Harlequin KISS August 2014 Bundle (38 page)

Shifting her gaze between two beautiful slate-blue eyes, she said
in a low voice, “I can’t live my life walking on eggshells, worrying that I might do or say something that shakes your trust in me again.” She ignored the intense heat in his gaze and the feel of his lips, the unyielding softness that was oh, so uniquely Hunter. Her chest caught, and breathing became difficult. She dropped her arm, gathering the courage to continue. “All because you can’t move on.”

“I can,” he fired off in a low voice. He shifted closer, towering over her, his tone softening. “Give me a second chance to prove it.”

She still hadn’t heard a good enough reason. “Why should I?” she repeated.

His words tumbled out. “Because I let my fear push you away,” he said gruffly. Face frustrated, he raked a hand through his hair and looked across the crowded terrace. The
pause felt like forever, but when he finally turned back, his expression was frank. Raw.

The last barrier was gone.

“I knew you loved me,” he said, his words rough, heavy with the truth. “But I didn’t trust the feeling and I was too scared to believe you. I don’t deserve another chance. But I’m asking anyway,” he said. “Because I’m tired of being unhappy and alone. All because I’m a
gutless coward.”

As if taking a moment to collect himself, he dropped his gaze to her bare shoulder and brushed her hair back, leaving a skitter of goosebumps. His hand settled between her shoulder blades, cupping her skin as if it planned to stay. He lifted his eyes to hers, and the brutal honesty stole what little composure she had left.

“And I think fear is driving your decisions
now,” he said.

Her mind balked at the idea and she hiked her chin, forcing the tears away with a watery sniff. “I am
not
scared.”

The words sounded hollow even to her own ears.

Several seconds ticked by, and though his gaze was intense there was a touch of humor mixed with a hint of desperation. His voice, however, was pure daring conviction. “Then marrying me shouldn’t be a problem.”

As his warm palm cradled her back, Carly’s heart thumped loudly in her chest, reinforcing the message that he could have called her a coward too, but hadn’t. Or that he
could
have insisted he was right, which he was.

Despite everything, she sent him a suspicious look. “Are you
daring
me to marry you?”

“The woman I love never walks away from a challenge.”

Her lips twisted into
a self-directed frustrated frown. “Damn it,” she said in a low tone. “I hate that you’re right.”

The happy sounds of chatter filled the air as his eyes continued to scan hers in a question, stripping her to the emotional bone. Until he said, “So, Carly Wolfe, which would you rather have?” Despite the words, in spite of the teasing light in his eyes, his tone was serious. “A life with me,
learning how to do love right, or an endless succession of singing break-up telegrams?”

The question—and the skin-on-skin touch on her back—made breathing difficult. Which wasn’t so good for formulating complicated responses. Fortunately the answer was simple. “You,” she finally said. “I choose you.”

Relief, joy and fire flashed in his eyes, and with a lightning-fast movement, Hunter
hauled her against him. Her body collided with his and she sighed, her heart melting as she curled into his embrace.

His chest was hard. Protective.

The hand on her back was warm. And gentle.

Sandwiched between the perfect combination of unyielding strength and soothing comfort, she inhaled his familiar woodsy scent. The surge of happiness overwhelmed her and she buried her face
against him, his soft jacket absorbing the embarrassing wet tracks on her cheek.

After a minute, Hunter said, “Just promise me something.”

She slid her arms around his waist, blinked back the remaining tears and looked up at him. “Anything.”

He glanced at the two coffin bars surrounded by guests dressed in black, their feet obscured by the mist from the fog machines. “No Elvis at
the wedding,” he said. “And no Goth-themed receptions.”

Finally allowing herself to trust the joy, she let a smile creep up her face. “Can I ask the winner of the Pink Flamingo drag queen pageant to officiate?”

Hunter’s eyes briefly flickered wider—but to his credit he said nothing.

She lifted an eyebrow. “Now who’s afraid?”

“Good point,” he said, his brow creased in humor,
his fingers caressing her skin.

“So, tell me...” Her mojo firmly back in place, she flashed him her most charming smile and tipped her head curiously. “What kind of songs does The Hitchinator offer when I accept your proposal?”

A secretive smile spread across his face, and the light in his slate-blue eyes grew warmer. “I’ll resend the message so you can hit ‘Yes’ and find out.”

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from HERE COMES THE BRIDESMAID by Avril Tremayne

We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin KISS story.

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ONE

TO: Jonathan Jones

FROM: Sunshine Smart

SUBJECT: Bridesmaid meets Best Man

Darling Jon

I’ve met Leo and I adore him!

We are on the same page, so fear not—your wedding reception will be everything you ever dreamed of!

Wish we could have the actual marriage in Sydney too, but hooray for enlightened New York!

Hugs and kisses to Caleb.

Sunny
xxx

TO: Caleb Quartermaine

FROM: Leo Quartermaine

SUBJECT: WTF??????

Caleb

What are you doing to me?

Sunshine Smart cannot be a real name. And she wants to friend me on Facebook! NOT JOKING!

Despite being dropped in it with the lunatic, I will ensure the dinner doesn’t turn into a three-ring circus.

Can’t wait to meet Jonathan—but please tell me
he’s nothing like his bridesmaid.

LQ

Sunshine Smart
was looking forward to her second meeting with Leo Quartermaine.
Despite
their introductory meeting two days ago, lasting just ten minutes and ending with him declining her request to be Facebook friends.

She loved Leo’s restaurants—well, what she’d read about them. Because she’d never actually eaten at one...which she
was about to remedy.

She loved him on TV—tough but fair, judging those reality TV would-be chefs, and
dreamy
as
when fronting
Cook It Up With Leo
.

She was predisposed to love anyone whose brother was smart enough to marry her best friend Jonathan Jones.

And she just—well,
loved
him. In that
Isn’t he adorable?
way of loving people who were just so solid and serious and a teensy bit
repressed.

But his hair—or lack thereof—was a problem. There was no
reason
for Leo to shave his head. It wasn’t as if he had a comb-over issue. He could have a full head of hair if he wanted! Lush, thick, wheat-blond. She’d seen the ‘before shaved head’ photos on the internet. And the start of the regrowth at their first meeting. She’d read a comment in an article about it being easier in
the kitchen without hair—but she wasn’t asking for a ponytail!

Anyway, that could be fixed. There was time for him to grow it. She would just drop a word in his ear.

Sunshine checked her make-up. Her new red lipstick looked fabulous. Her eyes...well, what could you do? The grey eyeshadow was heavily layered; mascara so thick each lash look like a tarantula leg—make-up intended to distract
people from her ocular weirdness. About which there was nothing she could do—unlike Leo Quartermaine’s hair!

She got out of her car—a bright yellow 1970s relic—and walked purposefully towards Q Brasserie.

* * *

Leo Quartermaine heard Sunshine approach before he saw her.

He associated that tap-tapping rhythm on the polished concrete floor with her, despite only having met her
once before.

He was betting she was wearing another pair of ankle-breaking high heels.

To be fair, she
was
a shoe designer. But shoe designers made flats, didn’t they? Like those ballet-slipper things. Not that he could picture Sunshine Smart in ballet slippers. Or trainers—crikey!

‘Leo!’ she called out, as though he were a misplaced winning lottery ticket, suddenly found. He was
starting to think ‘ecstatic’ was her default setting.

‘Sunshine,’ he said, managing not to roll his eyes.
Sunshine!
How had her parents put that on the birth certificate without gagging?

‘So!’

He’d already clocked the fact that she often started her utterances with ‘So!’ As though an amazing revelation would be out of her mouth on the next breath.

‘News!’ she said, tap-tapping
towards the window table where he was sitting.

And, yep, six inches of spike on her feet. In electric blue patent leather. God help his eyes.

She stripped off her trench coat as she made her way across the floor, causing her long necklace to swing. He’d noticed the necklace last time. Pretty. Three types of gold—a rose gold chain, with a yellow gold sun and white gold moon dangling from
it.

Miraculously, her dress was an understated colour—pale grey-blue. But it fitted her like a second skin and had one of those things—pellums? Peplums? Whatever!—that dragged a man’s eyes to a woman’s waist and hips. She had a hell of a figure, he had to admit. Curvaceous, like the hourglass pin-up girls of the 1950s.

Leo got up to pull out a chair for her on the opposite side of the
table. She took the opportunity to kiss him on the cheek, party-girl air-kiss style—except it wasn’t like any air-kiss he’d ever had—and he’d had plenty. It was a smacking, relishing kiss.
Not
the kind of kiss to slap on a person you barely knew.

Oblivious to his momentary shock, Sunshine tossed her trench coat carelessly onto a nearby chair, sat, and beamed up at him. ‘Did you hear? They’ve
set the date. October twentieth. So we’ve got two months. A spring wedding. Yay!’

Yay?
Who the hell said ‘yay’? Leo returned to his seat. ‘Not much time, but doable.’

‘Oh, it’s
oodles
of time,’ Sunshine assured him airily. ‘So! I’ve made a list of everything we need to do, and now we can decide who does what, give each task a deadline, and go from there.’

‘List?’ Leo repeated the
word, apprehensive. He liked lists. He worked well with lists. The haphazard approach to life of his wastrel and usually wast
ed
parents had made him a plan-crazy list junkie. But this was a simple dinner he could organise with his eyes closed while he whisked a chocolate soufflé.

For once in his life he
didn’t
need a list.

‘Yes.’ She reached down beside her to where she’d dumped the
silver leather bag she’d been swinging when she walked over and pulled out a dazzling chartreuse folder. She removed some paper, peeled off two pages and held them out to him. ‘Your copy. I’m actually not really into lists,’ she confessed—
surprise, surprise
. ‘So it may need some work.’

He looked at the first page. At the big, bold heading:
The Marriage Celebration of Jonathan and Caleb, October
20th
.

Seeing the words was like a punch to the solar plexus. It was real. Happening. Imminent. His baby brother was getting married.

What were the odds? Two Aussie guys who’d never met in their own country moved separately to New York, met at a random party, and—bang!—happy-ever-after.

It didn’t matter that Leo didn’t know Jonathan, because Jonathan made Caleb happy. It didn’t matter
that the ceremony was taking place on the other side of the world, because the place was just logistics. It didn’t matter that their marriage was only going to be legally recognised in a handful of countries, because
they
knew what it meant wherever they were.

Leo wondered if he would have had more luck meeting the love of his life if
he
were gay. Because it sure wasn’t happening for him
on his side of the sexuality fence. The succession of glossy glamour-pusses who seemed to be the only women that came his way were certainly lovely to look at—but they didn’t
eat
,
and they didn’t occupy his thoughts for longer than it took to produce a mutual orgasm.

He wanted what Caleb had. The one. Someone to get into his head, under his skin, to intrigue and dazzle and delight him. Someone
who burrowed into his core instead of bouncing off his shell. Someone to belong to. And to belong to him.

He thought back to his last failure—beautiful, talented singing sensation Natalie Clarke. She’d told him on their second date that she loved him. But nobody fell in love in two dates! Nope—what she’d loved was the concept of Leo the celebrity chef. She’d wanted them to be part of ‘the
scene’. And who said
‘the scene’
with a straight face? He couldn’t think of anything worse than ‘the scene’...except maybe her predilection for snorting cocaine, because apparently
everyone
on
‘the scene’
did it.

In any case, she was a relentless salad-with-dressing-on-the-side type. And she liked playing her own cheesy love songs in the bedroom
way
too much.

With a repressed shudder
he brought his mind back to the present and ran his eyes down the list.

Budget

Wedding Party

Master of Ceremonies

Venue

Menu

Alcohol

Guest List

Invitations

Flowers

Lighting

Music

Cake

Clothing

Shoes

Hair and Make-up

What the hell...? Why did
that
need a subheading?

Gift Registry

Photographer

Videographer

Wedding Favours

Order of Proceedings

Toasts and Speeches

Printing

Seating Plan

Each item was bullet-pointed with a little box that could be ticked, and accompanied by questions, comments and suggestions.

Good thing she wasn’t into lists!

Sunshine must have noticed the stunned look on Leo’s face, because she asked, ‘Have I screwed
it up?’

‘This is...’ he started, but words actually failed him.

‘Exciting?’ Sunshine suggested, looking as if she were about to celebrate Christmas, her birthday
and
the wedding all at once.

‘Comprehensive,’ Leo corrected. He ran a hand across his scalp. Her eyes followed his hand. She was frowning suddenly. He wondered what was going through her mind.

She opened her mouth.
Closed it. Opened it. Closed it. Sighed.

Then, ‘So!’ she said. ‘The venue is the first thing. Because it’s bound to be tricky, securing somewhere wonderful with only two months’ notice.’

‘It may have escaped your notice, but I am a restaurateur,’ Leo said. ‘I
have
venues. I
am
venues.
And
menus. And
booze
.’

Sunshine seemed startled. ‘Oh. I just assumed we’d be too late to get a
large group booked into one of your places. That’s why I’ve suggested somewhere like the hotel on—’

‘My brother is
not
celebrating his marriage in a hotel.’

‘Okay. Well, there’s that lovely place that used to be a stately home in—’

‘Or in an old house.’

‘Then perhaps the new convention space—which is not as tragic as it sounds. In fact it has a—’

He slammed his hand on
the table. ‘No!’ He stopped, reined in the spurt of annoyance. ‘No.’
Better. Calmer.
‘We have a perfectly...’
Reaching, reaching...
‘Perfectly perfect...’
hmm, thesaurus required
‘...private room in this restaurant.’

The only sign that Sunshine had noted his ill-tempered hand-banging incoherence was a tiny twitch at one side of her mouth. He feared—he really feared—she was trying not to laugh.

‘Which seats...?’ she asked, her head on one side like a bird, with every indication of deep interest.

‘Seats?’

‘How many people does the private room seat?’

‘Twenty-five.’

Sunshine crossed her arms—seemingly unaware of how she was framing her rather spectacular breasts—and looked at him, apologetic. ‘See? Me and lists! I got the order wrong. “Guest List” should have come
before “Venue”. So! Let’s take a step back. I have Jon’s invitation list. Do you have Caleb’s?’

‘It’s coming today some time.’

‘Because there are seventy-five people on our side.’

He stared. ‘You are not serious.’

‘I assure you, I am. And that’s with a savage cull.’ She shuddered theatrically as she uncrossed her arms.
‘Savage.’

‘Caleb wants an intimate dinner.’

‘That’s not my understanding, but I’ll tell you what—you check with Caleb overnight, and we can reconvene tomorrow.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘I hate it when people try to soothe me.’

Sunshine bit her lip. ‘Oh, dear, and I was
trying
to sound like I was keeping an open mind. But...okay. I’ll tell you straight out, if you prefer: there is no way this is going to be a dinner for twenty-five people.
And there’s no use getting in a snit about it—it’s just the way it is.’

‘I’m not in a snit.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I do. Say so.’

‘All right.’

‘I’m
not
.’

‘All
right
.’

Another mouth-twitch. She was
definitely
trying not to laugh.

And Leo had had enough. ‘I have to go,’ he said, despite not being needed in the kitchen for fifteen minutes.

‘Yes, I can see
everything’s getting under way here. I love the buzz of restaurants. Jon and I used to try a new restaurant every other week. I miss him. He’s so...so important to me.’ Her voice wobbled the merest fraction as she added the last bit.

Uh-oh, tears.
Leo didn’t do tears. He felt himself shrink back. Wanted to run.

But her face morphed into something tortured, right before his eyes, and
he froze. It was as if a layer had been ripped off her in one half-second. Her eyes were strained and yet also vacant, as if she were seeing...emptiness. Her lips trembled. Her skin looked ashen. Every trace of happiness was obliterated. The contrast with her normal exuberance was dramatic—almost painful to see.

All this because her best friend had moved overseas and she missed him?

Huh?

Leo wanted to touch her. Pat her hand or...something. Say...something. He who never touched, never comforted, because he didn’t know how. His hands fisted uselessly.

Then Sunshine blinked. Shook her head—tiny, tiny movement. And in another half-second everything clicked back to normal and Leo breathed a silent sigh of relief.

‘Um...’ he said. Yep, he was super-articulate today.

But she was smiling blindingly, as though that moment had never happened, so he did the sensible thing and shut up.

‘We haven’t got far down the list,’ she said. ‘What about if I shortcircuit a few things? You know, invitations, et cetera.’