“I have more meals in the freezer—”
“And that’s a very depressing thought. Do you not like to cook?”
“I don’t really know how. I’m a whiz with the microwave, though.”
She thought she heard him make a tsking sound. “You should have had the bisque earlier.” Beau moved from the fridge to the pantry, then to each of the cupboards. His eyebrows furrowed together. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
“Make what easy?”
He ignored the question. “I saw eggs. Do you have any parmesan cheese?”
This was possibly the strangest conversation she’d ever participated in, but she answered anyway. “I think there’s a can in the fridge.”
“Oh dear God, this is my own little kitchen nightmare.” He held up the can and frowned at her. “Buy real cheese. This is evil, but I’ll make do.” He produced a box of spaghetti she didn’t even know she had out of the pantry. “This is super easy, so watch and learn. First—”
“What are you doing?”
He looked at her like she was very slow. “Making you something decent to eat.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
There was that lazy smile. “Grace, feeding people is what I do. And I cannot, in good conscience, leave you here to eat one of those nasty frozen things.”
“Beau—”
“Anyway, after turning down your kind offer ten years ago, believe I owe you a meal.” An eyebrow went up. “If you’d rather go out, though, a friend of mine owns a bistro downtown…”
This was beyond weird. There was something personal, almost intimate, about having Beau cook for her, and it made her very uncomfortable for reasons she didn’t want to examine too closely. But going out… Good Lord, that sounded a lot like some kind of date, and she was so not going there. That definitely crossed into surreal territory. But then, so did this. Either way, it looked like she was going to eat. Well, she was hungry…
Blaming the decision on the wine and her grumbling stomach, she waved the unburned hand in the general direction of the stove. “Go for it.”
Beau shot that killer smile at her, and she couldn’t believe how her stomach flipped over because of it. He moved her glass over in front of her and got the wine from the fridge. “More?”
“Please.” She was definitely going to need it.
…
“And then I saw the guest list and the wedding party names and… Well, let’s just say I think Honey is one brave girl.”
Grace’s deep sigh had him laughing. “It’s not that bad,” he said.
“Please. The whole thing is a minefield. Like you can put the Fortescue and Delacroix families in the same room and not see generations of resentment bubble up. And to do it at Belles Fleurs—”
“That fight kind of got settled when my family bought Belles Fleurs after the War.”
She shot him a look that questioned his intelligence. “You honestly think that this is still about a piece of property? That would be too easy.” Grace rolled her eyes, making him wonder what she understood that he didn’t. “Let’s see… We’ve got Brent’s high school sweetheart and Honey’s estranged sister ready to liven things up. Oh, and then there’s Honey’s wretched cousins and Lady Calliope. The interpersonal issues are always the hardest part of planning a wedding.” She shrugged. “The fact I knew all the players and problems already is one of the main reasons I got picked to step in.”
And she’d done so, easily and professionally, even if it meant questioning his abilities to ensure Honey’s big day went off without a hitch. Of course, the fact she probably had good reason to resent at least half of the people involved—including the bride—for the sins of their youth made it all the more impressive. Grace wasn’t Gracie Lee anymore, that was for sure, and the folks of Bellefleur were in for quite a surprise.
“I’ll confess, though,” she added, “I really didn’t want to.”
At least she was honest about it. “That’s not surprising, all things considered.”
“I’d have been perfectly happy to never set foot in the parish—much less the city limits—ever again.”
And he’d never had known this Grace existed. “I, for one, am glad you did.”
“And it hasn’t been as terrible as anticipated, so I’m not necessarily sorry I got the job when Lena ran—” She stopped so suddenly, he thought she’d bitten her tongue. “When we had to find a last-minute replacement,” she corrected.
“So Honey’s original wedding planner really did run off with one of the grooms?” It had been a rumor, but he didn’t believe it until now.
Grace dropped her napkin onto her empty plate with a sigh he recognized as one of well-fed contentment and reached for her wine. The food, the wine, and the conversation had slowly but surely relaxed her inch by inch, and the animosity radiating off her had finally eased and she seemed to be enjoying herself now. Surprisingly, so was he—much more than he’d expected.
The citizens of Bellefleur weren’t the only ones who wouldn’t believe the change in her. It was hard to reconcile the Gracie Lee he remembered with the woman sitting across from him at the tiny table, but then shy, awkward Gracie Lee had never really had a reason to ping on his radar back then. She was certainly pinging it now, and he was glad he’d followed the impulse to find her. With the wall of professionalism down and the icy resentment melting, Grace turned out to have a sharp mind and a wicked sense of humor. It was too bad she’d never shown this side of her in high school—or was this something that she’d discovered and honed after leaving Bellefleur?
“It’s not something we want to spread around, but yes.”
It took him a second to remember what they were talking about. The wedding planner, right. “Does that happen often?”
“Only when the groom looks like Matthew McConaughey.” She laughed. “But, honestly, no. In this industry, that would be the kiss of death for your business. We’re supposed to send our couples off into their Happily Ever Afters, not destroy them.”
“You’re a romantic.” He didn’t mean it as an insult. There was something very refreshing about it.
That got him a smile. “Of course I am. That’s part of the reason I love this job.”
“See, I’d think the reality of the planning and the bridezillas would kill off that romanticism.”
An eyebrow went up. “Does the reality of slaving in a hot kitchen keep you from wanting to cook for people?”
“No. I like watching people enjoy the food I make.”
“That’s exactly how I feel.” Her face softened. “Weddings are fueled by love and are full of hope and optimism for the future. I can’t imagine ever getting immune to that feeling or losing the satisfaction of watching the couple’s first dance as husband and wife and knowing that I played a small role in making that beautiful moment for them.” She sighed before catching herself and blushed. “It’s sappy, I know.”
He lifted his glass. “Well, here’s to those of us who get our kicks making other people happy.”
“Indeed.” Grace tapped her glass gently against his and drained the last sip. She nodded at the empty plate and smiled. “That was delicious. And I really enjoyed it. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. More wine?”
She put a hand over her glass. “Oh, no. I’ve had more than enough. I’m starting to lose feeling in my extremities.”
“At least your hand shouldn’t be bothering you now.”
She looked down at the bandage and smiled. “Bonus.” Grace stood and took their plates to the kitchen, and an awkwardness replaced the earlier camaraderie. This was the point where he should either leave or suggest they take their wine to the couch. Grace had turned down another glass of wine, so the obvious option was to say good night.
But he didn’t want to. When Grace returned, he could tell she’d realized the situation as well. But she didn’t say anything, so he hoped she was weighing similar thoughts. When she sighed and plastered a smile acr
oss her face, he knew they’d come to different decisions. Damn.
“Well, thanks again—”
“Dance with me.”
“What?”
He was asking himself the same question. God, I’m an idiot. But he’d said it already, so there was no sense trying to walk it back. “I asked you to dance.”
Grace’s jaw actually fell open an inch in surprise, and she seemed to be searching for words. He pressed the advantage, reaching for her uninjured hand and pulling her gently toward the living room. “It’s why you asked me to the spring formal, right? To dance?”
“Well, that was one reason,” she muttered, but she wasn’t fighting him, either, as he pulled her into his arms.
“Then let’s dance.” The music wasn’t quite right for this, and he felt pretty damn foolish, but then Grace put a hand on his shoulder and stepped closer.
Oh, there was still a good twelve inches of space between them, and Grace felt as stiff as a poker under his hands, but it could technically be called dancing. She kept her head down, her eyes focused on something past his left elbow, but she began to relax incrementally as they swayed until he was able to pull her body closer to his.
The sensation was electric and comfortable at the same time. Grace fitted neatly against him like she belonged there, her head right under his chin so the brown curls could tickle his neck and fill his lungs with a light citrus scent. But he was fighting a storm of far more violent reactions that heated his skin and sent his blood rushing south. The temptation to cut this short, give in to that burning need, was nearly impossible to resist, and it wasn’t his usual nature to even try. But this situation was far from usual.
The pressure against his zipper bordered on painful, but he merely wrapped Grace’s hand in his and pulled it close to his chest. His reward for that restraint came in Grace’s sigh as she melted a little more into him. There was no way she could be unaware of what she was doing to him. Her head was against his chest, where she could hear and feel the way his pulse had kicked up, and what was rapidly becoming the most raging hard-on of his entire life would be impossible for her to miss.
Grace’s hand relaxed on his shoulder, her fingers smoothing over the muscles there, and each touch just stoked the fires more. His hand slid lower down her back to where the tank she wore had ridden up to expose a strip of flesh. He simply had to touch her, slipping his hand under the hem and splaying his fingers across the warm skin.
Grace made a small sound—of pleasure? Protest?—and her fingers tightened enough for him to feel the bite of her nails.
He had no idea how long they stayed like that, but when Grace began to stir, he realized the music had stopped. He’d been enjoying the dance, not just the anticipation of what might come next, and he was oddly loath to have it end.
Her grip relaxed and she finally lifted her head to look at him.
The sight nearly sent him to his knees. Cheeks flushed, eyes dark and sultry, that lush mouth only inches from his.
“That was—”
He didn’t let her finish. He’d fought as long as he could, and he needed to taste her more than he needed air. Whatever she was going to say was lost as he gave in and captured her lips.
Chapter Three
Grace wasn’t actually surprised. A kiss was the next step in the natural progression of events. Food, wine, dance—all the hallmarks of a seduction in progress. She’d had every inch of him pressed against her, and his body’s intent had been very clear. She’d let herself enjoy it—telling herself it was only a healing victory for her teenage self and the final proof of how far she’d come from Gracie Lee—but the truth that this was far more about what she wanted in the here and now had dawned on her a minute too late.
She wanted to blame the wine, but the truth was, she wanted that kiss, wanted to taste and feel more of this man, and when Beau lowered his head to hers, she’d met him halfway.
And then she couldn’t think at all.
The kiss sent a shock through her. While she’d pictured this moment, this kiss, a thousand times in her adolescent fantasies, the reality was…just more. Beau had been frozen in her mind at eighteen, but this was not the kiss of an eighteen-year-old boy.
His mouth was hot and hungry and instantly addictive, and the kiss slammed into her with a force that left her knees week and her blood singing in her veins. It was demanding without aggression, easily coaxing a response that had her body pressed against his, wanting more. Wanting it all.
As if he knew, the hands splayed across her back tightened, holding her steady, and the heat from those hands seared her skin like a brand. The gasp of shock turned to a hiss of pleasure as Beau’s lips moved to her neck, her collarbone, the sensitive skin of her throat. The warm softness of his lips soothed the rasp of his whisker stubble, and the mix of sensations left her sagging in his arms, struggling to stay upright.
Then the wall was against her back, supporting her. The weight and pressure of Beau’s hips and chest kept her there as his hands tangled in her hair. He was an assault on her senses—the heat from his body, the scents of Cajun spice and vanilla on his skin, the taste of wine on his tongue as it slid over hers like a wicked promise.
She was drowning in the sensations, and it was bliss. Oh, there was still a shred of her rational self shouting protests in a corner of her mind—You have to work tomorrow. With him. This is completely unprofessional. You barely know him. Remember how he humiliated you? Where’s your self-respect?—but they were all-too-easily ignored and dismissed by the feeling of his fingers digging into her hip, the labored sound of his breath, and the pounding of her pulse.
Why shouldn’t she take what she wanted? This was what she’d been working for—well, not this exactly, but this feeling. The recognition of how far she’d come from her past. A celebration of who she was now.
She silenced the voices, sliding her hands under the hem of Beau’s shirt. His skin was softer than she expected, draped over planes of hard muscle that leaped under her fingers as she traced the ridges and valleys.
With a groan, Beau deepened the kiss, and Grace was well and truly lost. When his hand snaked over her ribs to tease the sensitive skin under her breast, her breath caught in her throat. His thumb scraped slowly over her nipple, sending bolts of pleasure through her, but there was a question being asked as well.
The answer was easy to find, harder to articulate. Dragging her hands away from Beau’s skin and her mouth from his, she grabbed her shirt and pulled it over her head in one desperate movement. Beau’s eyes widened, and then a slow, appreciative smile spread over his face. He echoed the movement, then captured her lips again. This time, skin met skin, and the sizzle became scorching heat. The kiss turned carnal, needy.
How they got to her bed, she didn’t know, but Beau was under her, his hands tickling over the skin of her inner thighs, sliding under the hem of her shorts to caress her ass, his fingers moving torturously close to her needy core in a tease that left her wanting so much more. Grabbing her hips, Beau moved her a few crucial inches and caught her breast in his mouth.
She nearly came right then, her groin pressed against his zipper and her fingers tangled in his hair to hold him in place.
Beau hadn’t come prepared for this, and he kept telling himself he’d stop after just one more kiss, one more touch, even if it killed him. Then Grace reached for the nightstand, knocking her alarm clock to the floor, and the crinkle of a foil wrapper was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. With a groan of relief, he threaded his fingers through her hair and lost himself in the heat of her lips.
He hadn’t expected to find fire behind Grace’s professional persona, and that sweet face hid her inner vixen nicely. The woman was lust incarnate, burning him alive with want. He wanted to taste her thoroughly, explore every inch of that soft, fragrant skin, but need was taking over, and the sexy sounds coming from that lush mouth were driving him straight to the edge.
Later, he promised himself, as Grace wiggled out of h
er shorts, each movement throwing gas on the fire raging in him. She was hot and wet, and her inner muscles gripped his finger as her nails scored lines down his chest and she whimpered her pleasure.
Grace’s hands shook as she struggled with his zipper, freeing him from the constraints of his jeans, and tossing them away to land with the rest of their clothes. But her hand was warm, her grip sure, as she stroked him, covered him, and he gritted his teeth as he fought to hold on.
Then she was straddling him, guiding him in. Her head fell back as she encased him, and Beau’s breath caught painfully in his lungs. Grace met his eyes as she began to move, and he was so very glad Honey’s wedding had brought sweet, sexy Grace back to Bellefleur. He grabbed her hips to steady her, but let her set the pace, enjoying the sweet torture of each slow stroke.
Just when he doubted he could hold on any longer, he felt the tremors begin to build inside her, and the rhythm turned frenetic and demanding. Tightening his grip, he drove hard and deep as she came apart around him and joined her there as she collapsed across his chest, heaving for breath as aftershocks continued to shake her body.
It took him a moment to realize that his breath wasn’t any steadier than hers, and he wrapped his arms around Grace’s boneless body as he waited for his heartbeat to calm and his breathing to even out. It was several minutes before he felt Grace inhale deeply, and the exhale cooled the sweaty skin of his chest.
“I don’t think I can move yet,” she mumbled.
“Then don’t,” he answered. “I’m going to need another minute or two myself.” That statement was quickly proved false, though, as he could feel himself stirring again. He remembered his earlier promise to himself, making a plan as he gently stroked a fingertip down the indentation of her spine.
She shivered at the touch, then gasped as he quickly flipped her to her back. She was gorgeous, and he let his hands roam appreciatively over her ribs and hips.
“Beau…” There was a question in her voice.
“That was just an appetizer. I’m looking forward to the main course now. And, of course, dessert.” He caught her eye as he swung himself over her, caging her inside his arms. “Unless you’re not hungry anymore?”
When Honey Got Married Page 3
