by Lori Wilde
“Is she for real?” asked Jillian, an ebony-haired, black-eyed, street-savvy lawyer.
“Exactly,” Tish said. “De-lu-sion-al.”
“Maybe she’s just trying to be very adult about the whole thing,” Delaney said.
“Yeah? Like you would have hired Nick’s ex-wife to videotape your wedding?”
“Oh, hell, no.”
“See? That’s what a normal woman would say. You know what else Elysee wants from me?”
Her three friends leaned in closer, spoons dangling above the mint chocolate chip.
“What?” they breathed in unison.
“Bedroom secrets.”
“What!” her friends shrieked.
“Yep. She wants me to tell her what Shane likes.” Tish took a deep breath. “She said they’re waiting for the wedding night to consummate their relationship and she doesn’t want Shane to be disappointed. Can you believe she’s asking me for sex tips?”
Clearly scandalized, Rachael slapped a hand over her mouth and her eyes widened.
“It’s always the mousy ones.” Jillian shook her head. “Never trust the mousy ones.”
“I used to be a mousy one,” Delaney said.
“Case in point.” Jillian raised a finger. “Who staged their own wedding day abduction, hmmm?”
“You’ve got me there,” Delaney admitted with a big grin.
Last year, before she’d married Nick Vinetti, Delaney had been engaged to an old childhood friend. Because of the pressure of family expectations, she hadn’t known how to get out of the wedding. In desperation, she’d ended up hiring someone to kidnap her. It had turned into a big media drama, but also into a spectacular happily ever after.
“That’s gotta hurt,” Rachael said, looking at Tish with sympathy. “Your replacement expecting you to pave the road for her that you had to stumble down.”
Trust Rachael to ferret out the real meat of her emotions. Tish bit down on her bottom lip and thrust the mint chocolate chip away from her. “You guys do something with this, please, before I end up with ice cream intoxication and ten pounds of extra blubber on my butt.”
Delaney whisked the ice cream away to the kitchen and Tish glanced around at her remaining friends.
“The thing of it is,” she said, “I like Elysee. It’s impossible not to like her. And she and Shane just seem to go together. Far better than he and I ever did. They’re both so calm and steady and they look so comfortable around each other. Like an old married couple. I can definitely see them making it to their golden wedding anniversary.”
“Comfortable.” Jillian snorted. “Like a sweater.”
“Like wool socks,” Rachael added. “Who wants to marry wool socks?”
“Being around them made me feel like a total disaster. I mean, Shane’s not only moved on but he’s going to be the President’s son-in-law. It doesn’t get any bigger than that, and meanwhile I’m still this stupid loser who can’t manage her finances or hold on to the best thing that ever happened to her.” Tish’s voice caught.
“The reason you and Shane broke up runs much deeper than money problems and you know it,” Delaney murmured as she stepped back into the room. “Don’t keep beating yourself up for something that couldn’t be prevented.”
“You’ll land on your feet. You always do,” Jillian said.
Rachael rested a hand on Tish’s shoulder. “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”
Tish nodded and instantly tears sprang to her eyes. Savagely she swiped them away. She didn’t break down like this. She was tough. She’d survived her nomadic childhood. She should be able to skip blithely through a broken heart, particularly one two years in the making.
“What am I going to do, you guys? If I do a good job on this wedding, the dream I’ve been struggling to achieve for so long will finally come true. Plus, it will solve all my money problems. I don’t see how I can turn it down. But I don’t know how I can survive it emotionally.”
“We’ll stand by you, whatever decision you make,” Delaney said. “We’re always here for you.”
Rachael shook her head. “You can’t take this job. It would be pure mental torture. Seeing Shane happy with the first daughter, feeling his hand on yours every time he touches her.”
“I think you have to take the job.” Jillian was so tough and strong. She was Tish’s hero. “It’s the only way to prove you’re over him.”
“But I’m not over him.”
“Then this will help you get over him. It’s time to move on, Tish. It’s been two years. Shane’s found someone else. Let him go so you can be free.” Jillian’s words might be stark, but they were exactly what Tish needed to hear.
It was way past time to move on. And she could only do that by accepting reality. She had to experience the pain and allow herself to fall through it to the other side in order to be free.
Tish looked around at her three friends gazing at her with supportive sympathy. She was so lucky to have them in her life. “I’m going to accept the job,” she said. “I’m going to see this thing through, make the best damned wedding video I’ve ever made, clear up my finances, and end up on top of the world.”
“You go.” Jillian grinned. “Don’t let any man keep you down.”
But even as she was declaring it, Tish wondered if she truly had the courage to make it happen. “Enough about me,” she said. “I’m through whining. What have you guys been up to lately?”
Jillian had a cryptic smile on her face. “I’m moving to San Francisco for six months.”
“What?” Delaney arched an eyebrow.
“Why?” Rachael asked.
“We’ll be bereft without you,” Tish said.
“I’ve got a golden opportunity I just couldn’t turn down,” Jillian rushed on excitedly. “I’ve been selected to be on the team of co-counsel with Belton Melville on the Nob Hill murder trial.”
“No way!” Delaney leaped off the bed and gave a hoot of joy. “The Belton Melville?”
“It’s going to be an amazing education for me, although I’m sure I’ll just be doing research.” Jillian beamed.
“This is that case where the ex–NFL football star stabbed his estranged wife to death in her boyfriend’s backyard?” Rachael asked.
“Allegedly,” Jillian said.
“Spoken like a true defense attorney,” Tish said, and hugged her friend. “I’m so happy for you, but what are you going to do with your condo?”
“I’ve already leased it out.”
“This is happening so fast,” Tish wailed.
“When the time is right to move on, the time is right to move on,” Jillian said and shot Tish a meaningful glance.
“I’ve got a little news of my own,” Rachael said shyly.
“Oh?” Everyone turned to look at Rachael.
A grin spread across her cherubic face. “I’ve met someone.”
“That’s so wonderful,” Tish exclaimed, and meant it. Rachael was a loving person, but she had such a Cinderella outlook on love. She was always getting her bubble burst when reality met fantasy. Her friend deserved someone nice.
“So tell us about him.”
“It’s too soon to say much,” Rachael said. “Except he’s sent me flowers every day since we met.”
“How long ago was that?” Jillian asked.
“Just last week. See, I told you that it was too soon to say anything, but you guys, he’s so gorgeous.” Rachael swooned. “Blond and broad-shouldered and with the most amazingly rippled washboard stomach.”
“You’ve seen his stomach already?” Jillian teased.
“Don’t jump to conclusions. He was washing his car,” Rachael said. “But I have a very good feeling about this relationship.”
“Then you’re going to be needing this.” Tish got up off the bed, went to the closet, and retrieved the antique wedding veil. She took it to Rachael and laid it in her arms.
“Oh,” Rachael exhaled. “Don’t you want to hang on to it?”
Tish shook her head, remembering the day she’d tried it on and made her wish. “I’ve no use for it.”
“Thank you.” Rachael held the veil to her chest. “I’ll treasure it.”
“Just remember what they say about making a wish on it,” Jillian warned. “Be careful what you wish for—”
“Because you just might get it,” they all finished in unison.
“Well, I think that’s great,” Delaney said. “We’re all getting what we wanted. I got Nick, Jillian’s got a fabulous job opportunity. Rachael’s got a new man, and Tish is videotaping the President’s daughter’s wedding. Are we on top of the world or what?”
Yeah, Tish thought. Or what?
All her friends were slowly drifting away and she was facing the next several weeks, helping to make Shane’s new marriage wonderful. That was the funny thing about being on top of the world. Nobody clued you in to the sacrifices it takes to get there.
Long after her friends had left, Tish lay in bed trying to sleep, but the past wouldn’t let her be. Finally, at midnight, she threw back her covers and got dressed.
The past was a tombstone weighing on her chest, to the point where she could scarcely breathe. She had to find some release. Picking up her purse, she hurried out to the car Delaney had loaned her. Not even knowing where she was going or why, Tish began to drive.
Meanwhile, on the President’s ranch in Katy, Texas, Shane couldn’t sleep either. Dinner had been as surreal as a Fellini film. He’d sat sandwiched between his bride-to-be and his ex-wife, saying as little as possible while they made small talk about the wedding.
Tish looked so damned good. Every time his gaze landed on her, he felt a familiar tightness in his chest. It had taken everything he had in him not to ask Tish to leave. If she was courageous enough to stick it out, then he had to be courageous enough to let her stay. She needed this assignment.
As painful as it was going to be to have her around, he owed her this much. He also owed it to Elysee to uphold the promise he’d made to her. They were engaged. He had no business having feelings for his ex.
Not long after midnight, edgy, restless, and conflicted, he left his bed, got dressed and drove into Houston. He cruised past the house he and Tish used to own. A family lived there now. He hoped they were as happy in the place as he and Tish had been before the worst had happened.
A trip down memory lane; this was what he needed. A good review of what had gone right and what had gone wrong with his first marriage before he embarked upon the second. He didn’t know where Tish lived now. That was good. The last thing he needed was to end up on her doorstep.
Instead, he found himself at Louie’s Blues Bar on Second Street near the edge of downtown Houston, just before the neighborhood turned seedy. Yuppies loved this place, with its mysterious atmosphere and top-notch musical fare. A flight of gray stone stairs descended into the belly of the club. Wailing notes from a woeful saxophone lured him down.
He’d been here before with Cal, when they were on assignment. With one long deep breath, Shane stepped over the threshold and was transported back three years.
He and Cal had been undercover in polo shirts and jeans, but Shane had felt strangely naked without his black suit and tie. At the time, they had been junior field agents bucking for the same promotion.
They’d had a serious competition going and Shane was determined to win. More than anything in the world, he wanted in on protective detail at the White House and the new promotion was another step toward that goal. He’d dreamed of it since he’d been an Eagle Scout.
To avoid getting clipped by a low-hanging entryway, they were forced to duck their heads as they entered a room lit only by blue neon lights. Both of them were big men, Cal just a shade taller at six-three to Shane’s six-two. Although, at two hundred and three pounds, they weighed the same. Shane was twenty-six, Cal twenty-seven.
They’d traced a credit card identity theft ring to Louie’s weekend bartender, a slender, rat-faced man known as Cool Chill. Cool Chill liked to pretend he was a young, urban gangsta. In reality he was thirty-three-year-old Euell Hotchkiss, who perpetually smelled of high-grade marijuana and still lived in his parents’ converted garage.
But they didn’t find Cool Chill behind the bar. Cool Chill, one of the waitresses had told them, was on supper break. They took a corner table and sat with their backs against the wall, assessing the situation and waiting it out until Cool Chill returned.
Cal ordered gin and tonic. Shane got a seltzer. He didn’t drink on the job, didn’t drink alcohol much at all. He leaned back in his chair, getting the lay of the land.
Shane knew the curvy redhead was trouble the second he spotted her.
She was everything he shouldn’t want. But as he watched her undulate alone on the dance floor, swaying to a sultry rendition of an old Muddy Waters tune, his body ached for her.
This was bad.
“Check out the redhead,” Cal said.
“Where?” Shane said, pretending he hadn’t noticed.
“On the dance floor. By herself. God, she’s a stunner.”
He was obligated to take another look. After all, Cal had pointed her out.
What was her story? Who was she? Where was she from? Why was a gorgeous chick like her alone in a blues club on a Saturday night?
Shane was intrigued. Here was a woman who packed a sexual punch and every man in the vicinity knew it.
Cal nudged him in the ribs. “Is she a hottie or what?”
Or what. Hottie didn’t begin to cover it.
“She’s attractive,” he said and took a sip of his seltzer.
Cal snorted. “You dead from the neck down, Tremont?”
Not hardly.
The guys in the band were watching her with the same horny expression in their eyes, particularly the longhaired trumpet player striving for the Chuck Mangione look with his cool cat hat and hip daddy beard. The musicians’ lust for the redhead reflected exactly what Shane was experiencing. But then he felt a new emotion.
Jealousy.
It fisted inside him, hard and petulant.
How the hell could he be jealous over a woman he didn’t even know? This wasn’t like him. He wasn’t usually easily distracted from his goal. In fact, he had received commendations for his ability to focus and get the job done under pressure.
Purposefully, he forced his eyes off the dance floor and scanned the rest of the smoky bar. It was still early in the evening and the place was fairly empty. He speculated that most of Louie’s regular patrons were still out to dinner, and they wouldn’t be wandering over to the nightclub for another hour or two.
That suited Shane just fine. The smaller the crowd, the easier they would be to handle if something went wonky. And with Cal for backup there shouldn’t be any problems. The only fly in the ointment was Cool Chill’s MIA status.
The band left Muddy Waters behind and slid into Beyoncé’s “Crazy in Love.” The tune drew a few more couples onto the dance floor. The redhead never stopped dancing, just changed tempo in time to the rhythm.
Shane’s peripheral gaze locked on Red, even though he was fighting not to notice. Something about her ease with her own body, the way she danced all alone and didn’t care that everyone was watching, stirred his admiration along with his spirit. He would never have been able to let go like that, shed his inhibitions. He was envious and lustful and jealous and deferential. He didn’t like this mix of feelings one damned bit.
Head in the job, man, head in the job.
Great advice, but then he spied a thick-shouldered, shaved-bald man treading across the dance floor toward Red. He was bigger than the bouncer lounging against the wall by the front door. Bigger even than he and Cal.
Shane forgot why he was in the bar. He rotated in his seat, eyes narrowing, alert for trouble.
Baldo said something to Red.
Asking her to dance?
She shook her head, stepped away from the bald man and kept boogying all by her
self.
It’s her prerogative to reject you, Baldo. Take the hint and keep moving.
But apparently Baldo wasn’t going to take no for an answer. The massive man grabbed hold of Red’s arm and spun her around.
There was no fear on Red’s face, only spitfire anger. She snapped at Baldo, warning him off.
He didn’t budge. Instead, he started arguing with her. She tried to jerk her arm away from him, but he held on tight. She was not a small woman, but next to Baldo she looked delicate as a porcelain doll.
That was all the provocation Shane needed to get involved, which wasn’t like him. Not at all. He was the rational partner, the one slow to anger. The good cop to Cal’s bad cop. He jumped up from his chair, pushing aside tables, knocking over beer bottles in his rush to the dance floor.
“Tremont,” Cal called out sharply, but he didn’t listen.
Shane knew better. He shouldn’t be getting into a bar fight. Cool Chill could walk in any minute. He could blow his cover. And for all he knew Baldo could be Red’s old man come to drag her home.
But he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He slapped a hand on Baldo’s shoulder. Up close the guy was the size of a tugboat. “Let go of the lady.”
Baldo pivoted, snarling, “Fuck off.”
Big the guy might be, but he was slow. Shane saw the punch coming long before the larger man finished making a fist.
Baldo took a swing.
Shane ducked just in time to hear air whoosh above his head. The swing would have knocked him out cold if it had made contact.
“Fight!” someone yelled.
Couples scattered from the dance floor like chickens fleeing a coyote. The trumpet player blew a sour note. A woman screamed, but he didn’t think it was Red. She didn’t seem like a screamer. At least not in a bar fight.
Fist cocked, Shane popped up and smacked Baldo dead on his jaw.
Turned out the dude had a glass chin.
Baldo’s eyes glazed. His knees wobbled. He made a noise like a strangled bull and toppled face-first onto the concrete floor.
Shane figured he just might get away scot-free.
But he didn’t count on Baldo being a pal of the band. Next thing he knew horns were flying and the microphone was screeching tortured feedback as it got knocked off the stage onto an amp. The lead singer came out of nowhere and punched Shane squarely in the eye.
