“I thought we planned a bold lip—something in red to contrast with the dress,” muttered Harley as she tried to talk without moving her lips, which made “dress” sound more like “ress” and “bold” sound like “old.”
Despite her poor enunciation, Zoe understood. “We had, but I didn’t want the groom to end up wearing it after the ceremony.”
“Why would he be wearin’—oh!” Harley felt her cheeks flame at the idea of kissing Noah. “I don’t think it will be a problem.” Like I’d kiss Noah. He probably tastes like sand, or grit, or salt, or … Suddenly her mind had taken off with the idea, and her heart thundered with the feeling of being swept into Noah’s embrace.
“Says every bride.” Zoe rolled her eyes. “Trust me. The pink is better.”
Harley gritted her teeth. She couldn’t tell anyone this wedding was a farce, so she stewed in her frustration with a blank stare on her face until she had her emotions under control .
“Done!” announced the dress attendant as she stepped back to survey her work.
“I adore the waistline—it’s absolutely perfect on you,” gushed Zoe. She and Aubrey went back and forth on dress shapes and what worked best on which women.
Even with all the girlie-ness surrounding her, there was something missing. While these women were fun in a professional way—she and Zoe could spend hours online shopping, and Aubrey had no trouble dishing on her latest boy toy—the lack of actual bridesmaids spotlighted Harley’s lonely life.
Most of Harley’s time was spent at work. The weekends were taken up with family, charity events, and doing errands that made it possible for her to put in twelve-hour days at the office where she managed her investment corporation. She had one good friend from college, Molly. Their last lunch took place over six months ago. She missed the camaraderie, the late-night runs for ice cream, and having a close friend. She should have asked Molly to be her maid of honor, but Molly would have wanted the entire scoop on Noah, and that wasn’t something Harley could serve.
Her mother breezed into the room interrupting her melancholy thoughts, stirring the heady lilac scent as if she’d run her hands over blooms. “Harley!” Mama threw her arms around Harley’s shoulders, and the dress attendant squeaked in protest.
Harley quickly returned her mom’s embrace and then stepped back. The girl still had the steamer, and her glare indicated she wouldn’t hesitate to turn it on Mama for wrinkling the dress again.
“Thank you all for your help today.” Mama dismissed everyone.
Zoe air-kissed both Harley’s cheeks, and Aubrey gave her hand a light squeeze. The dress attendant rolled her steam machine out the door with her nose in the air.
Mama handed Harley a small jewelry box with a sad smile. “I can’t believe you’re getting married.”
Harley creaked open the jewelry box to find a pair of beautiful pearl earrings.
“They were my grandma’s.” Mama dabbed the corner of her eyes with a tissue.
“Oh, Mama. I can’t wear these.” Harley pressed the box into her mother’s hands with the crumpled tissue.
“Why not, darlin’?”
“This isn’t my real weddin’. It’s just as fake as all those weddin’s Sebastian staged when we were kids.” Sebastian was technically her third cousin, but when Daddy started making good money, relatives from all over showed up to family reunions, and Sebastian’s parents had dug in and set up camp. They organized playdates for Harley and Sebastian at every turn, and Sebastian’s favorite game was “wedding.”
Mama shook her head. “Darlin’, this is real and legal and binding.”
“It doesn’t feel real.”
Mama pulled an earring out of the box and fastened it to Harley’s earlobe. “It will feel real enough when your daddy is walkin’ you down the aisle.”
Harley turned so Mama could put the other earring in. Once they were in place, Mama cupped Harley’s cheeks in her hands. “There are things I haven’t talked to you about before, and we’d better get a move on, because time is running out.”
“What do you mean?” Harley checked her lobes for Grandma Phoebe’s pearl earrings.
“Well ...” Mama’s voice took on an intimate quality—one used for sharing secrets. “A weddin’ night is a special time for a young couple.”
Bells, and not the wedding kind, went off in Harley’s head like all heck had broken loose. Harley held up both hands. “Stop!”
“Sweetheart, intimacy is important for a couple. It’s where two people . . .”
Harley smashed her hands over her ears. “I am not listening to this right now. There will be no weddin’ night—it’s in the prenup.” Thank goodness.
Mama’s shoulders sagged in defeat, and her eyes dewed up like rose petals at sunrise. “I think that dress is getting to me. I just have this feeling that I didn’t prepare you very well for. . .”
Mama cut off as Daddy pushed the door open. “You ready, pumpkin?”
Harley wanted to run screaming from the room before Mama could take up the topic of a wedding night again. She was not at all ready to marry the halfwit downstairs, but if Mama kept going on like she was, Harley was going to come undone. “Let’s get this over with.”
* * *
The Wilson gardens were some of the most beautifully landscaped acres in all of Texas. Not only did they have a traditional English maze—complete with hedges pruned in the shapes of dancing elephants, performing seals, and even a unicorn—the flowers also bloomed throughout the year. There were, of course, lilac bushes, because they were Mama’s favorite. However, it was the roses that brought photographers from Home & Garden Magazine back year after year. Large pink blooms, the size of Harley’s open hand, lined the pebbled path from the house to the gazebo. White petals skittered and skipped in the light breeze as Harley focused on breathing properly and not pulling Daddy along in her haste to be done with the sham.
A single violinist played “So This is Love,” his rendition full of emotion and clear notes. If it hadn’t been Harley’s wedding, she would have truly appreciated his effort.
Daddy cleared his throat several times. Harley spied at him out of the corner of her eye and swore she saw him wipe away a tear. But that couldn’t have been real—the General never cried.
A photographer, his face hidden behind the large lens, marched backward in front of them. Harley pasted on her photo-worthy smile. Releasing images to the press was a major part of the plan to flush out her stalker or make him rethink the path he trod. Carefully selected images would be sent to the press and shared on social media. Hopefully, the stalker would get the idea and disappear, because Harley didn’t like to think of the alternative.
Even though this marriage was as crooked as a barrel of fishhooks, there needed to be an element of truth for the public. The photographer had no idea this wasn’t real, and the pastor was left in the dark, bless his heart. Harley grew up under Pastor Nicolas’s long nose and receding hairline. She briefly wondered if he would have agreed to marry her if he knew what was really going on. Probably not, considering the many times he expressed concern for the state of marriage and the family in this country.
Daddy squeezed her hand close to his side, pressing her knuckles into the firearm beneath his custom-made tuxedo jacket. She couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t worn a gun, and she was pretty sure he slept with a holster. The hard steel had an uncanny resemblance to her heart at the moment. In all of their careful preparations, in her coaching sessions, in the strategy meetings, no one said a word about love. Why would they? It was just a wedding, for heaven’s sake.
The photographer stepped off to the side, and suddenly Harley could see her groom. Pausing, she let out a little “oh.”
Daddy clamped down even tighter on her arm and pulled her forward. Letting herself be led along, Harley took in every inch of the man. What she hadn’t seen behind the dust and grime was a California-tanned, dark-haired, chiseled-cheek-boned hottie. In one shower Noah had gone from rug
ged to ruggedly gorgeous.
Men had it so easy. It took three women and an hour and a half to get Harley ready for this twenty-minute ceremony, and Noah jumped in the shower, shaved, put on a jacket, and he was ready for the “Sexiest Man Alive” cover shoot.
What a jerk.
Daddy stopped a few feet in front of Noah, and Harley turned so he could lift her veil. He cleared his throat once again, and Harley couldn’t help but kiss him on the cheek. First Mama and now her dad. All those years of seeing her father as a hard-nosed airman, and he was really a cuddle bear.
Turning to Noah, Harley gasped as his eyes caught and held hers. He offered his hand, and she took it, needing something to anchor her to the ground, because she was floating away.
Mama was right—this feels real.
The pastor began speaking, but Harley couldn’t hear a word over the sound of her heart pounding away in her ears as she drowned in Noah’s gaze. He never wavered, and she couldn’t pull herself away. When he said, “I do,” he lightly brushed his fingertips over her knuckles sending sparklers rushing through her veins. The ring, a giant single solitaire, fit as if it had been made specifically for her.
A moment later the pastor cleared his throat, and Harley croaked, “I do.” She slid a ring onto Noah’s finger, unaware of how it ended up in her hand.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Harley blinked as the meaning of the words registered. The photographer appeared in her peripheral vision, and Harley instinctively moistened her lips.
Noah stepped forward, one hand at her hip and the other on her cheek. His warm lips brushed hers, and Harley’s knees buckled. She leaned in, her palms on Noah’s impressive chest. His kiss intensified at her advance, and Harley moved her arms up his chest and to the back of his neck, where she pulled him closer and enjoyed every whizbang his kisses set off in her stomach.
Pulling back, his dimples prominent, Noah whispered huskily, “Hel-lo, Mrs. Baker.”
Reality swept in, and Harley realized she’d just experienced a kiss that caused all other kisses to pale in comparison. Enraged at this cocky, too-handsome-for-his-own-good faker who had made her feel passion she’d never known, Harley growled. “How dare you!”
Crack!
Harley’s palm stung, and she gasped in horror at the red mark spreading across Noah’s cheek.
Silence descended upon the group.
“Excuse me?” The pastor pushed his glasses up and clutched his bible close, as if Harley would turn on him next and try to rip it out of his girlish fingers.
“Harley!” Mama’s hands went to her chest and she breathed as if she’d run a mile.
Daddy grunted—a sound that came with approval.
The photographer’s mouth hung open like a cod fish, his camera dangling around his neck. He’d probably dropped it in shock.
“I’m sorry. I just—” Harley gathered her dress and her wits about her. There was no outrunning her mortification, so she faced it with tight lips and the threat of tears. What was it about Noah Baker that created emotions too strong to contain? Harley had never slapped a man before. If there was one thing she’d learned, it was that Wilsons don’t make scenes—and here she’d made the biggest scene possible at her own wedding!
Forcing out a breath, Harley faced Noah, carefully avoiding his magnetic eyes. “That was uncalled for, and I apologize.” She motioned for the photographer to follow her deeper into the garden and away from the debacle. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I’m scheduled for bridal portraits.”
The photographer frowned, but he came, keeping at least three feet between them. Harley posed, smiled, demurred, and tried not to think about the kiss. The trouble was, Noah’s kiss left her feeling two sandwiches short of a picnic and hotter than a fur coat in July. There’d be no forgetting the way he made her feel.
Chapter 10
Noah refused to put his hand to his burning cheek. He didn’t have time to baby himself; Harley had just trotted away with a stranger. He turned to Stewart. “She shouldn’t be alone with the photographer—go.”
Stewart’s eyebrows lowered and he took off at a quick trot, disappearing into the large garden banked by hedges taller than a man. From what Noah could guess, the area was laid out in a maze of shrubs and plants. The perfect place for an ambush or kidnapping, because once inside, the person completely disappeared and the plants muffled noise. Noah stared at the entrance, hoping Harley would come back.
Admittedly, he’d gotten carried away when his new bride eagerly accepted his kiss. He’d planned to keep it chaste, especially since her dad was right there and Noah knew he was armed, but the moment she was in his arms, the garden, the pastor, the family, even the gun at his side faded away and all he could feel was Harley, and her lips demanded a response. He’d responded, all right: every cell burned with desire, and he’d savored the delicious sensation.
“I’ve got her,” came the all-clear through Noah’s earpiece. It was only then that Noah relaxed his jaw and turned to face the family.
Wyatt threw his arm around Noah’s shoulder, lifted his phone, and snapped a selfie before Noah had a chance to smile. “Welcome to the family,” Wyatt quipped.
Noah shrugged off Wyatt’s arm and gingerly touched his face. He didn’t find any swelling, but his skin was tender. “Does this sort of thing happen a lot around here?” Noah glared at John and Julia Wilson. John’s vein throbbed in his temple, and Julia dabbed at her eyes with a linen handkerchief. What batch of crazy had he stepped—nope, married—into?
Wyatt lifted a shoulder. “Naw, we never kiss like that.”
Noah grunted, unamused by Wyatt’s sense of humor.
Trish appeared with an ice pack wrapped in a cool cloth and pressed it to his cheek. “Here. Twenty minutes with this and you should be good as new.”
Noah accepted the first aid. Partially blaming Trish for all of this, he growled, “Any Tylenol? My head is killing me.”
“Harley can ring a man’s bell, I’ll tell you what,” said Wyatt.
She’d rung his bell, all right. If he hadn’t been so taken with her, he would have been alert enough to fend off the slap. Noah took the pills and bottle of water from Trish. Where she stashed everything, he’d never know, and at the moment, he didn’t care where it came from as long as it took care of the pounding behind his eyes. “I’m going on five hours of sleep.” He threw his head back and downed the pills.
“That would explain your lack of judgment.” John glared at Noah.
Trish gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, which helped absolutely nothing.
After the warning John had given Noah about keeping his hands off Harley, Noah couldn’t blame him for being upset, but at the same time, Harley was the one who’d made more out of the kiss than he’d intended. He wasn’t about to point that out to John, though, so he settled for a nonchalant shrug and a half smile. John could stew in his juices—Noah had other things to think about. Like that fantastic kiss.
His musings were interrupted by his mother-in-law. “I thought it was beautiful.” Julia stepped through the group to give Noah a light hug. “You’re going to fit right in around here. I can tell.” She let him go with a pat on the cheek.
Fit in in this circus—no thanks!
“Moving into the reception,” Stewart’s voice crackled in Noah’s ear. He and John swiveled towards the door at the same time.
“You ready?” asked John.
Noah jerked his chin and popped his neck. “Yes, sir.”
* * *
Noah stormed into the waiting area. His cheek didn’t burn, thanks to the ice, but his frustration simmered. He wasn’t thrilled with being slapped, and he intended to let Harley know that in the future they would take less drastic measures to communicate. Unfortunately, they weren’t alone in the waiting area.
Several women flitted about Harley, adjusting the gown or smoothing her hair. Instead of giggling and preening like a peacock, she appeared to endure the experience with
patience and a polite smile. Her cheeks were tight, and she stared straight ahead. The way she rubbed her thumb with her fingers gave away her nervousness.
Noah grinned to himself. He could read Harley like he could read Paige. Strange, because he’d spent a lifetime learning Paige’s tales and he’d known Harley for just a couple hours. Not even known her, really. All he really knew was that she was feisty and had a wicked ability to kiss a man’s better judgment away.
Seeing her stress deflated Noah’s anger. Harley had married him for protection, not affection. He’d been viewing at her as a future Mrs. Baker and not as the victim of a madman’s warped desires. If she had come into the precinct back home, he would have treated her with care and consideration, doing everything in his power to make her feel like she was in control of her life.
Striding over, Noah held out his hand, gesturing to Harley. “You ladies are wasting your time.”
All movement ceased, and all eyes turned on him. Noah had the distinct feeling of standing before a firing squad waiting for the commander to yell “Fire!”
“You can’t improve upon perfection.” He smiled at Harley, trying his best to put forth a sincere countenance and lower her defenses. She was absolutely perfect in that dress. The way it clung to her in all the right places had his pulse high-stepping. If she were his, really his, he’d take her in his arms and recreate that kiss—then he’d add about a thousand more versions of it for good measure.
The women let out a collective sigh, and Noah offered Harley his arm, relieved her entourage stood down. Harley assessed the situation and tentatively slipped her hand under Noah’s arm, avoiding skin-to-skin contact. Noah let out a sigh of relief.
Trish waved them over to the double doors where she and Harrison waited. “As soon as the MC says your names, we’ll open the door and you enter—big smiles in place. People will clap, and John with meet you and take you to the reception line.”
“Ladies and gentlemen …” boomed through Noah’s earpiece.
The Protective Groom: Billionaire Marriage Brokers Page 6
