by Karina Bliss
“You’re not interested?”
“God, no. The only relationships I have with women now are strictly platonic.” He paused to make his move. “Or strictly sex.”
Liz stiffened in her chair as he stretched a hand toward her. Casually, Luke snapped off a piece of chocolate. “I’m trying to remember if you’ve met my partners.”
“No.” Of course she was in the platonic category. “But Harry did. He said the bravest thing he’d ever done was say no to Jordan King about the hotel development.”
There was a wealth of affection in Luke’s laugh. “His bark’s worse than his bite and it’s Christian’s charm you’ve got to watch. We’re taking a softly-softly approach this time around.”
“I’d guessed as much.” Liz thought of the basket of toys, never used. “You must miss them.”
“Hell, no. They’ve found soul mates and are pushing the happy-ever-after doctrine with the zeal of religious converts and the finesse of secondhand-car salesmen.” He shuddered. “Thank God their women have more sense.”
“You approve of their choices, then?” From the bitterness in his voice, she’d thought perhaps he didn’t.
“Wholeheartedly. Except I made the mistake of saying once, ‘I’ll get married again if I can find women like yours.’” He shook his head.
She chuckled. “And now they’re combing the kingdom.”
“Hey, wait until your friends try to set you up. Then see how funny you find this.”
Her stomach swooped. “My friends were also Harry’s friends, they know not to try…Listen, I know I’ve just set up a game, but will you take a raincheck? I have to be up at six tomorrow.”
“When did you last have a day off?” he asked abruptly.
“When did you?” she countered.
She thought she’d won but he rallied. “This Saturday at the wedding.” He yanked her wet towel off the back of a chair and handed it to her. “You know, why don’t you come with me? King events are always memorable.”
“You’re already taking Fred, remember?”
“Even better. As Fred you’ll be completely anonymous. The wedding’s being held at Kez and Christian’s farm on the Hauraki Plains, so there are no paparazzi. And you said my friends don’t know you by sight.”
The temptation to get away from the fishbowl of preelection campaigning was beguiling. “They’re bound to come to Beacon Bay sometime.”
“So what? You’ll be secure in another three-year tenure and the joke will be even funnier.”
Liz wished she had his confidence in her future. Yesterday’s campaign hiccup meant she’d have to work even harder to make up ground. And her batteries were already so flat, she needed jumper cables to get started in the morning.
“Well, Fred? You want to have some fun as Rent-A-Date?”
The clarification of her role removed Liz’s last doubt. One day…it wasn’t much to steal for herself. “You’re on.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“SURNAME?”
Liz had no idea what Luke had chosen for Fred. “Flintstone?”
The security guard scrutinized her through mirrored sunglasses that reflected an anxious and disheveled blonde. “Hold still a minute.” Liz pulled the loose strands of her hair into a tidier chignon and checked her appearance again. Under the sunglasses the guard suppressed a smile.
“Look for Fred…Luke Carter’s date.” Racing around country roads trying to find a stranger’s wedding…Why the hell was she doing this?
He checked the list, grinned, then pressed the controls for the gate to open. “I was expecting a guy,” he explained. “It was the exclamation marks the bride put next to your name.”
Uh-oh. That didn’t sound low profile to her. Liz sped through, following signs to a paddock where Mercedes, BMWs and Alfa Romeos baked in the sun alongside 4WDs, station wagons and motorbikes.
Surrounded by a white picket fence on three sides, the sprawling two-story Victorian-style homestead bisected the green hill like a smile. Grapevines wound around the trellis encircling the bottom veranda. Below the house, the hill looked as though it had burst its seams, spilling a mass of colorful cottage-garden plants and flowers—blue delphiniums, cabbage roses, lilac peonies and orange nasturtium.
But Liz didn’t have time to admire the view. The bride and her entourage were about to leave the house for the turreted marquee down to Liz’s right. She kicked off her high heels, picked them up and ran, the Plains wind flattening her dress against her body.
Grass green with a chiffon overlay, the skirt flared from a fitted bodice with shoestring straps. The dress had been an impulse buy last summer, but it was too frivolous for mayoral functions and she’d never worn it.
Outside the tent Liz slipped her shoes on and scanned what seemed like hundreds of backs, trying to find Luke’s broad shoulders. Hopeless. She was about to sneak into an empty chair at the back, when she saw him.
He stood at the front, wearing a suit that both civilized and accentuated his potent masculinity and exactly matched his eyes. As she tried to assimilate the fact that he was the best man, he saw her and smiled.
Beside him, the bridegroom stopped shifting from one foot to the other and glanced down the aisle. Dressed like Luke, and with his longish blond hair swept back, Jordan King looked dangerous.
Ice-blue eyes swept over her like a prison searchlight. Jordan said in a voice that could have carried Hannibal across the Alps, “Is that her?”
Two hundred people turned around. Involuntarily, Liz took a step back.
“We have a seat here for you, Fred.” Jordan indicated the front row. “Come on up. To tell you the truth, I thought he’d made you up. Looks like I owe you a fifty, buddy.”
Somehow Liz made it up the aisle, intensely conscious of everyone’s interest.
Luke stepped forward, holding out a hand, and she grabbed it tight. He drew her closer and, realizing he was about to kiss her, Liz tried not to go rigid.
His warm lips brushed hers in a kiss so light she barely felt it. Still, the sensation lingered as he shepherded her to a seat. “What happened?” he murmured.
“I got lost.” Close up he looked hungover. “And you?”
“Don’t ask.” He sat her next to a beautiful brunette in an amber dress. “This is Kezia, Christian’s wife. She’ll look after you.”
Liz had a fleeting impression of honey-brown eyes and a welcoming smile before the theme to Rocky emanated from her clutch bag. “Sorry…so sorry.” She scrambled for her cell phone and switched it off just as the wedding march struck up, diverting everyone’s attention.
Jordan lost his color.
“Want me to hold your hand now?” Liz heard Luke say sotto voce. Beside her, Kezia turned a laugh into a cough.
Jordan didn’t answer; he was staring down the aisle with such tenderness that Liz forgave him for embarrassing her. Turning, she saw his expression mirrored in the face of a vibrant redhead wearing a garland of creamy flowers and a sexy wedding dress, and walking up the aisle on the arm of a silver-haired man.
The bride stopped dead. “Dad, we’re in the wrong place. My guy doesn’t wear suits.” With a grin, Jordan opened his jacket, revealing a coarse woolen waistcoat in a blue-and-black check pattern.
Everybody but Liz burst out laughing. Kezia whispered, “His Swanndri…priceless.”
Huh?
Kate reached the front, mussed up the bridegroom’s hair and surveyed the effect critically. “Much better.” Liz was starting to feel like Alice in Wonderland. She looked at Luke, but, like everyone else he was grinning from ear to ear.
Jordan lifted his bride so they were breast to breast and kissed her so passionately she had to clutch her garland. “As usual, you’re getting ahead of yourself,” she complained, then cupped his face in both hands and kissed him back.
Tears pricked Liz’s eyelids and she blinked them away. Kezia pressed a handkerchief into her hand.
Jordan set Kate on her feet. “But where are the bridesmaids?
”
She grinned, suddenly appearing very like her bad-boy groom. “I couldn’t have the matron of honor stealing my thunder, so I told them to wait.”
Liz blinked, then glanced around to check reactions to this extraordinary admission. Everyone was smiling.
“Okay, girls,” Jordan called. “You can come in now.”
A roar of laughter started at the back, rolling forward row by row. Those near the front stood up, craning their necks.
At over six feet tall, the matron of honor was definitely a looker with beautiful blue eyes, incredible bone structure…Liz started to giggle…and a scowl as black as his hair. Her giggle turned into laughter as more of this extraordinary apparition came into view.
Leading the other bridesmaids, he strode up the aisle, looking neither right nor left, his delicate rose-pink dress swinging against hairy calves. Diamanté sparkled on dainty ballerina slippers. At least they would have been dainty on smaller feet.
As he came closer, Liz noticed subtle differences to his outfit. He carried a bigger posy of creamy rosebuds, wore a delicate chiffon sash in the same matching pink tied in an extravagant bow at the back, a necklace of pretty pearls, which nestled against the light smattering of hair above his sweetheart bodice.
The guests howled; the bridal party clutched their ribs. The matron of honor’s glare grew murderous, which only made him funnier. Wiping away tears of laughter with Kezia’s spare hankie, Liz was suddenly very, very glad she’d come. “Why?” she managed to say between spasms.
Kezia, who was leaning on her for support, tried to catch her breath. “He once said…the day Jord got married…would be the day he wore a bridesmaid dress. Stupid.”
“Very stupid,” Liz agreed. “Who is he?”
Kezia started laughing again. “My husband.”
LUKE STOOD next to the bride’s father, Cliff, feeling about the same age, as Jordan and Kate were pronounced man and wife. His friend looked like a newborn, all the cynicism ironed out.
He tried to recall if he’d been that happy when he’d married Amanda. Seemed like his entire focus had been on trying to remember the vows she’d written for them. Some crap about being like swans that mated for life.
Later, Luke had learned that while some animal and bird species lived in lifelong pairs, it didn’t preclude infidelity. Oh, yes, he’d enjoyed the irony.
Jordan picked up Kate’s hand and kissed the palm. Her fingers curled around his and Luke thought, these two good people will last. This is real.
Christian and Jordan had joined a club he couldn’t belong to, and as much as Luke rejoiced in his friends’ happiness, it only threw his own failure into sharp relief. The old ties were dissolving and he felt a profound loss.
Then the wedding march played over the sound system, the bride and groom led the way down the aisle and he turned to offer his arm to the matron of honor. “Ma’am?” Christian scowled. “C’mon, sweetie, stop playing hard to get.”
Disgusted, Christian grabbed his arm. “You’ll pay for this.”
“Nothing to do with me, pal.”
“Don’t lie, Jordan hasn’t got this much design flair.”
Okay, maybe they’d had help with the feminine touches. Luke winked reassuringly at Kezia. “Yeah, well—” he shrugged, accepting the fall-guy role “—it was worth it.”
Beside Kezia, he saw Liz, mascara streaked, her lashes clinging damply to her flushed cheeks, and he grinned. Her answering smile was wide and unguarded. Friends, Luke reminded himself. “See you outside, Fred.”
Christian’s gaze sharpened with interest. “That’s Fred? She’s—” “Blond. Yeah, I know. And you owe me fifty bucks.”
They stepped out into the full glare of the early-afternoon sun. Pain stabbed behind Luke’s eyes and he dug in his pocket for his sunglasses.
“Still hungover from the stag?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” Christian dropped his arm. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to change into man clothes.”
Luke caught the chiffon bow at the back of his dress. “Oh, no, you don’t. The wedding’s not over yet. And you’ve got damn smug since you embraced moderation.”
Christian twisted in his hold. “Even in the old days I would never have been dumb enough to challenge Jordan to a drinking game. Now, let go before I deck you.”
“Hey, Jord!” Luke hollered.
Flicking his bow out of Luke’s hand, Christian said with great dignity, “You, sir, are no gentleman.”
The bridegroom looked over at the sea of well-wishers that had swallowed his bride, then strolled over. “The whole wedding, bud, that was the bet.”
Christian picked up a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and downed it. “You and Luke want this on your conscience? Huh?”
Jordan and Luke exchanged glances. “Okay,” Jordan conceded. “You can lose the posy.”
“Where’s the gun?” Christian demanded. “I’m going to shoot myself.”
“Locked away,” said Jordan. “You think I’m stupid?”
Christian untied the bow and pulled off the sash. “Fine, I’ll hang myself with this.”
Kezia, who was approaching with Liz, said practically, “Honey, chiffon won’t hold your weight.”
Christian’s eyes narrowed as he looked at his wife. “You know an awful lot about this outfit.” In fact, she and the bride had spent many happy hours on it.
Kezia instinctively edged closer to Liz, which Luke found interesting. Despite her slender frame, the mayor had an innate authority that inspired confidence. Liz didn’t let Kez down. “That’s because I told her.”
“Welcome, Fred.” Christian shook her hand. “But how would you know?”
There was only the barest hesitation before she said, “I designed it.”
“That’s how Fred and I met.” Luke went to stand beside her. “Why do you think your outfit has so much darling detail? I had to find excuses to keep going back.”
Lightly he draped his free arm around her shoulder but Liz wasn’t expecting it and jumped. Three pairs of eyes narrowed.
Valiantly, she tried to make up for the revealing gesture by slipping an arm around his waist, then looked around nervously for the waiter. “I think I’ll join you in that drink, Christian.”
“Nice try,” he answered, “but I’ve worked out who the real culprit is.” The twinkle in his eye became a glint as he turned to his wife. “You. To the house. With me. Now.”
Kezia’s lips twitched as she found Liz a flute of champagne and handed it over. “Why?”
“If I have to wear a damn dress, I want to do something masculine in it.” He grabbed Kezia by the arm and started marching her to the house.
“Shouldn’t we save her?” Liz asked anxiously. Then Kezia put her arm around the bridesmaid’s manly waist. “Oh.”
Something soft brushed against Kezia’s bare legs and looking down, she saw a lamb heading toward the small groups now milling in the garden. “Um, is that animal supposed to be here?” Right now, anything seemed possible.
Jordan scooped up the lamb and called to two boys maneuvering a radio-controlled Batmobile around the guests. “Dil-boy, John Jason. You wanna take Dog back to the paddock?”
Liz shot Luke a sideways glance. “Of course the lamb’s called Dog,” she murmured.
Grinning, he squeezed her shoulder, his palm warm and callused on her bare skin. “Kez and Christian’s toddler still gets confused.”
“I know how she feels,” said Liz.
He winked at her. “Told you you’d have fun, Fred.”
“SO HOW LONG have you two been dating?”
Liz had been ambushed in the bedroom-turned-cloakroom by a disparate group of women that included the bride, Kate; Megan, one of the groom’s Amazonian sisters; and Bernice May, an extraordinary old lady whose penciled brows were as acute as the intelligent eyes underneath them.
“Two months,” said Liz. They might not have come up with a surname but she
and Luke had discussed this.
“Is it serious?” Megan asked the question casually enough but her hands tightened around the stem of her champagne glass.
Luke had instructed Liz to answer an emphatic yes to that question, but faced with Xena, Warrior Princess, Liz chickened out. Apparently Jordan’s youngest sister had hero-worshipped Luke for years.
“You’ll have to ask Luke.”
“Well, I’m ticked.” Bernice May untucked the champagne bottle from under her arm and refilled everyone’s flutes with a liberal hand, ignoring Liz’s demur. She herself was drinking beer. “Luke was going to be rebound guy now Jordan’s off the market.”
The bride looked down at her white satin Manolos, said meekly, “I’m sorry for stealing Jordan.”
“Apology accepted.” The old lady took a swig from her Steinlager and her pearls clunked against the base of the green bottle. “I was going off him anyway. Call me shallow but I can’t feel the same about him since he cut his long hair.”
Everyone looked expectantly at Liz who was finally getting the hang of how things worked around here.
“I guess you saw Luke first,” she conceded reluctantly.
Mollified, Bernice May patted her hand. “Tell me he’s useless in bed and I’ll relinquish my claim.”
“Not entirely useless.” Liz sipped her champagne. “That washboard stomach is great for balancing a teacup.”
She jumped as two warm hands tightened around her neck, then dropped to give her shoulders a gentle massage. “Fred’s a great kidder,” said Luke behind her. “She did a year at clown school but had to drop out.” She felt him shrug. “Not funny enough. I think it was the chicken suit, pumpkin.”
Liz leaned back against him. “But we found another use for it, didn’t we, cabbage?”
His long fingers found a sore spot and dug deep. She tried not to wince.
“What do you do, Fred?” said Bernice May, tucking a gray curl behind her ear. One false crimson nail stayed behind.
Liz retrieved the nail and handed it back to her. “Manicurist.”
