The Mistletoe Effect (8 page)

“Tell me.”

She held out her wrists as though in offering, her eyes blazing with wicked intent. “I think this marriage gig is going to be a whole lot of fun.”

∗∗∗

Carina woke to a faint buzzing sound. She peeled one eye open, only one word in her mind:
caffeine
. She needed a cup of black tea and maybe some ibuprofen—stat. She raised her head in search of a clock, but the first sight her one-eyed gaze hit was Decker. He was lying next to her on his back, with no top sheet in sight, buck naked and slumbering peacefully except for a monster hard-on that had both her eyes flying wide open to better appreciate his body. Who needed caffeinated tea with that kind of first-of-the-morning greeting?

Her eyes roved over the rest of his body, those long limbs, broad, suntanned shoulders, and a chest boasting just enough hair to advertise the wealth of testosterone running through his veins. So this was what her duty to the resort had gotten her last night. Not a bad trade-off. Not bad at all.
Sacrifice, my ass.

The faint buzzing sounded again, but this time she recognized it as her phone vibrating. She rolled out of bed and stumbled toward the sound, which seemed to be coming from the pile of clothes near the door. She’d only gone a couple steps when her foot snagged on something and she fell forward on her hands and knees onto the cushy carpet with a whispered curse. Groaning, she shook her leg away from the tangle of red rope it’d caught on, then crawled the rest of the way to the clothes pile through a hedonistic debris field of naughty toys, condom wrappers, bottles of lube, discarded clothes, and an empty champagne bottle.

She found her purse under her bridesmaid’s dress and pulled her phone out. When she saw the number of the missed call, her eyes flew open wide. She leaned against the door and pressed the callback button, then peeled off a condom wrapper that was stuck to her knee.

“Come on, answer,” she muttered on the fourth ring.

“Carina?”

Carina’s heart dropped with relief. “Oh my God, Haylie, where are you? Are you okay?”

“Relax, Sis. I only called to tell you that I’m fine. Will you tell Mom and Dad for me?”

She did sound fine, happy even, but Carina had too many questions to stop worrying yet. “Sure, but tell them what? Where are you?”

“If I told you, then you’d tell Daddy and he’d come get me, which would be a disaster.”

Carina frowned at the phone. “Okay, that’s not fair. I can keep a secret from him if you want me to.”

Haylie sighed. “No, you can’t. Listen, I have to go. Just let everyone know they don’t have to worry. I’m safe and happy.”

“When are you coming home?” Carina said, but Haylie had already hung up. If Haylie said she was safe and happy, then Carina would try not to worry. After all, how much trouble could a runaway bride get into? Then again, Haylie was the bride, so perhaps that was the wrong question to ask herself. Cringing, she tucked her phone back in her purse, leaned her head against the door, and closed her eyes.

Down the hall, a knock sounded on another room’s door, followed by a call of, “Housekeeping!”

Carina did the math. The housekeepers didn’t start their shift until eight in the morning and didn’t usually arrive at this wing of the resort until ten. She shot to her feet with a curse. Decker groaned and rolled to his side away from her, but Carina was too overcome with panic to admire his butt or the play of muscles on his back. She had two weddings to manage that day, the first starting with bridal party photographs in an hour. She snatched her purse from the floor and found her phone again, checking the time. Check that—the bridal party photographs started in thirty minutes.
Triple dog damn it.

Then it hit her. The only outfit she had to walk through the hotel in was her Santa Claus dress.
Oh, hell no.

Wait … Haylie’s luggage.
She and Wendell had asked for their luggage to be brought to the suite before the wedding. Carina’s gaze scanned the room. When she didn’t see any suitcases, she strode to the closet. Nothing. She hustled through the suite, looking in every closet and under every table. Haylie’s and Wendell’s luggage was nowhere to be found. Why they’d each taken the time to stop by the room and pick it up was a mystery Carina didn’t have time to dwell on at the moment.

It was hard to hit the speed dial for Emily’s number, her hands were shaking so hard with adrenaline.

“Hey, you,” Emily said, sounding distracted. “I can’t talk. The ovens are still acting up and I have three hundred mushroom brie pastry bites to bake for the one o’clock reception.”

“That’s why I’m calling. The Anderson/Jesniki wedding. I forgot to set my alarm.”

The phone was silent for a beat, then, “Wait. You haven’t left your apartment yet? Oh, shit.”

“I don’t have time to explain, but I’m not at my apartment, and I need clothes right now. I refuse to make a walk of shame in my maid-of-honor dress.”

“Hold on. Where are you?” Emily gasped. “Decker’s house?”

Carina looked over her shoulder at her very own sleeping giant. “Not quite.”

“Oh. My. God. I want details. Lots of details.” A timer sounded in the background. “But not now. I wish I could help you, sweetie, but I’ve got to get the puff pastries in the oven. Good luck.”

Carina dropped her arm as dread sank in. With Haylie gone and Emily busy, there was no one left to call whom Carina trusted to get her out of this jam. Alex, maybe, but she was holding out hope that he’d picked up the slack for that morning with the wedding prep. So, really, her only choices were to do a walk of shame in last night’s dress across the main lobby or … she looked around until she’d found Decker’s tuxedo in a heap. Or she could improvise.

Jogging to the bathroom, she scooped up the tux and hit number 2 on her autodial, then tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder. Alex answered the call, his only greeting a snort of amusement.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she said.

“It means I’m proud of you. How’s life as a newlywed?”

The mini shampoo and conditioner bottles went tumbling into the sink as she grabbed the complimentary sewing kit from the basket on the bathroom counter. “I didn’t really get married, you know.”

“My brain says you didn’t, but my eyes saw you wearing a wedding band and making out with your groom at the reception, then leaving early with him. And the maids started spreading it around that the Sugar Plum honeymoon suite was occupied last night by the bride and groom. Looks like you took my advice and ran with it. Like I said, I’m proud of you, grasshopper.”

She winced. “The maids are talking?”

“I don’t think
talking
is the right word. More like
texting
.”

Great. All this work to avoid a walk of shame might be for naught. She pulled the white thread from the kit along with a needle. “Alex, back to the reason I called. Please tell me everything’s ready for the Anderson/Jesniki wedding.”

“Of course it is. The chapel has been cleared out of last night’s green-and-red palette and re-adorned in whites and golds, champagne breakfasts were delivered to the bride’s and groom’s suites right on time, and the Tannenbaum Ballroom looks like a gilded snow scene.”

Carina allowed herself to pause. She set the needle and thread down and closed her eyes, then let out a slow exhalation of relief. Alex was her secret weapon, the person tethering her to her sanity during each winter wedding season. He was such a skilled event planner and so passionate about the work that he should have been running his own company. Every year, she expected him to quit and do just that, but he never did.

“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Funny, I was saying that very thing this morning. And yesterday, and the day before …” His voice trailed off into a faux-beleaguered sigh.

For the first time since waking, she felt like smiling. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

After the call ended, she added darts to the back of the dress shirt to help tailor the fit. She preferred the stitch pattern of her sewing machine for these kinds of clean lines, but she had a steady enough hand and plenty of experience to execute a fine tailoring job.

When she was done with the shirt, she pulled the tuxedo pants on. As she’d expected, they were way too long. She folded the cuffs to fit, then removed the pants and sat on the closed lid of the toilet seat to perform a quick hem.

After that, her new ensemble came together fast. The pointy end of a wine bottle opener she found in a kitchen drawer was perfect for poking a hole in Decker’s belt so it’d fit her. In front of the full-length bedroom mirror, she slid into the pants, then added the belt, topped it with his undershirt, and finally donned the tailored dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows. Boom—just like that she had a passable outfit in minutes flat.

“You look way better wearing my clothes than you have a right to.”

She spun toward Decker’s gravelly first-of-the-morning voice. He’d propped himself up on an elbow in bed, his light brown hair a haphazard mess and his legs sprawled. Behind a thick coat of dark stubble on his cheeks and chin, he grinned at her with a confident lopsided smile. “Good morning,” he said.

“Hi.” She watched, mesmerized by the play of his muscles as he sat fully up and stretched his arms above his head. Shaking herself out of the trance, she turned her attention back to her reflection.

“Do you really think this looks okay? I’m late for the first wedding of the day and there’s no way I’m making a walk of shame past all of Briscoe Ranch’s employees in the Santa Claus dress from last night.”

“I think they would’ve understood, given that you’re a newlywed.”

She shoved her keys and phone into her purse. “We’re not—oh, you’re making a joke. Sorry. Stress.”

“I can see that.”

As was her ritual every morning right before walking out the door, she gave her hair a toss for some oomph, then applied her favorite raspberry lip gloss. “I have to go. We’re going to have to figure this out, with you and me, later.” She waved the lip gloss tube in a circle as she hustled toward the door, glancing at the nightstand alarm clock as she moved. “Oh my God. I can’t believe I’m this late. I’m never late. Ever.”

Her attempt to open the door was barred by a hand that flattened on the door near her shoulder and held it closed. “Hold your horses, there, Tasmanian Devil.”

Frustrated that her momentum was coming to a screeching halt, she dropped her head forward and took a steadying breath. She didn’t have time for this because people were counting on her—people including brides and grooms who were expecting the happiest and most perfect day of their lives. Juggling a personal life with the demands of her career during the fall and winter was impossible. It didn’t matter that what she wanted most was to crawl back into bed with Decker and order room service; that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

Head still down, she opened her eyes, and it hit her how similarly they were standing to the first time they had sex. Her facing the door, Decker behind her. His bare foot rested alongside her heel. Her gaze slid up his leg and higher, to the expanse of hairy, muscular flesh on his leg, then to his hip and the side of his torso. Heat coiled in her lower belly. He didn’t have any clothes on, and he was pressing against her backside. She was all for that, except that she was running way too late to even have time to appreciate a sexy, naked, aroused man or the memories of their consummation.

As she raised her head again, her gaze collided with the gold band on his ring finger. That’s when it started to sink in that she’d just fake married and spent the night naked and sweaty with James Decker.
The
James Decker, crush of all unobtainable crushes. And they were going to be living together as husband and wife for most of the month.
Holy shit.

After the things he’d done to her and the way he’d made her feel over and over on the first night together, if he wanted a good-bye kiss in the morning then that was the least she could do to show her appreciation to the man who’d far exceeded every fantasy she’d had about him since she was seventeen. She turned and flattened her back against the closed door, fighting unsuccessfully to keep her eyes from confirming just exactly how naked he was. Which was unequivocally. Gloriously.

“I know what this is about,” she said.

He braced his other hand on the door, caging her in front of him. “I should hope so.”

“I forgot to kiss you good-bye,” she said. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually—”

Before she could finish, his mouth descended on hers, tenderly, parting her lips just enough to notch his against hers. His skin smelled like sex and sleep and Decker. She smoothed her palms over his chest, trying to tell him with her lips and hands that her oversight in forgetting to give him a proper good-bye wasn’t a reflection of how much she’d enjoyed their night together. Which was a lot.
A lot
a lot.

It’d been exactly what she needed to get through another busy December day.

When he ended the kiss, she sighed, wishing she could stay in the suite with him indefinitely, without the world and her innumerable responsibilities interfering. She opened her eyes and saw him gazing at her with an expression of unapologetic male pride, which contrasted adorably with the pink lip gloss smeared on his lips and in his stubble. That look, combined with his tousled, bed-head hair and noticeably excited body, had her flustered all over again—and this time it had nothing to do with her tardiness to work.

“I wasn’t referring to a good-bye kiss, but you’re right; you did owe me one. Consider it part of your wifely duties this month.”

Her
wifely duties.
Said in his deep, sleepyhead growl, he’d made that sound kinky, like playing husband and wife was a fetish they shared.

“As long as those duties don’t include cooking, cleaning, or looking after you or your house in any way, I think you and I are going to get through this just fine.” She wiped her thumb over the gloss above his upper lip. “But I have to get to the chapel before the first bridal party of the day shows up, so tell me, what were you referring to?”