by Aimee Carson
Maybe he really was a perv.
He gripped the steering wheel. “Where to now?”
“Home,” she said.
A completely inappropriate surge of adrenaline shot through his body, only to be doused by her next statement.
“I have some things I need to do today for another event coming up in two weeks,” she said. “And I really want to take a shower and wash off all of this sweat. Where do you want to meet tonight to discuss the rest of our plans?”
She twisted in the seat to face him, one long bare calf curling beneath her. The tanned leg looked smooth and he wondered if the skin was as silky as it looked. Heat gathered at the nape of his neck, and the relentless sun through the window lit Callie’s form, making ignoring her impossible.
He cleared his throat. “Preferably somewhere cool.”
Her eyes lit, and that wide grin returned to her pretty face. “I have just the place.”
THREE
Christ, this wasn’t really what he’d had in mind.
The chill seemed to hang in the air of The Frozen South, an ice bar taking up the top floor of The River’s Edge Resort and Casino overlooking downtown New Orleans. The crowd fairly thick, the noise seemed even thicker. Most likely everyone else had the same idea: escape the heat wave outside. And the establishment was the perfect choice.
Ice blocks holding tiny neon lights made up the bar. Ice sofas, ice chairs and ice sculptures were the mainstay of the furniture and the décor. Fortunately, fur rugs lined the seats. Good thing, too. Anyone bold enough to drink too much in this environment might forget to protect their skin and wind up stuck to their chair. Some of the patrons chose to have their drinks served in ice cups. And because the management clearly had a sense of humor, costumers could even keep their cups. Of course, with the hot weather still chugging along outside with a relative heat index nearing one hundred degrees, by the time the club goer arrived home all they’d have is a wet hand that smelled of vodka.
But Matt’s beef with the choice wasn’t the crowd. Nor was it the cool temperature, a relief after the blistering day outside. Callie’s frozen margarita looked inviting and his beer was the perfect temperature.
No, Matt hated the need for Callie to be covered in so many clothes.
Matt had sprung for the best cover package, which included a parka best suited for exploring the Arctic and a hat that framed her face, limiting his view of the honey hair he enjoyed. The only thing he had going for him was that she hadn’t zipped the jacket closed.
He leaned in to speak at her ear. “You sure you don’t want to go somewhere quieter?”
She turned to look at him. A maneuver that brought them face-to-face, her lips close to his.
Huh. The impulse to lean in and kiss Callie smacked him across the face like a pheromone-soaked glove, but he squelched the urge. How the hell could he plan this crazy wedding and get home to check up on Tommy if he was constantly looking at Callie, wondering what she’d taste like? With that honey hair and that honey accent, would her mouth have the same flavor?
A stupid, fanciful thought that was getting him nowhere closer to his goals.
He cleared his throat. “We might accomplish more without the noise.”
Two beats passed, but Matt couldn’t read the look in Callie’s eyes.
“It feels good in here,” she said. “Besides, the view is awesome.”
Matt mentally shook his head and forced his gaze out the large window.
True, the lights of downtown New Orleans at night were definitely awesome. Unfortunately, he hadn’t traveled to New Orleans to enjoy the view. But Callie in a blouse, wearing a sweater zipped up to her throat, paled in comparison to her breasts on display in a slutty Scarlett O’Hara dress. Or a wet T-shirt.
Though the gently curved hips and the shapely butt in formfitting jeans almost made up for the lack of cleavage.
Almost.
“So...” Callie stared down at her notebook, obviously completely unaware of the distracting thoughts mucking up Matt’s concentration. “The games we’ve got listed so far are an ax-throwing competition, an archery competition and sword fighting. Though having all three feels redundant. Today I made a few calls and found a magician available those two days.”
Magicians. Great. But Matt was too caught up by the play of beautiful lips and teeth and tongue as Callie spoke to pay much attention.
“A local group can provide something resembling strolling minstrels,” Callie went on. “Though they won’t be quite as authentic as we’d like. I checked with the park this afternoon, and horses are allowed. Which is good because apparently Penny would love to have jousters, so I contacted a branch of the Society for Creative Anachronism and—”
“Wait. What?”
Matt’s mind stuck, spinning on all the information. Though only one piece of news stuck out.
Callie set her list down and looked at him. “The society is a living history group that’s devoted to re-creating the Middle Ages. There’s a branch just outside of—”
“No.” Matt shook his head. “You spoke to Penny?”
For some reason the news felt odd. Strange.
She tipped her head curiously. “You gave me the contact numbers, remember? So I called and spoke to both Tommy and Penny today.” She hiked an eyebrow. “After all, I am arranging their wedding.”
Matt couldn’t speak, and Callie went on.
“Anyway, Tommy is gathering volunteers among their DoZ friends attending to run the sign-up for the competitions and then the competitions themselves during the event. And Penny is going to coordinate any of the Society of Anachronism volunteers who can attend on such short notice.”
“Damn.” Matt plowed a hand through his hair. “This thing is growing out of control.”
At this rate he’d never get back home to check on Tommy. Matt’s stomach tensed. It had been how many days since he’d last laid eyes on Tommy?
Regardless, if the explosion of the wedding weekend kept up, Matt would be stuck in New Orleans figuring out how to clean up horse dung from a park and how to find swords and— Jesus, why did Callie have to smell so good?
“I suppose now wouldn’t be the time to tell you about the dragon Colin is donating to the cause?”
Matt rubbed his forehead. “Dragon?”
Callie’s lips twisted wryly. “Not a real one, of course. One they used at the launch party of Dungeons of Zhorg.” She eyed him closely, like he looked as if his head bordered on exploding.
Matt wasn’t sure but it might have been true.
“At least all of Tommy and Penny’s guests are DoZ friends who are bringing their own costumes. Looks like you and I are the only ones who need to rent something.”
Matt blinked, biting back the urge to call the whole damn thing off. “I am not dressing up as a troll.”
Callie laughed. “I pictured you dressed more as a crusader. You know, chain mail and the whole nine yards. Anyway, because of Mardi Gras, New Orleans has great costume shops. I have several we can visit tomorrow.”
Chain mail?
A crusader?
Christ, he’d almost rather go as a troll. The only thing he had left to hope for was finding Callie a slutty medieval gown.
* * *
“How does the dress fit?” Matt called through the dressing-room door.
“Give me a minute. I have to find my way inside the stupid thing before I can tell you. If you don’t hear from me in ten minutes, send help.” Callie stared down at the mound of fabric big enough to hide a nest of baby gators and their mama in. “Make that fifteen.”
In truth, she needed a few minutes alone to recover.
Last night’s graphic dream involving Matt made looking him in the eye this morning pretty gosh darn difficult. Colin’s plans for publici
ty were growing and, as the publicity plan grew, so did the importance of this event. Now there was the potential of the story getting picked up by a local channel, so she did not need to be getting sidetracked by the killer hot looks of the brother of the groom. Still, looking hardly hurt anything...
Until the looking did indecent things to her dreams.
Callie pushed the thought aside and searched for the bottom of the dress. Actually, the outfit consisted of two pieces, the first part white satinlike material with a beautiful gold brocade pattern on the skirt. The second part was an overdress of robin’s-egg-blue with a solid gold band at the bodice and split in front, forming an inverted V to showcase the design of the skirt beneath.
She slipped the first part over her head, wondering how Matt was faring with the costume-shop owner, an eccentric elderly man Callie had instantly adored.
Callie hadn’t had an occasion to use this establishment before, but the moment she entered she’d known she’d found a gem of a resource. Not only did the owner carry a wide variety of quality costumes, he had a serious collection of props. And the stuff wasn’t cheap and flimsy, either, but high-quality.
The huge crucifix on the shelf would be perfect for the Interview with the Vampire wedding she was organizing. Callie longed to come back and comb through the assortment of odds and ends, though the process would take some time. The owner was sweet, eccentric and carried a wide assortment of interesting items. Unfortunately, his organizational skills sucked. Searching through the racks and racks of costumes would have been easier if the shop was organized better. But their high-quality costumes made up for the inconvenience.
Matt probably would argue no.
A sharp knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts. “Need help?”
She bit her lip and stared in the mirror. Handling the complicated fastening system in the back would be impossible on her own. Then again, having Matt in here, alone with her. Her back so exposed...
Say no. Tell him to go away.
“Sure,” she said instead, opening the door.
In a medieval costume that would do a knight proud, Matt stepped inside. And there wasn’t a woman alive that wouldn’t have been satisfied by the way his gaze landed on her figure and his eyebrows shot higher.
He let out a low whistle. “That gown is something. You look gorgeous.”
A flush of heat left her feeling stupid.
Come on, Callie. Get your act together.
“Thank you,” she said. “You, uh, look good, too.”
Matt’s pants looked appropriately made of unrefined material. Over the crudely cut, long-sleeved shirt, he wore a chain-mail shirt. A huge sword hung on the scabbard at his waist.
Matt let out a scoff. “Maybe, but this stuff is heavy.”
“Most authentic costumes in New Orleans.”
“I think I’d rather go with the cheap stuff that doesn’t weigh a thousand pounds.” He rolled those broad shoulders. “Man, how did men fight in this getup anyway?”
“I have no idea. But at least you don’t have to wear a dress that pinches your waist to nothing and flattens your boobs,” she said dryly.
Matt was clearly biting back a grin. “I definitely prefer the slutty Scarlett O’Hara over the prim and proper medieval princess. Allow me?” He nodded down at the laces hanging open in the back.
She hesitated a second. Was that amusement flickering through his eyes? Gritting her teeth with determination, she then turned to face the mirror. Matt stepped closer, bringing a scent of spicy soap. When she briefly met his gaze in the reflection, a shock of awareness jolted her limbs and burned her belly.
The intimacy of the room, the muted lighting and the strange costumes made the whole situation surreal and, God save her from her overactive imagination, a little romantic.
Given this was Matt in chain mail with a sword at his side, a whole lot of sexy was on display, as well. Her heart did a crazy twist when Matt reached for the laces at her back.
Crap, don’t picture him undoing the dress. Just...don’t.
Dying to cover her nerves, she eyed him speculatively in the mirror. “Does this make you my lady-in-waiting?”
One side of his mouth curled up in amusement. “No,” he said. “And before you get any other crazy ideas in your head, I’m nobody’s knight in shining armor, either.”
Matt’s fingers whispered against her as he fixed the corset-inspired lace-up fastening in the back. Careful not to move, Callie concentrated on the warm brushes of skin on skin that sent currents of electric heat skittering up her spine. As touches went, this one bordered on being an incredible tease.
His gaze on the task at hand, lips set as if in concentration, Matt said, “You sure are going all out on this. I mean—” his eyes crashed into hers “—Tommy’s my brother.”
Callie blinked and mentally shoved her libido in a box. The most truthful explanation wouldn’t go over so well, for sure.
Especially with Matt.
She held his gaze in the mirror. “They deserve the wedding of their dreams.”
She’d never meant the words more, but she also knew reciting the slogan from her website didn’t cover everything she’d poured into this event so far. And everything left yet to do. After talking with Tommy and Penny yesterday afternoon—they’d both sounded so sweet and sincere on the phone—Callie’s heart had melted more.
In a way, her screwup had torn her and Colin apart. Years later, and she was still alone. Tommy’s and Penny’s screwups had led them to one another and now they were getting married. Their heartwarming story was one of the most inspiring Callie had ever heard. And she’d heard some doozies, stories of lost loves reunited and second chances and those who’d survived devastating illnesses to go and achieve their happily-ever-after.
But Tommy and Penny’s tale of overcoming the effects of the bad choices they’d made struck a chord in Callie. After talking to the two, Callie’s ideas for the weekend had exploded. So now there was more work than originally planned. Not that she feared hard work. In fact, she’d grown quite used to it.
But Matt clearly couldn’t figure out why she’d brought more work on herself.
“I guess because I know what it’s like to mess up your life,” Callie said. “In college, I made some seriously stupid decisions.”
The fingers on her back grew still, and Matt’s eyes met hers in the mirror again. His gaze didn’t budge as he remained silent, most likely waiting for her to go on. Callie’s throat suddenly felt twice baked and lacking in all moisture.
“I let a lot of people down,” she said. “Including my parents. And Colin.”
“Tell me.”
With those words, her immediate thought was no because the story was too personal, cut too close to the bone. But maybe if she shared the ugly truth about her past this would help Matt. She’d sensed there was tension between him and his brother. Maybe he’d find a way to move on, as well. The idea of her story helping others was kind of appealing.
Time to put your big-girl panties on, Callie.
Matt’s focus dropped back to her dress and he resumed his task. Maybe he sensed that telling the story would be easier without his eyes studying her so closely. Despite his focus being elsewhere, she could tell by the tension in his shoulders and the set of his mouth that Matt’s attention was solely on her.
She cleared her throat to loosen the muscles. “I grew up poor, in a little town north of here. My parents sacrificed a lot to move us to the city so I could go to a better high school. They wanted me to attend a university and be the first LaBeau to get a college degree.”
“Did you have trouble in high school?”
“Nope. I did well,” she said. “Straight-A student. I wound up with several acceptances to excellent schools. My parents wanted me to accept the scholarship at a smaller c
ollege closer to home, but I...”
Callie stared at her reflection in the mirror. She’d been so dumb, thinking her ability to adjust to a new high school translated into an easy adjustment to a new town and a large university.
“I wanted to get out and see the world,” she said. “I mean, high school seemed fairly easy. How hard could an out-of-state larger university be? So I accepted the Wimbly Southern deal.”
His gaze ticked back to hers in the mirror. “Scholarship?”
“A full ride,” she said with a nod. “Tuition. Room and board. Books. The works. Even some spending money so I didn’t have to get a job. I only had to concentrate on my studies. For a girl with parents who could barely afford the rent, it was a big deal.”
He cocked his head, the fingers at her back now motionless. “Let me guess. You flunked out and lost the scholarship.”
Callie hesitated. She could say yes and let that be the end. His short sentence summed up the events accurately. But she knew leaving out the most important bits would be taking the coward’s way out, and certainly wouldn’t explain about her commitment to Matt’s brother and his fiancée—a couple she’d only spoken to once on the phone.
“Yes, but there’s a little more to the story,” she said.
“How much more?”
“My grades slipped because I fell in with the wrong crowd. I was lonely, and the party kids were the only ones who would have anything to do with me.”
In hindsight, she realized how lucky she’d been in high school. Moving just before the tenth grade should have meant she’d been the odd one out, friendless and alone. Instead, things had come together easily. She’d had plenty of friends and was well liked by her classmates. Some of that might have had to do with her dating Colin, his popularity rubbing off on her. Either way, things had fallen into place and she’d never missed a beat.
