It Happened One Wedding (13 page)

“I guess you’ll find out.”

Seeing Isabelle and Sidney approaching, Simon smiled. “Everything okay?”

“Yep, we’re good,” Isabelle said. Both she and Simon said their good-byes, climbed into his car, and the two of them were off.

Sidney leaned against her own car, watching as Simon and her sister pulled away. When they were gone, she exhaled and looked around at the picturesque wide green lawn and the elegant white mansion.

“Is it tough being here?” Vaughn asked, moving to stand next to her against the car.

She debated whether to answer that. “It brings back some memories I’d rather not think about.”

He nodded. They stood there for a moment, and then he looked at her. “How many of those dresses do you have, anyway?”

“Why? What’s wrong with my dresses?”

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with them.” His eyes traveled over her. “Not at all.” He seemed to debate something for a moment, then he moved and put his hands on each side of Sidney, trapping her against the car.

She eyed her position. “What are you doing?”

He bent his head, his words low and smooth. “Let’s just say, I know a really good way to get you thinking about something other than those unwanted memories.”

“You’re shameless,” Sidney said. Although her pulse had already begun to quicken, having him this close.

His devilish smile was his answer.

 • • • 

TWENTY MINUTES LATER,
Sidney dug her fingers into the smooth gray suede of Vaughn’s sectional couch as he pumped hard into her from behind.

“Tilt your hips back. Take me deeper,” he said in a guttural voice.

She angled her hips toward him, and moaned at the exquisite feel of having him so hard and thick inside her.

“Good . . . just like that, baby. Christ, I could fuck you forever,” he rasped.

Bracing her hands against the couch, she thrust back against him.
Yes
, she needed this after today. Right then, there was no thinking about the past, no worrying about the future—just wild, raw sex that made her feel
good
. She and Vaughn had started kissing in the stairwell of his apartment building, and by the time they’d gotten inside his loft, they’d both been so turned on they’d hadn’t even bothered to remove their clothes. Instead, he’d just bent her forward over the couch, pushed up her skirt and yanked down her underwear, and thrust deep into her with his own jeans unzipped around his hips.

She closed her eyes and gave into the sinfully erotic sensations washing over her. “Touch me,” she murmured, needing his hands on her.

“Stand up,” he said huskily, pausing to help guide her up. When she was partially upright, with his cock still buried inside her, he reached around and shoved down the sleeves of her dress. Next, he pulled down the cups of her bra. “Let me see those gorgeous breasts.”

Her nipples tightened instantly in anticipation as she clenched between her legs. He slid one hand lower, to her clit. She gasped as he began to tease her, using his fingers to spread her open. When he slowly began thrusting inside her once again, she moaned so loud she feared the neighbors would hear. The feeling was so exquisitely incredible, all she could do was grip the back of the couch and hold on for the ride.

“Give me your mouth,” he said, in a grit-edged growl.

She turned her head, her lips parting as his mouth took hers in a searing kiss, his tongue swirling around hers. She rocked her hips and started coming, a slow build that peaked so hard she cried out against him. Her legs quivered, but he held her, supporting her until she was steady on her feet once again.

She opened her eyes and saw that he was looking at her with a warm, wicked gaze.

“Again?” he asked.

Criminy.

VAUGHN CAME OUT
of the bathroom and found Sidney propped up against the pillows on his bed, looking at something on her phone.

“Already checking e-mail?” he teased. Not that it bothered him—the woman ran a four-billion-dollar private equity fund. Safe to say she was going to have to check her messages on weekends.

“Mmm,”
she said distractedly.

Vaughn pulled on his boxer briefs and jeans. “Everything okay?”

She peered up at him, frowning. “What does it mean if a guy e-mails you four times in one day, and then waits a week before e-mailing again? Is he busy at work, or is he playing games?”

Vaughn stared at her. “You’re e-mailing another
guy
? My God, woman, the condom’s still warm in the wastebasket.”

She gave him a look.
Ha, ha.
“I wasn’t e-mailing another guy, I was checking for work messages. I just happened to see this other e-mail, too.” She got out of bed and strutted by him, to where her underwear lay on the floor. “And don’t act as though you’re offended. Remember, you’re”—she dropped her voice, imitating him—“‘always upfront about not looking for a long-term commitment. But if you want a good time, then I’m your man, baby.’”

He grabbed her dress off the corner of the television, where it had landed after he’d impatiently tossed it over his shoulder during round two. “Still, there’s an etiquette to these things, Sinclair. Try to respect that.” He held out her dress, then playfully moved it away when she reached for it. When she glared, he grinned and handed it over for real.

She looked around for her bra and spotted it on the nightstand, laying under his pistol.

“So who’s the guy?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“What guy? Oh, right. Actually, he’s someone I went to high school with. He found me on Facebook, saw that I’d moved back to Chicago, and started e-mailing me,” she said.

Vaughn watched as she grabbed the strap of her bra and slowly, very cautiously, tried to slide it out without having to touch any part of his gun. He went over to the nightstand, picked up his gun and badge, and handed her the bra. “To answer your question, he’s not busy with work. He’s playing games.”

Letting her stew on that one, he headed out into the kitchen.

She came out of the bedroom a minute later, dress on and with her high heels dangling casually from one hand, her phone in the other hand. “You don’t know for sure that he’s playing games.”

Vaughn finished drinking the glass of water he’d poured himself. “Trust me, I know how guys think.” He poured a second glass of water for her. “When a guy e-mails or texts a bunch of times in a row and then goes radio silent for a few days, it’s a ploy to make you wonder whether he’s into you. Then, just when you’re starting to feel a little insecure about things, he makes contact, knowing that
now
you’ll be extra glad to hear from him.”

Sidney looked disgusted. “That’s so lame. And sneaky.” She looked at him, frowning. “Do you use these tricks?”

Please
. “I don’t have to use tricks.” Starving from all the bedroom—and living room—activity, he pulled out a bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa.

“Ah, right. Because you’re the extra-Special Agent Vaughn Roberts.” She took a seat in the bar stool next to him.

He winked. “Special enough to get you naked. Twice.”

She considered this, while helping herself to a chip. “All right, tell me more.”

“More what?”

“About how single men think. How to spot the good guys from the players.”

Vaughn scoffed. “I’m not giving you tips on dating other guys.”

“Why not?”

“Because we just slept together. It’s . . . weird.”

She reached out and touched his hand, smiling ever-so-sweetly. “Aw, baby, don’t be like that. We’re friends, right?” Her eyes danced mischievously. “Isn’t that what you guys always say?”

Probably he’d best take the Fifth Amendment on that one. So he answered instead with a question of his own. “Don’t you think you’re being a little intense about all this dating stuff? I thought all you happily-ever-after types believe that when the time is right, Fate will send ‘the one’ your way.”

“Well, Fate needs to get a move on,” she said, dipping another chip into the jar of salsa. “I’m up against the clock here.”

“Please don’t start telling me about how your eggs have an expiration date.” He pointed to her abdomen. “I don’t need to be thinking about how there are fertile eggs in there right after we had sex.”

“You used condoms and I’m on the pill. You might be studly, Roberts, but even your guys can’t make it past all that. Besides, I wasn’t talking about my
biological
clock, I meant that I’m up against the clock with this wedding here. I promised myself I’d have a date by then.” She pointed with her tortilla chip. “So come on. Give me the straight skinny on the single, urban, thirtysomething man. How do I know if a guy’s in it for the sex?”

“That’s easy—
all
guys are in it for the sex. The real question is whether he’s open to something on top of the sex.”

“And that’s where my checklist comes in.” She took a bite of her chip, looking quite confident in this.

“I hate to break it to you, but any guy trying to play you will know how to get around that checklist. Players know all the right things to say. They’ll send you sweet text messages wishing you good-night or saying they just want to see how your day went—because they know those kinds of things make women think they’re good guys.”

“Wait—pause right there.” Sidney grabbed her phone and began typing.

Vaughn stared at her. “Are you taking notes?”

“Hell, yes. This is good stuff.” She read out loud as she typed. “‘No texts good-night.’ Got it.” She looked up. “What else?”

“Seriously, Sinclair. I was just
inside
you ten minutes ago.”

She reached out and touched his hand, her smile sweet once again. “Aw, baby. And you know how special that was to me.”

Yep.
Reveled
in busting his balls.

EARLY WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON,
Sidney paced in her office, using a Bluetooth headset so she could stretch her legs. For over an hour, she’d been on a call with Gabe Ramos, the headhunter she’d brought in to help find a new CEO for Vitamin Boutique—someone who would be aggressive about growth without sacrificing profits and earnings.

She turned to the final candidate on the list of three executives she’d forwarded earlier to Gabe for discussion. “What about Karen Wetzel?” she asked. Wetzel was the executive vice president and chief merchandising officer of Toys “R” Us, and, according to Gabe’s intel, was looking to spread her wings beyond a VP position.

“I heard PetSmart has been talking to her about their open CEO position,” Gabe said.

Sidney mused over that. Wetzel had more experience in the specialty retail industry than any of the other candidates and, on paper, had been her top choice. “Do we know if that’s a done deal?”

“I can find out,” Gabe said.

She nodded. “See if you can reach her today. Tell her I’d like to fly her out to Chicago if she’s still considering other opportunities.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Gabe promised.

After she wrapped up her call, Sidney headed out to grab a quick lunch with Isabelle, who was downtown for a post-surgical follow-up with her OB-GYN.

“How’d it go at your doctor’s appointment?” Sidney asked over their salads at Corner Bakery.

“He said everything looks great with both me and the peanut,” Isabelle said. “He took a few ultrasound photos. Want to see?” She took the strip of black-and-white pictures out of her purse and handed it over.

“Oh my gosh.” Sidney pointed. “Look, there’s its nose. And a little hand.”

“The doctor joked that the baby was waving ‘Hi, Mom.’”

The alarm on Sidney’s biological clock suddenly blared so loud it sounded more like a fire drill. She hit the mental snooze button and smiled at her sister. “Are you going to find out the gender?”

Isabelle shook her head. “Simon and I decided that we want to stick with the theme of this pregnancy and be surprised.” She took a bite of her salad. “But enough about me—what’s going on with you? Anything happening on the guy front?”

Not much. Just Vaughn and I having crazy-hot sex after your pre-wedding tasting.
“Actually, I have a date tomorrow.” Sidney cocked her head. “Come to think of it, you might remember the guy—Chad Bailey. He was a year younger than me in high school—he would’ve been a senior when you were a freshman?”

Isabelle set down her fork. “No way. I had a huge crush on Chad Bailey back then. And I wasn’t the only one. I think half the cheerleading squad lost their virginity in the back of his Mustang GT.”

“Please tell me you weren’t one of them, because—
eww
—I’m not going on a date with someone you slept with.”

“You’re in the clear.” Isabelle cracked open the water bottle, looking eager for the details. “How did you two reconnect, anyway? By the way, you definitely need to call me after the date and let me know if he’s still as hot as he was in high school.”

“He found me on Facebook. We’ve e-mailed back and forth a few times, and he asked if I’d meet him for a drink.” Not that Sidney didn’t have doubts, particularly after Vaughn’s comments about what it meant when a guy rapid-fire e-mailed a woman and then fell quiet for a few days. But this was what single thirty-three-year-old women with blaring biological clocks did—they kept an open mind.

And apparently, they went on a
lot
of first dates.

 • • • 

THURSDAY EVENING, SIDNEY’S
date with Chad started off better than expected. They met for drinks at a wine bar not far from her office and fell into a fun, easy conversation as they reminisced about high school.

“I had a crush on you back then, you know,” he said, his brown eyes warm and friendly. “It broke my heart when you went off to college.”

This provided her just the opportunity she’d been looking for. “From what I hear, you survived just fine,” she said teasingly. “My sister told me some rumor about your Mustang GT and half the cheerleading squad?”

Chad laughed, looking embarrassed. “Oh . . . that. Well, I couldn’t wait around for you forever, could I?” Then he leaned in, speaking more earnestly. “But all jokes aside, I’ve grown up a lot since high school. That’s not who I am anymore.”

That sounded potentially promising. Sidney took a sip of her wine and set down her glass. “All right, then. Tell me who you are now, Chad Bailey.”

As they drank their wine, he told her all about his job as a consultant, his dog, and how he’d just bought a new condo in the Bucktown neighborhood. In return, he asked a lot of questions about her, and seemed genuinely interested in wanting to know more.

But there was just one thing.

During the date, he received several text messages—in fact, his phone chimed so often that he finally shut it off. “Sorry,” he said, glancing at the screen. “Just some co-workers getting together after work.” A few moments later, he excused himself to go to the restroom.

Sidney watched him go, thinking that this seemed a little . . . suspicious. Then again, it was possible that she was being too paranoid about such things. So far, Chad had sailed through her thirty-four-item checklist. Hell, he even had a dog—which, according to her research, was a big sign of commitment-readiness.

I hate to break it to you, but any guy trying to play you will know how to get around that checklist.

Deciding to go straight to the source, she pulled out her phone and texted Vaughn.

WHAT DOES IT MEAN IF A GUY GETS A BUNCH OF TEXTS WHILE ON A DATE, BUT DOESN’T WANT TO ANSWER THEM IN FRONT OF ME? SHADY, OR JUST BEING POLITE?

Moments later, she received Vaughn’s reply.

YOU’RE ON A DATE RIGHT NOW?

Clearly, this was self-evident.
YES, WITH HIGH SCHOOL GUY.

I THOUGHT YOU NIXED HIGH SCHOOL GUY.

I’M BEING OPENMINDED,
she shot back.

SAYS THE WOMAN WITH THE THIRTY-FOUR-ITEM CHECKLIST.

Okay, so they were getting a little off topic here.
JUST ANSWER THE QUESTION. CHAD WILL BE BACK ANY MINUTE.

OF COURSE HIS NAME IS CHAD.

She was tempted to take her phone and shake it. But seeing how she genuinely wanted Vaughn’s opinion, she took a deep breath and counted to ten.
ANY HELP? I’M GETTING MIXED SIGNALS HERE.

There was a long pause.

COME ON . . . YOU WOULDN’T WANT ME TO GET BURNED AGAIN, WOULD YOU?
she cajoled.

After a moment, he answered.

JUST BE DIRECT. ASK HIM STRAIGHT-OUT IF HE’S SEEING ANYONE.

She rolled her eyes. That was his advice?
DID THAT ALREADY. HE SAID HE’S NOT DATING ANYONE RIGHT NOW.

Vaughn’s reply was quick.
TIME TO CUT BAIT, SINCLAIR. HE’S PLAYING YOU.

She frowned.
HOW DO YOU KNOW?

THAT’S MAN-SPEAK. WHEN A GUY SAYS HE’S NOT DATING ANYONE ELSE “RIGHT NOW,” HE MEANS LITERALLY RIGHT AT THAT MOMENT. LAST NIGHT? ANOTHER STORY.

She scoffed at that.
GET OUT OF HERE.

ASK HIM YOURSELF.

Chad’s voice interrupted them. “Texting a friend to say how the date’s going?”

Sidney tucked her phone back into her purse as Chad took his seat. “Maybe.”

He winked at her. “So? How am I doing?”

“Time will tell,” she said jokingly. She toyed with the stem of her wineglass, keeping her tone casual. “Here’s a funny thing, going back to something we talked about earlier. My friend has this theory that when a guy says he’s not dating anyone else
right now
, he’s being tricky and just means right at that moment.”

Chad opened his mouth, as if to defend himself. Then, perhaps seeing something in her gaze, he stopped.

He reached for his glass and took a sip of his drink, his playful expression now replaced by a smug, busted smirk. “So I’m a little precise with my answers.”

And . . . another one bit the dust.

 • • • 

LATER THAT NIGHT,
Vaughn, aka Mark Sullivan, watched as Officer Pritchett brought his rented van to a stop. They were in their usual meeting place, an alley behind an abandoned warehouse on the south side of the city. Vaughn had arrived twenty minutes ago, in the Hummer H3 he drove while undercover as Sullivan, and had ensured that the location was secure. As always, Huxley, the backup team from the white-collar squad, and the team from the special operations group were all parked in various locations surrounding the alley, listening in on their encrypted radios via the live transmission wires.

Tonight’s meeting would be a turning point in Vaughn’s investigation. Having tested the waters with the prior run—in which Pritchett’s gang had smuggled several suitcases of handguns—he had decided to up the ante.

“Nice touch,” he said when Pritchett stepped out of the driver’s side of the van. He nodded at the police jacket the cop had displayed in the passenger window, with the letters
CPD
plainly visible.

Pritchett grinned smugly as another cop stepped out of the van—Officer Ortiz. “I thought so, too. Who’s gonna pull us over when we’ve got that in the window?”

Vaughn saw the headlights of a second vehicle approaching. He stepped back as another van pulled up, this one with Officers Mahoney, Cross, and Howard, all from the Sixteenth District.

After the second group of cops exited their vehicle, Vaughn told Pritchett and Mahoney, who’d been driving the second van, to pop the trunks. He headed over to Pritchett’s trunk first. Inside the back of the van were two large duffle bags. As he unzipped one of them, the cops all gathered around to watch.

Vaughn pulled out an M-16 assault rifle.

This
was where the shit got very real. In his hands was an untraceable military rifle, which the police officers believed to be fully functional. Given what they knew about “Mark Sullivan,” there could be no doubt in any of their minds that the weapon would end up in the hands of some thug who would use it against other thugs, civilians, or possibly even police officers.

Vaughn scanned their faces, waiting for any sign of doubt or hesitation among any of them.

Instead, Pritchett nodded at the M-16 and grinned. “And he’s got some friends.”

The rest of the cops laughed.

So much for doubt or hesitation.

Vaughn pulled out the other rifles and examined them. They’d been rendered inoperable by the agents in Indiana, although none of these assholes knew that. When finished with his “check” of both duffle bags, he zipped them up and then walked over to Mahoney’s vehicle.

In the back of the second van were two more duffle bags. Vaughn unzipped them and saw that each contained twenty handguns, a mix of Ruger, Glock, and S&W pistols. All the guns were nine millimeter or larger calibers and had altered serial numbers. After ensuring that the guns he’d “purchased” were all accounted for, he zipped the duffle bags back up.

“All right, let’s load them up,” he said.

He and three of the cops, including Pritchett, carried the duffle bags over to the Hummer and loaded them into the back of the SUV. Then Vaughn grabbed a large envelope from the passenger seat.

He handed the envelope, which was filled with cash, to Pritchett. “Fifteen thousand for another job well done. My seller in Indiana says he can have shipments ready every two or three weeks. Think you guys can handle that?”

“I told you, Sullivan. This isn’t fucking amateur hour here,” Pritchett bragged. He held up the envelope. “As long as you keep paying, we’ll bring as many guns as you want into this city.”

Vaughn smiled, glad to hear it.

When this whole thing blew up, that answer was going to bite these dickheads right in the ass.

 • • • 

VAUGHN LET HIMSELF
into his loft and peeled off yet another of Mark Sullivan’s designer suits. Famished, as usual, from the undercover work, he threw a frozen pizza in the oven, poured himself a vodka tonic, and settled in at the counter to check his messages. He’d had to leave his phone at home for the undercover op—obviously, Mark Sullivan couldn’t walk around with Special Agent Vaughn Roberts’s cell.

He saw that he had a couple of texts, one from Simon asking how it went with the groomsmen’s tuxes—
shit,
he’d forgotten about that—and another one from Mollie, the investigative reporter from the
Trib
, asking if he wanted to get together that weekend.

Shelving that question, he went back to his messages screen and saw Sidney’s texts from earlier that evening, when she’d been on her date. She’d never responded to his last message, he’d noticed.

Ask him yourself,
he’d said.

He wondered what High School Guy had said, and whether she’d finally nixed him for good.

So . . . ?
he typed, and almost hit send. But then he realized it was after midnight. Probably best not to text her right then, as if he was ruminating about her date in the wee hours of the night. Which he wasn’t, obviously.

He was just . . . curious.

Nothing more.