Twisted in Tulips

by Nikki Duncan

  “And you think that’s good enough for a wedding?”

  “I do. The colors support your summer theme and the lightness of your spirits. The lilies and fruit will add a touch of casual class. And it all helps keep the focus of the day where it belongs. On you.”

  “I like the idea of that,” Drea whispered. “Even if some people will still find fault.”

  “Some people thrive on judgment and making others unhappy.” Misty rested a hand on Drea’s and infused her tone with soft reassurance. “Others are too deeply wounded, or too entrenched in a contentious misunderstanding or too afraid of something to see a way out of their personal unhappiness. The only thing you can do is find your own happiness.”

  Jace was one of those people, or a combination of them, and though Misty had been warned he would be gone when she woke, she’d hoped to find him there. She’d hoped to have the chance to figure out which kind of person he was and why he appealed to her so profoundly.

  “It would be easier if your arrangements would magically fix them.”

  Drea’s chuckle pulled Misty from her thoughts of Jace. “Yes, it would, but sometimes those quirks are the things that make people interesting.”

  Connor took Drea’s hand and squeezed affectionately. They stared at each other, lost in the dewy film of love, but Misty didn’t look away. She wondered what it would feel like to be the woman whose man looked at her that way. Wondered what power the stark love gleaming back at her would hold.

  She’d played with the same question every time she saw Lori and Trevor together, and she’d allowed herself to pretend for a brief span of time last night that Jace would be her answer. Reality made a different claim and she needed to respect it.

  “The fruit can be purchased in bulk at the local farmer’s market.” Misty jumped back into the discussion they were all here for, hopeful it would derail her Jace-centric thoughts. “With your invitation list sitting near a hundred and fifty, you’re looking at eighteen tables.”

  Connor made it clear in the beginning he wanted Drea to have the wedding of her dreams, but that it needed to happen within the budget they’d agreed on. To show that they were keeping those goals in mind, Misty walked Drea and Connor through the math. She broke out the cost of the foam, fruit and flowers, as well as the rental for the vases. She kept the rental and the labor of putting them all together as minimal as possible.

  “I can do three vases on each table for just under a thousand dollars. While I think the three vases per table, with linens in a corresponding color, would look best we can just as easily do two. Your cost would drop to around six fifty.”

  Connor lit up at the six-fifty option. Drea lit up at the thought of the three vases.

  It hadn’t taken Misty long to discover the key to keeping a bride happy within a budget was with compromise. In this case she was taking a hit to her bottom line with the small profit margin she was going with, but the vases were part of her inventory and would be rented out again and again by people filling them with more elaborate arrangements.

  The goal of Tulle and Tulips Designer Weddings was to make sure every bride had her dream wedding, regardless of her budget. Misty would do her part.

  Drea and Connor were paying for their wedding without the help of their non-supportive parents. Misty couldn’t stand the idea of being a cause of stress in their already stressful wedding. “We can put it in the budget for the three vases, but if you find later that you need the money elsewhere we can cut back.”

  “But don’t you have to place the orders soon?”

  “The flowers, yes.” Misty typed notes into the shared database so Tabatha, the venue coordinator, would know where they were heading with their flowers. Tabatha would use the color scheme of the flowers to help them plan their linens and lighting.

  “I’ll get the fruits last minute so they’re fresh. It’s easy to change that quantity. As for the foam, I can always put extra into inventory.” Not that she wanted a huge inventory until she was turning more of a profit, but she wouldn’t share that detail.

  With their agreement to start with three vases, she escorted them to reception where Tabatha waited to work with them. Misty gave a quick rundown of what they were planning so Drea and Connor heard one more time that she was keeping their plans and intentions in mind.

  As she watched them walk away, pleased that she’d eased some of their tension, awareness washed over her.

  Jace.

  She pivoted slowly on the ball of her high heel. On the other side of the double doors closing Tulle and Tulips Designer Weddings off from the lobby area stood the man who’d dominated her attention since yesterday morning. The jeans and heavy boots of yesterday had been replaced with a perfectly fitted suit and tie. An array of feelings she couldn’t name crossed his face before something militant settled in his eyes. It abolished the polished façade of his fancy clothes. It awakened her.

  Misty didn’t remember crossing the reception area, but she placed a palm on the door handle just as he reached the other side. Captivated by his magnetism, she froze. Unable to push the door open for him or expel the breath locked in her lungs.

  Jace pulled the door open with a quick jerk.

  Her breath burst with a gasp. Her hand dropped.

  “It was you.” His voice, harsh and accusatory, whipped at her.

  “What was me?”

  “How?” Confusion tangled his brow. “How’d you know who I was? That I was meeting with Masters?”

  Oh. His missed interview yesterday. “I didn’t. Not until I saw Trevor with a file on you.”

  “And you took it upon yourself to convince him to call me again.” The harsh accusation was back in his words, as if he couldn’t decide what mood to be in or how to feel. If she had intervened, why should it anger him?

  “No.” She wouldn’t tell him how shaken up she’d been. It would probably just give him a reason to act more pissed off at her. “Trevor was in here yesterday morning, carrying your file. I mentioned that you’d helped me out of a situation.”

  “You didn’t ask him to call me? To give me a second chance?”

  “No.” His rage was rubbing off on her, stiffening her spine and making her want to fight, which was an odd sensation for her. She didn’t like to fight. She’d never had a man want to fight with her before. Fluttering filled her belly, much like it had when he’d kissed her in the bar. “I would have though if I’d thought it was necessary.”

  “I don’t need you intervening on my behalf.”

  “I didn’t, so you shouldn’t feel the need to interrupt me at work to behave like a miserable human being.” She shrugged, not feeling remotely as calm as the movement would suggest. “Not that you seem to know another way.”

  Conflicted with the desire to throttle him and drag him into the privacy of her office for a wicked round of quickie sex, she spun and walked away. He followed. Misty ignored the curious gaze of their receptionist Jenny, Leigh, their registration expert, and the clients waiting for appointments with other coordinators.

  Jace closed the door to her office behind them with deliberate slowness. When he turned, Misty suddenly sympathized with a defenseless creature cornered by a predator.

  “You’re an irritating woman, Misty Morgan.”

  “I guess you bring it out in me.” She could escape into the warehouse behind her office, but the idea of retreat stank of cowardice.

  “You should dress more like her.”

  “What? Who?” The man was impossible to keep up with.

  “The woman in that couple you were just with.”

  “Drea?” Misty considered the outfit Drea had been wearing—a long skirt with a high slit in the thigh and a snug-fitting blouse with the first few buttons undone. She looked down at herself with a similarly cut blouse. Her skirt was mid-thigh today, but that’s where Drea’s had split open at. “It was the same basic outfit.”

  Jace stood inches away, shrinking the size of her office with his attitude. “She’s
in a committed relationship.”

  “Oooh.” Realization setting in, Misty drew the single syllable into five. “It’s okay for a woman to wear form-fitting outfits that showcase her legs if she’s wearing them for one man’s pleasure. But if she’s single and wears them for her own pleasure she’s less than virtuous.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You did.” And damn if it wasn’t part of what was appealing about him. Her clothes irritated him and he didn’t like it. “It’s what you’ve been saying every time you mention my clothes, or even look at me.”

  “I have not.” He stepped closer.

  “It’s very chauvinistic of you.” She wanted to smile because she could see through his denial. He was going to snap like he had last night, and that had led to…deliciousness.

  He stepped closer still. Close enough to touch. “I am not a chauvinist.”

  “A chauvinist with archaic and conflicting views on women.”

  “You’re irritating.”

  “So you’ve said, but consider yourself as the source.”

  “You’re mouthy.”

  “You’re not exactly tight lipped with your views.”

  “I’ll show you tight lipped.” He grabbed her hips and jerked her to him. The hook of his left hand dug a little into her. His mouth descended and instead of anger or the tight-lipped kiss she’d expected, he gave her tense passion.

  His lips coaxed. His tongue sought entry. His body melded with hers.

  Recalling the way he’d handled her attacker, the way he’d touched her and kissed her, awakened her and driven her to abandon beyond logic, she arched against him. She parted her lips to allow him entry.

  As quick as he’d started it, he pushed her away with a scowl hardening his face. “You surrender too easily.”

  Only to you. “You need to make up your mind, Jace. Either like me or hate me.”

  “Misty.” He reached out, aiming for her hand.

  “No.” She shook her head and backed away. If she didn’t put space between them she’d give in again. Hell, she’d probably offer him the quickie she’d imagined. “Until you can see the chauvinistic slant to your views, until you can change your view of me, I don’t want to see you.”

  A man she barely knew shouldn’t have the power to make her want with such desperation. She should be able to resist him just as she could every other man. Sure, she went on dates and enjoyed sex, but never until she felt she knew a man. And never with someone she wasn’t sure she really liked. She wasn’t sure she remotely liked Jace.

  “Misty.” He moved toward her with his hand outstretched.

  “I mean it, Jace.” She went to the door and opened it. “I’m more than the clothes I wear. As long as you view me with derision you can stay away. I have weddings to plan.”

  He stood motionless for so long she was sure he had something more to say. Finally, he blew out a frustrated breath and walked away.

  “You were harsh with him.” Leigh spoke from the left after Jace let himself out of the office.

  The woman who’d become a pretty good friend was, as always, the definition of conservative. Her dark hair was pulled into its habitual bun without a wisp uncontrolled. Her flat shoes, wide-legged slacks and flowy blouse barely suggested at a figure. She was the kind of woman Jace would like, and the thought raised Misty’s hackles.

  “You shouldn’t eavesdrop.”

  “You didn’t exactly keep your voice low.”

  “What?” Misty tore her gaze from Jace’s retreating back and faced Leigh. “Was I yelling?”

  “Not quite yelling, but definitely not speaking normally.”

  “Damn it.”

  “He rouses your passion.” Leigh grinned with a wicked glee she rarely showed. She loved being able to say that to women, claiming she was waiting for the day for someone to say it about her. “Challenges you.”

  “He has no respect for me outside the bed.”

  Tabatha grabbed her elbow and backed her into the office. “You’ve had sex with him? When? You only met him yesterday, didn’t you?”

  Damn it. If Jace hadn’t stirred her up she’d have known better than to mention sex. Now Leigh, and in short order all the other designers, would want details. Any retelling would mean reliving, which would mean not forgetting how he made her feel.

  Damn the stubborn man.

  Chapter Seven

  “I can’t believe her.”

  Sam wiped the glasses, inspecting them for spots and lipstick smudges before shelving them. When the place filled up more she’d only have time for a cursory swipe. “Why can’t you?”

  “You saw her in here the other night.” Jace frowned at the memory of Misty sitting where he sat now. “Flirting with that armpit of a man.”

  “Watching you watch her in the mirror.”

  “Shifting so her skirt rose higher and higher.”

  “Making you antsier and antsier.”

  “Laughing as if the day had been like any other.”

  “Allowing herself to leave her worries behind for a while.”

  “Opening herself for bigger ones.”

  “From you?”

  “Damn it, Sam.” Jace pounded his fist on the bar. “Whose side are you on?”

  “No sides.”

  “Bullshit.” Women stuck up for each other even when they barely knew each other.

  “If you’re calling bullshit, call it on yourself.” Sam shelved a glass and braced her hands on the bar opposite Jace. Her long ponytail flopped over her shoulder. Her green eyes locked with his. “You’ve been coming in here for months. You sit in the corner booth nursing the same beer all night. You never pay attention to the waitresses or other women who try to get your attention aside from flashing that scary look of yours.”

  “So?” He heard the belligerence in his voice but didn’t care.

  “So… Ask yourself what’s really eating you. Is it how Misty dresses or is it that she doesn’t chase you or back down from your Captain Hook villainous mood? Because if you ask me…” Sam went on as if she’d been asked. It was something else women did a lot of. “I think you’re afraid she’s different enough to be special. Special enough to accept you.”

  Ha. Special. No modern career woman was special enough to understand, let alone accept him. She wouldn’t want to be saddled with the darkness that plagued his mind or the issues his arm caused. She’d prefer a whole man.

  Misty was most assuredly a modern career woman. She’d made it clear she appreciated his help. Her mention of him to Masters had been enough to land him the job he’d needed for the sake of his sanity. She’d also made it clear that though he aroused her she wouldn’t spend time around him until he respected her.

  “How’s a man supposed to prove he respects a woman if she won’t speak to him?” He’d tried for a week to catch her but only managed when she was with clients—when she couldn’t, or shouldn’t, be interrupted.

  “My great grandpa would tell you that mystery is older than the dirt under God’s toenails.”

  “Which is no answer.”

  “I would tell you to pay attention, figure out what makes her tick, what she’s overcome, if anything, and how she’s handled it. Learn who she is instead of worrying about how she dresses.” Sam put the dishwasher rack, now empty of the clean glasses, below the bar. “You say people judge you by your arm. You’re doing the same to her.”

  Jace stared into the amber depth of his beer that had long ago gone warm. Sam’s disapproval bounced around, slamming into his conscience with unavoidable truth. He’d seen Misty free of guards and reservations. She was more conservative with her clothes on. Her fire when he confronted her, the unwillingness to surrender that she’d stuck to in the face of an attack, and the way her short skirts glided along her lean legs appealed to him. She teased and intrigued him. She ignored him. Challenged him.

  Few women ignored him. Fewer still challenged him.

  Heated chills skated across his skin and deployed p
rickles of a desire-driven awakening. His grip on the glass went from relaxed to colorless tension.

  Misty.

  “Are you going to drink that beer, or are you expecting it to reveal a hidden secret?”

  Swallowing once, he turned his head and studied the woman who’d been marching the frontline of his mind. Holding a large box, with her hair pulled into a loose ponytail with wisps of bangs falling to frame her forehead, she looked sweet. Her snug suit jacket had been replaced by a flowing blouse with the top three buttons undone, and that just made her look sexy. Her curves were minimized by the loose shirt, but her legs, those legs that tortured him, still drew his eyes.

  From the slope of her neck to her fragile looking ankles she appeared regal. If he didn’t recall with vivid clarity the way that neck arched in invitation, or the strength in those ankles as she locked them behind his head to keep him near, he’d be more successful at blocking thoughts of her.

  The woman had driven him to the edge of stalking by avoiding him and here she stood as if they’d never battled barbs.

  “Misty, hey.” Sam nodded toward the box Misty set on the bar. “How’d they work out?”

  “Beautifully.” Her smile kissed her eyes, but they lacked the vibrancy Jace would have expected. “His unit helped him off the plane and they were married there on the tarmac. Perfection in stained-glass lighting.”

  “Even though he’d broken it off?”

  Womanly deviousness marched into Misty’s gaze. “I don’t care how tough he is, or how wounded, no soldier can reject the woman he loves when she meets him on the runway with a minister. Besides, everyone knew it was his fear of rejection that compelled him to pull away.”

  A wounded military man had been given his woman and his dignity. Misty had helped a woman prove her devotion and loyalty in an unavoidable assault. That wasn’t the mark of a superficial or materialistic woman, like he’d viewed her to be. Pressure, similar to tears building to bursting point, built in Jace’s chest. His heart swelled. He knew the agony of coming home wounded. His homecoming had been unattended. Misty had helped deter that for another man. She’d helped heal an invisible wound.