The Morning After The Wedding Before

‘You’ve been thinking about me, too.’ He caught her hand, held it in a relaxed grip.

‘No.’

His thumb whisked over her knuckles. ‘Admit it, Emma.’

She made one final, albeit half-hearted attempt to pull away, but his gaze held hers and he lifted her hand to his chest. His heart thumped strong and deep.

‘You’ve been wondering about our first kiss all day,’ he continued in that low, seductive tone. ‘Like when …’

Still massaging the base of her scalp, he leaned in, touched warm, firm lips to hers.

Oh, my
.

‘And where …’

Heat flowed like honey as he slid the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip.

‘And how …’

When not teaching or writing,
ANNE OLIVER
loves nothing more than escaping into a book. She keeps a box of tissues handy—her favourite stories are intense, passionate, against-all-odds romances. Eight years ago she began creating her own characters in paranormal and time travel adventures, before turning to contemporary romance. Other interests include quilting, astronomy, all things Scottish, and eating anything she doesn’t have to cook. Sharing her characters’ journeys with readers all over the world is a privilege … and a dream come true. Anne lives in Adelaide, South Australia, and has two adult children. Visit her website at www.anne-oliver.com She loves to hear from readers. E-mail her at [email protected]

Recent titles by the same author:

THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT A REBEL HER NOT-SO-SECRET DIARY

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Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Sue.
You’re loyal, generous, compassionate and caring,
touching people’s lives in the best way, and a
true friend on life’s amazing and unpredictable journey.

Thank you for always being there! Anne

E
MMA
Byrne refused to give in to the nerves zapping beneath her ribcage like hysterical wasps. She was a sophisticated city girl, she wasn’t afraid of walking into a third-rate strip club. Alone.

But she paused on the footpath in King’s Cross, Sydney’s famous nightclub district, and racked her brain for an alternative solution as she eyed the bruiser of a bouncer propped against the tacky-looking entrance.

Six p.m. on a balmy autumn Monday evening and the Pink Mango was already open for business. Sleazy business. She gulped down the insane urge to laugh—she’d been naïve enough to think the Pink Mango was an all-night deli.

But she’d promised her sister she’d deliver the best man’s suit to Jake Carmody, and she would. She could.

Pushing the big sunglasses she’d found in her glove box farther up her nose, she slung her handbag and the plastic suit bag over one stiff shoulder and marched inside. The sound system’s get-your-gear-off bump and grind pounded through hidden speakers. The place smelled like beer and cheap cologne and smut. Her nostrils flared in distaste as she drew in a reluctant breath.

Her steps faltered as a zillion eyes seemed to look her way.
You’re imagining it
, she told herself.
Who’d give you
a second glance in a dive like this?
Especially given her knee-length buttoned-up red trench coat, knee-high boots and leather gloves, all of which she’d left on the back seat of her car since last winter. Which, when she thought about it, could very well be the reason she was garnering more than a few stares …

Better safe than sorry. Thank heavens for untidy cars and a convenient parking spot.

Ignoring the curious eyes, she turned her attention to the décor instead. The interior was even tackier than the outside. Cheap lolly pink and gold and black. The chairs and couches were covered in a dirty-looking fuchsia animal print. A revolving disco ball spewed gaudy colours over the circulating topless waitresses with smiles as fake as their boobs.

At least they
had
boobs.

Most of the early-evening punters were lounging around a raised oval stage leering over their drinks at a lone female dancer wearing nothing but a fuzzy gold string and making love to a brass pole. A hooded cobra was tattooed on one firm butt cheek.

Far out
. Despite herself, Emma couldn’t seem to tear her fascinated gaze away.
What men like …
She’d never have that voluptuousness, nor the chutzpah to carry it off.

Maybe that was the reason Wayne had called it quits.

Shaking off the self-doubt, she blew out a deep, slow breath and turned away from the entertainment. Just what she
didn’t
need right now. A reminder of her physical inadequacies.

I don’t care if you and Ryan are getting married next weekend, little sister, you owe me big-time for doing this
.

‘I’ve got an appointment to get my nails done,’ Stella had told her with more than a touch of pre-wedding desperation in her voice. ‘Ryan’s in Melbourne for a conference
till tomorrow and you don’t have anything special on tonight, do you?’

Stella knew Emma had no social life whatsoever since the break-up with Wayne. Of course she’d be free. Wouldn’t have mattered if she wasn’t. As the maid of honour, how could she refuse the bride’s request? But a strip joint had
not
been part of the deal.

A man in an open shirt with a thick gold chain over an obscene mat of greying chest hair watched her from behind a desk nearby. His flat, penetrating gaze—as if he was imagining her naked and finding her not up to par—made her stomach heave. A bead of sweat trickled down her back—it was stifling inside this coat.

But he seemed to be the obvious person to speak to, so she moved quickly. She straightened her spine and forced herself to look him in the eyes. Not easy when those eyes were staring at her chest.

But before she got a word out he twirled one fat finger and said, ‘If you’ve come about the job, take off that coat and show us what you’ve got.’

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and, appalled, she tightened her belt. ‘I
beg
your pardon? I’m n—’

‘You won’t need a costume here, darlin’,’ he drawled, eyeing the garment bag over her shoulder. ‘We’re one down tonight so you can start on the tables. Cherry’ll show you. Oi, Cherry!’ His smoke-scratched voice blasted through the thick air.

Emma cringed as people looked their way, glad of her dark glasses. She summoned her frostiest tone. ‘I’m here to speak to Jake Carmody.’

He shook his head. ‘Won’t make a scrap of difference, y’know. Seen plenty just like you pass through the door hiding behind a disguise, expecting to make a quick buck on the side.’

‘
Excuse me?
Just tell me where I can find Mr Carmody so I can finish my business with him and be
out of here
.’

Those pale flat eyes checked her out some more as a woman approached toting a tray of drinks. She was wearing eighties gold hot pants and a transparent black blouse. Beneath her make-up Emma saw that she looked drawn and tired and felt a stirring of sympathy. She knew all about working jobs out of sheer necessity, and was grateful she’d never been quite so desperate.

‘Lady here wants to see the boss. Know where he is?’

The boss? ‘There must be some mistake …’ Emma trailed off. His PA had told her she’d find him at this address, but … he was the
boss
of this dive?

The woman called Cherry gave a weary half shrug. ‘In the office, last I saw.’

He jerked a thumb at a narrow staircase on the far side of the room. ‘Up the stairs, first door on the right.’

‘Thank you.’ Lips pressed together, and aware of a few gazes following her, she made her way through the club, keeping as far away from the action as possible.

The
boss?

Despite the heat, she shivered inside her coat. His lifestyle was none of her business, but she’d never in a million years have expected the guy she remembered to be involved in a lower-than-low strip joint. He already had a career, didn’t he? A degree in business law, for goodness’ sake.
Please don’t let him have chucked in years of study and a respectable livelihood for this …

Sleaze Central’s business obviously paid better. Money over morals.

She knew Jake from high school. He was one of Ryan’s mates, and the two guys had often turned up at home to catch up with her more sociable sister and listen to music. Emma had been either working one of her after-school
jobs or experimenting with her soap-making, but there’d been a few times when Stella had persuaded her to chill out with them.

Jake the Rake, Emma had privately thought him. A chick magnet. Totally cool, ever so slightly dangerous, and way too experienced for a girl like her. Maybe that was why she’d always tried to avoid him whenever possible.

Hadn’t stopped her from being a little in love with him, though. She shook it away. Obviously her young eyes had been clouded by naïveté and love was definitely not in her life plan. Not ever again.

She heard him before she reached the door. That familiar deep, somewhat lazy voice that seemed to roll over the senses like thick caramel sauce. She
was
well and truly over her youthful crush on him, wasn’t she? He was on the phone, and as she paused to listen his tone changed from laid-back to harassed.

The door was open a crack and she knocked. She heard a clatter as he slammed the phone down, a short, succinct rude word and then an impatient, ‘Come in.’

He didn’t look up straight away, which gave her a moment to slide her sunglasses on top of her head and look him over.

Sitting at a shabby desk littered with papers, he was writing something, head bent over a file. He wore a sky-blue shirt, open at the neck, sleeves rolled up over sinewy bronzed forearms. Unlike the rest of this dive, his clothing was top of the line. Her gaze lifted to his face and her heart pattered that tiny bit faster. God’s gift with a sinner’s lips …

An unnerving little shiver ran through her and she jerked her eyes higher. His rich, dark hair was sticking up in short tufts here and there, as if he’d been ploughing
his hands through it. Her fingers itched to smooth it down—

Good grief, she was lusting after a man who owned a seedy striptease venue—a man who not only used women but exploited them. Wanting to touch him made her as low as him and as bad as those pervs downstairs. But, despite her best efforts to ignore them, little quivers continued to reverberate up and down the length of her spine.

‘Hello, Jake.’ She impressed herself with her aloof greeting and only wished she felt as cool.

He glanced up. His frown was replaced by stunned surprise. As if he’d been caught in a shop window with his made-to-measure pants down. She blinked the disconcerting image away.

‘Emma.’ Putting his pen down slowly, he closed the file he’d been working on, took his sweet time to stand—all six-foot-plus of gorgeous male—and said, ‘Long time no see.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed, ignoring the tantalising glimpse of masculine hair visible at the neck of his shirt, the way his broad shoulders shifted against the fabric. ‘Well … we’ve all got busy lives.’

‘Yeah, it’s all go these days isn’t it? Unlike high school.’ He came round to the side of the desk with a smile that was like a lingering caress and did amazing tingly things to her body.

She took a step back. She needed to get out. Fast. ‘I can see you’re busy,’ she hurried on, keeping her gaze focused on his black coffee eyes. ‘I j—’

‘Are you here for a job?’

What?
She felt her jaw drop, and for a moment she simply stared while her brain played catch-up and heat crawled up her neck. The sod. The dirty rotten
sod
. ‘I phoned your
office—your
other
office—and your PA told me you were here.’

Her lip curled on the last word and she tossed the garment bag onto the desk, sending papers flying every which way. ‘Your suit for the wedding. If it needs altering the tailor says he needs at least three days’ notice, which is why I’m dropping it off tonight. Ryan’s interstate, and Stella had an appointment, so I—’

‘Emma. I was joking.’

Oh
. She glimpsed the twinkle in his eye and took another step back. Twinkles were dangerous. And why wouldn’t he joke? Because no way did she measure up to those voluptuous creatures downstairs. ‘I don’t have time to joke today. Or anything else. So … um … you’ve got the suit. I’ll be off, then.’

He watched her a moment longer, as if saying
What’s your hurry?
Beneath the harsh single fluorescent light she saw the bruised smudges and feathery lines of stress around his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.

Well, good, she thought. He deserved to be stressed for making her feel like an inadequate fool. As if her self-esteem wasn’t suffering enough after Wayne ending their relationship, and in this place …

‘So, it’s
Gone with the Wind
for us two, eh? Hope I can do Rhett Butler justice.’ He glanced at the bag, then aimed that sexy grin at her. ‘And you’re to be my Scarlett for the day.’

She stiffened at the darkly delicious—no,
bad
thought. But her blood pulsed a bit more heavily through her body. ‘I’m not your anyone. Why they had to choose a famous couples-themed wedding’s beyond me.’

He shrugged. ‘They wanted something sparkling and original and wildly romantic—and why not? Might as well have some fun on the big day. Everything’s downhill from
there.’ His long, sensuous fingers curled around the edge of the desk and he aimed that killer smile again. ‘Thanks for dropping it off. Can I get you a drink before you leave?’

Good heavens
. ‘No. Thank you.’

Crossing his arms, Jake leaned a hip against the desk, inhaling the fresh, unfamiliar fragrance that had swirled in with her. She was an energising sight for tired eyes. What he could see of her.

Tall and slim as a blue-eyed poppy. Even angry she looked amazing, with that ice-cold sapphire gaze and that way she had of pouting her lips. All glossy and plump and …

He fought a sudden mad impulse to walk over and taste them. Probably shouldn’t have made that wisecrack about a job here. But he’d not been able to resist getting a rise out of her. On the few occasions she’d been persuaded to join them she’d always been so damn serious. Obviously that hadn’t changed.

The muffled thump from downstairs vibrated through the floor. He rasped his hands over his stubbled jaw. ‘If I’d known you were coming I’d’ve arranged for you to drop the suit at my office. My
other
office.’

She drilled him some more with that icy stare. And he felt oddly bruised, as if she’d punched him in the gut with her … gloved hand.

‘I have to go,’ she said stiffly.

He pushed off the desk. ‘I’ll walk you down.’

‘No. I’d really rather you didn’t.’

The tone. He knew well enough not to mess with it and crossed his arms. ‘Okay. Thanks again for dropping the suit by. Appreciate it.’

‘Glad to hear that, because it’s a one-off.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow night at the wedding dinner.’

‘Seven-thirty.’ She hitched her bag higher. ‘Don’t be late.’

‘Emma …’ She glanced back and he thought once again of poppies. About lying in a field of them on a summer’s day. With Emma. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

She didn’t reply, but she did hesitate, staring at him with those fabulous eyes and allowing him to indulge in the cheerful poppy fantasy a few seconds longer. And he could have sworn he felt a …
zap
. Then she nodded once and her head snapped back to the doorway.

He watched her leave, admiring the way she moved, all straight and sexy and
classy
. He wondered for a moment why he’d never pursued anything with her back in the day. He’d seen her look his way more than once when she’d thought he wasn’t watching.

His lingering smile dropped away. He knew why. Emma Byrne didn’t know the meaning of fun, and she certainly didn’t know how to chill out. She wore
serious
the way other women wore designer jeans.