Don't Tell the Wedding Planner

by Aimee Carson

College, on the other hand, had been a disaster.

  Callie cleared her throat. “But the party crowd comes with certain expectations, and I went out too much.” She rolled her eyes. “That alone would have been enough for the Moron of the Year Award, but one night I went to a party at a house.”

  Matt’s going to hate what comes next.

  She gripped the skirt of her dress, wishing the silken folds could sooth her nerves, and she gathered her courage before she went on. “The police raided the place because the man was a drug dealer.”

  Matt sucked in a breath and his lips went white, and she knew the news had hit him viscerally. He looked as if he’d received a solid punch to the solar plexus. She whirled around to face him, laying a hand on his arm. Her heart pumped hard in her chest.

  The rest tumbled out of her mouth. “I didn’t know who he was or what he did to make money, Matt.” She stared up at him, emphasizing every word and trying hard to convince him of the truth with her gaze. “He was a friend of a friend of a friend. It sounds like a stupid cliché, I know, but I honestly had no idea who the man was. But—”

  She bit her cheek and held her tongue, staring at Matt. Callie shoved her hair back from her face, disturbed by the slight tremor in her fingers.

  “We all got taken down to the station and...and they found marijuana in my purse.”

  “Jesus, Callie.”

  And then Matt just seemed to stop breathing, as if this final piece of the sordid story was just one insult too many. There was no way out but the truth. And the faster she got this over with, the sooner her heart would start beating again.

  Callie drew in a shaky breath and pushed on. “I know. I know. I was stupid and depressed and I just wanted something to make it all go away. It was the only time, I swear.”

  The stupid move would follow her around the rest of her life. She briefly pressed her eyes closed. The shock of her arrest had been difficult enough for her, but it had been horrible for her parents. Years of being the perfect kid, the perfect student, had made her fall from grace all that much more painful. Especially given their car had been plastered with so many Student of the Week bumper stickers the chrome on the bumper had all but disappeared.

  “I called my parents, who couldn’t come to help me out, so they sent Colin.” She winced at the memories of the complete and utter humiliation when Colin had strode into the police headquarters, clearly furious. “He drove up to Wimbly, even though I didn’t ask him to,” she said, realizing she was rambling again. “And then, of course, things between the two of us started to fall apart and I—”

  The look on Matt’s face gave no indication as to what he was thinking. The knot in her stomach tangled a little tighter, so she hurried on, beyond ready to push on to the next subject.

  “I just think, after everything they’ve been through, Penny and Tommy deserve the wedding of the century,” she said.

  The tension in his body had eased a bit, and he leaned back against the wall, arms folded across the chain mail on his chest. For one bizarre moment, she realized she missed his hands on her skin. Callie smoothed her hand down the satiny skirt of the underdress.

  “And if I can help Colin out with a fantastic publicity opportunity and prove to my parents my business is a success, all at the same time, so much the better.”

  Parked against the wall, Matt continued to study her.

  She still couldn’t tell what he was thinking. That she was an idiot? That she deserved to return to New Orleans, the stink of shame following on her heels? True.

  But jeez, the whole mess had taken place ten years ago.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked.

  There was a two beat pause before he answered. “You’re right.” She held her breath as he went on. “The dress does flatten your breasts too much.”

  A bark of surprised laughter escaped Callie, one part humor and a hundred parts absolute relief. “Oh, my God, you really are a perv.”

  He smiled, crinkles appearing around his eyes, the tension of the moment finally broken. “Are we done with the confession now?”

  Callie released her death grip on her skirt, muscles finally relaxing.

  “Beyond done,” she said.

  “Good. Now could you please help me get this son of a bitch off?” He pulled at the chain-mail shirt a bit, letting it drop back to his chest with a ching. “I’m about to die of heat stroke here. And no way in hell do I want to pass out and be carted off to the nearest emergency room in this getup.”

  “Sure, turn around.”

  She spent a minute wrestling with the clasp at the nape of his neck, her fingers fumbling a bit as she tried to ignore the soft tickle of hair against her fingers. Against her will, awareness washed over her again, and her gaze slid past his broad shoulders down to his trim waist and lean hips. The body looked solid and rugged and was impossible to ignore, especially in the kind of getup that hinted at strong heroes, epic battles and undying devotion to a lady.

  Ridiculous, Callie. You’re absolutely ridiculous.

  “Now face me and lean in,” she said.

  Matt turned and bent forward at the waist, and Callie pulled the hem up his trunk and over his head. The chain mail was heavier than it looked, pulling the shirt beneath along, as well. The whole ensemble dropped to the floor with a clank and Matt straightened up.

  Holy hell. What had she done?

  Now she had to hold herself together in the presence of a shirtless Matt with sexily mussed hair. While her heart thudded, Callie tried to drag her gaze from Matt’s chest, but failed. The well-honed muscles had a dusting of hair that tapered at his waist, passing over the flat abdomen and disappearing beneath his pants.

  A small smirk quirked his lips. “Are you checking out my cleavage?”

  Several seconds passed before her brain could arrange the words in the right order. “You don’t have man boobs.”

  “Good thing, too.”

  Time seemed to grind to a halt as they both studied each other. And then Matt stepped closer, with goal written all over his face, and the tension returned, ten times worse than before. But this time the air was filled with a sexual charge. Electric currents prickled just beneath her skin and spread, producing goose bumps as they went.

  And her briefly returned ability to speak fled even faster than before.

  “Only problem I see with this scenario?” He grabbed a fistful of fabric just beneath her fitted waist and slowly drew her closer, her pulse picking up speed with every step. “You are way overdressed.”

  Callie tried to protest. “The owner is—”

  “Currently engrossed in a conversation with a customer about the history of Mardi Gras.”

  She blinked, trying to process all the input threatening to blow a fuse in her brain. Too many sparking impulses firing at once. Just the bare torso alone was enough to shove her senses into complete meltdown. But toss in the sight of all that lovely, lovely skin covering muscles and sinew and bone? The rudimentary pants clinging low on lean hips? She could just make out the top of his briefs. Blue.

  Matt continued to slowly pull her forward, until her body finally met his—naked chest to, unfortunately, not naked chest. His eyes zeroed in on her lips, and several thoughts flashed through her brain at once.

  This isn’t why you’re here, Callie. You need to stay focused on the job.

  His mouth covered hers. And just like the focused man who’d hunted her down at the wedding reception, this man was all about the goal, as well. He tipped her head back and his lips pressed in firmly, opening Callie’s mouth wide and taking his time with each retreat. Several deep, wet kisses followed. Forceful, yet unhurried. Heat and moisture and hard lips registered just before his tongue rasped against hers.

  For a brief moment her mind splintered, and she moaned.

&
nbsp; Matt gripped the fabric on the outside of her thighs, settling her legs on either side of his thighs. Unfortunately, the mounds of fabric between them prevented the satisfaction of feeling his hard body pressed against hers.

  “Jesus,” he muttered, arching his hip. “How the hell did people wear these bloody clothes?”

  She gripped his arms, hoping to keep from melting into the floor. The fingers twisted tight in her dress hauled her that last little bit, and she had to adjust her stance to allow his leg to settle between her thighs. Then there was a skitter of pleasure up her spine from the pressure, the fabulously delicious friction...

  My God.

  She closed her eyes.

  “Too bad my brother wasn’t into Space Vixens from the Planet Venus,” Matt said, nibbling his way from one side of her mouth to the other.

  “Why would you say that?”

  Geez, she sounded so breathless.

  He dove in for another openmouthed kiss, and several mind-spinning seconds later he said, “Because their costumes were smaller. Much smaller.”

  Another drugging kiss consumed her, his tongue hot and demanding and doing unspeakable things to her body. His hand drifted to the small of her back to keep her pressed close. That leg pressed firmly against the part of her anatomy that desired the contact the most.

  And those little rudimentary pants and thin briefs did nothing to hide the hard shaft pressed along her hip.

  The sensation too fabulous to lose, she pulled herself a little higher up his leg, and the slow drag of fabric settled more firmly against the sensitive area between her thighs. Callie let out a whimper.

  Good Lord. She needed to... She had to...

  Matt’s hands landed along her shoulder blades and began to undo those laces he’d worked so long and hard to fasten. As the back of the dress slowly fell open, cool air slid down her skin. The contact sent an illicit thrill skittering up her spine.

  Surely she should be letting out some sort of protest? Where was her vow to keep her hands to herself? Where was her focus? Even more important, where was her sense of decency?

  A loud laugh from somewhere in the store broke through Callie’s lust-muddled brain, and they both went still. Callie silently counted to five and listened to Matt’s harsh breaths before she gathered the strength to open her eyes.

  Lips brushing against hers, he said, “I’m thinking we should fix our clothes.”

  Which totally was in contrast to the palm pressed flat against her back, holding her firmly against his chest.

  “Um...yeah,” she muttered against his lips, embarrassed by her less than brilliant response.

  “What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” he said. “Searching out a pack of traveling circus performers to juggle flaming torches?”

  Her lips smiled against his. Something about his teasing tone and his easygoing manner made the moment less awkward.

  She stole a quick kiss before answering. “No,” she said. “Though we do need to find someone who can transport a dragon from Colin’s storage house to the park.”

  He pulled his head back and hiked a brow dryly. “Well, that shouldn’t be hard at all.”

  “We’re in New Orleans,” Callie said. “This town plans, produces and pulls off the Mardi Gras parade every year. There are plenty of people who can properly transport a dragon.”

  “So tomorrow will be about securing dragon transport?”

  Callie opened her mouth to say yes and then bit her lip, remembering that her aunt had called this morning and asked for her help sorting through the stuff at the dock house. Callie had promised to drive up to Aunt Billie’s place despite her suspicions the favor wasn’t the real reason her aunt wanted Callie to visit.

  While she was always pleased to see her favorite relative, the visit never came without a risk. But there was definitely a way to cut down on said risk. Bring backup. Provide a distraction, so to speak. Matt was the perfect person to help in that regard.

  Callie eyed Matt. His hair was adorably tousled and his lips looked ruddy from their kisses. And something about his manner always put her at ease, even while revving up her body...

  Talk about distractions.

  “Actually,” she said, “I have to head up to Clemence tomorrow. I was hoping you could ride along. I have to see my aunt Billie, and I think you should get out for an authentic taste of our cuisine and experience the bayou.”

  “Sightseeing wasn’t really in my plans.”

  “But there’s so much to see and this is your first trip to town. You can’t come to New Orleans without sampling a little of rural Louisiana.”

  He tipped his head and looked down at her. Why was she holding her breath, hoping he’d say yes?

  “Will there be mosquitos?” he asked.

  “Big ones.”

  “Gators?”

  “Most definitely.”

  “Dirt roads?”

  “With potholes the size of Texas.”

  His lips twitched, as if fighting a smile. “Sounds enticing,” he said dryly.

  “On the bright side, my aunt makes the best shrimp étouffée in three counties. And she has a successful restaurant to show for it.”

  “Now that sounds good.”

  The response encouraging, Callie had to smile. “Hope you like it hot.”

  “Ms. LaBeau,” Matt said, leaning close, his lips whispering across hers, “I like everything hot.”

  FOUR

  The two-hour drive up to Clemence, located north of Baton Rouge, passed pleasantly enough. At least, as pleasant as possible given Callie remained distracted, both by Matt’s presence in her car and the destination.

  As usual, the closer Callie drew to her old hometown the more her stomach filled with knots. Visiting Aunt Billie always managed to be fun and painful at the same time. Hopefully, with Matt along, Callie could avoid the painful part. From the first moment her family had learned of her mistake, her aunt had been her staunchest supporter, which always made Callie feel even worse for letting her down.

  Once they’d finally left Baton Rouge behind, the roads grew narrower, quieter and lined with oaks. More important, now that they were getting close to Po Boy’s, her aunt’s restaurant, the roads were filled with the occasional pothole.

  “Man,” Matt said as he steered around one. “You weren’t kidding about the condition of the roads.” He glanced into his rearview mirror. “That one should be named Grand Canyon, the junior.”

  The conversation was as good a lead-in as she’d ever get. “So what’s it like where you’re from?” Callie asked. She twisted in the passenger seat of her car and leaned back against the door to better study Matt as he steered her car down the road. “Where do you live again?”

  “Manford, Michigan.”

  Which hardly answered the question burning in her brain. She hiked a brow, encouraging him to go on.

  Two beats passed before he answered. “Midsize town. We have a mall, a couple of movie theatres and the hospital is decent enough. Though the emergency room isn’t as big as I’d like.”

  Something in his tone told her that last statement represented a massive understatement.

  “I thought you worked as a traveling doc,” she said.

  He cleared his throat. “I have a part-time job at Manford Memorial. That allows me enough free time to travel as a locums, picking up shifts in bigger cities.”

  “If you prefer living in a larger city, why are you living there?”

  Several seconds ticked by. “It’s home.” He gave a shrug, the act as vague as his words.

  But his voice gave him away, the lack of excitement almost palpable. Callie loved New Orleans, loved everything about the town that managed to merge quirky and a unique cultural heritage with its own brand of Southern charm, all at the s
ame time. The city merged the concepts with a kind of easy grace that amazed her, every single time, and provided the perfect backdrop for her business. Despite the strained relationships, her family was here, too. She’d grown up in the area and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

  Matt, apparently, had little affection for his own town.

  “Promise me something,” she said, and he looked at her curiously. “No matter what happens, don’t go to work for the Manford Chamber of Commerce doing tourist promotion, because you would really suck at the job.”

  Matt laughed, and she admired the strong throat, the even, white teeth. His sandy, tousled hair that begged to be ruffled, and Callie flexed her fingers against the urge to reach over and run her fingers through his hair.

  In an attempt to dodge a pothole on the left, Matt steered the Toyota to the right, and the front tire hit a second pothole. He shot her a look, and Callie lifted a shoulder. “You get used to it.”

  He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “You grew up out here?”

  “Yep,” she said. “Born right here in Clemence Parish. Spent my childhood playing in the water, fishing and catching crawfish.”

  “A tomboy?”

  “And proud of it.”

  She pointed out the turns, the roads growing narrower, until finally they hit the dirt road that dead-ended into Po Boy’s. There were a half dozen or so cars in the gravel parking lot, shaded by huge oaks, and Matt pulled into a spot in the front.

  They exited and rounded the car. Matt came to a stop to stare up at the wooden building.

  “Aunt Billie’s restaurant looks...interesting.”

  Callie grinned at the expression on his face. The paint on the siding was peeling and cracked, the wood beneath faded to gray where exposed to the sun. The front porch held several tables and chairs, but Callie knew the customers preferred the back and the view of the river.

  “Authentic,” she said.

  He hiked a brow. “Safe?”

  She bit back a smile. “Absolutely.”

  They made their way up the wooden front steps. Matt’s hand settled into the dip in her spine, and the heat seeped through her shirt and warmed her skin. Unfortunately, the temperature change didn’t stop there. The feeling settled deeper, curling low in her stomach and spreading between her legs. Good Lord. Yesterday’s dressing-room incident had clearly left an indelible impression.