A Matchless Romance (Aisle Bound) (4 page)

Good thing she hadn’t taken a sip yet, or there’d be expensive French bubbles all over Milo’s coat. Of course, they’d probably blend in to the hideously busy pattern. Geez, just how transparent was she about her crush on Drew? Did her voice go all breathy when she mentioned him? ’Cause that needed to stop. Her arrangement with him was all business. Period.

“No. Well, for the purposes of this conversation, yes. If you’re rhapsodizing about the man I suspect, he’s temporarily under my custody.” Tabitha knew it sounded like Drew was under arrest. But until the ceremony was over, and blip-free at that, he needed to be. Just in case her instincts were wrong, and he really was as awkward as he feared. She didn’t want Ivy to regret inviting him.

A long-suffering sigh paired with another eye roll. Milo folded his hankie into something origami-like and tucked it back into his breast pocket. “Fine. He’s asking for you, anyway. Plus, he doesn’t give off the vibe of playing on my team.”

No kidding. Sexual longing oozed off him with the potency of expensive cologne every time she caught his eyes dipping down to her cleavage. The man liked women. Well, appreciated them. Lusted after them. And she had to admit she’d responded to that heat surging off him in waves. Any woman would.

No, Milo wouldn’t set off Drew’s radar. Tabitha indulged in a sip of champagne. In her book, the ever present champagne was one of the best things about a wedding. Right after the excuse it gave her to shop for fancy and impractical footwear. She slid her feet back into the painfully gorgeous peep toe stilettos with thin black ankle straps.

“Don’t pout. You’ve got next week off, right? While Aisle Bound is closed? Which means you’ve got time to come over and tell me every last little fantasy you’ve got about your perfect man.” When Milo’s brown eyes lit with a naughty twinkle, she held up a hand. “
Not
the sexy ones,” she hurried to add. “That’s a level of investigation you’ll have to conduct on your own.”

“I always do,” he said with a leer.

Tabitha shooed him toward the door. “Go on back and hang with the men. I need you to make sure everyone’s dressed, boutonnièred and ready for pictures in ten minutes. Bow ties straight. And that Sam’s cowlick isn’t sticking up.”

“I’m your man.” He snickered as he headed to the door. “Never thought I’d say that to a girl.” Before he made it past the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Michigan Avenue, a knock sounded on the door.

Tabitha inched open the door to the bedroom. Saw that Ivy was still wearing only a bustier and petticoat. Daphne and Mira held the acres of white dress between them. Ivy’s mom was stroking her daughter’s veil with an over bright glimmer in her eyes. Good. That meant she had time to deal with the surprise in the hallway. The door closed with barely a snick.

She took a deep breath and smoothed the poufy, mid-calf skirt of her forest green dress. Ready for anything, she nodded to Milo. “Let him in.”

Sure enough, Drew ambled past Milo into the room, a somewhat confused smile on his face. Not that she did more than glance at his face. Not with everything else going on with his outfit to distract her. With a final, exaggerated lick of his lips, Milo left.

“The guy who let me in sure seemed surprised to see me. Did I come to the wrong place?” Drew stuffed his hands in his pockets and craned his neck forward, looking from the wet bar to the ecru brocade sofa and matching chairs around to the impressive copy of a French provincial antique desk.

Where to begin? “Uh, no.” She did a head-to-toe once over of him, for the second time. Hoped that perhaps it would change with a second look. Or maybe a third. Drew’s sport coat was a sedate blue. But it had a giant patch on the breast pocket she couldn’t quite make out. A very bright red, white and blue striped tie.

The white pants, though, were what slayed her. Tabitha didn’t give a crap about the whole rule about only wearing white between Memorial Day and Labor Day. But this was a black tie, evening wedding. How could he think the white pants—let alone the white suede oxfords—at all appropriate? Sure, it wasn’t a loincloth and leather scabbard from one of his games. And yes, he still looked handsome enough to double time her heartbeat. But he wouldn’t blend in with the rest of the guests, that was certain.

“Um, Drew? What’s with the outfit?”

“You told me to wear something nice. I even called my grandmother for advice.” He put one hand to his mouth and stage-whispered behind it. “I almost asked my roommate, but Matthew’s taste runs to ruffled pirate shirts and kilts. He’s a serious gamer who likes to live his characters in real life. Even
I
know enough to not trust his fashion sense.”

She flicked a finger at his feet. “So your grandmother told you to wear white shoes?”

“Grandma said the nicest I ever looked was at the opening ceremonies of the Summer Games, in my Team USA uniform. This is the best I’ve got.”

Oh. Her heart melted at the sweetness of pleasing his grandma. And body parts a little lower melted a bit at the realization that the patch on his jacket did say USA. A medalist, at that. Pretty sexy stuff. And he’d tried so hard. Followed her order to dress nicely—as nicely as he knew how—in both spirit and letter.

If this outfit was good enough for Americans to wear in front of the whole world, it’d have to be good enough for Ivy and Ben. “You’re right. I’m sorry for my knee-jerk reaction. It’s a very nice outfit.” Then she remembered that she was supposed to be coaching him. Wardrobe would definitely be a consideration as he prepped for his media blitz. “But I don’t think you should wear it to your interviews in New York.”

“Right. Because I’ve retired?” He folded his long legs like a preying mantis and sat on the edge of the low slipper chair.

Tabitha grabbed a pale lemon pillow and hugged it to her chest as she sank onto the sofa. “From what?” She really wanted to know. The unrelenting inner fire required to be such an elite athlete had always amazed Tabitha. The single-minded drive, the spirit of the entire world coming together for two weeks—she loved the Summer and Winter Games. Cleared her schedule to watch both summer and winter every four years. She used to have to get up in the middle of the night to catch all the events, so thank God for the invention of the DVR.

“Five thousand and ten thousand meters.”

Wow. The footraces were her favorite part. The historical significance of how they tied back to the events of the original, ancient Games sent chills up her spine every time. “You can run that far without wanting to lie down and die?”

“Many, many times in a row,” he said with a laugh. “In fact, I missed it so much that I’m training now for a marathon. Twenty-six point two miles. If I get a couple of those under my belt, I might move on to triathlons.”

Wow again. A vision of long, tan legs covered in dark hair pumping in unison with muscled arms swept through her brain. She took another sip of champagne to cool her suddenly overheated imagination. “You do realize that’s incredibly sexy?”

“What—sweating and panting?”

“Exactly. When you talk to women today, be sure to mention you were in the Summer Games. Or your triathlon training. Or both.”

Drew shook his head. “I can’t. That’s bragging.”

He was modest, too? A medalist with what sounded like a pretty great job who had to be covered in muscles…it stymied her that he had trouble interacting with women. No, Drew must’ve overthought the whole thing with his boss and HR. Panicked at the first smack down from his new boss. Because Tabitha was tempted to call him a slam dunk. He certainly had her motor revved already. By the time she was finished with him, he’d be a prime candidate for her next Match-n-Mingle event.

“Damn right it’s bragging. How is a woman going to find out all the amazing things about you unless you tell her?”

He shrugged. Slid further back in the chair and crossed an ankle over one knee. “Makes sense, I guess. On a date. But I’m not trying to get a date. I just want to interact better with females in general. Or at least have you vouch that I do. Whatever it takes to keep
Quest
on target for its launch.”

Tabitha waved away his comment the same way she did the pesky gnats that circled at dusk on sticky summer nights. He might not think he wanted a date. But she’d change his mind. It’d be good for him. And even better for A Matchless Romance. Not to mention that setting him up would remove him from the realm of temptation. Because right now, the bride in the next room was the only thing stopping Tabitha from sitting on his lap and tasting those full lips of his.

“The motivation doesn’t matter. But don’t
just
brag about yourself. Be sure to start by asking the other person what makes them special.” It was a killer line. One that no woman could ever resist.

Unbuttoning his jacket, he pulled out his smart phone and tapped away with both thumbs. “Got it,” he said, almost under his breath.

“Got what?”

“The rules you just gave me.” Drew slid his phone back away. Then he stood to rebutton his jacket. “Physical input of data significantly increases mental retention of the facts.”

Tabitha bit back a grin. Tried to, anyway. How adorkable was that? “Glad to see you’re taking this whole thing seriously.”

His jawdropped. Then he stalked the length of the room, all the way to the closed bedroom door. Flinging his hands out, Drew turned back to face her. “What part of my participation level didn’t already scream serious to you? I’m paying you a considerable fee. I’m not working. I’m not training. And you’ve dragged me to a social event that, no matter how I try to skew the possible outcomes, promises to be utter boredom at best.”

“Sheer torture being the other possible outcome?” she guessed. Drew was fun to tease. Tabitha stood to refill her champagne.

“Don’t joke.” Those long legs ate up the distance between them in a blink. His eyes darkened to midnight blue. Drew stopped so close her taffeta skirt rustled against his legs. The lace bow at her bodice brushed his Team USA patch with every breath. So close that even in her heels, Tabitha had to tilt her head up to watch those dark eyes spark with angry star fire. He glowered down at her. Temper pulsed from him, a heat she could almost touch. “Nothing could make this wedding into a good time for me.”

“Nothing?” Tabitha stood on tiptoe, until her lips were lined up just below his. It was stupid and dangerous. A little like poking a bear with a honey-drenched stick. But damn it, she couldn’t resist any longer. So she licked her glossy red lips and tilted them up at the corners in a hint of a promise. “Are you sure—being so smart and all—that if you thought really hard, you couldn’t think of a way to have a good time tonight?”

“Milo, are you out there?” Ivy called as the bedroom doors banged open.

Crap. Tabitha’s mind knew Ivy’s interruption to be perfect timing. Fate saving her from her own recklessness. All the tingly parts of her body, however, disagreed. She didn’t exactly jerk away from Drew, but she didn’t take her time about backing up a few steps, either. Better that Ivy didn’t jump to any conclusions. Since
nothing
had happened. “He left.”

“Rats. I wanted him to take a picture of Ben so I can be prepared for just how handsome he’ll look, waiting for me at the altar.” The soft scratching from the petticoats as Ivy walked into the room sounded like a hundred satin-covered grasshoppers in a mating dance. She stopped, posed in front of the windows on a twirl. The purplish hue of sunset pooled around her, picking up the contrasting dark and light purple hydrangeas that made up her bouquet.

The perfect dress had been expected. As a wedding coordinator, Ivy spent many a day schmoozing every bridal shop in town. She’d earned early access to next season’s gowns. And knowing Ivy’s romantic streak, it hadn’t taken a giant leap to predict she’d lean toward a huge princess-style ball gown.

But…Tabitha sucked in a breath…this was beyond perfect. Beyond fairytale. You’d have to be missing every single girl chromosome to not appreciate the beauty of this dress. Intricate crystal beadwork covered the strapless, corseted bodice. The beads shimmered with every breath she took. Petticoats fluffed out the wide skirts of the tulle ball gown—like a prima ballerina’s skirt, but a thousand times bigger and better. The part that set this dress above all others, though, was the enormous draped organza bow. It cascaded all the way down the left side. Each panel almost as long as Tabitha’s forearm, and intricately draped into floofy, poufy perfection.

Finally remembering to exhale, she said, “You look amazing.”

“Thank you.” Ivy dipped a curtsey that belled her skirt out around her. “Are you going to introduce me to your client?”

Daphne and Mira, stunning in full-length, A-line lavender dresses with a one-shoulder tulle bow, came out and helped themselves to champagne. A wet sniffle, then a slam of the bathroom door told Tabitha that Mrs. Rhodes was no doubt busy repairing damage from a crying jag brought on at the sight of her daughter in her wedding dress. Tabitha’s mom would probably burst into tears too, if that ever happened. But for an entirely different reason than sentiment and pride.

“Ivy Rhodes, Daphne Moore, Mira Parrish,” she said, pointing to each in turn, “this is Drew Weston.”

“Nice to meet you.” Drew gave a polite, if somewhat brisk nod. See? He wasn’t etiquette challenged. Even better, none of her friends were goggling at his outfit. Tabitha let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“I’m so glad you chose A Matchless Romance to help with your…uh…” Ivy toyed with the scalloped lace edge of her veil while searching for the right word to describe Drew’s problem. His own summation she’d shared with the girls of being “a train wreck around women” didn’t fit into pleasant small talk very well. “…well, I’m sure Tabitha will help you work through to a satisfactory solution.”

“She’s helped me already.” He patted his pocket. “I’ve got notes.”

“Terrific. I wish my clients took notes,” said Daphne. “Then they’d remember by the third appointment that I told them lilacsaren’t in season for their wedding at the
first
appointment.”

Mira smiled encouragingly. “Sounds like you’re on the right path, Drew. Try to enjoy tonight.”

Ivy bobbed her head, her excitement for the upcoming reception beaming off her like rays from the sun. “It should be loads of fun. Sorry I won’t get to spend more time getting to know you.”

“Why not do it now?” Drew stepped closer. Took Ivy’s hand and looked straight into her eyes. “What makes you special?” he asked in a low, sexy growl.

Oh my God. Tabitha couldn’t believe he was trying out her line on a woman less than two hours from the altar. His science side was showing. Nobody thought as literally as someone with a science background. And if she’d been on the receiving end of Drew’s question, with that look in his eyes, her panties would’ve dropped to her ankles of their own accord.

Luckily, Ivy took the question as a joke. She shrugged off the question with a faint grin. And zipped her hand out of his. “Not much. Just getting married today, is all. What about you?”

Drew paused for a minute. Tabitha would’ve bet twenty dollars that he was trying to remember her coaching, word for word. “I have two track medals from the Summer Games, one gold and one silver.” He put a hand to his chest, as if remembering the heavy weight of them.

Yikes. Tabitha squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe he was truly as awkward as he thought. Because this little meet and greet was going downhill faster than an avalanche. Well, if nothing else, this proved he’d paid attention to her.

Mira settled herself on the couch, spreading out her skirt to avoid creases pre-photographs. “Tabitha. You didn’t tell us that your new client was famous. Better watch out. The Real TV cameras might focus on him all day instead of Ivy and Ben.”

He blinked at her a few times. “Should I hide from them?”

About two hundred percent too literal again. This guy cracked her up. Tabitha grabbed her purse. “No, not now. I promised Ivy I’d make sure the men are getting their pictures taken, on time,” she rolled her eyes at Ivy and received a beaming smile in return, “and you’re coming with me.”

“We’re leaving?”

“Yes.” Geez, cat got his tongue much? He’d been considerably more verbose before the other women came in. Perhaps that was his issue. Maybe Drew only felt comfortable one on one. Tabitha made a mental note.

“Then I’d better do this now.” He took two steps forward, bent Ivy into a dip over one arm, and kissed her. Not a peck. A real kiss. Tabitha knew this because she felt each second tick away deep in her bones. She wasn’t sure whether she felt more scared that he was kissing her boss, or achingly jealous that Drew wasn’t locking lips with her. After five interminable seconds, he set Ivy back upright. Her cheeks were flushed, her lipstick smeared.

“What the hell was that?” Tabitha screeched. Okay, maybe she was leaning a lot toward the jealous side. Still, she was certain that on Ivy’s innumerable lists for today, nowhere did it say that she planned to be smooched by a total stranger. On a scale of inappropriate behavior, this rated at about get-the-hell-out-right-now. “Have you lost your mind? This woman’s about to get married!”

“I know. That’s why I kissed her.” Drew appeared unphased by Tabitha’s irritation. He wiped the lipstick from his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s an old Swedish custom.”

She threw up her hands. Couldn’t bear to look at Ivy to see how upset she must be. “How does that apply at all here—now—today?”

“When you asked me to attend a wedding, I did some research. I’d never been to a wedding before. Didn’t want to screw up on any traditional activities.” He shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “A lot of what I found wasn’t really applicable, like how in Russia it’s bad luck to get married in May. But I discovered a custom from Sweden, where the male guests kiss the bride. Figured that was doable.”

“Stand down, Tabitha,” Ivy said. “Drew is right. It is a long-standing custom, still observed to this day.” She paused, then spoke slowly, straight to Drew. “Only in Sweden. In America, not so much.”

“You might want to make a note of that for the next wedding you attend,” Daphne gasped. She was doubled over, silent tears of laughter streaming down her face.

Next to her, Mira tried to hide her giggles behind a flailing hand. “There’s no better gift for an obsessive-compulsive wedding planner than acting on a well-researched, obscure tradition. Well done, Drew.”

They could laugh all they wanted. Neither of them was responsible for the more than six feet of wild card smack dab in the middle of Ivy’s wedding. Ivy, who owned both the romance store and the dating service. Sure, they were friends, but at the end of the day, Ivy had a more official title in the company hierarchy. Her boss’s boss. “I’m so sorry, Ivy.”

“Don’t be.” The bride flicked her veil behind her shoulders as she looked from Tabitha to Drew and back again. “I invited him. You agreed that bringing him to the wedding would serve as a fact-finding mission. Well, we just learned something vitally important.” Ivy picked up her wide skirts and hurried over to Tabitha. She stood on tiptoe to whisper in her ear. “He’s got
serious
potential. Trust me. I’m
more
than okay with that being the last kiss I ever get from anyone besides Ben.”

Oh my. Tabitha topped off her glass, then pressed its chill to her chest. It was either that or fan herself. Now Drew was not only an world-class athlete, with what sounded like a pretty great job, who had to be covered in muscles…but he also apparently kissed like an expert. She needed to put some distance between the room with the bed in it and Drew and herself. Just to be safe.

“Ivy, go fix your lipstick. We’ll leave you to have some time alone with your mother.” Getting the other woman out of the suite meant the chance to watch Drew interact with them. Tabitha would be able to pick their brains later for their assessment. “Daphne, Mira, you two should come with us. Isn’t it time for your pictures with the groomsmen?”

Daphne didn’t budge. “But the champagne’s here.”

Good point. “Bring your glass. Just remember, the Real TV cameras will be rolling as soon as we step into the hallway. Drew, make yourself useful and grab another bottle from that stand.” Not that she would touch one more single drop. Not now that all she could think about was how great a kisser he was. Tabitha couldn’t risk going into drunk flirt mode with her client. She wasn’t doing that great a job of resisting him stone cold sober.

* * *

In a perfect world, Drew would be home right now. A container of General Tso’s chicken, two egg rolls, fried rice and his laptop. What more did a guy ever need? With his competitive training days behind him, Drew was catching up on all the delicious-but-nutritionally-crappy food he’d missed out on for years. But, he’d admit that if he had to be stuck at a wedding, this was the way to do it. Surrounded by beautiful women who, so far, didn’t seem too put off by anything he saidor did. He’d label this evening a success. Drew glanced at his watch. Well, seventeen minutes of a success. Probably a personal best.

They walked down the long hallway toward the elevator in a clump. A camera guy from Real TV trailed behind them, and another led the pack walking backward. Both wore head to toe black. Neither was choked by a tie like Drew, though. He envied them.

The women leaned on each other, all complaining about their shoes. They thought they were miserable? He was stuck wearing a noose around his neck. No way was his brain receiving optimal blood flow with this striped satin tourniquet around his carotid artery. That probably explained why it seemed like Tabitha had been about a heartbeat away from kissing him earlier.

Hypoxia. A hallucination induced by lack of oxygen. Because women who looked like Tabitha—all sleek and sassy and self-confident—didn’t throw themselves at guys like Drew. The prom queen never went for the mathlete. Not that it mattered. Not with his job already hanging by a thread. Because he’d learned that lesson.

No, Drew had to keep his focus solely on Game Domain. On how not to piss off Keiko any more. On developing
Quest
into the best, most original new game on the market. Thinking about the mythic impossibility of Tabitha wanting to kiss him was nothing more than a pointless distraction. Of course,
not
thinking about her glossy red lips right in front of his was also a mythically impossible task.

Maybe he could run a mile or two tonight after the wedding. The path along the lakeshore had lights. Whatever it took to wear him out. Push him to the brink of exhaustion so that he couldn’t picture the mouth-watering contrast of her pale breasts against the dark green of her dress. Because if he slipped and started thinking about women instead of work, all he had to do was look at his silver medal to be reminded of what happened when he split his concentration. Remember the acrobatic night he’d spent with an archer from the Czech team…that wore him out just enough for his race the next day he came in second. He’d never make that mistake again. Especially not where
Quest
was concerned.

“Daph, the flowers are gorgeous. Of course. But why does my bouquet weigh so much?” asked Mira, with a slow roll of her shoulders.

“Hydrangeas come on thick stems. All of which are shoved into a stiff and heavy plastic holder. And your wedding bouquet’s going to weigh at least twice this with the pine and holly and roses, so suck it up. Or start doing more bicep curls at the gym.” Daphne poked her elbow against Mira’s upper arm. “You’ve got eight months to get into shape before it’s your turn to walk down the aisle.”

Curious as to the possibility of maximizing the weight distribution, Drew reached for the bouquet of purple flowers. “May I?”

“Be my guest.” Mira handed it over. Two sets of deep purple ribbons dangled from the sides.

Once in hand, he almost laughed. Any eighth grade physics student could figure out a work-around to this glitch. “Here’s your problem. Carrying this weight out in front of you puts undue stress on your biceps and your lats. Until they start taking pictures, you should invert it and suspend it at your side, like a purse on a strap. Much easier on you.” He grabbed the ends of the ribbon and let the bouquet fall down in between.

“But it’s not a purse,” snarled Daphne. “It is a work of floral genius, to be treated accordingly with great respect. In other words, it should only be carried upright.”

She was right about one thing. It wasn’t a purse, but it did remind him of something else. Drew swung it back and forth, trying to jog his memory. Only took a couple of good arcs before it hit him. “This is just like the
bolas
I gave to the slayer in
Trolls Under Tribeca: Eradication
.”