Stirring Up Trouble (9 page)

Sloane watched Carly’s face melt back into relaxed bliss as Bellamy described the food, right down to the little sprigs of dill on the cucumber-salmon canapés. Carly’s usual no-nonsense expression softened with pure happiness, but rather than giving Sloane the warm fuzzies, the sentiment panged through her as if it was covered in barbed wire.

What the hell? Her hand flew to her breastbone, as if she could extinguish the strange sensation with a simple cover-up. Sure, Sloane put stock in happily ever after, but it wasn’t like her to get all gooey at a simple wedding. Plus, seeing Carly get the fairy tale ending she so deserved was a good thing—no, make that a
great
thing. She and Jackson were perfect for each other, and Sloane hadn’t been kidding when she’d said their story was bestseller material. It was the very stuff romance novels were made of, for God’s sake, and it couldn’t have happened to two people more deserving of real-deal, forever-and-ever love.

So what was with her rib cage trying to impersonate a corkscrew at her best friend’s joy?

“Ah! Here’s the bride. Let me look at you, eh?” Carly’s mother, Francesca di Matisse, bustled into the dressing room, and the warmth on her face was unmistakable. Her thick Italian accent, laced with a nonsubtle Brooklyn cadence, was all-too-familiar, and it sent Sloane’s unease into rapid descent.

Their home-turf neighborhood had a grapevine as thick as one of the fifty-year-old oaks shadowing Sloane’s current residence at the bungalow. Even though her own mother was in New York, squawking over a hugely pregnant Angela, she’d surely hear every last detail of Carly’s wedding before the week was out. Which was certain to kick off the latest round of Sloane’s least favorite game: Why Aren’t
You
Getting Married?

Okay. So maybe that explained the corkscrew.

Carly leaned in, letting her mother fold her into a quick embrace. “Hi, Ma. Is the minister all set downstairs?”

“Of course. Although when he walked in, I had to assure him it was the same room we were in for last night’s rehearsal. It’s so beautiful, the way it’s all set up for the ceremony. But not more beautiful than you.” Francesca kissed both of Carly’s cheeks before pulling back to level Sloane and Bellamy with a proud smile. “You see this glow on her face? This glow comes from only one thing.” Francesca hooked a knowing finger at her daughter and smiled.

“
Mama!
Jeez. I haven’t even seen Jackson today!” Even though Carly could boss around a team of muscle-bound, tattooed chefs twice her size, her mother’s good-natured teasing stained her cheeks bright red. Bellamy clamped her teeth down on her bottom lip, surely in an effort to maintain decorum, but Sloane wasn’t so lucky. Eh, she’d never been big on etiquette, anyway.

“Wow, Mrs. D,” she murmured, the weird unease in her chest having been momentarily kicked to the curb by a fit of laughter. “That’s, uh, awesome.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Sloane Marie. You’ve been writing too many naughty books. I’m talking about love. It’s as plain as the nose on my face.” The shine in Francesca’s eyes was unmistakable as she looked at her daughter, and the obvious maternal pride boomeranged hotly through Sloane’s gut.

“Oh, right. That’s exactly what I thought you meant.” She put on a cheeky grin, but Carly’s mother didn’t buy it for a second.

“Save your smart answers,
cucciola.
You’ll find out one of these days, and all the sass in the world won’t save you from looking the same way.”

Sloane swallowed a sardonic laugh. “Did my mother put you up to this?” Lord, she couldn’t even get a reprieve when her mother was a whole state away.

“Come on, Ma. Let’s leave Sloane be, huh?” Carly put a hand on her mother’s arm, casting an apologetic glance in Sloane’s direction, but Francesca arched an unwavering brow.

“I know what I know. You might move around like a little hummingbird, but you have a good heart. You’ll find a man worth staying still for. Your mama can rest easy.”

Right. And then they could all ice skate in Satan’s backyard. Sloane’s mama didn’t even rest easy on Sundays. Plus, why would Sloane stay in one place when she could see the world?

“Tell you what, Mrs. D. When I find him, you’ll get the very first wedding invite. Promise.” Sloane crossed her heart, her fingernail gently clicking over the delicate beads of her dress, and helped Bellamy lift Carly’s gown from the garment bag.

Any focus on Sloane’s love life—or lack thereof—was summarily snuffed out by the sight of the simple, elegant confection of ivory silk. Sloane’s heart lifted right along with the layers of delicate fabric and intricate, subtly placed lace, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, she could ditch the weird feelings and get on with what was important.

Which turned out to be no less than four billion pictures, the lighting of twice as many candles in the room where the ceremony was being held, and a host of other small chores that added up to three hours’ worth of big exhaustion.

“You sure you don’t want to skip this and go to Vegas?” Sloane asked from the side of her mouth as the wedding planner finally guided them all into a line outside the double doors leading into the ceremony room.

Carly’s chuckle came from behind her, soft but definite. “Let’s save that for your wedding, what do you say?”

“I say it’s a good thing I already knocked Vegas off my bucket list. If we’re waiting for my name on the Elvis Chapel o’ Love, it’s gonna be a while.”

“What’s the matter, Russo? Afraid of the altar?” Adrian’s gravelly voice teased her from where he stood next to Carly, and Sloane turned to look at him. Adrian’s giant frame was imposing on a good day, and even in his suit, he looked menacing as hell. But rather than shrink, Sloane simply snorted and curled her fingers to mimic a telephone.

“Hello? Pot, this is the kettle calling. You’re looking a little dark over there.”

The wedding planner interrupted Sloane and Carly’s hushed laughter, as well as a few choice swear words from Adrian, with her cue for Carly to step back so they could open the doors.

“Last chance,” Sloane whispered, turning to look at her friend.

God, she was radiant, and the corkscrew hit Sloane again, full force.

Carly grinned. “I’m all set. Believe me.”

The room was truly breathtaking, with the fifty or so guests’ chairs swathed in rich ivory fabric, and the lights overhead softening the pale yellow walls down to a deep glow. Creamy white flowers and fresh pine greenery were interspersed around a wide, understated archway at the end of the aisle, and Sloane focused on a thick bough as she put one foot in front of the other. Low light spilled from crystal-encrusted chandeliers, offering enough illumination to see clearly, yet just the right amount of ambiance to make everything seem lit from within.

Oh, yeah. Ditching her issues for one night was going to be a piece of wedding cake, because everything about this felt perfect. By the time Sloane got to the end of the runner to fix Jackson with an exaggerated wink, she was full to the brim with happy excitement. She settled into place on the other side of the minister, and the dulcet cello music that had accompanied her down the aisle drifted to a graceful stop.

Everyone in the tightly knit crowd stood expectantly, turning their faces toward the back of the room, and the electric anticipation sent a prickle over Sloane’s nearly bare shoulders. The music started again, signaling the bride’s imminent walk down the aisle, and undiluted goodness splashed through her chest. She was sweeping her gaze over the small sea of profiles, all eyes on the now-open double doors at the back of the room, when her vision caught on the only face not turned to take in the bride floating down the aisle.

Gavin stood in the middle of the third aisle on the bride’s side, parked between Carly’s aunt Daniela and Bree. She knew she should be amused that crazy Aunt Daniela was wearing a god-awful hat festooned with black feathers, or that she should take in all the nuances of how shockingly pretty Bree looked without her trademark scowl.

But the beautiful, sinuous notes of the cello faded as if they’d been suddenly plunged under water, and the faces around her shrank and receded before turning into nothing more than indiscriminate blurs. Only one thing snapped into sharp relief, and it hit her with such intensity that all the air left her on one razor-sharp breath.

Gavin’s liquid brown stare was locked on her as if she was the only person in the room.

Chapter Nine

Even though they hadn’t been in a church, Gavin was fairly certain he’d go to hell for the hard-on he’d sported the minute Sloane stepped past those double doors to move down the aisle.

Thank God he hadn’t taken off his suit jacket before the ceremony. Not that the image of her had grown any less intense in the three hours that had passed since the minister had said, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Come on, Gavin thought as he stood in one of the shallow alcoves dotting the perimeter of La Dolce Vita’s bar area. There was no chance he could fight that kind of reaction when her dress was sex with a designer label. Go the extra step of putting it on Sloane’s lean silhouette instead of a padded hanger, and of course he was going to take notice.

Often.

Gavin’s gaze drifted across the restaurant’s warm green and terra cotta dining room, landing on the lady in question for the hundredth time tonight. His breath went haywire in his lungs just as it had the other ninety-nine times he’d clapped eyes on her, but he was well past trying to do anything about it.

The slip of black fabric molded to Sloane’s body, its skinny little straps and the long stretch of silk hugging her lithe angles as though she’d been poured into it inch by inch. It shimmered when she moved, not in a flashy way, but with the suggestion that there was something warm and decadent built into the fabric. The plunging neckline and side slit revealed just enough to drive a guy crazy wondering what she had on—or more to the point, didn’t have on—underneath it.

Sloane’s intoxicating laugh, both musical and robust, filtered across the candlelit dining room. As hot as the dress looked, it was nothing compared to the lit-up purity of her smile, like she’d simply bucked biology and decided to exhale happiness instead of carbon dioxide. Any guy with a pulse would be helpless to do anything but stare at her.

But then, she hadn’t caught just any man with a pulse shamelessly staring at her as the ceremony began. She’d caught him, and
red-handed
didn’t even begin to cover it. No wonder she’d only given him and Bree a drive-by hello as she mingled with the crowd during the reception.

Gavin grabbed a glass of sparkling water from a passing server and filed the thought under
forget about it
in his brain. Whether or not Sloane caught him staring, it didn’t matter in the long run. Yes, she looked unbelievable in her dress, but it wasn’t as if he was going to do anything about it.

No matter how badly he wanted to.

“Can we go home yet? They already cut the cake.” Bree’s grumble interrupted his heated thoughts, and for once, he was grateful for the churlish distraction.

“Glad to see you made it back from the bathroom with your good mood intact.” His attempt at humor fell prey to her frosty stare, leaving him to silently lean a forearm against one of the bistro-style tables in their nook by the bar.

“It’s hard to be in a good mood when you’re the only kid hanging out with a bunch of old people. I totally stick out.”

“You did just fine talking with Bellamy and her fiancé, Shane, during dinner,” Gavin said, purposely ignoring her jab. He had strategically chosen to sit with members of La Dolce Vita’s staff in order to increase the chances that they’d stick to polite, work-related conversation. That way, there would be less of a chance that someone would ask questions about their mom that might make Bree uncomfortable. For the most part, it had worked like a charm.

She sighed, a long, drawn-out sound he’d been hearing a lot of lately. “No,
you
did just fine talking to them. I don’t have anything to say about food, or cooking.”

Bree crossed her arms in a petulant knot and leaned forward on her bar stool, dropping her elbows to the table. Things had gone back to normal since their kitchen incident five days ago, with her offering the usual litany of complaints and him doing his best to counter them with patience he had to summon from somewhere around his toes.

Gavin’s smile tightened a notch, but he refused to let it fade. “Still, I work with a lot of nice people. You should give them a shot.”

Her frown was ever persistent. “None of them even know me. I don’t see why I couldn’t have just stayed at home.”

“Because I needed a date, remember?” Damn, his supply of calm was running low. Where was the happily social kid he used to call his sister?

She resorted to one of her dramatic eye rolls, but Gavin refused to let it bother him. “Come on, Bree. I know it’s not ideal, but could we at least try to enjoy the party, a little bit? We don’t have to stay much longer.”

An oddly familiar, cinnamon-spicy scent preceded an even more familiar feminine voice by less than a second.

“But where’s the fun in that?”

Sloane’s words hit him with a jolt, and he made an abrupt half turn toward her, only to find himself inches from her sparkling blue eyes.

“Hi, Sloane. You look nice.” His inner voice let out a serious snort at the understatement, but he smothered it with what he prayed was a casual smile.

“Thanks, boss. You look . . . like you always do. Fantastic suit, serious face.”

His smile broke into genuine territory. “Thank you, I think.”

“You’re very welcome.” She turned her attention to Bree, and Gavin noticed with surprise that his sister’s sour face had softened a notch. “Don’t tell me you two are ditching out on Pine Mountain’s event of the year before it really gets started,” Sloane teased. “Now that I’ve finally gotten all the requisite socializing out of the way, we can kick things up a bit. Come on, Bree. I won’t even ask you to write an essay about it. Cross my heart.”

She leaned in farther, and oh hell, her dress was even sexier up close, with a scattering of glossy beads emphasizing the deep V of the neckline. And did she have to smell so good, all dark and sweet like a decadent crème brûlée?

Gavin cleared his throat and double-checked to make sure his jacket was buttoned. “Bree’s a little concerned because she doesn’t know anybody, that’s all.”

Bree’s cheeks turned pink, her flush paving the way for a brand-new scowl. “And Gavin’s a little concerned because he doesn’t have a real date,” she flipped back with an overly angelic smile.

Damn it, why did she always think he was picking on her? He scrambled for something to smooth over Bree’s attitude, but Sloane just laughed that infernally hypnotic laugh that told him getting her out of his head was a complete impossibility.

“Lucky for you, I can help on both counts. Come on.” She jutted a slender arm, elbow first, in Bree’s direction.

Bree’s frown was heavy with suspicion. “Where are we going?”

“Jackson’s cousin has twin daughters about your age. They’re right over there, by the entryway to the main lodge. If you want, I can introduce you.”

Bree snuck a glance past the stacked stone fireplaces and cozy seating arrangements in La Dolce Vita’s front room, unable to hide the interest lighting her eyes. “Anything’s better than hanging out with a bunch of geriatrics. Okay, I guess.”

Across the room, the two blond girls giggled together in typical preteen fashion. Maybe if Bree finally made a friend or two in Pine Mountain, she’d hate it here less. Still, Gavin felt a little burble of worry.

“Don’t go too far, okay?”

“I can’t believe you don’t trust me to walk across the restaurant without getting into trouble.” Her whisper came out more like a hiss, and she whipped her arms back over the front of her sweater. “I’m thirteen, not three!”

Oh, for the love of God, couldn’t they go one day without having a blowout? Why did she have to turn his concern into the Spanish freaking Inquisition?

Gavin lowered his voice, willing false calm over every word. “I trust you. I just want to make sure you’ll be okay, that’s all.”

Bree looked poised for a fight, her lightly freckled brow furrowed in determination, but before she could open her mouth, Sloane took Bree’s hand and folded it into the crook of her arm.

“Oh, Sadie and Caitlin will take good care of her. Plus, Bree’s a smart cookie. She won’t do anything she’s not supposed to. Right?”

The move seemed to shock the argument right from Bree’s lips, and after a pause she said, “Right.”

Sloane shifted her focus back to him, brows raised. “Okay?”

She made it sound so easy, so no-big-deal, that he softened. He hadn’t meant to overreact, and after all, Bree was right. She wasn’t a little kid anymore. Gavin worked up an apologetic look for Bree, startled to see the same sentiment sweeping over her face, too.

“Sure. Go have fun. Just come find me if you need anything,” he said.

With the scowl wiped from her face, Bree agreed with a nod. The resolution prompted one corner of Sloane’s mouth to kick up into a victorious smile.

“Okay, then. I’ll be right back for you.”

“For me?” Gavin blinked.

Her smile curled into a smirk, sparking a gleam in her crushed-velvet eyes that shot right through his body.

“I promised to help both of you, didn’t I? As soon as Bree here is comfy with her new friends, you’ve got yourself a real date.”

 

 

Gavin didn’t know whether to be taken aback or turned on, but as he watched Sloane’s hips swivel in the same flawless, drop-dead sexy rhythm that had been driving him mad all week long, he had the feeling he was in for a long night. While he’d managed to tamp down the memory of their heated kiss enough to avoid a repeat performance, something about Sloane’s pouty, pink mouth and the unadulterated laugh that spilled from it without warning made him want to chuck the rules. In another life, that might’ve been okay, but now? There was more to think about than simply what he wanted.

Even when what he wanted was packaged in a dress that could cause nations to crumble.

From his vantage point by the bar, Gavin surreptitiously watched Sloane lead Bree past groups of people knotted in conversation to arrive at their destination by the door. After just a couple of animated gestures and a deep peal of laughter that shot through him from halfway across the room, Sloane had managed to single-handedly integrate his standoffish sister into the small group of girls standing by the entryway.

For someone claiming to be the antinanny, Sloane was one hell of a quick study.

He was about to turn his attention elsewhere and give Bree a bit of privacy when she leaned her head in to listen to something one of the blond girls said. Her lips tipped upward, breaking into a sweet, unabashed smile. The sight of Bree’s face, lit with something other than anger or sullen nonchalance, detonated in Gavin’s gut like a firecracker with a too-short fuse.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen that smile.

“Occasionally, I have a good idea, don’t you think?” Sloane reappeared at his side, nodding over her shoulder at the girls, who clustered together like brightly colored grapes on a summer vine.

How bad for him could Sloane really be if she was willing to do something like that for his surly sister?

“Or do you not think it was a good idea? I mean, they’re right over there, and I just thought . . . well . . .”

Gavin had been so distracted by his thought that he’d almost failed to notice the strange expression trickling over Sloane’s face, as if all her seductive certainty had been carried away by a stiff breeze. For a breath, she seemed unvarnished, like a completely pure version of the brazen woman he knew, and his pulse log-jammed in his veins.

With that vulnerable look casting shadows over her face in the low light by the bar, he wanted her now more than ever.

“Oh, uh, no. Not at all,” he said. Okay, no matter how attractive that glimpse of her had been, stammering wasn’t going to earn him any points in the suave category. “I should thank you, actually. If I’d encouraged her to go over there and make friends, she’d probably have told me it was an epically stupid idea.”

“Ouch. That’s a pretty steep price to pay for putting her on the spot,” Sloane observed, slipping her graceful frame into one of the two tall chairs in the cozy nook.

Gavin drew back in surprise. “I put
her
on the spot? She’s the one who gave me a hard time.”

Sloane leaned in, splitting the distance between their bodies by half. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Pointing out a lady’s unease in public tends to make her feel self-conscious. Especially if the lady in question is full to brimming with preteen hormones.”

It took Gavin a few seconds to attach the label
lady
to his kid sister, and then a full minute to link the ideas together in a way that made sense. “So, wait. All that attitude was because I said she was uncomfortable?”

Sloane sighed like he was a lost cause. “You said she was uncomfortable because she didn’t know anybody. As far as she’s concerned, you might as well have told the whole room she has no friends.”

“But I didn’t say that.” And damn it, as much as he hated it, Bree
didn’t
have any friends. Not that he’d have ever said so, because he wished like hell it wasn’t true.

Sloane’s words seeped past his automatic defenses and he paused as they soaked in. Wait a second . . . had he inadvertently said so?

Seriously, there had to be a secret decoder ring for this stuff.

“Of course you didn’t.” Sloane lifted her shoulders as if all of this hormone-fueled cloak-and-dagger business made perfect sense.

“That’s a hell of a logic leap for someone who claims to have no experience with kids,” he said, realizing only after the words were out that they might offend her. Wonderful. At this rate he was going to piss off the entire room, one woman at a time.

But Sloane just laughed. “Oh, my knowledge about kids is nil. All my experience in this matter comes from the belligerent-daughter department.”

“You?” he asked, certain she was pushing the boundaries of the truth. “Come on. You’re an independent woman with a successful career. That hardly qualifies as belligerent.”