Hot Finish (3 page)

“I’ll get that. Excuse me just a sec, Nikki.”

Suzanne hustled to the door and opened it. She blinked to see Elec and Evan Monroe, Ty McCordle, and right in front, her gorgeous and annoying ex-husband, Ryder Jefferson.

“Hey guys, what’s up? I’m kind of busy at the moment.”

“We’re here for the wedding-planning thing,” Ty told her.

Oh, no. That meant that Nikki’s fiancé Jonas had asked them . . .

“We’re the groomsmen.”

Damn. Just what she needed. None of them would listen or take her seriously. She’d lose control of the whole situation.

Ryder brushed past her, dropping a soft kiss on her cheek, his familiar cologne wafting up her nostrils and acting like a sexual trigger. She smelled Ryder, her nipples got hard. They were just trained that way.

“Good to see you, babe. And lucky me, I’m the best man in this wedding.”

Suzanne fought the urge to grimace. Good God, this fiasco just got more and more ludicrous. Now she was going to have to spend a fair amount of time around Ryder for the next month, and she just couldn’t deal with that on top of all her worrying about her future. He made her crazy, plain and simple.

And there was no way this best man was sitting on her lap.

Ryder handed her a manila envelope. “Oh, and this came addressed to both of us. It’s from our divorce lawyer.”

Suzanne looked at it blankly. It did have their divorce attorney’s name on the envelope, and it was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Ryder and Suzanne Jefferson. Ouch. It had been a long time since she’d seen her name linked with his, and damn it, it still hurt, which pissed her off. It didn’t matter anymore, shouldn’t matter. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t open it. Figured you’d want it.” He moved past her and the other guys did likewise.

Jonas Strickland was coming up her walk and there was a gaggle of Nikki clones behind him, women in their early twenties, tanned and thin and indistinguishable from one another except for the color of their various sweaters. There was red and yellow and aqua and two in white.

“Hi, come on in. I’m Suzanne,” she said absently. “Nikki’s in the dining room.”

Curiosity killing her, Suzanne ripped open the envelope as she walked behind them, their giggles and chatter a buzzing backdrop. There was a pile of papers that looked like their divorce decree. Okay. She read the cover letter from the lawyer.

And stopped halfway down her hallway, the words blurring in front of her.

Oh. My. God.

She was going to kill Ryder. She was going to rip his arm off and beat him with the bloody stump.

This paper was telling her she and Ryder were not divorced.

They were still married.

“Ryder!” she screamed, aware that her voice sounded like a fair approximation of a banshee.

Everyone in the room looked up at her.

“You know,” Nikki said, “I had a thought. I’m blond.”

Elec let out a crack of laughter and Ty elbowed him.

“What?” Suzanne looked at the twit in front of her and didn’t bother to hide her irritation.

“I can’t do a
Gone with the Wind
theme. Scarlett O’Hara was a brunette.” Nikki pointed to her head. “And I’m blond.”

Jesus. “Good point,” Suzanne managed. “Now would you all excuse Ryder and I for just one teensy minute?”

Ryder gave her an uneasy look, and the guys looked curious, but she didn’t care. She had to discuss this with him immediately before her head exploded off her shoulders.

“What’s up, babe?” he asked her, moving in really close to her, his hand landing on the small of her back as he guided her into the next room. “If we’re going to fight, maybe we should be out of earshot.”

Suzanne got two feet into her kitchen then couldn’t hold back. She whirled and smacked the envelope and stack of papers against his chest. “This says we’re still married!”

Ryder’s eyebrows shot up. “No shit? Does that mean we can have guilt-free sex then?”

Oh, yeah. She was going to kill him.

CHAPTER
TWO

RYDER
always knew when Suzanne was mad at him because of the way her face took on the look of that chick in
The Exorcist
right before the green stuff came flying out. This was one of those moments. And while so far in the six years he’d known her, nothing like pea soup had ever ejected from her mouth, you never knew. He could make Suzanne that mad without even meaning to.

Okay, so maybe he shouldn’t have made a joke—not that he would turn sex down if she offered it—but hell, what was he supposed to say? They were still married? That was a shocker, to say the least.

She still wasn’t speaking, she was just breathing hard and clenching and unclenching her fists on his chest.

“I guess that’s a no on the sex.”

Now she actually gritted her teeth and made a sound that was sort of like a snarl.

Damn. “Okay, well, this is unexpected, but it can’t be that big of a deal, right? Does it really matter?”

“Yes, it matters! It’s just . . . wrong to still be married when we’re not supposed to be married. And this is all your fault, as usual.”

Ryder bristled. “How is this my fault?” He’d heard that so many times when they were married, it was the one phrase guaranteed to make him defensive.

“It says you never showed up for your court appearance. You were supposed to give the lawyer power of attorney to appear for you or you were supposed to do it. And you never did.”

Searching his memory back two years, Ryder shifted uneasily, wishing Suzanne’s kitchen were a little wider. He suddenly felt the need to back up a little. Out of swinging distance. “I can’t say that I remember one way or the other. I seem to recall signing a lot of papers.”

But he definitely didn’t remember ever going to court. She might be right on that one. Damn it. He hated it when Suzanne was right.

“Well, you obviously didn’t sign the right papers. God!” Suzanne yanked the papers back off his chest and threw her hands up in total exasperation.

Ty’s head poked around the corner. “Is everything okay in here?”

“Yes,” Ryder said.

“No,” Suzanne said.

“Maybe you could do this another time? You’ve got a lot of women in the other room with short attention spans. The blondes are getting restless.”

Ryder said, “Thanks, we’ll be there in a second.”

Ty paused, like he wasn’t sure if leaving them alone would result in the need to call 911, but he went back into the dining room, a frown on his face.

Holding his hand out for the packet, Ryder said in as calm of a voice as he could muster, “I’ll call the lawyer and take care of it. No big deal.”

Suz held the packet tighter against her chest, the papers crumpling over her breasts. Momentarily distracted by the way her curves were nicely displayed in her sweater, Ryder didn’t realize for a second she wasn’t handing him the packet.

“I need the stuff,” he told her, when he finally recovered from the unexpected blast of horniness.

“Like I’m stupid enough to give you the papers. You’ll lose them or forget to call and in another two years I’ll find out we’re still married! Can you imagine what this had done to my taxes?”

Nope. It had never once occurred to him. And truthfully, he didn’t care. So you filed some paperwork and had your accountant sort it out. No big deal.

But he knew Suzanne worried about money. A lot. First off, because she didn’t have much, and secondly, because she was proud. Too proud to take his help. So if he had screwed up her taxes, he was going to have to fix it, and that was going to be a fight. But that was Round Two. First was getting the damn papers away from her.

“Give me the papers. I’ll take care of it.” Ryder lunged for them, but she anticipated his move.

Suzanne shoved the packet up her sweater, giving him a flash of taut tummy flesh and the bottom of her red bra. He narrowed his eyes, suddenly very much turned on. “You think
that’s
going to stop me?”

She feigned indignation, but Ryder knew her well enough to know her thoughts had gone in exactly the same direction his had. The light of desire had sparked in her eyes, and he took a step toward her, intending to get those papers back one way or another, while enjoying every minute of the persuading.

But Suzanne squawked, turned tail, and ran. “This conversation is not over,” she called over her shoulder firmly, like she hadn’t just been the one to back down.

“No, it’s not,” he told her, hanging back to appreciate the way her ass looked in her narrow skirt. She had some curves, and he loved every single one.

It had been a long time since he’d seen Suzanne naked, but he remembered every inch of her body, every delicious nook and cranny.

They were still married.

Huh.

For whatever reason, he couldn’t bring himself to be all that worked up about that odd little fact.

SUZANNE
was trying to hold it together. More people had shown up, cramming into her tiny condo, including her friend Tammy Briggs-Monroe, Elec’s wife, who had been sucked into this circus of a wedding herself as a bridesmaid.

“Are you okay?” Tammy asked her quietly, under the guise of leaning down to pick up a dropped bridal magazine.

“Not really,” Suzanne said. “But I’ll be okay. It’s not a big deal.”

That’s what Ryder had said, more than once. It wasn’t a big deal. So they were still legally married . . . that was just a piece of paper.

But it felt like a big deal. It felt like someone had reached into her chest and peeled out her heart with an ice cream scoop. The truth was, she wasn’t entirely over the bastard.

Which she didn’t exactly understand or appreciate and now was not the time to be reminded of it.

“If you want to talk about it later, give me a call,” Tammy told her, her expression concerned.

“Thanks.” Then knowing she needed to get her act together or potentially lose Nikki as a client and have to give back that beautiful fat check resting in her wallet already, Suzanne fixed a smile on her face.

“Nikki, are any of these bride or bridesmaid gowns appealing to you? Sometimes just seeing a dress you love can help us build your wedding around it.” At a loss as to what to do with the guys, Suzanne had Jonas writing a guest list for his family and the rest of them competing to see who could download better bridal shower games on their BlackBerrys.

Nikki’s bridesmaids were flipping through bridal magazines, their voices high-pitched and excited, silky in tone, stupid in content. If Suzanne heard one more of the twigs claim she couldn’t wear such-and-such dress because it would make her look fat, Suzanne was going to smack her with a fudge brownie.

“I think I should pick my theme first,” Nikki said, biting her bottom lip, then realizing what she was doing and caressing her lip like she could fix the damage with a little love.

“What about
Star Trek
?” Evan said, shooting a wink at Suzanne.

Funny.

“Eew!” was Nikki’s opinion.

“What about a race car theme?” one of the bridesmaids, whose name Suzanne would never remember, suggested.

“I can’t,” Nikki said, sniffing in irritation at the Monroes. “Elec and Tamara did that already for their wedding.”

“We didn’t do a race car theme,” Elec protested. “We just had my car there. It wasn’t a
theme
.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want a used wedding theme,” Nikki said, looking to her fiancé for support. He just shrugged, chewing the cap of the pen she’d given him.

“How about Elvis?” Ryder said with a grin. “Everybody knows there’s nothing as classy as a wedding with the King.”

Cute. Not. Suzanne would have kicked him under the table but there were too many legs in the way.

“Oh, my God!” Nikki squealed. “You know what would be a great idea, not to get married by a fake Elvis, which is so tacky, but to do Elvis’s wedding. You know, when he married what’s-her-face.”

“Priscilla?” Ryder said. “Yeah, that wedding had style.”

“I love it!” Nikki turned and grabbed Jonas’s arm, causing the wet pen cap to drop onto the table. “Honey, isn’t that a great idea? You could be Elvis and I could be Priscilla!”

“I’ve always wanted to be the King. Thank you. Thank you very much,” Jonas said in a suck-ass Elvis imitation.

Suzanne watched as a dull roar of enthusiasm went up from bridesmaids at the table. Was Nikki ser—

She stopped herself. Of course Nikki was serious. There was no point in further questioning that.

But she had the golden ticket to put the brakes on this Hunka Hunka Burning Crap wedding idea. “But Nikki, Priscilla had jet black hair when she married Elvis. And as you pointed out earlier, you’re definitely blond.”

Instead of Nikki’s face falling in disappointment like she expected, her eyes lit up and her finger rose in the air. “But, the thing is, Priscilla didn’t really have black hair. She dyed it! So I can just dye mine. I
love
this idea. Thanks, Ryder!”

“Yeah, thanks, Ryder,” Suzanne echoed with a lot less sincerity than Nikki. Just how she wanted to launch her wedding planning business—with faux beehives and Grace-land in fondant.

The doorbell rang before she could leap over the table and strangle him. God, who else was still absent from this debacle? There couldn’t possibly be more bridesmaids. Or maybe this was the flower girl arriving on her bedazzled scooter to offer her two cents on hiring Miley Cyrus for the reception.

“I’ll get it,” Ryder said, springing up. “It’s probably the pizza.”

“What pizza?”

“I ordered some pizzas and beer for everybody,” he said, holding up his phone. “Gotta love online ordering.”

It was obvious she had zero control of this meeting.

Of her life.

And she couldn’t even bitch about who was paying for those pizzas because she had no doubt Ryder had already prepaid with his credit card. There was nothing cheap about the man, there never had been. Which was annoying because it just stole an awesome reason to complain right away from her.

“Where did Elvis and Priscilla get married?” Nikki asked.

“At Aladdin’s Hotel in Vegas,” Suzanne said, not the least bit surprised she knew that. Her granny had been the King’s biggest fan and the little house she’d grown up in with her grandparents had vibrated with his songs nearly as violently as his hips had swiveled onstage. Granny had saved clippings of Elvis from the newspapers and tucked them in a recipe book, including a wedding shot with Elvis and Priscilla in front of a fake genie lamp.

Suzanne reminded herself of that chubby check in her wallet. She needed the moral support to get her through the thought of decorating a wedding reception with multiple knockoffs of Aladdin’s lamp.

“We should just go to Vegas then,” Jonas told her. “We could elope.”

Oh, pity the man who said that to his hell-bent-on-having-the-biggest-wedding-of-the-decade bride.

As Ryder returned from the door with a stack of six pizzas and two cases of beer, Nikki burst into tears.

“Don’t you want to have a big wedding?” she wailed.

Suzanne realized Nikki’s eyes weren’t producing any actual liquid, though she was managing a hefty volume. She was fake crying, the little drama queen. Her friends all competed to pat her rubber band-thin arms while Jonas blustered.

“Of course I do! I want whatever you want. Truth is, Nikki, all that matters to me is you. I just want you.”

The bullshit sobs disappeared, her distress vacuumed right out of the air by Jonas’s words. Suzanne had to give the big lug credit. He knew how to appease her, which would be handy for the one or two years they managed to stay married.

Not that she was a cynic or anything.

While Nikki made googly eyes at her fiancé and he whispered things that were probably yucky back to her, Suzanne contemplated how to steer this Elvis theme to a less literal interpretation. With Nikki nice and calm and gooey over her man’s attention, it was perfect timing to suggest that perhaps they go with a classic vintage look for the wedding.

Ryder, who had been passing around pizza and beer, waved the box in front of Nikki’s face. “Pizza?”

“Oh.” Nikki reached for a slice absently then recoiled when she suddenly realized what she was doing. “Oh, my God, get that away from me! I can’t
eat
. I’m getting married in five weeks! I can’t be faaaattt!”

So much for a calm bride.

Ryder looked bemused, the pizza box just dangling in the air in front of Nikki. “It’s pepperoni. Protein is good for you.”

Suzanne was about to grab it out of his hands, visions of her check being torn up, when Nikki turned and purposely punched the bottom of the box, knocking it to the floor. Where the entire pizza landed greasy side down on Suzanne’s beige carpet.

“I’m starving . . . don’t make me smell it!”

And while Suzanne was grateful to know that Nikki didn’t actually enjoy subsisting purely on iceberg lettuce, she wasn’t too thrilled with the pizza sauce and grease stains that were never going to budge from her carpet without professional cleaning.

“Uhhh . . .” Ryder said, looking stunned.

“Sorry, Suzanne!” Jonas knelt down and turned the box back right side up and dumped the slices of pizza back in it. “That was my fault.”

How the hell it was Jonas’s fault, she couldn’t imagine, but at least someone was apologizing. “It’s okay. Accidents happen.” As do bitchy spoiled women going postal from lack of calories in their diet.

Suzanne suddenly wanted to cry. And she never cried. Ever. Only very, very rarely when she was extremely pissed did she find herself getting a little misty-eyed from pure frustration.

But they never left her eyeballs and she damn well wasn’t going to let them do it now.

She widened her eyes, horrified at herself. This was not tear-worthy.

So Nikki was a Bridezilla and she and Ryder were still married.

There were worse things.

Like a full frontal lobotomy.

But she would get it together by sheer will and grit.

“Alright, Nikki, why don’t you come on over to my computer with me?” Suzanne said. “We can look at some venues. I’m guessing you’ll want to have the reception in a hotel, then? It would be the closest to what Elvis did shy of going to Vegas. I have a few ideas for great hotel ballrooms we could use.”