Second Chances: A Romance Writers of America Collection

by J. Kenner

  Lolly, oblivious to her inner turmoil, pivoted in front of the mirror to study her fluffy princess dress from every angle. "He's such a catch, and now that he's moving back to California, it's perfect! Tammy needs to date someone good for a change. She has wretched taste in men. But that's all about to change. And you get to help me play matchmaker."

  Victoria swallowed around the lump in her throat. "Are you sure he's ... dependable?"

  "Taylor?" Lolly said. "You heard about his family, I guess?" She practiced smiling in the mirror, batting her eyes. "That was sketchy, but trust me, Taylor's a keeper. He's like a brother to Kipp and if he's anything, he's a man of his word. He might not fall madly in love with Tammy, but he'll never lie to her and jerk her heart around, which is exactly what she needs. A good guy."

  The bridesmaids rushed in from the connecting dressing room in a lavender swarm, saving Tori from having to reply. They plucked the veil from Victoria's hands and clustered around the bride in a giggling mass, cellphones waving for selfies with the bride.

  Everything was running right on schedule. The chapel was filling, and in exactly seventeen minutes Lolita Carmen Gaines would walk down the aisle. The blushing bride was calm as a cucumber, hamming it up with her friends.

  It was Tori who was quietly losing her mind.

  She'd never been so nervous at a wedding before, and it had nothing to do with the event.

  Was Nick really a good guy? She'd cast him as the villain who had abandoned her, but he'd never lied. He'd never promised her forever. Just the opposite. He'd been very clear that he was going away at the end of the summer.

  Yes, she'd hoped he would come rushing back when he found out she was pregnant, but she'd never actually talked to him directly after she saw that little blue line. She'd played a part in the farce, too. She could have gone to New York to tell him in person, but she'd chickened out. Hurt by his silence, she'd chosen to believe the worst of him. It had been easy. After all, hadn't her father walked out on her? Why wouldn't the man she loved the most vanish on her, too?

  She'd thought she had absolute faith in Nick, but it had been easy to shatter.

  A scratch came at the door, setting off a chorus of squeals from the knot of bridesmaids. Victoria checked her watch. "We still have eight minutes. Just relax. I'll take care of whatever this is."

  The bridesmaids resumed fluttering over Lolly and Victoria crossed to the door, grateful for the distraction.

  But when she opened the door, it was Nick standing in the hallway outside the bride's dressing room.

  "What are you doing here?" She ushered him away before he could enter the bride's inner sanctum, slipping through the door and closing it behind her. "You're supposed to be with Kipp."

  Nick held up an envelope. "He wanted to send Lolly this."

  Tori plucked it from his fingertips. "I'll see that she gets it. Now go back and keep the groom calm." She frowned at the envelope. "He can't be calling it off."

  "Are you kidding? Kipp would walk through fire to marry Lolly. He said it was an inside joke, but my money is on a sappy love note."

  "Good. Now go."

  He didn't budge, standing there looking entirely too good for her equilibrium in a charcoal tuxedo and lavender silk tie. Her heart thudded heavily as his amber eyes took in every inch of her from the collar of her modest peach sheath to her most comfortable peep-toe heels.

  "You look beautiful."

  A flush hit her cheeks. "I have to blend with the guests."

  "Is Lorelei here?"

  The butterflies in her stomach turned to lead. "She's with my mom. She gets her grandma fix when I have a wedding."

  Nick nodded. A strained silence fell.

  "We'll have to, ah, talk about how you two should meet. When you've moved back."

  He stepped closer. "Tori, about last night--"

  Oh God no. They were not talking about The Kiss of Doom. "We'll need to be careful moving forward," she said hurriedly, speaking over him. "You can meet Lorelei, but you need to stop trying to kiss me." She hadn't realized she was going to say that until the words were out, but now there were more coming and she couldn't stop them. "I have to be looking out for Lorelei's interests, and I can't be as effective guarding her heart if I'm worrying about my own where you're concerned."

  Disappointment flickered in his eyes. "You were never guarded with me before."

  "You never broke my heart before." She swallowed, forcing herself to go on. "I know I played a part in the miscommunication, but the truth is when your life got hard, you cut me out of it. That isn't what you do to people you love. And I won't risk being hurt like that again. Goodbye, Nick." She lifted the envelope. "I'll see Lolly gets this."

  HE'D BROKEN HER HEART.

  Nick smiled through the ceremony and the photos, saying all the right things and projecting happiness for all he was worth, but he couldn't stop thinking about Victoria and the simple words that had jarred him to his marrow.

  He didn't know how to mend a broken heart.

  But he wanted to. Not just because she was the mother of his child and he wanted to know his daughter with an ache in his soul he never would have suspected he could feel, but also because she was Tori. The one woman who made him feel like he was enough just by smiling at him. The one that got away.

  But she hadn't gotten away. He'd thrown her away.

  He'd never wanted to be like his parents--he'd struggled for most of his adult life to separate himself from their legacy and be seen as his own man--but he was more like them than he wanted to admit. Like his mother, he'd run away when things got tough. He'd hated her for it, and then he'd gone and done exactly the same thing.

  He'd told himself it was better for Tori if she didn't have to deal with the circus his life had become, but was he trying to protect her? Or protect himself from the vulnerability that came from caring for someone?

  Glasses clinked around the ballroom and the murmur of voices quieted as a microphone landed with a thunk in front of him on the table.

  Kipp clapped him on the shoulder. "You're up, best man."

  The toast. Shit.

  Nick lurched to his feet. He'd had a speech prepared. Even now, he could feel the paper crinkling in his vest pocket. He'd planned to talk about his long friendship with Kipp and Kipp's unswerving loyalty, but now those words--though true--seemed somehow inadequate.

  Victoria stood at the back of the room. In constant motion since the reception began, she now paused near a spray of flowers and watched him, waiting for him to speak--along with the rest of the silent room.

  Nick cleared his throat, his grip on the microphone and his champagne glass suddenly sweat slicked.

  "Kipp is my oldest friend, and we all know he's always good for a laugh. But he's also the bravest person I've ever met." He smiled at his friend and his bride. "It takes courage to give your heart completely to another person and even more to make the promise to always be there for them. Being trusted with someone's heart is a big responsibility. It takes a lot to love someone with all you have. I admire you, man."

  Lolly smiled tearily, and Kipp sniffled--the big softie.

  "Lolly, you couldn't have entrusted your heart to a more deserving guy. I know he'll be brave enough to keep it safe and never break it. He's a helluva lot braver than I am, but maybe it's not too late for me to learn." His gaze locked on the woman in the peach dress at the rear of the room as he lifted his glass. "To loving with your whole heart. To Kipp and Lolly."

  Their names echoed through the room, chairs scraping as guests rose to their feet for the toast. Nick accepted Kipp's back-slapping hug and Lolly's teary embrace before sinking into his chair.

  As the guests settled themselves and the father of the bride stood to say a few words, Nick's gaze boomeranged to the back of the room, but Victoria was gone.

  Her heels thunked against the wooden planks of the small gazebo thrust out over the water on a floating dock. It was nearing dusk, and the yacht club was quiet except for th
e activity in the ballroom inside.

  She should be part of that activity, but she needed a second to pull herself together. After Nick's speech, she didn't know what to feel.

  She rested her hands on the white painted railing, lifting her face to the salty breeze.

  "Tori?"

  Of course, he'd come. She didn't take her eyes off the sunset, but she felt him behind her. He slipped off his jacket and tucked it around her shoulders, the familiar scent nearly buckling her knees.

  "You always were good at pleading your case," she said, still facing the horizon.

  "I never stopped loving you."

  Her heart lurched and Victoria turned her face toward him. The setting sun gilded his familiar features.

  "Even when I was an idiot," he went on, "I loved you. I told myself you'd moved on, were better off without me, but this weekend ... seeing you again like this, doesn't it feel like fate giving us a chance to fix what we screwed up? I want to prove I'm not gonna run this time. I'd marry you this second if you'd have me."

  "Marriage isn't proof." She'd seen enough weddings to know it took a lot more than a ceremony to make a happily ever after.

  It took commitment and faith and trust and love. The kind of love that accepted someone as they were and made them a constant presence in your heart. Could she love him like that? Could he love her?

  "Victoria?" He caught a stray curl and tucked it gently behind her ear.

  He was so intent. So focused. It was easy to fall for a man who could look at you like the rest of the world didn't even exist, but she needed more than that. She needed his word.

  She turned to face him fully. "Swear to me that whatever happens between us, you will never cut off communication again. Not to me and not to Lorelei."

  "I swear."

  He didn't make promises he couldn't keep. Her breath grew short. "Don't make me regret this, Nick," she whispered.

  "Never." He moved a hand to reach for her, but hesitation held him in check. "Does that mean ...?"

  She caught his hand, lacing their fingers together. "You had an advantage. I never stopped loving you either. Even when I wished I could."

  His heart in his amber eyes, he lifted his free hand to trace the curve of her cheek. "Is it okay if I try to kiss you now?"

  "No."

  He froze in the act of leaning toward her. She grinned and hooked a finger inside his vest, tugging him closer. Then she kissed him.

  The familiar feel of his lips held the flavor of champagne and the hope for a thousand more kisses.

  IT WAS, VICTORIA DECIDED, the best wedding she'd ever planned.

  She stood in front of Pastor Jim with Lorelei and Sidney as her maid and matron of honor, respectively. Kipp acted as best man for Nick as they tied the knot under the gazebo at the yacht club.

  It was a small ceremony--a larger group wouldn't have fit onto the floating dock--but it was perfect. They wrote their own vows, and Tori knew she'd have to ask Nick to repeat his later because after "I forgot how much I needed you, but fate brought me back to remind me" she started bawling and barely heard another word he said. And she wanted to remember those promises to love and honor because her husband never made a promise he didn't keep. Not to her and not to their daughter.

  He'd said he would love them forever, and he was a man of his word.

  Three-time RITA finalist and Golden Heart(r)-winning contemporary romance author Lizzie Shane was born and raised in Alaska and still lives in the frozen north when she isn't indulging her travel addiction. After college, she worked in the entertainment industry for about fifteen seconds before deciding she'd rather write about love in the wilds of Hollywood than live it. Now, she uses the long winter nights in Alaska to create more happily-ever-afters. Lizzie also writes paranormal romance under the name Vivi Andrews.

  For more about Lizzie and her books, visit http://www.lizzieshane.com.

  BRANDON CLARKE-DAVIES TOOK A long, slow sip of his pint of Guinness and laid an arm across the back of the red leather booth nestled into a quiet corner of the pub. His eyes dropped to the white folder on the table in front of him, the light blue MI5 insignia in the top left corner.

  He tapped it with one finger. "Not that I'm complaining about the free pint, but what are we doing here?"

  Harry leaned against the booth and glanced around the small pub. Despite the fact that it was just shy of two on a Thursday afternoon, The Red Lion was bustling with patrons.

  "She should be here any minute." Harry drummed his fingers on top of the folder.

  Brandon glanced out the windows on the opposite side of the pub, watching the traffic crawl by on Parliament Street. Weak summer sunshine filtered through the parting clouds, glinting off the puddles dotting the cobbled sidewalk. With an arched eyebrow, he shook his head at his boss's secrecy and picked up his pint. As a highly trained MI5 Intelligence Officer, he was used to discretion.

  He'd just tipped the pint glass to his lips when the sharp click of heels against the scarred wooden floor got his attention and he froze, shock turning his blood to ice water in his veins. Chiding himself for his minuscule slip in composure, he set the glass down and leveled his gaze at the woman standing in front of their table. Wrapped in an elegant Burberry trench, her hands shoved casually in her pockets, she tipped her head and gave them each a small smile before sliding into the booth right beside Brandon.

  "Gentlemen."

  Her voice, just as low and husky and feminine as he remembered, hit him like a kick to the gut.

  Harry shot Brandon a look. "Thought you might want to have the meeting here, as opposed to the office. In front of ... you know. People. "

  "You're a bloody saint, Harry," he said, his jaw wound so tight he was surprised he could speak. He forced his shoulders to relax, unclenched his fists, and didn't allow himself to reach for his pint. He dared a glance at the gorgeous woman sitting beside him, her legs crossed, her hands folded on the table as if sitting next to him were the most natural thing in the world.

  But it wasn't, because he hadn't seen her in six years. Natasha Rowe. His ex-wife.

  "Nice to see you, Brandon," she said, the hardened consonants of her American accent sharp against his ears. As a wave of nostalgic desire crashed into him, he looked at her with what he hoped was a bemused expression because he had no idea what the hell to say. He sucked in a deep breath, which was a terrible mistake, because it brought with it her lavender scent, as warm and familiar as ever. Memories, most of them happy and exciting, floated to the surface, but he squashed them and plastered a thin smile to his face before they could suck him under, a tsunami disguised as a gentle wave.

  Harry's eyes flicked from Brandon to Natasha. If he picked up on the surprise, the anger, and, goddammit, the lust crawling beneath Brandon's skin and threatening to burst out, he didn't let on. With quick, efficient movements, Natasha unbuttoned her coat and shrugged out of it, letting it pool around her waist. Her red tank top cupped her ample breasts perfectly, leaving a subtle amount of cleavage on display. She ran her fingers through her chin-length dark blond hair and suddenly he was half-hard, watching her breasts strain for freedom beneath the red fabric. God, those tits. As if he'd ever forget how good they felt in his hands. In his mouth.

  No. He couldn't let his mind go down that path. He needed to focus on other things. Like the fact that two years into their struggling marriage, she'd walked out on him without a backward glance. That's what he needed to be thinking about, not her glorious rack.

  "Shall we?" asked Harry, leaning forward and flipping open what Brandon now realized was a mission dossier.

  Bloody fucking hell.

  Without waiting for an acknowledgment, Harry plowed ahead, spreading several pages and photographs across their sequestered table. "Last week, the United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases in Maryland was breached."

  Natasha cut in. "We believe that Sergei Silayev, one of Europe's biggest arms dealers--"

  "I know who
Sergei Silayev is." Brandon's skin crackled with angry impatience.

  She nodded and continued. "We're certain that Silayev's agents were responsible for the breach."

  "What was stolen?" asked Brandon, his eyes narrowed as he studied the image of Silayev in front of him.

  "Several vials of Marburg virus." Brandon's eyes met Natasha's as the magnitude of what she was telling him sunk in. One of the biggest arms dealers in Europe--if not the world--had stolen several vials of a highly potent and deadly biological weapon.

  "Fuck me," muttered Brandon, finally allowing himself another sip of his Guinness. Something flashed in Natasha's gray eyes, a hot, searing spark, and she rubbed her thighs together, almost imperceptibly. Almost. "How did you lot cock-up so bad that you let one of Silayev's agents infiltrate an Army base?" He was deflecting, trying to cover his own arousal at seeing Natasha again. She didn't bat an eye, not allowing herself to be baited.

  That was new.

  "The chatter we've picked up indicates that the vials are here, in London. Silayev has just bought a house in Belgravia, and we believe he's holding the vials there until he can find a buyer," she said.

  "Obviously, the Americans are keen to regain possession of the virus," said Harry, leaning forward and interlacing his fingers. "Which is why we're assisting the CIA on this mission."

  "You're CIA?" Brandon turned in his seat, angling his shoulders toward Natasha. "You're not still at Aegis?"

  In response, she pulled a CIA badge from the inside pocket of her trench, flashing it at him before tucking it away. "I haven't been at Aegis for years now."

  "But you loved it there. Why did you leave?"

  "I'm sorry, but that's classified." She tipped her lips up in a half smile. God, that half smile was maddening. It made him want to strangle her and kiss her, and damn the consequences of both. Instead, he smiled smoothly.

  "Of course. Apologies." Brandon kept his voice deliberately flat. "Seeing as the vials are on British soil, and the mission falls under the MI5 umbrella, why doesn't the CIA leave it to us?" He glanced at Natasha. "No offense."