by Regina Cole
Rachel, who’d been Bree’s roommate after college, had been married for two years. It was kind of a miracle she’d agreed to be in the wedding, since her doctor wasn’t too happy with her traveling so late in her pregnancy. They’d compromised with a three-day trip, so the stress wouldn’t be as hard on Rachel.
Stacey shook her head. “I’ll have another later.” Her smile faded as her gaze fixed on something behind them.
“Fine.” Bree rolled her eyes. “Liza, another cosmo?”
Eliza shook her head vehemently, and the room swam a bit. She stepped backward to regain her balance and stumbled into a large guy with a buzz cut and too many chains around his neck.
“Oh gosh, I’m sorry,” she stammered, regaining her balance quickly. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”
“No worries,” he said, a wide, eager smile spreading across his face. “I was coming over here to talk to you anyway. Here, I talked to the bartender, and she said you liked cosmos.” He held out a pink cocktail to her.
Eliza blinked. Really? Well, that was unexpected. A little flattering, or at least it would have been if the guy was anything approaching attractive. But he wasn’t her type. The cloud of cologne around him was actually a little hard to see through, let alone breathe with. And she wasn’t born yesterday. She knew not to take a drink from a stranger like that.
“No, that’s okay. Thanks anyway.”
Eliza turned back to Stacey and Bree, but a large hand fell on her shoulder.
“Hey, I’m talking to you. Don’t be such a bitch.”
Her heart leapt into her throat, and she knocked his hand away, whirling to face him again. Bree grabbed Eliza’s arm and pulled her back, which she was glad for, because anxiety had thickened her tongue. She wanted to tell him he was a dick, and he should leave them alone, but the anger in his face made her feel small. Like Tyler had. The sneer across the stranger’s face was too familiar, too frightening.
“What’s the matter? Pussy got your tongue?” He laughed at his stupid joke, the sound carrying far in the break between songs.
“She said she doesn’t want a drink, you fucktard. Leave her alone.”
Suddenly there was a body in between Eliza’s and the stranger’s. Wait, Stacey? She held her arms out to the sides as if she was a wall.
“I was talking to your friend, you fat ugly cunt. Fuck off.” The guy walked forward, muscling her out of his path. He shoved as he moved by, and Stacey hit the ground hard.
“Stace!” Bree cried out, reaching for her cousin. But Eliza couldn’t let her go, because Buzz Cut was standing right in front of them now, using his height to intimidate. Was it cowardly of her? Maybe. But right now, the alcoholic haze that had been so pleasant before felt like quicksand around her brain. She couldn’t think fast enough. What to do?
“Why do you have to be so stuck-up? Are you too good for me? Is your pussy gold-plated?” His breath blew across her face, thick with the scent of beer.
Beer.
That was it.
He wasn’t just an asshole, he was a drunk asshole.
“Help Stacey,” Eliza said over her shoulder in Bree’s direction.
“What? I’m not leaving you with—”
“Go. I’ll be fine.”
Bree glared at Eliza, but went over to Stacey, who was holding the side of her head. She must have hit it on the floor when she fell. A small crowd had gathered around them now, and a thick-necked guy with dark skin and a mean stare was heading across the dance floor over to them. Thank God, it was the bouncer who’d let them in. He’d looked them over and pronounced them to be the hottest three who’d walked into the club that night. Bree had slipped him a generous tip.
He’d back Eliza up. She knew it.
“You didn’t answer my question, saggy tits. I said, is your cunt gold-plated?”
“Nope. But you sure as hell better hope your balls are armored.” She didn’t give him a chance to figure out what she meant, she just kicked upward as high and hard as she could.
The top of her foot connected with his crotch with tremendous force. Eliza’s pained curse and Buzz Cut’s strangled cry mingled with the upbeat dance remix currently blasting through the speakers.
Eliza hopped backward on the foot that wasn’t throbbing as Buzz Cut fell to his knees. The cosmo fell with him, spilling over the dance floor.
“You fucking bi—”
“Get the hell out of here before I call the cops.” The bouncer reached down and grabbed Buzz Cut by the neck of his stupid blue tank top. “Unless the lady wants to press charges?”
Eliza shook her head while Buzz Cut squawked.
“Her press charges? She fucking kicked me for no goddamn reason!”
“Oh really? Because from where I’m standing, it looked like you tried to give her a drink you just screwed with.”
Shit. Eliza stared at the puddle on the floor. She hadn’t really thought he would try that; she was just being ultra-careful when she’d refused the drink.
Bree had helped Stacey to her feet. The two of them watched as the bouncer talked to Eliza about what he’d seen.
A minute later, Eliza nodded. “Yeah, we probably should.”
She didn’t want to ruin Bree’s night, but she didn’t want this guy to get away with this ever again, either.
“It’s okay,” the bouncer said. “I can give a statement, and the cameras might have caught him doing it anyway. Just give me your number in case they want to get in touch with you tomorrow.”
Eliza scribbled her number on a scrap of paper from the bouncer’s pocket, and he and Buzz Cut left the room through a back door together, Buzz Cut still whining about his sore balls. Good. She hoped she’d ruptured one, because her foot still throbbed.
“Are you okay, Stacey?” She hobbled back to her two companions. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” Stacey sniffed, her full lower lip trembling as she dashed away tears. “He was just an ass.”
“You didn’t deserve any of those awful things he said or did,” Bree wailed, hugging Stacey tight. Their height difference put poor Stacey’s face right in Bree’s cleavage. “You’re so beautiful, and brave for doing that! You aren’t fat, and I—”
“That’s enough, Sabrina,” Eliza said, pulling the now-sobbing Stacey away from Bree’s embrace. “Really, she’s okay.”
Eliza rubbed Stacey’s back, wishing she could fix the night. God, it seemed like everything went to shit when she was around. Such great things fell apart with Eliza’s “magic” touch, it seemed. Everything had been so great, and now?
Now nobody felt like dancing.
“Hey, let’s go to another club,” Bree said, frowning as she crossed her arms tightly. “This one’s kind of lame.”
“I think I need to go home. I mean, back to the hotel.” Stacey sniffed. “But you guys keep having fun. I’ll just hail a cab.”
Eliza wanted to protest, but she looked at Bree, who was already nodding.
“That’s okay, Stace. Your head hurts, right? I don’t blame you for wanting to lie down. Do you need us to come with you?”
“No, don’t cut your big night short. I’m fine, really.”
But Stacey didn’t look either of them in the eye.
Eliza bit her lip, glancing from one Hough to the other. As grateful as she was to Stacey, and as awful as she felt for what had happened, she couldn’t let a drunk Bree run around the island alone.
“Okay. Let’s go outside, and we’ll wait for the cab with you.”
It didn’t take long. The street held several nightclubs and a strip joint, so cabbies were camped out waiting for clients. They packed Stacey into a waiting blue cab, and waved her off.
Arm-in-arm, Eliza and Bree walked down the street, Eliza trying like hell to pretend the night hadn’t been completely ruined.
If only she could believe that.
Chandler wondered if he’d made the right decisions at the bachelor party. But now it was kind of moot, wasn’t it?
It was the next morning, and a pounding headache kept him company while he shaved.
He hadn’t really drunk that much the night before. His symptoms were more the result of trying to keep Randy out of trouble. Dumbass didn’t realize when the stripper put the dollar bill in his teeth that he wasn’t supposed to lick her cleavage.
Chandler shook his head as he rinsed the razor under warm water. Fortunately, the stripper had calmed down after a hefty tip, and they scooted out to the club next door. But they’d only been there for half an hour when Brent had tapped his shoulder. “Hey look, Sabrina and Eliza are here.”
His first reaction was excitement, but he’d stuffed it down quickly and frowned in the direction Brent indicated. On the upper dance floor, near the mirrored columns, Sabrina and Eliza were dancing.
God, she was beautiful. Her movements were loose, flowing, her hair wild, small strands sticking to her cheek. There was a ring of guys around them, most of them keeping their hungry eyes on Sabrina, but there were at least two that had looked at Eliza like she was a double-decker sundae and they’d forgotten their spoons. He’d tightened his fists at his sides, rounded up the guys, and left the club.
“Hey, what’s this for?”
Chandler had forced a light note into his voice. “You can’t have a bachelor sendoff with your fiancée watching, can you? We’re just going to move our party next door.”
So they’d gone to a smaller club across the street, staying until last call forced them out.
Chandler put his razor on the edge of the sink and splashed his cheeks clean. He’d have to hurry if he was going to meet Gregory for lunch like he’d promised.
He padded out of the bathroom, the towel still tucked around his hips. Shit, what was he supposed to wear to this rehearsal thing? He’d better check with the groom so he didn’t embarrass himself.
But for now, he satisfied himself with some khaki shorts and a golf polo. He didn’t play, but he liked the silky, breathable fabric. He’d figure out what else he’d need later that night.
Wonder what Eliza will wear?
The thought popped into his mind unbidden. Damn it. He wasn’t going to get her out of his head that easily, it seemed. He’d gotten a lap dance last night that hadn’t even made his cock twitch. Eliza had fucked him in the head, that was for sure. Imagine asking someone to tie you up and spank you and then, ten minutes later, telling them to get lost?
Too much. She was jerking him around, and even though he didn’t have any reason to expect anything from her, he was getting fed up. It was too close to the kind of shit Andrea used to pull with him.
Get over yourself, Morse. Go meet your cousin, get him hitched, and get your ass back to North Carolina before you get stuck with another crazy woman.
Sound advice, but it didn’t improve his mood, or his still-thundering headache.
Before leaving the room, he swallowed two Tylenol dry. They stuck in his throat.
He didn’t meet her in the elevator, or in the lobby of the tower. There was no sign of her on the semi-crowded sidewalk as the weekend travelers arrived. When he got to the restaurant, he scanned the tables, but he didn’t see her there, either.
A sigh escaped him.
“What’s with you?”
Chandler turned at the amused tone.
“Greg, sorry I’m late.”
“You look like hell.” Greg clapped him on the shoulder and steered him to the booth in the corner. “I thought you could hold your liquor.”
“I can. I can’t, however, keep running interference between your buddy Randy and the various employees of Bottoms Up Gentleman’s Club.”
Greg laughed aloud. “Damn, he should have gotten his ass kicked for that.”
Chandler shook his head as he sank into the booth. “He almost did. When Security didn’t do it I was tempted to do the job myself.”
Greg smiled as he picked up the little roll of silverware in front of him. “Hell, he deserves it. Just wait until after the ceremony tomorrow, okay? I don’t need him to worry Bree. She’s already had a panic attack this morning because of Stacey.”
“Stacey?” Chandler frowned. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen her with the other two last night. “What’s wrong?”
“Some drunk jerk apparently decided to hit on Eliza, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Stacey stood between them, trying to make him leave them alone, and he knocked her down. She hit her head pretty hard, apparently.”
A red haze started climbing through Chandler’s vision, and he fought to keep himself calm enough to listen.
“Is Stacey okay?”
“Bree told me that when Stacey got back to the hotel she started getting dizzy, so she went to the hospital. They said it was just a minor concussion, she should be fine. Of course, when Bree found out her maid of honor spent most of the night in the ER, she lost her mind. And then Eliza had to go to the police station, and she wasn’t sure if she’d be back in time for the rehearsal.”
“Police station?” Fuck, he was about to run out of there after her without enough information. Calm down. Breathe. Get the facts, then react.
“The guy who was hitting on Eliza tried to pass her a drugged drink. Seems he’s got a record of sexual assault, and they needed to get her statement. She’s back now, though.”
The adrenaline pumped through Chandler’s system, and he gritted his teeth against it. All he wanted was for that asshole to be in front of him so he could throttle the shit out of him.
“You’ll be happy to know that Eliza kicked him in the balls.”
That startled a laugh out of Chandler. He was shocked that he was capable of such a sound right then, but the mental image did give him a sense of relief.
“Good. He deserved worse, but I’m glad he got that much.”
Chandler smiled his thanks at the waitress as she dropped off two waters for them. The cool liquid cleared the full feeling in his throat, and finally his headache began to fade. His stomach was in knots, though. It probably wouldn’t relax until he’d seen Eliza and made sure she was okay. Damn it, no. She wasn’t his responsibility.
“So how’s Stacey today?”
There. That should prove to himself that he was altruistic and his motives were pure. Either that or he was chasing Stacey instead. Which wasn’t that bad of an idea, really. Well, it wouldn’t have been before he’d spent time with Eliza. It was probably going to be a while before any other woman looked as attractive to him again.
Damn it.
“She’s okay, I think. We brought her some flowers this morning. Looked like hell, but that’s probably because she was exhausted. They ran a bunch of tests on her last night, so it’s not like she got a lot of sleep.” Gregory stared down at the table. “I think she took that hard. She was really depressed this morning.”
Chandler sighed. If things were different, he’d try to do something to help her feel better. And to help Eliza cope with the knowledge that something bad had almost happened to her last night. To talk to the bride-to-be, who was assuredly panicking that her big day was less than twenty-four hours away and people were being hospitalized and incarcerated left and right.
But he was a single guy, with no relationship to any of the women. He’d best keep his nose firmly in his own business.
“A toast.”
“With water? For what?” Greg arched a brow but raised his glass to Chandler’s anyway.
“To beautiful women. May they be worth it.”
Greg snorted. “Dude, they’re never worth it.”
They both drank, though Chandler was sure Greg was wrong.
There was someone worth it. And Chandler had a hunch that he might have sat next to her on the plane a couple of days ago.
12
Eliza slammed the car door behind her and waved to the police officer as he drove away.
Pressing her hands into the knot at the small of her back, she leaned backward and tried to ease the tension. God, that seemed to take forever, but it wa
s really only about two hours. It would have been much shorter if Buzz Cut, whom she’d learned carried the unfortunate name of Mortimer Dewey, hadn’t been so set on pressing charges for her totally deserved kick to his balls.
Fortunately for her, the bouncer and the security footage both had her back. It was a clear case of self-defense. That hadn’t stopped Sabrina from freaking out when the policeman had showed up at the resort this morning, though.
“Gosh, Bree.” The thought weighed on Eliza and she started walking toward the event hall where the reception would be held. She was supposed to be helping decorate, and instead she’d sipped instant coffee while trying not to roll her eyes at Buzz Cut’s outrageous lies.
A cloud covered the sun, and a breeze seemed to calm the heat that had become oppressive during her walk. She squinted up at the sky. Hopefully it’d be a little cooler for the ceremony tomorrow afternoon. And once the wedding was out of the way, she could start to relax and really enjoy this trip.
Maybe. If she could forget Chandler, that was.
Damn it, she shouldn’t have allowed his name to pop into her head. Now there was his face, that wide, boyish smile, that beautiful slight drawl, those muscles, his abs, his—
Before her memory could soar into his pants, the man himself called her name.
“Eliza!”
She thought about pretending not to hear him, but damn it, she’d had a rough twelve hours or so and she just wanted to see a friendly face. Even if that face was too handsome for her own good. It’d be hard to keep up the charade of confident, carefree bombshell now, but she wasn’t sure she cared at that point.
“Hey,” she said, offering a lame smile in a bit of penance. She watched as he jogged toward her.
“Are you okay? Gregory told me about what happened last night.” His expression was sincerely concerned. Damn it, that shouldn’t touch her, but it did. It made her warm inside, like the cloud had just moved away from the sun and the rays touched inside her chest.
“I’m fine. It was just a drunk asshole. I’m not in any trouble.”
