In a Fix (34 page)

“Oh, dear,” I said, noting how close we were to the cake, and thinking it would be a darn shame if she toppled right into it. Yessirree, a darn shame. So I reached out to … um, steady her.

But Trey got to her first, damn it.

He carried her to the nearest chair, shooting me a warning look as he spoke to her. “Mother, you poor thing. Here, sit down.” He signaled a waiter to bring ice while he continued to talk over her protests. “You just stay right here and let the staff wait on you hand and, uh, foot.”

“But she did it on purp—”

“Don’t be silly. It was an accident. Wasn’t it, Mina?” he said pointedly. Huh. Must be Mark. Billy probably would have helped me push her into the cake.

I crossed my fingers in the folds of my gown. “Of course it was. I just can’t seem to see where my feet are going under this dress. I am so sorry, Mother Harrison—I mean, Helene. Can you ever forgive me?”

Okay, so I played to the crowd a little. Most of them seemed pretty amused by the whole thing. Let’s face it—weddings are basically boring. The least I could do was provide a little entertainment.

Noting the avidness of the audience, Mrs. Harrison reined in her temper. I’d have to warn Mina she might want to employ a food taster at any family meals for a while. But at least she would be guaranteed a good number of pictures without her mother-in-law in them, which ought to count for something. Heck, there might even be a bonus in it for me.

Trey and I left Ava the Ace to gloss things over with Dragon Mama while we got on with more important matters. I was perfectly happy once I had cake (dense chocolate fudge under a rich, white butter cream icing, which almost made up for the pinching shoes) and champagne. Nothing like sugar and alcohol to brighten one’s mood. Two pieces and three glasses mellowed me out so much, I could even smile benignly at the tug-of-war between the two bridesmaids who conjointly caught the bouquet.

The garter toss was another matter entirely. My sugar- and alcohol-induced serenity fled when bold fingers tickled their way up my leg, overshot the garter by several inches, and settled on the bare skin above my stockings. Hidden as his hands were, Trey—
damn it, which one was he?
—felt no pressing need to maintain decorum.

“Help me out here, hon,” he said, eyes aglow with mischief. It had to be Billy. “Tell me when I’m getting warmer.” His fingers crawled northward, stopping within centimeters of—

“Hot!” I squeaked. Then again, it might be Mark. His hands had been pretty free and easy on the boat, and he obviously wasn’t bashful in public places. Also, after that kiss I was pretty sure he couldn’t think of me as a kid sister anymore.

“Sorry, babe. It’s hard—”

“I’ll bet!” a drunken male voice boomed from among the spectators.

“—working blind.” Trey ignored his buddy. “I better take a look, or we could be here all day.”

He disappeared under my skirts, flailing his arms in a mad parody of a search. Whoever it was, I was going to kill him. I took aim at the moving lump I judged to be his head, and struck. Connected on my third attempt. “Enough, Romeo!” I said, laughing.

He slipped the garter from my leg and made his exit from beneath my gown—but not before leaving a warm, openmouthed kiss high on the inside of my thigh. Being the professional I am, I didn’t gasp. Much.

He shot the elasticized bit of silk and lace, rubber band style, into a group of single men who had been herded together by the bridesmaids, and then led me into a final dance without waiting to see who caught it.

“Can we go yet?” he whispered.

He didn’t have to ask me twice. After a flurry of good-byes, the two of us ran the gauntlet through a blizzard of white rose petals, and found ourselves stuffed into the backseat of a limo. I tried my best to tame the dress that kept popping up between us, but it was like playing Whack-a-Mole—every time I mashed one part down, another sprang up. Trey finally subdued it for me.

The privacy barrier was closed between the driver and us. I couldn’t stand it for another second. “Okay, who are you?”

Heat flared in his eyes. “It’s our honeymoon. I’ll be whoever you want me to be.”

I swallowed hard, trying to quiet my suddenly pounding heart. Who
did
I want him to be? I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came.

“What’s the matter? Can’t decide?” He reached over and tugged a wisp of hair that had escaped my satin-flowered headpiece.

Billy
. Of course it was Billy. I let out my breath and smiled. “You know what I want, don’t you?”

He laughed. “Sadly, I’m afraid I do. You’ve been limping for the past hour.” He reached under my dress and slipped off my shoes one at a time, caressing my silk-encased toes in passing.

Once my feet were on his lap, and my shoulders suitably reclining against a cushy armrest, he started to massage. The cramped muscles relaxed under the pressure of fingers that knew instinctively where to dig deep and where to glide easy. He wiggled my toes back and forth gently, avoiding blisters, loosening joints I’d feared would be permanently bent at stiletto angles. It felt so good I wanted to weep with ecstasy.

I was glad it was Billy. Not that I would’ve kicked Mark out of the limo, but Billy sure knew how to give a foot massage.

His hands moved up a little. Goody, an ankle massage, too. He took his time, revisiting my feet frequently, until my head lolled back and I closed my eyes.

“Mmmm…” I said, which he apparently took as a signal my calves needed attention, too. Since the pressing matter of my cramped feet had been seen to, my aching lower legs agreed with his assessment. I sighed happily. But when he took
that
as an invitation to include my thighs in his tender ministrations, I sprang upright and halted his hands.

“What are you doing?” I said, nerve endings on full alert.

His hands slid back over my calves to my ankles, circling them and pulling me closer as he dropped Trey’s aura. I had to clutch his shoulders to keep from toppling over backward.

“The windows are tinted,” he said quietly, flattening the highest mountains of material with his elbow. “The driver can’t see us behind the screen. The intercom is off. Relax. And lose that aura.”

“We’ll be in our room soon. We should wait,” I said, but since I’d inhaled deeply before speaking, and noticed he smelled even better as himself than he had as Trey, my protest was maybe not stated as firmly as I intended. However, I did
not
give into the urge to sniff his jawline, which I counted as restraint.

He shook his head. “I can’t stay long. Mark is probably already frothing at the mouth. He thought I was jeopardizing the assignment by leaving at all—and, to be fair, he’s right about that—so I have to go. But first I want to see
you
.”

“But…”

He cocked his head and looked at me with those damned Doyle eyes. At this range, that was all it took. I caved. Dropped Mina, leaving myself more buried than ever in clouds of hideously expensive fabric. I felt out of place, but Billy’s eyes filled with obvious approval as he reached one hand behind my head to pull me closer.

“Wait!” I said at the last second.

“You said you were tired of sitting on the sidelines. You wanted in the game. So let’s play.”

“Look, I don’t know if I can get used to thinking about you this way. And … well, what about Mark? What happened to waiting until he’s out of my head?”

He grinned. “After careful consideration, I’ve decided on a more proactive approach. You could use a little help pushing the spook out.”

“Proactive?” I said, curious but wary. Proactive combined with Billy could be … interesting. Then again, we all know where curiosity got the cat.

“That’s right. I figure the more of me in there,” he said with a tap on my forehead, “the less room for him.” He leaned his head toward me.

I drew back again. “But we’re—”

“Damn it, Ciel, we are not technically related. I promise you it’s not perverted. Besides, you enjoyed it the last time I kissed you. A lot.”

“Of course I did—you tasted like maple syrup. You know how much I love maple syrup.”

“You love me, too.”

“I do n—”

His mouth swallowed the last word. This time he tasted like expensive champagne and wedding cake. How was I supposed to resist a combo like that?

It was futile and I knew it, so I didn’t try, not even when his hand slipped back under my skirts. Really, his touch was so light and my heart hammering so heavily, how could I be sure it wasn’t just my fevered imagination? And it would be rude to wrongly accuse him. Best to make sure before I—oh, hell, who was I kidding? His hand was there all right, his fingers dancing delicately back and forth, slowly working their way past my garters, until they found what they were looking for, and lingered.

Okay, so protest
was
one option. But honestly? There’s a lot to be said for lingering fingers, especially when they’re moving slowly in time with a tongue already doing insanely delicious things to your mouth.

Ditto for a dizzying scent—geez, was that cologne? or just him?—going straight from your nose to points south, adding fuel to the fire. I whimpered. Oh, yes, a
lot
to be said for that. Basically I didn’t stop him because … well, it felt really,
really
good. It was like there were fizzy little bubbles racing through my bloodstream, tickling every erogenous zone I had, and finally popping against my …
OH!

All thoughts of protest suddenly moot, I pulled my lips from his and buried my face in his neck, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a sound of pure pleasure. I was a little embarrassed about the moaning, but the rational part of me figured it was at least better than screaming,
Yes! I
do
love you!
No way was I going to jump off
that
bridge first, even if what I was feeling
was
love and not just lust.

He hugged me to him, giving me a moment, then kissed my forehead and raised my chin. “Were you thinking about him just now?” he said softly.

“Huh? Wha—who?”

A smile broke slowly from one corner of his mouth to the other. A happy smile, not a gotcha smile, but I blushed anyway.

“Yeah, okay. I get your point,” I said, then raised a brow significantly. Judging from where I was sitting, I hadn’t been the only one strongly affected by the kiss. “What about you?”

“No, I wasn’t thinking about him at all, actually,” he said disingenuously.

“That is
not
what I meant,” I said, and then wiggled my hips the tiniest bit. “
That
is what I meant.”

He groaned. “Not that I don’t appreciate your consideration, but—” He shifted beneath me, finding himself a more comfortable position. “No time. We’re almost at the hotel, and we have to change back. Unless you don’t mind the driver, not to mention the other hotel patrons, speculating about our activities when we don’t emerge from the vehicle in a timely fashion, of course.”

At the moment I wished, fiercely, I could say,
Screw it—let ’em speculate
. But I did have an obligation to maintain Mina’s dignity while presenting myself as her. I pushed as far away from Billy as I could (doing my best not to press unduly against his lap while I did so—I’m not
that
cruel) and straightened my dress, trying to regain my composure.

“Billy?” I said, doubts seeping back with the distance.

“Yeah?”

“Aren’t you worried this will ruin our relationship? I mean, you’re my best friend, and I think I’m yours. What if we spoil it?”

He cracked up. “Spoil it? Ciel, the last time we were together you peed all over me and pelted me with cow shit. From
my
standpoint our relationship can only improve.”

I narrowed my eyes at the reminder. “Yeah, well, I also stole your car and scratched the hell out of its precious paint.” Ha. Bet
that
would help put a damper on his ardor. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.

He only grinned. “I know. But it was brave of you to confess.”

“How’d you find out?” I was surprised, because I’d paid a good chunk of Mina’s fee to have the Chevy restored and returned to the garage before Billy could find out it was ever gone.

“I got a text message from a certain well-tipped attendant, telling me not to worry, he couldn’t even tell I’d ever driven into the gate. Only you and Mark knew I was out of the country. I extrapolated from there.”

“Aren’t you mad?”

“Nope. It’s fixed.”

“But I…” I swallowed hard, reconsidering this whole confession. Perhaps I’d been hasty. Too late now. He had to know, so I might as well just say it. “… borrowed your aura. Without asking.”

“Yes, you did. That was bad,” he said, stern-faced. Then he was me in a flash, looking ridiculous in his tux. “There. Now we’re even.” Himself again in a matter of seconds, he continued, “Though if it would ease your conscience to atone in some way, I could always give you a spanking.” His eyes teased, but I wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t mean it.

“Don’t even think about it, buster,” I said, attempting severity, but failing utterly when I was ambushed by a giggle.

He closed the space between us and draped an arm over my shoulder. “God, I love that sound. You have the best laugh of any woman I know.”

I pushed away, but not far this time. He smelled too good. “That’s another thing—you know too many women. And I
do
mean in the biblical sense. You’re a man-slut. I’m not sure I should get involved with a man-slut.”

“Pish. My reputation has been exaggerated. Besides, I’m seriously reconsidering the benefits of monogamy.”

Ack. “Uh, I really wouldn’t feel right asking you to do that.”

He looked at me for good half-minute, eyes full of speculation. “Tell you what,” he said at last. “If you’re still crushing on the spook after I have my wicked way with you—and I’m talking a whole night in my bed, not messing around in the backseat of a car—I’ll bow out gracefully.” And then he winked.

Cocky bastard. “Who says I’ll let you have your wicked way with me?”