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The foster bros had gone all out even though the ceremony was to be a small and intimate affair. There were red and white roses at the corner of every pew, and in front of the pulpit was an ivory arch with wispy jewel-encrusted lace.
With a sigh, she added an adorable smiley face to her message, because it was cute and it said I’m not yelling at you. My temper is not engaged.
Send.
Brook Lynn: Harlow wants a play-by-play of the action
Fine.
Her: Beck is now speaking w/ Pastor Washington. Jase, Dane, Kenna, Daphne & Brad are engaged in conversation, while Hope is playing w/ her doll on the floor. Happy?
She didn’t add that West was focused on the stunning brunette, who was still clinging to his side.
The girl...she had a familiar face—where have I seen her?—and a body so finely honed Jessie Kay wanted to stuff a few thousand Twinkies down her throat just to make it fair for the rest of the female population. Her designer dress was made of ebony silk and hugged her curves like a besotted lover.
Like West would be doing tonight?
Grinding her teeth, Jessie Kay slid her gaze over her own gown, one she’d sewn in her spare time. Not bad—actually kind of awesome—but compared to Great Bod’s delicious apple it was a rotten orange.
Jealousy struck her again, and struck harder. Dang it! Jealousy was stupid. Jessie Kay was no can of dog food in the looks department. In fact, she was well able to hold her own against anyone, anywhere, anytime. But...but...
A lot of baggage came with her.
West suddenly stiffened, as if he sensed he was being watched. He turned in Jessie Kay’s direction. Her heart slamming against her ribs with enough force to break free and escape, she darted into Harlow’s bridal chamber—the choir room.
Harlow finished curling her thick mass of hair as Brook Lynn gave her lips a final swipe of gloss.
“Welcome to my nightmare,” Jessie Kay announced. “I might as well put in rollers, pull on a pair of mom jeans and buy ten thousand cats.” Cats! Love! “I’m officially an old maid without any decent prospects.”
Brook Lynn wrinkled her brow. “What are you talking about?”
“Everyone is here, including West and his date. I’m the only single person in our group, which means you guys have to set me up with your favorite guy friends. Obviously I’m looking for a nine or ten. Make it happen. Please and thank you.”
Harlow went still. “West brought a date? Who is she?”
Had a coil of steam just risen from her nostrils? “Just some girl.”
Harlow pressed her hands against a stomach that had to be dancing with nerves. “I don’t want just some girl at my first wedding.”
“You planning your divorce to Beck already?”
Harlow scowled at her. “Not funny. You know we’re planning a larger ceremony next year.”
Jessie Kay raised her hands, palms out. “You’re right, you’re right. And you totally convinced me. I’ll kick the bitch out pronto.” And I’ll love every second of it—on Harlow’s behalf.
“No. No. I don’t want a scene.” Stomping her foot, Harlow added, “What was West thinking? He’s ruined everything.”
Ooo-kay. A wee bit dramatic, maybe. “I doubt he was thinking at all. If that boy ever had an idea, it died of loneliness.” Too much? “Anyway. I’m sure you could use a glass or six of champagne. I’ll open the bottle for us—for you. You’re welcome.”
A wrist corsage hit her square in the chest.
“This is my day, Jessica Dillon.” Harlow thumped her chest. “Mine! You will remain stone-cold sober, or I will remove your head, place it on a stick and wave it around while your sister sobs over your bleeding corpse.”
Wow. “That’s pretty specific, but I feel you. No alcohol for me, ma’am.” She gave a jaunty salute. “I mean, no alcohol for me, Miss Bridezilla, sir.”
“Ha-ha.” Harlow morphed from fire-breathing dragon to fairytale princess in an instant, twirling in a circle. “Now, stop messing around and tell me how amazing I look. And don’t hesitate to use words like exquisite and magical.”
The hair at her temples had been pulled back, the rest hanging to her elbows in waves so dark they glimmered blue in the light. The gown had capped sleeves and a straight bustline with cinched-in waist and pleats that flowed all the way to the floor, covering the sensible flats she’d chosen based on West’s advice. “You look...exquisitely magical.”
“Magically exquisite,” Brook Lynn said with a nod.
“My scars aren’t hideous?” Self-conscious, Harlow smoothed a hand over the multitude of jagged pink lines running between her breasts, courtesy of an attack she’d miraculously survived as a teenage girl.
“Are you kidding? Those scars make you look badass.” Jessie Kay curled a few more pieces of hair, adding, “I’m bummed my skin is so flawless.”
Harlow snorted. “Yes, let’s shed a tear for you.”
Jessie Kay gave her sister the stink eye. “You better not be like this for your wedding. I won’t survive two of you.”
Brook Lynn held up her well-manicured hands, all innocence.
“Well.” She glanced at a wristwatch she wasn’t wearing, doing her best impression of West. “We’ve got twenty minutes before the festivities kick off. Need anything?”
Harlow’s hands returned to her stomach, the color draining from her cheeks in a hurry. “Yes. Beck.”
Blinking, certain she’d misheard, she fired off a quick “Excuse me?” Heck. Deck. Neck. Certainly not Beck. “Grooms aren’t supposed to see—”
“I need Beck.” Harlow stomped her foot. “Now.”
“Have you changed your mind?” Brook Lynn asked. “If so, we’ll—”
“No, no. Nothing like that.” Harlow launched into a quick pace, marching back and forth through the room. “I just... I need to see him. He hates change, and this is the biggest one of all, and I need to talk to him before I totally—flip—out. Okay? All right?”
“This isn’t that big a change, honey. Not really.” Who would have guessed Jessie Kay would be a voice of reason in a situation like this? Or any situation. “You guys live together already.”
“Beck!” she insisted. “Beck, Beck, Beck.”
“Temper tantrums are not attractive.” Jessie Kay shared a concerned look with her sister, who nodded. “All right. One Beck coming up.” As fast as her heels would allow, she made her way back to the sanctuary.
She purposely avoided West’s general direction, focusing only on the groom. “Harlow has decided to throw millions of years’ worth of tradition out the window. She wants to see you without delay. Are you wearing a cup? I’d wear a cup. Good luck.”
He’d been in the middle of a conversation with Jase, and like Harlow, he quickly paled. “Is something wrong?” He didn’t stick around for an answer, rushing past Jessie Kay without actually judging the distance between them, almost knocking her over.
As she stumbled, West flew over and latched on to her wrist to help steady her. The contact nearly buckled her knees. His hands were calloused, his fingers firm. His strength was unparalleled and his skin hot enough to burn. Electric tingles rushed through her, the world around her fading until they were the only two people in existence.
Fighting for every breath, she stared up at him. His gaze dropped to her lips and narrowed, his focus savagely carnal and primal in its possessiveness, as if he saw nothing else, either—wanted nothing and no one else ever. But as he slowly lowered his arm and stepped away from her, the world snapped back into focus.
The bastard brought a date.
Right. She cleared her throat, embarrassed by the force of her reaction to him. “Thanks.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. A sign of anger? “May I speak with you privately?”
Uh... “Why?”
“Please.”
What the what now? Had Lincoln West actually said the word please to her? Her? “Whatever you have to say to me—” an insult, no doubt “—can wait. You should return to your flavor of the year.” Opting for honesty, she grudgingly added, “You guys look good together.”
The muscle jumped again, harder, faster. “You think we look good together?”
“Very much so.” Two perfect people. “I’m not being sarcastic, if that’s what you’re getting at. Who is she?”
“Monica Gentry. Fitness guru based in the city.”
Well. That explained the sense of familiarity. And the body. Jessie Kay had once briefly considered thinking about exercising along with Monica’s video. Then she’d found a bag of Kit Kat Minis and the insane idea went back to hell where it belonged. “She’s a good choice for you. Beautiful. Successful. Driven. And despite what you think about me, despite the animosity between us, I want you happy. I know! I’m as shocked as you are.”
And she didn’t want him happy just because he’d had a crappy childhood, she realized. He was a part of her family, for better or worse. A girl made exceptions for family. Even the douche bags.
His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “We’re going to speak privately, Jessie Kay, whether you agree or not. The only decision you need to make is whether or not you’ll walk out of this room. I’m more than willing to carry you.”
A girl also had the right to smack family. “You’re just going to tell me to change my hideous dress, and I’m going to tell you I’m fixing to cancel your birth certificate.”
When Harlow had told her to wear whatever she wanted, Jessie Kay had done just that, creating a blood red, off-the-shoulder, pencil-skirt dress that molded to her curves like a second skin...made from leftover material for drapes.
Scarlett O’Hara has nothing on me!
Jessie Kay was proud of her work, but she wasn’t blind to its flaws. Years had passed since she’d sewn anything, and her skills were rusty.
West gave her another once—twice—over as fire smoldered in his eyes. “Why would I tell you to change?” His voice dipped, nothing but smoke and gravel as he added, “You and that dress are a fantasy come true.”
Uh, what the what now? Had Lincoln West just called her a fantasy?
Almost can’t process...
“Maybe you should take me to the ER. I’m pretty sure I just had a brain aneurism.” She rubbed her temples. “I’m hallucinating.”
“Hallucinating isn’t a symptom, funny girl.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, snatched her hand and while Monica called his name, dragged Jessie Kay to a small room in back. A cleaning closet, the air sharp with antiseptic. What little space was available was consumed by overstuffed shelves.
“When did you decide to switch careers and become a caveman?” she asked.
“When you decided to switch careers and become a femme fatale.”
Have mercy on my soul.
He released her to run his fingers through his hair, leaving the strands in sexy spikes around his head. “Listen. I owe you an apology for the way I’ve treated you in the past. Even the way I’ve acted today. I shouldn’t have manhandled you, and I’m very sorry.”
Her eyes widened. Seriously, what the heck had happened to this man? In five minutes, he’d upended everything she’d come to expect from him.
And he wasn’t done! “I’m sorry for every hurtful thing I’ve ever said to you. I’m sorry for making you feel bad about who you are and what you’ve done. I’m sorry—”
“Stop. Just stop.” She placed her hands over her ears in case he failed to heed her order. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”
He gently removed her hands and held on tight to her wrists. “What’s happening? I’m owning my mistakes and hoping you’re in a forgiving mood.”
“You want to be my friend?” The words squeaked from her.
“Yes, I think I do.”
He thinks? “Here’s the problem. You’re a dog and I’m a cat, and we’re never going to get along.”
One corner of his mouth quirked with lazy amusement, causing a flutter in her pulse. “I think you’re wrong...kitten.”
Kitten. A freakishly adorable nickname, and absolutely perfect for her while also absolutely unexpected.
Oh, she’d known he’d give her one sooner or later. He and his friends were old school and enjoyed renaming the women in their lives. Jase always called Brook Lynn “angel” and Beck called Harlow everything from “beauty” to “hag,” her initials. Well, HAG prewedding. But Jessie Kay had prepared herself for “demoness” or the always classic “bitch.”
“Dogs and cats can be friends,” he said, “especially when the dog minds his manners. I promise you, things will be different from now on.”
“Well.” Reeling, she could come up with no witty reply. “We could try, I guess.”
“Good.” His gaze dropped to her lips, heated a few more degrees. “Now all we have to do is decide what kind of friends we should be.”
Her heart started kicking up a fuss again, breath abandoning her lungs. “What do you mean?”
“Text frequently? Call each other occasionally? Only speak when we’re with our other friends?” He backed her into a shelf and cans rattled, threatening to fall. “Or should we be friends with benefits?”
Aaand the tingles returned, sweeping over her skin and sinking deep, deep into bone. Her entire body ached with need so powerful it nearly felled her. How long since a man had focused the full scope of his masculinity on her? Too long and never like this. West took everything to the next level. Somehow he reduced her to a quivering mess of femininity and whoremones.
“I vote...we only speak when we’re with our other friends,” she said, embarrassed by the breathless tremor in her voice.
“What if I want all of it?” He placed his hands at her temples and several of the cans rolled to the floor. “The texts, the calls...and the benefits.”
“No?” A question? Really? “No to the last.” Better. “You have a date.”
He scowled at her as if she’d done something wrong. “See, that’s the real problem, kitten. I don’t want her. I want you.”
* * *
WEST CALLED HIMSELF a thousand kinds of fool. He’d planned to apologize, return to the sanctuary, witness his friend’s wedding and start the countdown with Monica. The moment he’d gotten Jessie Kay inside the closet, her pecans-and-cinnamon scent in his nose, those plans burned to ash. Only one thing mattered.
Getting his hands on her.
From day one, she’d been a vertical g-force too strong to deny, pulling, pulling, pulling him into a bottomless vortex. He’d fought it every minute of every day since meeting her, and he’d gotten nowhere fast. Why not give in? Stop the madness?
Just once...
“We’ve been dancing around this for months,” he said. “I’m scum for picking here and now to hash this out with you, and I’ll care tomorrow. Right now, I think it’s time we did something about our feelings.”
“I don’t...” She began to soften against him, only to snap to attention. “No. Absolutely not. I can’t.”
“You won’t.” But I can change your mind...
She nibbled on her bottom lip.
Something he would kill to do. So he did it. He leaned into her, caught her bottom lip between his teeth and ran the plump morsel through. “Do you want me, Jessie Kay?”
Her eyes closed for a moment, a shiver rocking her. “You say you’ll care tomorrow, so I’ll give you an answer then. As for today, I... I... I’m leaving.” But she made no effort to move away, and he knew. She did want him. As badly as he wanted her. “Yes. Leaving. Any moment now...”
Acting without thought—purely on instinct—he placed his hands on her waist and pressed her against the hard line of his body. “I want you to stay. I want you, period.”
“West.” The new tremor in her voice injected his every masculine instinct with adrenaline, jacking him up. “You said it yourself. You’re scum. This is wrong.”
Anticipation raced denial to the tip of his tongue, and won by a photo finish. “Do you care?” He caressed his way to her ass and cupped the perfect globes, then urged her forward to rub her against the long length of his erection. The woman who’d tormented his days and invaded his dreams moaned a decadent sound of satisfaction, and it did something to him. Made his need for her worse.
She wasn’t what he should want, but somehow she’d become everything he could not resist, and he was tired, so damn tired, of walking, hell, running away from her.
“Do you?” he insisted. “Say yes, and I’ll be the one to leave. I don’t want you to regret this.” He wanted her desperate for more.
She looked away from him, licked her lips. “Right at this moment? No. I don’t care.” As soft as a whisper.
Triumph filled him, his clasp on her tightening.
“But tomorrow...” she added.
Yes. Tomorrow. He wasn’t the only one who’d been running from the sizzle between them, but today, with her admission ringing in his ears, he wasn’t letting her get away. One look at her, that’s all it had taken to ruin his plans. Now she would pay the price. Now she would make everything better.
“I will regret it,” she said. “This is a mistake I’ve made too many times in the past.” Different emotions played over her features. Features so delicate he was consumed by the need to protect her from anything and anyone...but himself.
He saw misery, desire, fear, regret, hope and anger. The anger concerned him. This Southern belle could knock a man’s testicles into his throat with a single swipe of her knee. Even still, West didn’t walk away.
“For all we know, the world will end tomorrow. Let’s focus on today. You tell me what you want me to do,” he said, nuzzling his nose against her cheek, “and I’ll do it.”
More tremors rocked her. She traced her delicate hands up his tie and gave the knot a little shake, an action that was sexy, sweet and wicked all at once. “I want you...to go back to your date. You and I, we’ll be friends as agreed, and we’ll pretend this never happened.” She pushed him, but he didn’t budge.
His date. Yeah, he’d forgotten about Monica before Jessie Kay had mentioned her a few minutes ago. But then, he’d gotten used to forgetting everything whenever the luscious blonde entered a room. Everything about her consumed every part of him, and it was more than irritating, it was a sickness to be cured, an obstacle to be overcome and an addiction to be avoided. If they did this, he would suffer from his own regrets, but there was no question he would love the ride.
He bunched up the hem of her skirt, his fingers brushing the silken heat of her bare thigh. Her breath hitched, driving him wild. “You’ve told me what you think you should want me to do.” He rasped the words against her mouth, hovering over her, not touching her but teasing with what could be. “Now tell me what you really want me to do.”
Navy blues peered up at him, beseeching; the fight drained out of her, leaving only need and raw vulnerability. “I’m only using you for sex—said no guy ever. But that’s what you’re going to do. Isn’t it? You’re going to use me and lose me, just like the others.”
Her features were utterly ravaged, and in that moment, he hated himself. Because she was right. Whether he took her for a single night or every night for two months, the end result would be the same. No matter how much it hurt her—no matter how much it hurt him—he would walk away.
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