Kiss the Bride (5 page)

“You have no idea how bored I am.”

“Let’s listen to your lungs.” Van Zandt took a stethoscope out of his pocket. He placed the earpieces in his ears and pressed the bell of the stethoscope against Nick’s back. The damn thing felt as if he’d just pulled it out of the freezer. “Deep breath.”

Nick inhaled.

“Have you been eating a healthy diet?”

“I have a slice of pizza now and again, but otherwise I’m doing the whole rabbit food thing and staying away from beer like you said the last time I was here.”

“Good, good.” Van Zandt nodded.

“Why am I not healing? You really think it’s just because I haven’t been taking the pain pills?”

“Could be. How’s your stress level?”

“I told you, I’m going stir-crazy with nothing to do.”

“Anything else going on?” Van Zandt finished listening to his lungs and came around the examination table to lay the stethoscope against Nick’s heart.

“You mean beside the fact my grandfather died two days after I got wounded on the job? And my income has been cut by a third while I’m on disability? And oh, yes, my ex-wife, who left me on our honeymoon last year, just sent me a wedding invitation. Guess what? She’s three months pregnant, marrying a famous stand-up comedian, and moving to Martha’s Vineyard.”

Nick didn’t like discussing his private business,
especially that bit about Amber, but he was playing the sympathy card, hoping Van Zandt would feel sorry enough for him that he’d sign that release form.

“Really?” Van Zandt looked surprised and dropped his stethoscope back into the pocket of his lab coat.

“Yeah, my life’s a regular soap opera. You’ve heard it on TV, maybe read it in the tabloids. I’m the schmuck who got cuckolded by Gary Feldstein.” It occurred to Nick that he felt as empty inside as those new plastic specimen cups lining the shelf over the sink.

He’d closed himself off emotionally and he was dead numb. Talking about it was like poking your arm with a needle after it had been submerged in ice-cold water for a long time—you’d already lost all the feeling, it was the perfect time for more pain, before the arm woke up and started throbbing like hell.

“Ouch,” Van Zandt said.

“Tell me about it. See why I have to get back to work? My mind’s a mess. I need the distraction.”

“I see why you’re not healing. Excess stress takes a tremendous toll on our bodies. I’m getting married myself in August, so I do understand the anxiety involved. Although I can’t imagine what it must be like to get dumped on your honeymoon.” Van Zandt tried to appear empathetic, but only succeeded in looking constipated.

“I would say congratulations, Doc, but I’m sorta soured on the whole subject of marriage.”

“Understandably so.”

“Word to the wise. Watch your back.”

“I appreciate the warning, but I can assure you my fiancée isn’t like that.”

“Yeah,” Nick muttered. “That’s what I thought.”

“My fiancée and I have known each other since we
were children. She’s sweet-tempered, quiet, and modest. I’ve never met anyone so easy to get along with.”

“Well, you know what they say about the quiet ones.”

“I have no cause for concern.”

The son of a bitch looked so damn smug. Like he had the world by the balls. As if he was so sure that something like that could never happen to him.

“Whatever you say.” Nick shrugged. “Now that you understand where my tension is coming from, will you sign the form and put me back to work?”

Van Zandt’s smile was kind, but firm. “Nice try, but no. Now let’s have a look at that leg.”

He pulled back the paper sheet to study Nick’s injury, his fingers gently probing the knee. The wound was surprisingly tender, the scars still pink and fresh-looking. The kneecap was slightly puffy. Nick sucked in his breath at Van Zandt’s poking.

“It shouldn’t be this tender two months post-op.” Van Zandt shook his head. “And you’ve still got a lot of swelling. You’re going to have to baby it more. Take your pain pills. I know you’re an intense guy, but for God’s sake, man, try to find a way to relax.”

Nick sighed. Dammit all. “How much longer?”

“I’m headed to Guatemala with a surgical team, and I’ll be out of the country for six weeks,” Van Zandt said. “We’ll have Maryanne schedule you for an appointment the day after I get back.”

“Six more weeks!”

“I know it seems like a long time, but it’s what your body requires. If I allow you to go back to work too soon, you could have a relapse that would end your career as an undercover detective.” Van Zandt scribbled something on a prescription pad, tore off the top sheet, and handed it to
him. “This is the name of a good massage therapist. She’ll teach you some relaxation techniques to get you through your recovery. In the meantime, try to find a low-key hobby to keep your mind busy.”

Massage therapy? Relaxation techniques? Hobbies? What a load of crap. He needed his job back. It was the only thing that grounded him when the world was shifting beneath his feet.

“If you require anything more while I’m out of town, Dr. Bullock will be standing in for me.”

Hmm, Nick thought. Maybe he could talk this Bullock character into signing his release form.

“And don’t think Dr. Bullock will send you back to work,” Van Zandt said. “I’m making a notation in your chart.”

Ass wipe.
“You know me too well.”

“Go ahead and get dressed. You can leave through the doctors’ entrance on the south side of the building. It’s closer to the parking lot so you won’t have so far to walk.”

“Thanks,” Nick forced himself to say.

Before he left the room, Van Zandt rested a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “It’s going to be all right if you do what I tell you. I promise. But if you don’t…” He didn’t finish his sentence. The warning was implicit.

Easy for him to say. He had a killer job and two good legs and a fiancée who loved him.

“Yeah.” Nick nodded.

He’d come to his appointment with the expectation that he’d be returning to work on Monday. He was leaving with the realization he was stuck with himself for six more weeks, or risk losing his career forever.

Fuck it all. He felt like he’d just received a roundhouse kick to the head.

Again.

The sleek architecture of the Medical Arts Center in northwest Houston where Evan leased office space exuded a clean, faultless charm achieved only by brand-new buildings.

Feeling like an extra from
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
trying to sneak into the Oval Office for an audience with the president, Delaney paced the sidewalk outside the doctors’ entrance.

The black, thigh-high, vamp boots Jillian had loaned her pinched her toes, and the pink raincoat covering her skimpy black bustier, garters, and fishnet stockings rustled noisily. A modest-sized dildo, which Tish had insisted she buy when they’d finally made it over to the sex toy store, rested in her raincoat pocket.

With both hands she carried a small, lightweight tarp pilfered from her father’s barbecue grill. She had come fully prepared to carry out this sexy hostage-taking fantasy.

But doubt was making mincemeat of her already shaky self-confidence. Nervously, she nibbled her bottom lip, and then realized she was mangling her lipstick and forced herself to stop.

Remind me again why you’re doing this?

To improve sex with Evan.

Is that really the reason?

Okay, if she was being truly honest with herself, she had to admit it was a last-ditch effort. Before she hitched her life to Evan’s forever, she wanted to know if the possibility of sexual electricity even existed between them.

And if it doesn’t?

Delaney shook her head. Tish and Jillian and Rachael
and even her dead sister, Skylar, felt certain that taking Evan hostage for an afternoon of unexpected sexual delight was exactly the thing their relationship needed.

But what if they were wrong? What if Evan hated this surprise seduction? What if he refused to play along? Or worse yet, what if he did play along, but the seduction did nothing to spice up their sex life?

She checked her watch. Twelve-oh-five.

Where was he?

She’d phoned Evan early that morning and invited him to lunch. He’d promised to meet her in the parking lot outside of his office at noon.

He’s a doctor, his time isn’t his own. Patience, patience. He’ll be here.

Good advice, except the waiting was ramping up her nerves and making her palms sweaty. Quickly she peeked through the darkly tinted back door to see if she could spot Evan in the hallway.

Ooh, ooh, there he was, head down, ambling toward the exit.

Excitement spun through her. Pulse pounding, she jumped behind the door.

This is it.

She raised the tarp up in front of her, ready to toss it over his head when he came through the door.

Several seconds passed.

Where was he? What was taking so long?

Just as she was about to take another peek, the door swung open.

A thrill, unlike anything she’d ever felt, took swift possession of her. Delaney pitched the tarp down over his head, whipped the dildo from the pocket of her raincoat, and then pressed the tip of it against his spine.

“This is a gun,” she growled in a movie moll voice. “Do as I say, or you’re gonna get a bullet in your back.”

In her imagination Evan’s knees would quake. He would raise his hands over his head, beg her not to kill him, and then promise to do whatever she demanded. She was floored by the realization that having that kind of power turned her on.

But that was not what happened.

One minute she was teetering on her stiletto boots and the next minute she was lying flat on her back, pinned to the cool green lawn and peering up at the bristling stranger who was staring down at her. His hands were wrapped around her wrists and his knees were between her legs.

Everything had gone wrong. Her blood pumped crazily. Oh, God, oh, no, it couldn’t be.

A bizarre sensation of déjà vu crushed her. This was crazy, insane, impossible.

Thunderstruck, she blinked, unable to believe what she was seeing. Instead of snaring her fiancé, she had bagged the man from that weird vision she’d had while she was in Claire Kelley’s shop when she’d first touched the wedding veil. The hard-jawed warrior. The man she’d seen herself marrying.

You’re imagining things. This can’t be the same guy you saw.

But it was.

Same uncompromising chin, same dark mysterious eyes, same irresistible pull of attraction.

She gulped.

The barbecue grill tarp lay on the sidewalk beside them. Her raincoat hung open, revealing her scanty boudoir attire, and she was still holding that damnable dildo clutched in her fist.

Shame burned a red-hot blush up Delaney’s neck, a rampaging forest fire of embarrassing heat consuming her entire face.

His gaze raked over her.

She watched him sizing up the situation with a look that told her he’d seen it all and done even more. Nothing surprised this guy.

Like her fiancé, he was dark-haired and had a similar build—slightly taller than average height, broad shoulders, narrow hips—but the resemblance stopped there. Evan’s eyes were blue, but this guy’s eyes were so brown they seemed black.

Like coffee. Or cocoa beans.

She sensed he was a man who felt everything intensely, and he didn’t need much of a reason to fight. Or to make love. He was a man who dared. A man who took risks.

And he
was
the man from her vision.

Something in his face spoke to her. He would be fiercely loyal and protective, making his woman feel special and cared for. And, illogically, she wanted to be that woman.

His eyes kept drilling into hers as if on some level he recognized her too.

Silly? Fanciful? Or something metaphysical?

Delaney’s chest tightened. It was as if every muscle in her body had converged around her heart and they were squeezing in rhythmic, synchronized contractions. Suddenly there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the entire world to pacify her hungry lungs. She was breathless and struggling hard to regain some small shred of self-control.

Then again, he appeared to be doing some struggling of his own. Actually, he looked…
flattened.
As if she were a tornado and he was a trailer park.

His pupils constricted and he moistened his lips. His pelvis was pressed flush against her thigh and Delaney realized, to her total mortification, that he was halfway aroused.

“Is this the gun you were planning on shooting me with?” He wrenched the dildo from her hand and sent her a sardonic smirk. “ ’Cause it looks like it’s already gone off half cocked.”

Oh, God, kill me now.
“I thought… I thought… you were someone else.”

“Clearly.”

He arched an eyebrow and took another look at her body, this one long and lingering. His eyes darkened from coffee-colored to inky black as he carefully cataloged the lacy details of her bustier.