by Lynn LaFleur
Abby’s attention snapped back to Ronn when he urged her to hold still while she tried to steady a huge arrangement packed in netting. She balanced on tiptoes atop a backless barstool smack in the middle of a table top, a round for eight that the wait staff eyed warily.
Her raised arms screamed with a burn she hadn’t felt since her workouts with a personal trainer. Not for the first time today, she wished, too, that she stood closer to five-ten than five-eight. She also wished mightily that someone would drag Jordan and her microphone out of the building. If that woman paged Brett one more time…
Abby had been working in stifling conditions for more than an hour. Sticky and sweaty, she knew her cute little outfit now looked like hell. Each time she raised her arms, the tank top rose with them. The sides of her bib-overall shorts were cut low—way low, showing the band of her thong hitched beneath her navel, and exposing what seemed like a yard of bare skin from her hips to the bottom edge of her top.
Worse, the tank top had bunched up and clung to her. If she had to raise her arms even another inch, she’d give everyone in the ballroom a flash of her breasts. She closed her eyes and prayed that Brett had left the property. Otherwise, one look and he’d take off and never stop.
“Got it,” Ronn cried, triumphant. “Let go!”
She dropped her arms and gingerly slid down and off the bar stool. Then she stared up as the arrangement opened above her in a cloud of white angel’s hair, and a fall of red roses and waxy white stephanotis. A gilded Cupid snuggled in the cloud, aiming his golden arrow right at the hearts of the diners who’d sit below—a table obviously reserved for lovers.
“Oh Ronn,” she cried, surprised by the emotion the beauty of the exquisite floral design evoked in her. “That is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I had no idea you and Judy did this kind of work.”
“We’re artists, darling, not just pretty faces.”
“I never dreamed…”
“Talk about dreams, sweet cakes,” he cut off her praise. “Stud Muffin at twelve o’clock high.”
It took her a moment to understand. When she did, her blood pressure plummeted. Ack! She stood atop a table four feet above the floor. No place to hide. What did she do now?
“Ronn, I can’t! Look at me…” She held out her hand.
He ignored it. “Consider it the earthy look. I’m sure The Love Machine will. Tra la.” With that he swished off.
Abby sighed and dared a cautious peek over her shoulder. Her pulse tripped. She gulped. Even dressed casually, in a pair of bright yellow shorts that showed off his tanned, muscular legs, and a navy pullover, Brett looked amazing. Naked, he looked magnificent, but almost better in clothes. He’d been out of football for three years, still the muscles in his forearms were clearly defined, and his biceps strained against the ribbed edge on his sleeves.
Abby’s hands grew damp again and her pussy thrummed. Memories of their night at Whispers raced across her mind’s eye. The air around her heated up, not from the weather but from a surge of hormones with Brett’s name written on it. Uselessly, she tugged at the hem of her tank then slammed her arms against her sides.
Brett wore more than a broad smile. As he strode toward her, she saw heat in his eyes. She shivered in spite of the sweltering conditions. Brett had the same look in his eyes when she’d stepped out of the limousine at Whispers.
Don’t read something into this that might not be there. Remember, he never returned your calls.
A moment later, Brett stood at the table, looking up at her and offering his hand, while he whispered in the sing-song voice of a nursery rhyme, “I see London, I see France…”
Abby didn’t want to laugh, but she couldn’t stop herself. She loved Brett’s sense of mischief. Careful to keep her knees locked together, she stooped down and whispered back, “Keep looking up my shorts, Mr. Kincade, and you’ll be seeing London and France through a black eye.”
She’d heard men laugh like that before—a low chuckle wrapped around the most carnal intentions. Goose flesh rippled across her skin. Especially when he boldly took a second tour of Europe.
This morning, she hadn’t chosen the blue silk thong because she wanted to look sexy. She’d chosen it because it was the only thing she had left in her suitcase. Laundering her clothes had been impossible with the schedule she’d kept.
His eyes caressed her thighs. “You know I prefer a red thong over blue.”
To her utter surprise, he then reached up and circled his hands around her waist. “I presume you’re through climbing the corporate ladder for today.” As if she weighed nothing, he lifted her off the table and set her on her feet.
Abby stopped breathing. If she’d carried a king’s ransom in the pocket of her overalls, she would have paid it for one kiss from him—now!
Unfortunately, he released her instead.
She took a step backward. The edge of the table pressed against her bottom. She tried to calm her breathing, still her heart rate. Useless.
Brett stood with his hands on his hips looking up at the floral masterpiece Ronn had just unveiled. “That’s quite a deal, isn’t it?” The arrangement still swayed a bit above them. “Poor guy sitting under that doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Why? It’s secure. It’s not going to fall on him.”
“Look at Cupid’s arrow.” She followed where he pointed. “It’s aimed straight at the heart of the person who sits there.”
“There are worse things than an arrow from Cupid’s quiver.”
He cocked his head slightly, his eyes probed hers. “If you had the chance, would you sit there, Abby?”
She reached behind to steady herself against the table’s edge. If you sat opposite me, in less time than it takes to breathe. “Would you?”
The moment disappeared with another screech from the sound system.
“Brett Kincade, if you’re on the property, I need to see you—NOW!”
Abby glanced sideways. Jordan stood with her back to them, facing the far side of the ballroom. That’s why she hadn’t seen him. Suddenly, Abby saw something she’d missed before too. Brett and Jordan wore the same colors, their clothes were a matched set.
The warmth that enveloped Abby only moments before, drained away. “Do you two call each other every morning to coordinate your outfits?”
Brett didn’t laugh at that, and like hers, his smile faded. “Hardly. We wore this at one of my mother’s charity events. I grabbed something out of the closet this morning and threw it on.”
Abby didn’t know what to say, what to believe. An uncomfortable silence grew between them. Then she saw his gaze shift slightly to something behind her, and heard a voice she didn’t recognize.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding the lovely Lily?”
Abby turned to see a woman in her early sixties staring at her with appraising blue eyes, arms folded, and a fingertip pressed to the tip of her chin. She wore her chin-length blonde hair casually swept back from her face. Makeup perfectly applied, a white silk blouse with a green sweater draped over her shoulders, crisp tan slacks, and a pair of casual pumps. There was no mistaking the resemblance. She had to be Lauren Kincade.
Brett took Abby’s hand and walked toward his mother. “She’s not Lily anymore, Mom. She’s Abby now, Abby Horton.”
Mrs. Kincade opened her arms. “Well Abby dear, it’s wonderful to finally meet you. Rose talks about you all the time. Her little Lily’s all grown up.” She took both of Abby’s hands in hers. “And she didn’t exaggerate one bit. You’re lovely.”
The woman is either blind or lies easily, Abby thought. “Thank you. It’s good to meet you too, Mrs. Kincade.”
“Oh please, it’s Lauren. Mrs. Kincade’s far too formal for a day like today.“
Abby had no time to ask what about a day like today before Jordan’s voice again cut through the air, sharp and impatient. “Brett, I’ve been looking all over for you. Please…now!”
Abby arched a brow but said nothing. The
frown on Brett’s face said it for her. “Sorry, Mom, Abby, the boss is calling.” He squeezed Abby’s shoulder and went on his way.
They watched Brett stride quickly toward Jordan. When he reached her side, he draped his arm over her shoulder and started leading her toward the lobby.
“Aren’t they gorgeous together?” Lauren Kincade began. “They modeled as a couple in our show last year. Brought down the house, especially as the bridal couple.”
Abby almost choked. “I thought… I mean, he said they wore…” She pointed toward them.
“Sportswear, loungewear, and in the grand finale, wedding attire. Fabulous. Once word got out, two national magazines called hoping to do spreads.”
Abby’s mind swirled, leaving her lightheaded. “Did they?”
“Oh my, no. Brett’s had his fill of the spotlight.” She slipped her arm through Abby’s and led her toward a small table, the only one with two uncluttered chairs. “He refused to do it again this year. My guess is the next time we see them in wedding attire, it won’t be make-believe.” She pointed to one of the chairs and daintily sat down on the other. “Now tell me what Rose is up to these days? She’s so unpredictable.”
Chapter Fourteen
They talked only a few minutes before Lauren’s cell phone interrupted them. Or rather Lauren talked while Abby tried to listen. She hoped she smiled and nodded in the right places because she’d heard nothing after Lauren said, “The next time we see them in wedding attire, it won’t be make believe.”
“I’m sorry, Abby, it’s Chef Warren.” Lauren closed her cell. “I swear that man cannot make a decision on his own.” Abby stood too and held out her hand. To her surprise, Lauren embraced her instead. “I hope we’ll have a chance to visit more this evening.”
“I hope so too,” Abby replied although she had no intention of attending the ball. She plopped back in her chair. She’d known misery during her years with Pierce but nothing he did ever hurt her as much as this.
Lauren can’t be right. How could Brett make love to her for hours two nights ago? Even today when she looked like a train wreck, she saw the desire in his eyes. They shared an undeniable magnetism. Could he really marry someone else with that magnetism drawing him to her? Judy had likened Brett to an eagle but only a world-class cheat made love to one woman while planning to marry another.
She lowered her head and rested her forehead on her fingertips. Respect, trust—those were the most important things a man and woman brought to marriage. If Lauren was right, Brett didn’t know the meaning of either.
Still Abby’s thoughts warred. The practical side of her mind urged her to distance herself from him while her heart cried out to her to stay and fight.
She swallowed back the tears that burned her throat and stung her eyes. She always believed the most coincidental things in life weren’t coincidences at all. Everything happened for a reason, like Aunt Rose leaving town at her busiest time of the year. Why? To force Abby to return to Seaside? Rose wasn’t a cruel woman. She wouldn’t have done it if she’d known Abby faced heartbreak. For once, Abby took reassurance from her mother’s favorite saying—things aren’t always what they appear to be. Her heart ached to believe her mother was right. She had to give Brett the benefit of the doubt or at least time to explain. They owed each other that much.
“There you are, Abby.”
She cringed. Jordan. Without waiting for Jordan to ask, she said, “I haven’t seen Brett since he left with you.”
“I’m not looking for him this time. I’ve put him to work auditing the pledges and receipts.” She’d stopped a few feet from the table, and still held the seating chart at her side. “May I talk to you, Abby, privately?”
“If there’s a problem with the flowers, you need to see Ronn.”
“No, no—the flowers are lovely. In fact, Love In Bloom outdid itself this year.”
Abby rubbed her eyes then glanced at her watch. Ronn said they’d leave at three. Only fifteen minutes to go. “What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to show you something. Do you have time now?”
Abby pointed to Lauren’s chair. “As much as you need.”
Instead of sitting, Jordan hoisted the chart onto the chair and propped it against the back. Up close, Abby saw a schematic as elaborately drawn as any engineer’s. The tables were numbered and the names of the guests assigned to each table printed in precise block letters near their places, barely large enough to read without a magnifying glass.
“After our talk yesterday,” Jordan began, “I wanted to assure you I’d taken care of things.”
Something in her tone, perhaps a hint of deception, made Abby suspicious. “What things?”
Jordan glanced over her shoulder even though no one stood within twenty feet of them. “I presumed you’d changed your mind about attending the Ball so I took the liberty of deleting your reservation and reassigning your place to one of the people on the waiting list.”
Abby looked back at the schematic, to the table where Jordan pointed. She saw a red X written across her name, and the name of another person printed above it. How dare she? It wasn’t Jordan’s place to presume anything. She might lead Brett around by the nose but not her.
“I’m sorry, Jordan, but you presumed wrong,” Abby said. “Of course I’m attending the Ball.” Even though I’d rather eat ground glass.
“But you can’t.” She gestured toward the table again. “I’ve reassigned your seat. You know I was only trying to… I mean, under the circumstances I thought you’d want to…ah…save face.”
While Jordan stumbled through a list of excuses, Abby searched the chart for what she hoped Jordan missed. At a table on the opposite side of the room, she saw the name Lily Granger. How many Lily Grangers lived in Seaside and planned to attend tonight’s Ball? She remembered Rose’s parting words at the airport. “Your Gala ticket’s in the top drawer of my desk at the shop. Have a wonderful time!”
“I’m truly sorry, Abby, but you can see for yourself. We’re completely sold out. I couldn’t squeeze in another chair.”
Abby answered with a smile that bordered on a grin. Jordan didn’t know Rose called her Lily, or that Rose refused to acknowledge Abby’s marriage to Pierce. Her aunt so despised Pierce she even offered to pay whatever the courts assessed to restore Abby’s maiden name. Today, this minute, Rose’s generosity paid off. Aunt Rose, I love you!
Abby pointed to the spot on the seating chart marked with the red X. “I’m sorry, too, Jordan, but you’re going to have to find a place for me. I have a ticket and I plan to use it.”
“You can’t do that, Abby. You’ll only embarrass yourself if you make a scene.”
“That’s your problem, Jordan, not mine. Deal with it.”
* * * * *
“Lauren said what?” Judy gasped when Abby repeated Brett’s mother’s remark about their wedding attire. They met in the design studio. Judy sat on one of the empty design tables while Abby paced. Twenty-four hours ago, the shop had been knee-deep in roses. Now not even a lone sprig of baby’s breath remained. “She couldn’t have meant that.”
“I swear, Judy, those were her exact words.”
“Then she misspoke. There’s no way in hell, and trust me, it would be hell, if Brett married Jordan.”
“Oh, and get this. Jordan cancelled my reservation without even asking.”
“I thought you said you didn’t want to attend?”
“I don’t, but nothing short of an earthquake’s going to keep me away now.”
“How? She’s given away your seat.”
“With this.” Abby waved the invitation she found right where Rose told her she’d left it. “A ticket my aunt purchased for Lily Granger.”
“Oh…my…god. Jordan’s going to have a fit when you show up tonight.” She laughed right from her toes. “I don’t know if she’ll be angrier that you’re messing with Brett or that you’ve dared to mess with her seating chart.”
Abby laughed too, ev
en though she felt no joy at the prospect of the hours ahead. It was her last chance, and now she understood the competition she faced. “Even if I wasn’t in…” She stopped herself. “Even if…”
“If you weren’t in love with Brett.”
Abby winced at the heat rising up her neck. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Judy drummed her fingers on the table. “What’s wrong with admitting it. We both know it’s true.”
Finally Abby nodded. “It is and I am.”
“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Abby rolled her eyes. “I’m not admitting it to anyone but you.”
Judy raised her thumb and forefinger to her lips and made a turning motion, like turning a key in a lock. “My lips are sealed.”
“Good because we’re got a bigger problem to deal with.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s almost four o’clock. The reception starts at seven, and I have nothing to wear.”
“What about the dress you wore to Whispers?”
“To a Red & White Masqued Ball? I don’t want to fade into the scenery, but I don’t want to look like the lone sardine in a tin of caviar.”
“Give me a second to think about this.” Judy pushed off the table and began pacing alongside Abby. Suddenly she snapped her fingers, cupped her hands and shouted, “Ashley, we need you.”
A few minutes later, Judy’s daughter wandered in from the showroom, an apple in one hand, and her iPod in the other. She’d draped the earphone around her neck. “D’you call me?”
“Does Hayden still work at the Junior League Thrift Store?”
Ashley nodded and bit into the bright red apple.
“Is she working right now?”
The teen looked at the clock. “Until six.”
“Get rid of the apple,” Judy said and shoved the phone into her daughter’s hand. “Call her. Find out if they have any cocktail dresses or evening gowns in red or white? And if they do, in what sizes?”
The formalwear racks at the thrift shop stood almost as empty as the showroom at Love In Bloom. Hayden had reported they still had three dresses in red and two in white. None of them had size labels. Hayden had set all of them aside.
