by Lori Wilde
“Invitation,” he repeated.
“I … I … I …” she stammered, still so dazzled by Mr. Tall, Dark, and Smart Aleck she couldn’t think of a quick response.
“If you can’t produce an invitation, I’m going to have to ask you to turn and head the opposite direction,” the cowboy bodyguard said. His tone was pleasant but his eyes said, Don’t even think about bullshitting me.
“It’s … um …” Say something. Why couldn’t she think? Why was her brain mushy?
“She’s with me.” Mr. TDSA handed an invitation to the bodyguard.
The bodyguard waved it away. “Go right on in, Jake.”
In a proprietary manner that rubbed her the wrong way, Jake took hold of her arm and escorted her toward the pavilion.
Jodi tried to shake him off, but Jake held on tight. “You’re on a first-name basis with the security detail?”
“I’m on a first-name basis with a lot of people,” he replied.
“Hello, Mr. Popularity.” Her tone could have frosted the wedding cake. “How do you do it?”
“It’s called being nice,” he said. “You might look into it.”
“I am a nice person,” she said.
“Sure you are.”
“I am. You just rub me the wrong way.” Rub. In context with this virile guy, it was a perilous word.
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m extremely nice, ask anyone.”
“Because wedding crashers are known for their highly moral behavior?”
“I’m not a wedding crash—”
“Watch it.” He raised a finger. “Nice people don’t lie.”
She snorted. “Let go of my arm.”
He ignored that. His touch sent her body temperature soaring, and she felt both freaked out and intrigued.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” he said.
She drew her head back so she could glare down her nose at him. “For what?”
“Saving your bacon.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Now will you please let go?”
“Not until you answer one question.”
“What’s that?”
“Bride or groom?”
“I don’t see—”
“Wrong answer.”
“You didn’t give me a chance to—”
“If you were bona fide, you would have immediately said either bride or groom without hesitating.”
“Fine, bride.”
“Too late. You’re impersonating a guest.”
“How did you know?” she whispered, and glanced over her shoulder. People were staring at them.
“You’re gorgeous and alone and you show up at a wedding dressed to kill without an invitation. A first grader could put it together.”
“I have an invitation. You intervened before I had a chance to produce one.”
“Do you really have an invitation?”
“I did. I must have misplaced it.”
“Sure you did.”
“Okay, I did have an invitation, but it wasn’t mine,” she admitted.
“A wedding crasher and a thief. Two for two.”
“You caught me on a bad day.”
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“It would make things easier.”
“For what?”
“You know …” His everyone-loves-me shrug matched his smile. “Since we’re going to be spending the night together.”
Her mind called up images of the two of them in tangled sheets, hot, sweaty, sated. Alarmed, she said, “We are not spending the night together!”
That came out louder than she intended and the soft conversation rippling through the crowd instantly stopped as curious gazes swung their way.
“I was referring to the wedding reception. Because you’re my plus one,” he murmured with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “But if you’d like to—”
“No.” She yanked against his grip, and finally, thankfully, he let her go.
Cradling her elbow, still warm and tingly from his touch, she dipped her head and rushed to find a seat. He’d gotten her inside the venue, but that didn’t mean she had to sit with him.
An usher intercepted her. “Bride or groom?”
“Groom,” she said without hesitating, and the usher seated her.
Jodi plunked down and took a deep breath. Her gaze strayed to the altar. She had dreaded walking into the wedding venue alone with the ghost of her failed wedding a year ago. But somehow, she’d managed to walk into the venue with her head held high and her stomach settled. Thanks to Mr. TDSA distracting her.
She didn’t coat check her coat because she had a tendency to get cold, so she slipped it off, draped the coat across her knees, ran a hand over the skirt of her dress to smooth it out, straightened her shoulders, and lifted her chin. So far, so good.
Someone settled into the empty chair beside her. She glanced over to smile at the new arrival and say hello, but saw him.
Jake. His name was Jake.
The contrary part of her wanted to resist the attraction, but another part of her—the part that had been in deep freeze for the past year—unfurled, yawned, stretched, and muttered, Why the hell not?
“We meet again.” The scent of peppermint and pine wafted off him.
“Oh, like you didn’t intentionally sit next to me.”
“Don’t let it go to your head. This was the only seat left on the groom’s side,” he said. “I thought you were a friend of the bride.”
She shot him a glance. Really, they were still playing that game?
He looked amused. “You never did tell me your name.”
She didn’t want to tell him that, but neither did she want to compound her sins by lying, so she said, “Hush, the wedding is starting.”
Music swelled, the first bridesmaid started down the aisle, the audience turned to watch the spectacle unfold. Love was in the air.
And the infuriating man beside her stretched his arm across the back of her chair like it belonged there.
She glared at him.
Unapologetically, he drew his arm back and gave her an it-was-worth-a-shot grin. “Let me guess. Your name is Jessica.”
“Shh.”
“I hope it’s not Jessica because I dated a Jessica in high school and she left me with a nasty taste in my mouth for the name.”
“You’re being rude to the bride and groom. And no, it’s not Jessica.”
“I’m rude? You’re the wedding crasher.”
She pressed her foot against his toe, meaning that he should shut up, but he must have thought she was trying to play footsie because he angled closer to whisper into her ear. “Is it Jennifer? Nice name, but a little too common.”
Snorting, she moved her foot away. Fast.
“Ashley?”
She scowled and pressed an index finger against her pursed lips.
A gray-haired, muscular woman dressed in a tuxedo, who Jodi assumed must be Betsy Houston, escorted the bride down the aisle to the beat of the wedding march. The bride carried a bouquet of stargazer lilies and baby’s breath, just like the bouquet Jodi had carried. It was obviously a popular winter bouquet.
Jodi could taste the bride’s fear. Feel the panic building in her chest.
Not the bride. Her. A year ago, pacing the back of the church, two pairs of Spanx cutting off her circulation, her shoes chafing blisters into her toes, sweat soaking the armpit of her puffy-sleeved, fairy-tale princess dress. Her father trying to comfort her, volunteering to hunt down Ryan and punch him into next year.
How time flew. “Next year” was now.
She took a deep breath, shook out her hands. No worries. No sweat. Ryan was out of her life. She’d gone through hell and back with the federal investigation that followed her ex-fiancé’s departure until the authorities were thoroughly satisfied she was as much a victim as the Stardust Savings and Loan.
After the bride passed them, Jack took out his cell pho
ne, tapped something into a text box, and then showed Jodi the screen.
U MARRIED GWENDOLYN?
Gwendolyn.
He was teasing her. How long had it been since a man had teased her like this? Certainly not Ryan, he’d been so serious, all about making money and climbing the corporate ladder. Which at the time she thought was a hopeful indication of their future. She’d thought he was responsible, hardworking just like she was, but it turned out he was a lying, cheating, thieving louse.
She met Jake’s dark eyes full of lively adventure, and realized just how anesthetized she’d become. Living in the same small town she was raised in, never stepping outside her comfort zone. That is, until Ryan had pulled what he pulled, making her question not only her taste in men and her ability to read people, but also her entire faith in love. She felt duped, hoodwinked, betrayed, gullible, and irrevocably stupid. How could she have missed the warning signs? She had been with Ryan for two years and not once had she questioned his moral character.
Why not?
What was wrong with her?
Jake nudged her with his knee, tapped the screen of his phone.
U MARRIED GWENDOLYN?
A prudent woman would have lied and said yes, and that would have been the end of it, but damn her, instead of nodding, she shook her head.
Briskly, he rubbed his palms together in a hot-dog gesture.
She should have been annoyed, but she wasn’t. In fact, he entertained her. Which was not good.
He held up a bare ring finger.
She shrugged, signaling that she didn’t give a rat’s patootie about his marital status, but her heart rate quickened.
He typed into the text message box on his phone,
SIT 2GETHER @ RECEPTION?
She gave him a chiding look, and inclined her head toward the altar as the groom took the bride’s hand. Shh. But she couldn’t contain her smile. He was keeping her from thinking about last year. She reached for his phone, and accidentally brushed her knuckles against his muscled thigh.
Immediate sparks burst through her hand.
Holy crap.
His handsome head jerked up, his eyes so startled that she knew he’d felt it too. Lust, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before, blazed through her body, a crackling forest fire of desire that raced down her nerve endings to lodge brilliantly at the eager spot between her legs.
He chuckled.
Terrific.
He probably thought she’d touched him on purpose. Determined not to let him see how much he affected her, she laser-beamed her gaze on the phone, still nice and warm from his hand, and tapped in,
I’M YOUR +1 WHERE ELSE WOULD I SIT?
CHAPTER 2
Jodi Carlyle’s Wedding Crasher Rules: Never use your
real name.
The Dallas Gunslingers’ newest cleanup hitter, Jake Coronado, wasn’t a psychologist, but he was fairly certain the instant attraction he felt for the gorgeous redhead sitting beside him had a whole lot to do with the fact that she resembled his dead wife.
Reason enough to make his excuses and leave the reception.
She even sounded a bit like Maura, the same low, throaty voice that made him think about things like rich Swiss chocolate, midnight mood music, fine oaken whiskey, and darkened bedrooms.
But unlike his quiet Maura, who never in a million years would have crashed a wedding, this woman was daring, and he was surprised by how much that appealed to him.
Jake rubbed the tip of his thumb along the back of his bare ring finger. Three years since he’d lost her, and while he’d managed to put the bulk of his grief behind him, the joy of being married to the right person was still strong enough to make him want to try again.
But neither could he go falling for the first redhead with cinnamon freckles sprinkled over the bridge of her nose, nor could he devalue Maura’s memory by dating a look-alike.
Still, there was nothing wrong with taking in the stunning scenery for an evening.
When he studied her up close, she didn’t look as much like Maura as he’d first thought. Sure, they were both natural redheads with incandescent skin, lively blue-gray eyes, and wide, generous mouths. Maura had been slightly taller at five-seven, possessed a strong jaw, oval face, and regal nose. Gwendolyn here had a soft chin, heart-shaped face, and button nose.
She’d refused to give him her real name, telling him Gwendolyn worked just fine for the night, and while he had an urge to badger her for the truth, he quelled it.
He found their seats and was relieved to discover their table was on the fringes of the upper-crust affair near the exit. He wondered why he hadn’t been seated with other members of the team, but honestly he didn’t care. This was better. He could have Gwendolyn all to himself.
But before they even sat down, Gwendolyn excused herself to the ladies’ room. Jake visited with the group of mostly older couples who welcomed him warmly, commented on his addition to the Gunslingers’ lineup and then returned to their personal conversations about grandchildren, vacation plans, and retirement portfolios.
After several minutes, Jake got antsy. Gwendolyn had been gone a long time. He checked his watch. Had she ditched him?
Tuxedoed waiters moved through the crowd, serving filet mignon for the carnivores, mushroom ravioli for the herbivores. A live band tuned up for the dance. Nosegays in crystal bowls served as centerpieces. A serpentine line snaked around the tables, destination: open bar.
He waved at a couple of people he knew. Teammates. Their wives. Nodded. Smiled.
After making it big as a major league hitter, Jake had learned to be comfortable in this world of wealth and privilege, even though he’d come from a lower-middle-class home life. His parents had divorced when he was seven, but they’d done their best to keep things civil and had provided him and his two older sisters with a stable upbringing. He prided himself on his ability to navigate any gathering and find a way to fit.
Mom said his talent for blending in stemmed from a need to be adored. Maura, bless her, said it was because he had a natural affinity for people. Truth be told, they were probably both right. Which was why it killed his soul every time he struck out at the plate. He hated disappointing fans.
Gwendolyn—it was starting to bug him now that he didn’t know her real name—returned from the bathroom. At the sight of her, happiness pooled in his stomach, spread warmth through his blood like champagne. She’d come back. Perplexed at his excitement, Jake hopped to his feet to pull out her chair.
“What a gentleman,” one of the older women at the table muttered to her husband. “Why don’t you pull out my chair for me?”
“ ’Cause you’d expect it every time,” the husband replied. “I don’t want to set a precedent.”
Hell, pulling out a chair was so easy to do, and if it made a woman feel special, why not do it?
Gwendolyn scooped the back of her dress smooth with her palms as she sat, a half smile touching her lips. She laid her purse on the floor, reached for her linen napkin, and spread it over her lap.
Jake stepped back, and took the opportunity to study her. The green dress fit her as if it had been tailor-made, and maybe it had. No doubt it set her back a nice chunk of change. Whatever she’d spent had been worth it. The dress pushed her breasts up into cleavage that made him want to drool and it nipped her in at the waist, showing off how curvy she was in all the right places.
Her gaze flicked to the bow tie he’d loosened while she was in the ladies’ room. “Are you going to stand there ogling all night?”
If she’d let him, yeah, but clearly, she wasn’t gung-ho on the idea. Grinning, he took his seat.
The wedding party assembled at the long table at the front of the room. And once they were seated, the food started to flow, interspersed with speeches and toasts. It irritated him that he didn’t get a chance to strike up a real conversation with her during the meal. He was determined to get her name and phone number before the evening was over.
While the servers cleared dinner plates, the bandleader took the microphone and announced the first dance. Everyone watched as the bride and groom waltzed for the first time as Mr. and Mrs.
Well, not everyone, he was watching Gwendolyn.
Her auburn hair was pinned back at her temples in an elegant upsweep, while the back of her hair curled halfway between her jawline and her shoulders in a half-up/half-down hairstyle that promised refinement on the one hand, untamed passion on the other. A seductive promise that he longed to explore.
But he wasn’t going to pursue that line of thinking. He’d had his fill of casual hookups. Once he’d passed the deepest depths of despair following Maura’s death, he’d gone through a crazy, anything-goes phase. Over the last three years, he’d traveled from monkish celibacy, to sex-addled, back to celibate again. Now he was ready for a real relationship. And for that, he shouldn’t be looking to beautiful wedding crashers who refused to surrender their names.
Why had she crashed the wedding? Was she looking for a casual hookup? Considering the condoms in her purse, maybe so. Maybe she was some nutter who loved weddings and had bouquet-catching dreams of being the next bride. Maybe she wanted to photo bomb a celebrity wedding for Facebook bragging rights. Or maybe she was just a groupie who wanted access to a roomful of baseball players.
Except he wasn’t getting any of those vibes from her, and he’d fought off his share of groupies. Other than the wedding-crashing thing, Gwendolyn seemed quite normal.
The music changed from a waltz to a jazzier beat.
Gwendolyn extended her hand. “Dance with me.”
He hesitated for a fraction of a second, momentarily surprised by her invitation. He’d thought she was on the verge of bolting. “How do you know I can dance?”
She eyed him up and down. “You look athletic.”
“Just because I’m in shape doesn’t mean I can dance.” Actually, he’d taken ballroom dancing classes with Maura so he could dance at their wedding, but Maura was the only woman he’d ever danced with.
Miss Wedding Crasher just stood there, one hand cocked on her shapely hip, the other palm held out for him to accept, a challenging quirk raising one perfectly arched eyebrow, her long eyelashes lowering seductively.
