Kiss the Bride (53 page)

This had to stop. She couldn’t keep lusting after him, not if she was going to make it through the wedding in one piece.

Shane’s left hand guided the lawn mower. His right hand balanced awkwardly against the handle.

Her gaze fixed on that damaged hand. Sadness for him, for them both, swelled inside her on equal par with her regret.

He saw her then, watching him. He killed the mower engine. His gaze lasered into her, sharp as a razor, burning right through her, causing her nipples to tighten underneath her shirt.

His expression was inscrutable, the cool countenance of a protector—a man who always needed someone to look after. That was why he was marrying Elysee; ultimately, it was the same reason he’d left
her
. She hadn’t let herself need him. At least not in the way that he needed to be needed.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“What are you doing mowing the lawn?” She forced herself not to watch as a bead of sweat trickled down his bare bicep.

At first it seemed as if he might not answer; his mouth drew tight into a straight line. But then, as if forcing the words from his mouth, he said, “Bored out of my skull with rehab. I figured I’d have a go at the last mow of the season. There’s something satisfying about putting in an honest day’s work.”

A hint of a smile quirked one side of his upper lip, and drew her attention to the fact that he hadn’t yet shaved
today. The sight of his beard growth made her shiver. She recalled exactly how it had scratched and tickled. Involuntarily, she arched her back; her breasts rose.

He sank his hand onto his hip, looking arrogant and dangerous. His grin widened.

No, no
, she thought as her knees quivered,
not that damnable lopsided grin
. She thought of last night in Louie’s bar, the dance they’d shared, the feelings that touching him again had conjured. Feelings she’d hoped she’d laid to rest.

Her lips craved to caress his mouth, to brush against his stubbled cheek; to lick the salt off his skin. But she couldn’t. Shane no longer belonged to her. He was Elysee’s man now, and she was just their wedding videographer. He was taboo and this feeling was forbidden.

Yet it thrilled her to the very core of her soul.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

The smile disappeared. His eyes darkened as his gaze flicked from her face to her body. She was wearing the same clothes she’d run errands in—a snug pair of jeans and a shirt that conformed to her breasts. He was definitely noticing.

“Elysee sent me.” She held up her camera bag. “She thought it would be a good idea to start on the
Our Love Story
video for the reception.”

“
Our Love Story
?”

“Well, your story. Yours and Elysee’s.”

“I’m not following.”

“You know. I take photographs from both of your pasts, mix them together with pictures of you two dating, add your favorite love songs, headlines of the times, and meld all of it into a pictorial video of the story of your romance.”

“Um… Elysee and I never really dated.”

“What do you mean? You’re getting married. How could you not have dated?”

“I was her bodyguard for over a year and then I saved her life. That’s our love story.”

It made perfect sense. Shane loved to save people and Elysee had needed saving. “Yeah, so when did you fall in love with her?”

“I don’t recall you and me having all that many dates before we decided to get married.”

“Look how that turned out.”

“Tish,” he said. An odd expression crossed his face.

“Shane.” She tossed her head.

“I’ve known Elysee longer than we were married.”

“Ouch.” Tish pantomimed pulling a sword from her heart. “Want your blade back, Zorro?”

“You started it.” He raked his gaze over her, his dark eyes narrowing.

They used to enjoy teasing each other with lighthearted banter. It had been the cornerstone of their relationship, back when things were good. Back before the very worst had happened. Tish caught her breath and forcefully shoved away the dark memory from her mind.

“I don’t have time to stand here bickering with you,” she snapped. She nodded toward the veranda where a row of heavy mesquite rocking chairs sat. “Get cleaned up and I’ll meet you on the front porch and we’ll go through your old photo albums.”

“I don’t have any old photo albums.”

“I do,” she said. “That’s what’s in my camera bag.”

“Where did you get old photos of me?”

“Your mother gave me copies of your childhood pictures when we were married, remember? Plus, I did take
a few of you myself. I’m a photographer, you know. That’s what I do. Take pictures, make videos.”

“As if that’s something I could forget.” His voice cracked. With sarcasm? Or another kind of emotion altogether? “And you kept photographs of me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” He looked amused. It was not a reaction she’d anticipated. “I would have expected you to scissor my head off.”

She shrugged, keeping it light. Trying to deny her heart had fallen forward against her chest. Trying not to think about all the other things she remembered about him. “Like it or not, Shane, you were a big part of my life. I’m allowed to keep your photographs if I want. You didn’t get sole custody of the photos.”

They stood staring at each other, only a few feet apart, both breathing in the heavy, still air thick with the scent of freshly mown grass. She knew they were being watched. Knew there were security cameras hidden all over the ranch and that there were servants and Secret Service agents within eavesdropping distance.

The knowledge only heightened her arousal. Tish desperately wanted to ask him if he’d kept any pictures of her, but she was too afraid of his answer to ask. If Shane said no, it would hurt her feelings and if he said yes, well, that might hurt even more. To think that he still cared. Even just a little bit.

Resolutely, she turned her back and picked her way across the lawn in her sandals, blades of damp St. Augustine clinging to her toes. She could feel the heat of Shane’s gaze on her back and it was all she could do to keep from turning around, running right back to him, and flinging herself into his arms.

She sat down in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch.

A maid appeared from seemingly out of nowhere. “Would you like some lemonade to drink while you wait, miss?”

“Um, yeah, sure. Thanks.”

It was weird, this presidential life, being waited on hand and foot. Living in a fishbowl. She wondered how Shane was going to like it.

Doesn’t matter if he likes it or not. It’s no concern of yours.

The maid returned with two glasses of lemonade and a plate of homemade sugar cookies. She set the refreshments on the round patio table positioned between the two rocking chairs and disappeared as silently as she’d come.

Tish sat sipping lemonade and gazing out at the red-and-white Hereford cattle grazing on the other side of the fence until Shane appeared ten minutes later smelling of sandalwood soap and shaving cream. He loomed over her, blocking out the sunlight.

Suddenly she felt a tiny splash of fear.

Calm down. It’s all right. You’ve got absolutely nothing to lose. You’ve already lost it all
.

The thought was strangely freeing. She took a deep breath, smiled up at him, and patted the rocking chair beside her. “Sit.”

He sat down awkwardly.

“Lean over.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“What is it?”

“Some things never change. I see you’re as argumentative as always.”

“Me? You’re the feisty one.”

“Stop being difficult. You’ve got a smudge of shaving cream on your earlobe.”

He didn’t lean over, but she did, reaching out to wipe the spot of white shaving cream away. It dissolved against the heat of her thumb.

Shane sat back in his chair, angling his body away from hers, then picked up the lemonade and took a long swallow. She watched his throat muscles work and realized he was more nervous than she was, but he’d carefully arranged his features not to give himself away.

The Secret Service had taught him a lot of tricks, but she’d been intimate with this man. She knew him inside and out. The clues to his emotional landscape were easy for her to read.

He held his shoulders like a razor, stiff and sharp. He sat leaning away from her as if an accidental brushing of their skin would unravel him completely. A sweet sense of power rippled over her. This man was four inches taller than her and seventy pounds heavier, yet he was afraid of her. Tish almost laughed. Instead, she reached for the top album on the stack. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

“I don’t…”

She pulled the album into her lap, cocked her head, and slanted him a sideways glance. “Yes?”

His gaze met hers and she felt it. That click. That lock. That old black magic.

One look in his eyes and she was jettisoned back in time to the moment that had sealed their fate.

Tish had never intended for him to be more than a fling. They were simply too different and she’d known it the minute she’d met him.

It was about sex.

Or that’s what she told herself. That was how it started out.

The morning after she’d taken him home from Louie’s was his day off. She asked him if he wanted to go to Galveston Island for the day and he’d surprised her by saying yes. They enjoyed the island, and neither of them wanted to go home. It was almost midnight when Tish suggested they walk onto the ferry and take a late night cruise.

“I don’t know about that,” he’d said, eyeing the sky. “Looks like rain.”

She touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip and gave him a wicked grin. “I don’t melt. Do you?”

He smiled back. They were the only foot passengers on the ferry and there weren’t even many cars. They climbed the stairs to the open-air deck. The wind was whipping and the waves were rocking and thick black rain clouds obscured the stars.

They found a little alcove between a support beam and the railing. Shane pulled her into his arms and crushed her mouth with his. It was the first time he’d kissed her, even though they’d been touching all day. And it was the most savagely wonderful kiss of her life. Full of sex and promise.

He pulled back from the kiss and shoved his fingers through her curls. “I love your hair,” he murmured huskily. “Autumn on display.”

She tasted rain on his lips, and that was the first time she realized it was sprinkling. She tasted her own desperate hunger for him. The intensity of her hunger was stark and startling. She yearned to be joined with him. Nothing less than full body contact would do.

Tish had never possessed much self-control, but around Shane, her willpower was nonexistent. The hold he had on her was mysterious and strong. He was not her usual type. Too darkly handsome. Too straitlaced.

But how she longed to undo those laces!

This whole thing was turning into a big game. Could she seduce him without losing her heart? It would be fun to try. And dangerous.

What if she fell for him? What then?

I won’t fall for him,
she promised herself, but secretly, deep inside where she kept the truth well hidden from herself, she was halfway there already.

His arms were around her and he pressed her spine into the side of the ferry. The rain picked up speed, falling warm and spiky against their skin. The wind caught the skirt of her short dress, whipping it around her legs. Brilliant lightning so white it hurt her eyes split the churning black sky with a single perfect hot-fingered fork.

In the stab of lightning, lash of rain, bluster of wind, there was no resistance, no logic, no regret. There was only pleasure. Great waves of sweet, intense pleasure.

“I’ve never done anything like this,” Shane rasped after he pulled his mouth from hers and stared deeply into her eyes.

“Neither have I,” she whispered back.

He looked like he didn’t believe her. That sort of hurt her feelings.

“I haven’t,” she insisted.

“I’m not saying that you have.”

“You think I’m easy. Because I like to have fun. Because I’m not interested in commitment.” They’d already spent the day talking about those things.

“No,” he’d said. “You’re wrong. That’s not it.”

“What is it then?”

“Every time I look at you, I can’t help but ask myself why me? Why would a stunning woman like you bother with a guy like me?”

No man had ever talked this way to her. He made her feel special. “What are you talking about? You’re handsome.”

He shrugged. “Not in a traditional way. I’ve been told I can be pretty scary-looking.”

His eyes were deep-set, almost black. His eyebrows were thick and dark. His chin was strong and determined. He could look a little scary to the timid sort.