dylan’s shit list. After the despicable—not to mention dishonorable—way Chris had behaved, Dylan was firmly on Team Claire in this fucked-up situation.
He couldn’t believe Chris had run away like that. No, he couldn’t understand it. As a SEAL, Dylan met challenges head-on, even when those challenges were terrifying or painful or guaranteed to bring some discomfort.
Well, he refused to abandon Claire the way his brother had. He might not be the woman’s biggest fan, but she didn’t deserve to have everyone pitying her, or whispering about her, or worse, laughing behind her back. Since Chris and Clair
e had all the same friends, and with her one non-mutual friend out of town, Dylan knew she wouldn’t find much of a support system here in the Bay Area.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she grumbled. “Take me to a hotel.”
He stayed on route, driving right past three airport hotels, which solicited a string of curses from the woman beside him.
Dylan raised his eyebrows. “Shit, McKinley, you sound like a character from an HBO show. Where the hell did you learn some of those phrases?”
For a second, humor danced in her eyes. “HBO.” The amusement promptly faded. “I’m serious, Dylan, I don’t want to go to San Diego.”
“I really think you should,” he said gently. “At least for a night or two.”
“Oh, you think I should, huh? Because you magically know what’s best for me, is that it?”
“You said so yourself. You need space.” He shrugged. “Well, you ain’t gonna get it here, honey. You’ll be alone at that hotel for an hour, two hours tops, and then your parents will weasel the location out of you and swoop in with the sympathy parade.” When she didn’t answer, he shot her a pointed look. “You know I’m right.”
“Maybe, but—”
“And I know your best friend is in South America—”
“Sierra Leone—”
“—which means you can’t cry on her shoulder, so—”
Now she was the one interrupting him. “So you want me to cry on your shoulder? No thanks, pal.”
As the gate for the Coast Guard station came into view, Dylan abruptly pulled over to the side of the road.
“What now?” Claire demanded angrily. “Are you kicking me out of the car?”
“What the hell are you talking about? Why would I—” He stopped talking and sucked in a calming breath. How did this woman always manage to rile him up?
He exhaled in a measured pace. “Look, you have three options.”
“Oh really?”
Out of Uniform Box Set: Books 4-6 plus 2 Bonus Novellas Page 30
