Out of Control

by Shannon McKenna

  “Oh. I, uh, see,” she whispered.

  He kissed her, nipping tenderly at her lower lip. “Are you calmed down yet?”

  “Calm isn’t how I would describe this feeling. You yanked my pants down, you dirty dog. Who could be calm in those circumstances?”

  “I’ll pull mine down too, if it’ll make you feel better,” he offered.

  She choked on a crack of nervous laughter. “I thought we were late for this wedding. Aren’t you the best man?”

  Davy glanced down at the bulge in his jeans. He looked at his watch, and sighed heavily. “Damn. All this time wasted on a pointless argument when we could’ve been having hot sex.”

  He stepped away from her with obvious reluctance. Margot rearranged her clothes, as disappointed as she was relieved. Sex with him was wildly exciting, but it reduced her to a trembling heap, to say nothing of being badly in need of a shower. Not the condition in which she wished to face a big formal gathering of Davy’s family and friends.

  It was just as well they were late.

  Chapter

  16

  When Davy’s truck pulled up, Sean loped out to the turnaround, raffishly handsome in his black tuxedo. A diamond glinted in his ear. He opened Margot’s door, pulled her out and gave her a big bear hug.

  “About time you two lazybones got here. I reserved you one of the posh suites. In-suite bar, hot tub on the private veranda, the works. It took me an hour of hard core flirting with the ladies on the management staff to pull it off, but I managed it. You owe me, dude.”

  Mikey leaped out of the back, sniffed Sean’s gleaming dress shoes, and propped his paws on Sean’s knees, yipping a shrill, excited greeting. Her dog seemed to like McCloud men.

  “Is it a room where you can keep pets?” Margot asked.

  Sean bent to pet Mikey’s head, his brow furrowed. “Shoot. I forgot about the dog, but my personal motto is, better to ask forgiveness than permission. Leave the little guy with me while you check in. But get your ass into that tux, bro. I have to brief you on the choreography.”

  Margot was intensely self-conscious in the luxurious lobby in her faded jeans and skimpy tank top, carrying a plastic shopping bag that bulged with clothes and toiletries. She didn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because a beautiful woman with long, rippling blond hair and silvery eyes came up to her, smiling, and touched her shyly on the arm. She was dressed to kill in an long ice-blue taffeta skirt and a corset top.

  “Are you Margot? I’m Raine. Sean’s been telling us all about you.”

  Margot tensed, but she couldn’t help but smile back into Raine’s lovely face. “I didn’t know Sean knew that much about me to tell.”

  Raine laughed. “Oh, you know Sean. He doesn’t need to know much about a thing to have a lot to say about it. It’s enough for us that you’re Davy’s mysterious new girlfriend. We’re so curious. Davy is a big enigma, you see, so any woman he gets involved with is sure to be an object of intense scrutiny. Prepare yourself.”

  Margot was horrified. “Oh, no. I forgot to take my intense scrutiny endurance pills this morning. I am so screwed.”

  Raine laughed. “A few glasses of champagne will do the trick.”

  “But Sean got it wrong,” Margot said desperately. “I’m not Davy’s girlfriend. We’ve only just met. It’s not like I’m a real date, or anything.”

  Raine reached out and poked Margot’s shoulder. “You feel pretty real to me,” she said. “Sounds like Davy’s technique is slipping. Guys, phooey. Sometimes they surprise you. Sometimes they just don’t.”

  “Oh, no. Davy’s been great,” Margot assured her. “He’s just real clear about not creating false hopes. Which is fine, since I don’t have hopes anyhow, false or otherwise. I just came along for the party. And he only brought me along because I have this stalker problem.”

  Raine hid a smile. “False hopes, my butt. That clod. I have to pop him one. Sean told us about the stalker. That’s one thing you won’t have to worry about, with all the FBI agents running around. So kick back and have a good time.” She pressed an impulsive kiss on Margot’s cheek. “I’m so glad you came. We’ll talk more at the reception.”

  Margot had turned into a pillar of ice. She was unable to respond to the sweet gesture. “FBI?” she whispered.

  “Hey, Raine.” Davy kissed the blonde woman on the cheek and slid his arm possessively around Margot’s waist. He felt her tension, and frowned down into her face. “What’s up?”

  She stared up into his eyes. “FBI?”

  “Davy, didn’t you tell Margot that Connor was a fed?” Raine slapped his arm. “The bride’s father was, too. This place is crawling with them. Your stupid old stalker doesn’t stand a chance. You guys hurry up and get ready. I’ll tell Erin to take her time draping the veil.”

  She cast an angelic smile over her shoulder and swept away, trailing her long, triangular ice-blue train behind her.

  Margot was still frozen in place. “FBI?” she repeated stupidly.

  Davy’s eyes flicked uncomfortably away. “Later for that. I’ll explain. The ceremony’s about to begin, and we have to get—”

  “Have you gone completely insane?” she hissed.

  “Davy, you big handsome devil,” said a languid, accented female voice. “Pissing off your lady friend already? And the day is so young.”

  Davy swung around. A stunning woman in black taffeta smiled at them. Her black hair was twisted into a knot, with blunt cut bangs across her forehead and a gleaming tail dangling over her shoulder.

  “Oh. Hi, Tamara.” His voice distinctly lacked enthusiasm. “Didn’t recognize your new look. You look like Cruella DeVil.”

  “Gallant as ever, I see,” Tamara said. “By the way, today I am Justine Theron, an interpreter from Brussels, if anyone asks. Erin and I met on her studies abroad. I just wanted you to know that you’ll be my escort up the aisle. Lucky you. That executive decision was made before anyone knew about your mysterious companion.” She studied Margot, her red lips curving with sly amusement. “So don’t be jealous.”

  “Oh, I won’t be,” Margot assured her.

  “You? A bridesmaid?” Davy looked horrified. “I thought the bridesmaids wore jewel tones. And what’s with the fake accent?”

  Tamara smoothed her elegant gown. Margot noted that the black skirt and corset bodice were the same cut as Raine’s ice-blue dress.

  “Black’s a jewel tone,” she said, her voice faintly hurt. “Onyx? Obsidian? Black opal? And how do you know my accent is fake? Maybe the American accent is the fake one. Make no assumptions, Davy.”

  “I don’t have time for this. We’ve got to get ready. Later, Tam. Come on.” He grabbed Margot by the hand and pulled her out into the corridor that led to the elevator. “I can’t believe Connor let Erin invite that woman to the wedding,” he fumed. “His brain is completely fried.”

  “Who is she? And why were you so rude to her?” Margot demanded. “Is she an ex-lover of yours, or something?”

  Davy winced. “Christ, no. Perish the thought.”

  “How come? She’s gorgeous. What’s wrong with her?”

  Davy dragged her out of the elevator and down the hall to the end of the corridor, fitting the key card into the lock.

  The luxurious room was dominated by a huge bed. Davy flung his garment bag onto it and peeled off his T-shirt. “What’s wrong with her? She’s a career criminal, to start with. Wanted in twelve countries, maybe more. I don’t know what for, and I don’t want to know. The real problem, though, is that she’s a grandstanding diva capable of stirring up trouble just for the fun of it. She makes me nervous.”

  “Wow,” Margot murmured, impressed. “So why is she here?”

  Davy shook his head, a short, angry gesture. “She saved my brother Connor’s life a few months ago. He saved hers, too, but that’s beside the point. Long, complicated story. I’ll tell it to you sometime.”

  “You most certainly will,” Margot said fervently. “I’m so curious.�
�

  “Anyhow, like it or not, she’s in the club.” Davy pulled a gun out of the back of his jeans, laid it on the bed and wrenched the jeans off. “You know us McClouds. That old outlaw tribe. When you’re in, you’re in, right or wrong. It’s stressful.”

  Margot stared at the gun, chilled. “Wow. What a wacky family.”

  “Tell me about it.” Davy unzipped the garment bag. “I urged Erin not to invite her,” he grumbled. “I begged Connor to put his foot down. And what happens? They make her a bridesmaid, and put her on my arm. This is my punishment for blowing off the rehearsal dinner. I’m pounding that lovesick geek of my brother into hamburger as soon as he gets back from his honeymoon.”

  Margot blinked. “Uh, I don’t know quite how to break it to you, Davy, but considering the legal status of your current date, you hardly have the right to criticize.”

  “That is completely different!” Davy yanked the tux pants off the hanger and frowned at her as he sat down to put them on.

  “Oh yes? And how is that?”

  “Because you’re innocent! Plus, you’re in danger. And besides which, you’re my date. Nobody will mess with you, Margot. Relax.”

  She was amused by his conviction. “You’re overestimating your sphere of influence, Davy. I appreciate your faith in me, but it’s not going to help much if somebody recognizes me from the papers.”

  Davy groped for the tux shirt. “I saw those newspaper photos. You look completely different now, with your hair dark and grown out.” His eyes raked over her, assessing every detail. “You’re thinner. More muscle tone. Your jaw is sharper, your cheekbones more pronounced. Your eyes are memorable, but the pictures I saw didn’t do them justice. Try not to look nervous, and you’ll be fine. Every man in the room will be looking at you, but not for the reasons you’re worried about.”

  Margot dragged her eyes away from the sight of him buttoning the crisp white tux shirt over his sinewy chest. His body looked just as fine in a tux as it did buck naked. “This wedding is bizarre. Like one of those TV shows that are on cable because they’re too weird for prime time.”

  Davy’s chest shook with derisive laughter as he shrugged on a shoulder holster for his gun. “Uh, Margot? For the love of God, get ready. Please. The ceremony is supposed to start”—he glanced at his watch—“in four and a half minutes.”

  “OK, OK.” Margot fled into the bathroom with her plastic shopping bag and shut the door. Here went nothing.

  She stared at her pale, scared face in the mirror. Her choppy hair was tousled into a snarled halo, the grown-out remnants of what had once been a two hundred dollar salon haircut. Those were the days.

  She wrenched off her clothes, and stared with dismay at the ripped thong, destroyed by Davy’s hand. It dangled off her hips in pitiful shreds. Damn. The dress was clingy, and the cotton panties she had in the bag were briefs that would show panty lines egregiously under her skirt. To say nothing of having no stockings, no jewelry, and limited makeup. She was fashion challenged.

  Ah, well. At least she had a decent dress. It was crinkly, stretchy stuff, completely unwrinklable, worn over a black slip with spaghetti straps. It was the color of smoke, deepening gradually in color toward the fluted frill where charcoal turned to black right below the knee. A boat neck showed off her cleavage. Cap sleeves showcased her arms, which were looking very nice, she had to concede. Her reward for all those sweaty exercise classes. Too bad her butt hadn’t followed suit. It was as prominent as ever. Her butt had an agenda all its own.

  Her hair she twisted into a sorta-kinda French roll, which it was barely long enough to hold with the help of a few thousand hairpins and generous globs of gel on the sides for wisp control. She tugged a few locks loose to dangle around her face for that wind-whipped fugitive look. For makeup, she had eyeliner, mascara, and one single tube of deep red lipstick. No blush, no eyeshadow, no foundation, no concealer.

  No more tricks in her bag. That was it. Best she could do.

  She grabbed some tissues, stuffed them in her purse and marched out of the bathroom with all the attitude she could muster.

  Davy stared at her, his eyes moving over her body.

  “Jesus,” he said quietly. “Just look at you. You’re gorgeous.”

  A blush was coming on, and she whipped up some instant crabbiness to head it off at the pass. “I’ve got panty lines, and it’s all your fault,” she said. “You wrecked my thong, you panty-killer.”

  Davy walked over to her, and placed his big, warm hands on her waist, sliding them slowly over her hips, as if he’d forgotten that they were in a hurry. “I’m sorry about your thong.”

  She sniffed. “I just bet you are.”

  “I’ve got a solution for you, though.”

  “Oh, yeah? Postpone the wedding so I can run out to a mall and buy underwear? That’ll make a great first impression on your family.”

  He sank to his knees, caressing every curve. “Take them off.”

  “Oh, please. And go to your brother’s wedding bare-assed? Every draft that blows under my skirt tickling my unmentionables? Dream on, you sex-crazed—”

  “It’ll drive me out of my mind.” Davy slid his hands up under her skirt. “To know that there’s nothing under there but silky beautiful legs, fuck-me shoes, and up here…that tender, naked—”

  “Stop that!” She struggled and swayed in his grip, clutching his thick, short hair for balance. “Behave!”

  He hooked his fingers into her panties. “You can’t go down there with panty lines,” he said earnestly. “It would be wrong.”

  “Oh, shut up.” She was breathless with giggles. “If you make me laugh any harder, my eyes will water and my mascara will run.”

  He yanked the cotton panties down to her ankles and lifted her skirt. She flung her head back with a sigh that was almost a whimper when he pressed his face to her mound, his breath a moist, tickling caress that weakened her knees. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “Please, Davy. Don’t take me to pieces. I’m so scared already.”

  He rubbed his cheek against her thigh, cupping her naked bottom in his big hands. “Don’t be scared,” he insisted. “You’re safe here.”

  “Right.” She wiped her watery eyes.

  “I’ll be right there with you, every minute,” he insisted. “Anybody bugs you, anybody at all, I’ll rip off both his arms. You got me?”

  She tried to smile. “That’s sweet, Davy. Bloodthirsty, but sweet.”

  A shrill whistle sounded outside the door; a long tweet swooping upwards and three short sharp ones coming down. Davy sprang to his feet so quickly, he almost knocked Margot off balance. He yanked the door open. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing with that signal?”

  Sean blinked at him. “Lighting a fire under your lazy ass, bozo.”

  “Never joke with that shit! Dad would’ve kicked your ass up the mountain and back down if he heard you playing with his signals!”

  Sean’s eyebrow took on an ironic tilt. “That’s nothing compared to what the bride’s mama’s gonna do to you if you hold up her baby girl’s wedding. You’ve seen that woman on the rampage. Look sharp.”

  Davy grabbed Margot’s hand and pulled her out the door.

  She stumbled after him. “What does the signal mean?” she asked.

  Davy and Sean exchanged narrow glances, and Sean shrugged. “Our dad was a combat veteran,” he explained. “He taught us some of his tricks when we were kids. That one means ‘get your ass out of there because I’m throwing in a hand grenade in X number of seconds.’ Depending on how the signal’s modified. There are variations.”

  Margot tripped and caught herself against Davy’s broad back. “You mean, you guys played with hand grenades when you were kids?”

  “Aw, hand grenades are kid stuff,” Sean scoffed. “Big bombs are a lot more fun.”

  “Shut up, Sean,” Davy growled.

  There was no more time to follow this fascinating avenue of research. In the rose garden, Margot soon found h
erself in the midst of a quiet flurry of whispered instructions. She was led to a folding seat on the lawn by a hulking young man in a tux with unfortunate glasses and lank dark hair. He had been introduced to her as Miles. Mikey was cradled contentedly in Miles’s elbow. Someone had decked out Mikey’s curly fur with a cheerful tangle of colored silk ribbons.

  The grassy space was flanked with banks of blooming roses. A fountain blew mist into the breeze. Miles deposited Mikey at her feet, flushed crimson and loped away like a startled gazelle when Margot smiled and thanked him. A string quartet struck up shortly afterwards.

  Davy was first up the aisle, Tamara smiling mysteriously on his arm. They looked disgustingly gorgeous together, but Margot tried not to loathe her for it. It wasn’t fair, for one thing. For another, a fellow outlaw deserved a smidge of solidarity, no matter how hot she looked.

  Sean was next, grinning down at the chubby redheaded girl on his arm. Miles reverently escorted a slender brunette dressed in red. Raine followed, accompanied by a grimly handsome black-haired man who clutched her arm in a possessive grip. His suspicious eyes swept the assembled crowd as if searching for masked gunmen. They were followed by pairs of girls, their multihued gowns as bright as a bouquet of flowers. Then came the bride and groom, hand in hand. They looked so radiantly happy, Margot groped instantly for a tissue.

  It was a beautiful ceremony; tender and simple and full of heart. The love and trust in the faces of the bride and groom made her dab at runnels of dissolving mascara throughout the whole thing, and Davy shot her a funny look as he strode down the aisle at the end.

  Moments later, he was looming over her chair. “What’s wrong now? What happened? You OK?”

  She snuffled into her tissue and dabbed beneath her eyes. “Don’t give me that terrified look,” she said in a soggy voice. “You’re the one who brought me here. I didn’t beg to come. So cope, already.”

  He looked bemused. “I’m coping. Just as long as you’re not—”