Drop Dead Gorgeous (14 page)

I didn't mind. I was in an unassailable position. No matter what decision was made about any part of our wedding, it was All His Fault, because his deadline was what had precipitated the rush. I just love unassailable positions—so long as I'm the one occupying them.

He barely waited until I was buckled into the seat of the Avalanche before he attacked. "Can't you find someone else to make your wedding dress?"

"There isn't enough time," I said sweetly.

He saw right away where that was going, and detoured. "She tried to kill her husband."

I gave a wave of my hand. "I don't see the connection between that and making my dress. And I've told you: she didn't try to
kill
him,
she just wanted to maim him a little."

He shot me an unreadable glance. "Two days ago I watched a videotape of someone trying to hit you with a car. Don't talk to me about 'maiming a little.' A car is deadly. She was going so fast she couldn't stop before she hit the house. If Jazz hadn't jumped out of the way, he'd have been pinned between the car and the house. Do I have to find scene photographs to show you the damage that can be done to the human body in situations like that?"

Damn it all to hell and back, I absolutely hate it when he makes a point that overrides my unassailable position.

He was right. Viewed from his vantage point as a cop, which meant he regularly saw things that would give me nightmares, he was right. Sally had acted with complete disregard for Jazz's life and well-being. Not only that, I knew that if our positions were reversed and I'd watched someone try to kill Wyatt, I wouldn't be the least forgiving about it.

"Shit."

One of his level brows lifted. "Does that mean you agree?"

"It means I see your point." I tried not to sound sulky. I don't think I succeeded, because he hid a quick grin.

This was now a sticky wicket, because Sally had already agreed to make my dress; not only that, she was excited about it, because Sally loves my sisters and me almost as much as she loves her own kids. We're like family. I couldn't find someone else to make the dress now without really hurting her feelings. For that matter, in the short length of time I had, I probably couldn't find anyone else to make the dress, period.

I wasn't dumb enough to bang my head against the dashboard in frustration, but I felt like it.

Wyatt had caused this dilemma by using common sense. That's cheating. So I threw it back in his lap. That's only fair, right? "Okay, here's the deal: I'm really, really short on time. The odds are I won't be able to get the dress made by a professional, because they'll all already be booked. It's possible I can find what I want ready-made, but I didn't find anything in the mall and I haven't found anything online. If you insist, I'll somehow find
a way to back out of letting Sally make
my dress,
but
, you'll have to live with the consequences if I have to get married in whatever dress I can find at the last minute."

I was deadly serious in my tone and expression, maybe because I
was
deadly serious. I wasn't taking this lightly. I had a dream, a vision of how I wanted my wedding to him to be, and a big part of that dream was seeing the look in his eyes when I walked toward him wearing this killer gown. It was a moment something in me
needed,
something that had taken a big hit when I found out my ex was unfaithful. I didn't go around whining about it all the time, but I hadn't escaped my first marriage totally baggage-free; I had a couple of small carry-
ons
that had to be dealt with.

He gave me a quick, piercing look, gauging my sincerity. Really, I don't know why he didn't just take what I said at face value. Okay, so I do know. Probably it should bother me that the man I love doesn't trust me, but it would bother me a whole lot more if he were fool enough that he did trust me. I'm not talking about cheating on him sexually or emotionally because that wasn't going to happen, but in our own private little battle for relationship turf, all strategies were fair. He'd made that rule himself, with his damn-the-torpedoes, get-her-at-all-costs pursuit of me. Actually, he hadn't even pursued me; he'd grabbed me and refused to let go.

Remembering that gave me a little flutter, both in my heart and farther down, and I squirmed a little.

He swore under his breath, jerking his gaze back to the street. "Damn it, stop squirming. You do that every time you think about sex."

"I do?" Maybe I did. But he was…
squirmworthy
.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, reminding me that we hadn't made love since Wednesday night, and it was now Sunday. He'd relieved some of my tension the night before, but as good as he was with his hands and mouth it just wasn't the same as his penis. Some things are made to go together, you know?

Wyatt, on the other hand, hadn't had any relief unless he'd taken care of the matter while he showered. Considering the whiteness of his knuckles, I didn't think he had.

"We were talking about Sally," he said, his tone rough and tense.

I fought to bring my thoughts back on subject. "I've told you what I think."

He took a couple of breaths. "Exactly what will be the consequences if you don't get married in this dress you want so much?"

"I don't know," I said simply. "I just know it'll hurt me."

"Shit," he muttered. He doesn't mind driving me nuts, making me angry, or frustrating the hell out of me, but he'll move heaven and earth to keep from hurting me. Every
women
should be loved like that. My heart swelled, or it felt as if it did. That's a scary sensation, too, because if your heart really swelled it could probably tear some of the plumbing lines loose, or something.

He was silent for about two blocks and I began to tense, wondering what he was thinking. Wyatt's too smart to let him think for long, or he'll come up with—

"Get them back together," he said.

My brain felt as if all the gray stuff was suddenly squeezed together. "What?" Damn it, damn it! Was he serious? I assumed he was talking about Sally and Jazz, but their own children couldn't even get them in the same room together. I should have interrupted him at least a block back, jerked the steering wheel or something, or maybe clutched my head and fallen over, except then he'd have taken me to the ER again, and I'd had enough of that place.

"Sally and Jazz," he said, confirming my fear that he was trying to completely derail me. "Get them back together. Make them sit down and talk this out. I figure if you can get Jazz to move past his wife trying to kill him, then I'll have to admit I'm taking this too seriously."

"Are you
nuts
?" I shrieked, rounding on him, which wasn't a good idea because the sudden movement shifted my headache from a mere presence into an attention-getter. I did clutch my head, but I didn't fall over.

"Be careful," he said sharply.

"Don't tell me to be careful after you throw something like that in my lap!" Just when I thought he couldn't get any more outrageous or demanding, he pulled something like that. He's a diabolical fiend.

"It's roughly equivalent to what you threw in mine." His eyes were glittering, sharp little green lights of mixed temper and satisfaction.

Oh. He'd noticed that, huh?

"You aren't incapacitated with a concussion!
Or by a concussion.
Whatever."

"You're recovering fast," he said with a notable lack of compassion. "I wouldn't be surprised if you went back to work tomorrow."

I had, in fact, been planning on just that. I scowled at him, which he took for an admission.

"I'm not a marriage counselor," I said in frustration. "Even worse, I'm almost like one of
their own
children. They won't listen to their kids, why do you think they'll listen to me?"

"That's your problem," he said.

"You don't think it'll be your problem if I'm not happy at our wedding? Didn't you hear me say I'm
short on time
? This will take time I don't have!"

"Make time."

He thought he was so smart. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Okay. I'll take the time we
would
have spent making love, and that's when I'll talk to Sally and Jazz."

He actually laughed out loud at that. Yeah, I know my track record for refusing him anything is really pretty
sucky
, but he
laughed
.

One cannot flounce when one has a concussion, even one that's mild. I didn't even want to get out of his truck by myself, because it's a big truck and you have to climb down, and if I landed just a little too hard my head would be jarred and that was really no fun at all. So I had to wait for him to come around and lift me out of the truck, which he did with great pleasure because then he could let me slide all the way down his front, and I almost got caught on the parts that were jutting out, which made him smile with satisfaction.

This man was evil.

I said furiously, "
If we
ever have sex again, which right now is very much in doubt, we're doing it the
tantric
way."

He was grinning as he followed me up the steps to the front door. "I'm not chanting anything when we have sex."

"Oh, it doesn't involve chanting. I don't think. It involves discipline."

"I'm not letting you anywhere near a whip."

I scoffed. Not that kind of discipline.
Self-discipline.
Tantric
sex lasts a long, long time."

"Now that I can get behind," he said, looking interested.

Smiling sweetly I said, "Oh, good, we'll try that, then. You promise, don't you?"

"You bet," he said, his libido getting in the way of thinking clearly. That state of affairs wouldn't last for long, though, so I hurried in for the kill.

"By the way—"

"Yeah?"

"It lasts a long, long time because the man
doesn't get to come
."

Chapter Ten

Wyatt gave me an astonished look then burst out laughing, holding his sides as if the idea of
tantric
sex was the most hilarious thing he'd ever heard of in his life. He howled with laughter. Tears ran down his cheeks. He stopped laughing for a few seconds, then looked at my face and started all over again. He ended up collapsed on the sofa, still laughing.