Saved by the Bride (2 page)

The stone-faced man stared at it impassively. “You’re not on
the list which means I can’t let you in.”

Her heart pounded against the figure-hugging bodice of the
dress. It had never occurred to her that holding the invitation wouldn’t be
enough to gain entry. Frantically trying to think, she crossed her fingers in
the folds of her dress.
Forgive
this
bending
of
the
truth
.
It’s
for
a
good
cause
. She tried to peer at his list. “Oh, dear,
aren’t I? My P.A. assured me she’d telephoned and given the RSVP. Clearly
there’s been a miscommunication.”

His dark eyes showed no emotion and he turned away, speaking
into the mouthpiece of his headset. Annika strained to decipher the words but
his voice was a low and unintelligible rumble and all she caught was “Donna.” He
turned back. “You got your cell on you?”

She smiled brightly. “Yes.”

He nodded and then said “yes” into his mouthpiece before
looking directly at her. “Neiquest or Callahan?”

“Pardon?” She had no clue what he was talking about.

He spoke slowly, his expression shrewd. “Are you friends of the
Neiquests or the Callahans?”

Understanding dawned. “Oh, right, um, the bride’s father.”
Well
,
that’s
kind
of
close
to
the
truth
seeing
the
impossible
-
to
-
contact
Sean
Callahan
is
the
reason
I’m
here
.

He tapped his clipboard. “Your phone’s not ringing.”

“Ah, no. Should it be?”

“If you were Donna Wakeen then, yeah, it would be.”

He flicked some gum with his tongue, the action of a man in
total control and holding all the keys to the kingdom. “The dispatcher just rang
the number and got her voice mail. I don’t know who you are, lady, but no one
gate-crashes a Callahan party on my shift.” His stance widened to block the
doorway and his hands moved to his hips. “I’ll be asking you to leave now.”

She could hear the animated sounds of the party and she was so
very close to her goal and yet so very far away. Desperation flooded her. “This
invitation was for the mayor and she couldn’t come and—”

“Do you need me to escort you off the property?” His expression
was granite.

Her cheeks burned with mortification. “No. Thank you, I can
find my own way.”

“Good.” He continued to stare at her as if she was a June bug
he could squish whenever he chose.

With her confidence in tatters, she somehow managed to muster
up her dignity, turn very slowly on her heels and stalk down the blacktop into
the fast-fading light. As the pine trees enveloped her and the noise of the
party became a low buzz, a smolder of fury burned inside her, slowly gaining
heat. What did manners cost? If that was the caliber of the staff Callahan hired
then she wondered at the type of person this billionaire was. Easy—undeniably
rude!

The balls of her feet burned and with a rough tug she pulled
off her sandals and sank down into soft pine needles. Okay, so she’d tried to
use another person’s invitation to gain entry but only because Callahan hadn’t
responded to any of her communications. Why had she even thought he might?
According to older residents, the Callahans had been coming to Whitetail for
years but unlike most other vacationers, they’d kept themselves aloof from the
town. Each summer they buzzed the lake with their powerboats and Jet Skis, and
every Thanksgiving they cut down a Christmas tree and, without a backward
glance, headed back to Chicago.

Always
taking
,
never
giving
.

The smolder ignited into a hot flame that quickly took hold
until a fire raged. Damn it all, good people were hurting and this family
owed
her a meeting. Owed Whitetail a meeting. She’d
always been good, always done the right thing, and her dealings with AKP
Industries were no different. She’d gone through all the correct channels and
what had it got her? Squat. Now the town had gone to enormous lengths to get her
ready for this party so she could meet Sean Callahan, and she didn’t need to
imagine their reaction if she returned without meeting him—she could taste their
disappointment in her already. She hated letting people down.

She heard a band start up followed by cheering. Given the
volume of noise and combining it with the fact it was a warm and balmy summer
night, she knew everyone was dancing outside. She should be there. Not dancing
but mingling outside in the crowd and finding the man she needed to meet.

Outside
. The thought rocked her.
Most people would be in the garden, leaving the house fairly empty. With a
determined pull, she strapped her dainty shoes back on her feet. There was more
than one way to skin a cat so there was more than one way to get into that
party.

She just had to find it.

* * *

Finn Callahan downed his third Leinenkugel, and wondered
how much longer he had to stay at his sister’s engagement party. After months of
living and working in Mexico and becoming used to a more casual dress code, he
found that his tuxedo clung to him as tight and constricting as a straitjacket.
The starched collar of his shirt scratched and itched, and with an abrupt pull,
he undid the offending bow tie and shoved it into his pocket.

Why on earth had Bridey wanted a formal engagement party? The
question immediately begged a bigger one—why did she even want to get married?
It wasn’t like either of them had been raised to actually witness any benefits
from the institution. He took another slug of his beer, wondering what was going
on in his sister’s pretty head that made her insist the party be up at the lake.
This meant his long-since-divorced-but-still-acrimonious parents had to spend an
evening together in a house they’d once shared and his second stepmother now
considered to be very much her own. Happy families didn’t come close.

After the stiff smiles and overly bright attempts at
conversation by the current and ex-wives of Sean Callahan had worn him down,
he’d retreated to the library because it was the only room in the house he
liked. It was the one place Sean had left untouched during the massive
renovation. Quiet and tucked away in the back corner, it meant he was unlikely
to be disturbed, but it also gave him a partial view of proceedings. From here
he’d know when to reappear so as not to miss the toasts.

He gazed out one of the many windows, past the live band in
full swing out on the terrace, past people dancing on the floating dance floor
under the stars and toward the lone twinkling light in the middle of the lake.
He smiled at the faint yellow glow, loving what it represented—
his
island and
his
cabin.
A real cabin, unlike this monolith that his father had built to impress and in
the process lost the soul of Grandpa’s place.

He checked his work email on his phone—nothing from Henrico so
thankfully no disasters at the new plant. Still he wouldn’t mind one if it got
him out of Kylemore. He ate a club sandwich from the platter that Esther—the
indomitable housekeeper—had brought in for him and then he looked for something
to read. A vast array of women’s magazines were scattered across the low table
along with an angling magazine and a bunch of plastic toy building bricks. When
he’d been a kid, his father had never allowed him in here to read, let alone
play. He turned away from the toy bricks and crossed the room to the wall of
bookshelves. With a practiced eye, he quickly found
Adventures
of
Huckleberry
Finn
.

He settled into the wingback chair in the far corner of the
large room and the book fell open to his favorite scene, read to him so many
times by his grandfather. As he reread the well-known words he could hear
Grandpa’s booming voice telling the story and the noise of the party fell
away.

A soft thud made him look up. A beaded purse lay on the rug. He
immediately heard a louder thump followed by a heartfelt, “Ohh, shit! Ouch.”

He was instantly on his feet and just in time to see a long,
creamy leg pointing ceiling-ward into the room with the back of the knee pressed
against the windowsill. Five brightly painted red toes peeked out of a
ridiculously high-heeled shoe and a pair of manicured hands gripped the sill as
the leg tried to bend to find purchase. A grunt of effort reverberated as loudly
as a bass drum and he glimpsed a head, saw the second leg appear and then the
head vanished.

Someone was doing an exceptionally clumsy job of trying to
climb through the window. He should’ve been outraged but then again most thieves
didn’t raid homes dressed in evening wear. The absurdity of it added an extra
something to what so far had been a very long evening. Someone had obviously
drunk far too much champagne so instead of calling security, he decided to check
it out himself.

He raised the window higher and leaned out into the shadows. He
couldn’t make out much more than the outline of what he assumed was a woman’s
body lying upside down against the side of the house. He couldn’t see anyone
else. “Most people use the door.”

A gasp shot through the air followed by a beat of silence. “I’m
not most people.” The Midwest accent combined resignation with attitude—an
intriguing combination.

“Exactly what are you doing?”

“Do you think we could leave the explanations until after
you’ve helped me up? My head’s about to explode from too much blood.”

“I guess that’s an option.” His gaze slid along the curve of
one fully exposed leg and then snagged on the clear view of white, cotton
panties. He took a second look to make sure he’d seen right. He couldn’t even
remember the last time he’d seen plain, classic briefs, and combined with
evening wear, well, it was just wrong. The luxurious material of the dress
demanded French lace or a skimpy thong, not utilitarian cotton. Even so, he
suddenly felt hot, which was ridiculous, and he quickly pulled the dress over
both legs to cover her up. Standing to one side, he gripped her wrists and
pulled. Her legs moved sideways, knocking into his head.

“Whoa, what are you doing? I’m slipping. Just pull me straight
up!”

The bossy tone, not unlike the one Bridey had used when she’d
demanded he attend her party, irritated him and he started to regret his offer
of help. He much preferred women who didn’t say very much. “Listen, Legs, I was
trying to spare you an element of indignity.”

A strangled sound that was half groan and half laugh floated up
to him. “I left dignity behind at the last mile post. Do whatever. Just get me
up.”

He knew exactly what he had to do but he wasn’t certain she was
going to like it. “Hold the windowsill with your left hand.” Keeping a firm grip
on her right wrist and losing the battle not to take a second peek at the
utilitarian underwear, he managed to maneuver himself so he stood between her
legs. “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

“Excuse me?” Her voice rose an octave.

He grinned at the fact he’d made her take-charge tone waver,
but she had absolutely nothing to worry about. Not only did he prefer women who
didn’t readily offer up opinions, he was also very fond of breasts. Legs had
never really done it for him. “Relax, it’s pure physics. We’re using my weight
to counterbalance yours.”

“Oh, God, I did say do whatever, didn’t I?” She suddenly let
out a shriek. “Quick, the sprinklers just came on!”

Her smooth, warm legs came in hard and fast against his body
before she crossed her ankles behind him. His blood pounded south.
Just
physics
,
right
?

He tugged firmly on her forearms, as much to bring her straight
up as to banish his body’s response to her. It had been weeks since he’d reacted
like this to any woman and they’d been women he’d been able to see. Why the hell
was this happening with one he couldn’t see?

A moment later, with her legs gripping him even harder, a flash
of wet, emerald-green bodice appeared, followed by even more creamy skin. Then,
framed by sodden mousy-colored hair filled with pine needles and twigs, vivid
blue eyes stared straight at him. Eyes that reminded him of cornflowers and
kaleidoscopes. Eyes that seemed to be having a great deal of trouble focusing.
She swayed backward.

“Don’t faint on me. Take a deep breath.” Instinctively he put
his arm around her waist to steady her and the action brought her hard up
against his chest. She smelled like fresh pine, summer flowers and simpler
times. He leaned back, suddenly needing to keep some distance.

She gulped in air, her chest heaving, and suddenly her eyes
cleared, filling with relief. “The room’s stopped spinning.”

“That’s a good start.” Her legs continued to grip him like a
vise, draining his blood from his brain. Somehow, he managed to choke out, “You
can probably put your feet on the ground now.”

Thick, chestnut lashes blinked and droplets of water splashed
against her pale cheek. He watched, fascinated, as a flush crawled up her neck,
staining her skin pink.

With lightning speed, she dropped her legs, slid off the
windowsill and stood tall and dripping on the rug. Despite being soaking wet and
bedraggled, “Legs” held herself with an air of composure that matched the
vestiges of style and coiffure which were sharply at odds with the fact she’d
entered the house in a questionable way. He couldn’t detect a single strand of
guilt.

She tugged at her dress, straightening it as if she scrambled
through windows every day, and then she hit him with a clear and direct gaze.
“Thank you very much, Mr., er...”