Kiss the Bride Page 4

  Massage therapy? Relaxation techniques? Hobbies? What a load of crap. He needed his job back. It was the only thing that grounded him when the world was shifting beneath his feet.

  “If you require anything more while I’m out of town, Dr. Bullock will be standing in for me.”

  Hmm, Nick thought. Maybe he could talk this Bullock character into signing his release form.

  “And don’t think Dr. Bullock will send you back to work,” Van Zandt said. “I’m making a notation in your chart.”

  Ass wipe. “You know me too well.”

  “Go ahead and get dressed. You can leave through the doctors’ entrance on the south side of the building. It’s closer to the parking lot so you won’t have so far to walk.”

  “Thanks,” Nick forced himself to say.

  Before he left the room, Van Zandt rested a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “It’s going to be all right if you do what I tell you. I promise. But if you don’t…” He didn’t finish his sentence. The warning was implicit.

  Easy for him to say. He had a killer job and two good legs and a fiancée who loved him.

  “Yeah.” Nick nodded.

  He’d come to his appointment with the expectation that he’d be returning to work on Monday. He was leaving with the realization he was stuck with himself for six more weeks, or risk losing his career forever.

  Fuck it all. He felt like he’d just received a roundhouse kick to the head.

  Again.

  The sleek architecture of the Medical Arts Center in northwest Houston where Evan leased office space exuded a clean, faultless charm achieved only by brand-new buildings.

  Feeling like an extra from The Rocky Horror Picture Show trying to sneak into the Oval Office for an audience with the president, Delaney paced the sidewalk outside the doctors’ entrance.

  The black, thigh-high, vamp boots Jillian had loaned her pinched her toes, and the pink raincoat covering her skimpy black bustier, garters, and fishnet stockings rustled noisily. A modest-sized dildo, which Tish had insisted she buy when they’d finally made it over to the sex toy store, rested in her raincoat pocket.

  With both hands she carried a small, lightweight tarp pilfered from her father’s barbecue grill. She had come fully prepared to carry out this sexy hostage-taking fantasy.

  But doubt was making mincemeat of her already shaky self-confidence. Nervously, she nibbled her bottom lip, and then realized she was mangling her lipstick and forced herself to stop.

  Remind me again why you’re doing this?

  To improve sex with Evan.

  Is that really the reason?

  Okay, if she was being truly honest with herself, she had to admit it was a last-ditch effort. Before she hitched her life to Evan’s forever, she wanted to know if the possibility of sexual electricity even existed between them.

  And if it doesn’t?

  Delaney shook her head. Tish and Jillian and Rachael and even her dead sister, Skylar, felt certain that taking Evan hostage for an afternoon of unexpected sexual delight was exactly the thing their relationship needed.

  But what if they were wrong? What if Evan hated this surprise seduction? What if he refused to play along? Or worse yet, what if he did play along, but the seduction did nothing to spice up their sex life?

  She checked her watch. Twelve-oh-five.

  Where was he?

  She’d phoned Evan early that morning and invited him to lunch. He’d promised to meet her in the parking lot outside of his office at noon.

  He’s a doctor, his time isn’t his own. Patience, patience. He’ll be here.

  Good advice, except the waiting was ramping up her nerves and making her palms sweaty. Quickly she peeked through the darkly tinted back door to see if she could spot Evan in the hallway.

  Ooh, ooh, there he was, head down, ambling toward the exit.

  Excitement spun through her. Pulse pounding, she jumped behind the door.

  This is it.

  She raised the tarp up in front of her, ready to toss it over his head when he came through the door.

  Several seconds passed.

  Where was he? What was taking so long?

  Just as she was about to take another peek, the door swung open.

  A thrill, unlike anything she’d ever felt, took swift possession of her. Delaney pitched the tarp down over his head, whipped the dildo from the pocket of her raincoat, and then pressed the tip of it against his spine.

  “This is a gun,” she growled in a movie moll voice. “Do as I say, or you’re gonna get a bullet in your back.”

  In her imagination Evan’s knees would quake. He would raise his hands over his head, beg her not to kill him, and then promise to do whatever she demanded. She was floored by the realization that having that kind of power turned her on.

  But that was not what happened.

  One minute she was teetering on her stiletto boots and the next minute she was lying flat on her back, pinned to the cool green lawn and peering up at the bristling stranger who was staring down at her. His hands were wrapped around her wrists and his knees were between her legs.

  Everything had gone wrong. Her blood pumped crazily. Oh, God, oh, no, it couldn’t be.

  A bizarre sensation of déjà vu crushed her. This was crazy, insane, impossible.

  Thunderstruck, she blinked, unable to believe what she was seeing. Instead of snaring her fiancé, she had bagged the man from that weird vision she’d had while she was in Claire Kelley’s shop when she’d first touched the wedding veil. The hard-jawed warrior. The man she’d seen herself marrying.

  You’re imagining things. This can’t be the same guy you saw.

  But it was.

  Same uncompromising chin, same dark mysterious eyes, same irresistible pull of attraction.

  She gulped.

  The barbecue grill tarp lay on the sidewalk beside them. Her raincoat hung open, revealing her scanty boudoir attire, and she was still holding that damnable dildo clutched in her fist.

  Shame burned a red-hot blush up Delaney’s neck, a rampaging forest fire of embarrassing heat consuming her entire face.

  His gaze raked over her.

  She watched him sizing up the situation with a look that told her he’d seen it all and done even more. Nothing surprised this guy.

  Like her fiancé, he was dark-haired and had a similar build—slightly taller than average height, broad shoulders, narrow hips—but the resemblance stopped there. Evan’s eyes were blue, but this guy’s eyes were so brown they seemed black.

  Like coffee. Or cocoa beans.

  She sensed he was a man who felt everything intensely, and he didn’t need much of a reason to fight. Or to make love. He was a man who dared. A man who took risks.

  And he was the man from her vision.

  Something in his face spoke to her. He would be fiercely loyal and protective, making his woman feel special and cared for. And, illogically, she wanted to be that woman.

  His eyes kept drilling into hers as if on some level he recognized her too.

  Silly? Fanciful? Or something metaphysical?

  Delaney’s chest tightened. It was as if every muscle in her body had converged around her heart and they were squeezing in rhythmic, synchronized contractions. Suddenly there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the entire world to pacify her hungry lungs. She was breathless and struggling hard to regain some small shred of self-control.

  Then again, he appeared to be doing some struggling of his own. Actually, he looked… flattened. As if she were a tornado and he was a trailer park.

  His pupils constricted and he moistened his lips. His pelvis was pressed flush against her thigh and Delaney realized, to her total mortification, that he was halfway aroused.

  “Is this the gun you were planning on shooting me with?” He wrenched the dildo from her hand and sent her a sardonic smirk. “ ’Cause it looks like it’s already gone off half cocked.”

  Oh, God, kill me now. “I thought… I thought… you were someone e
lse.”

  “Clearly.”

  He arched an eyebrow and took another look at her body, this one long and lingering. His eyes darkened from coffee-colored to inky black as he carefully cataloged the lacy details of her bustier.

  Goose bumps dotted her skin at his appreciative stare. Her breasts prickled, her nipples tightened, and her throat closed off.

  And Delaney was terrified he would notice how her body was betraying her desire.

  She felt trapped, and the thought sent a shiver through her that she couldn’t dismiss as being chilled. It was June in Houston. Hot, humid, sticky. Plus, she was startlingly aware that her thin plastic raincoat was molded tightly against her curves.

  So was the good-looking stranger.

  What had she gotten herself into? His lips hovered above hers, and she made the deadly mistake of staring at his mouth.

  Anticipation raced her heart.

  Perturbed by both his mocking and her stupidity for listening to her friends and dressing up like this, she splayed her palms against his chest and pushed. “Get off me, you big oaf.”

  Usually, she wouldn’t have been so rude, but this was not a normal circumstance, and the roguish expression on his face was just begging for a bad-mannered comment.

  “You’re freakin’ gorgeous,” he murmured. “What gives? You shouldn’t have to throw a tarp over a guy to get him to go out with you.”

  “Off!” She tried to sound tough and bitchy, but she wasn’t good at tough and bitchy, and she came off sounding more scared than anything else.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He rolled to one side.

  “And give me that back.” She sat up and snatched the dildo from his hand.

  He laughed then, a rich, melodious sound rolling over her like a spring breeze, and she almost liked him for it.

  Almost.

  Then a shocking thought occurred. What if Evan came out of the clinic and caught her like this? Sitting half naked on the ground like some deranged Victoria’s Secret model. The notion was enough to propel her to her feet. Quickly she belted her raincoat closed and jammed the lurid sex toy back inside her pocket. She had to get out of here. Her mission of seduction had failed miserably.

  Well, it wasn’t a totally failed seduction; the oddly familiar stranger was looking at her as if he wanted to eat her for dessert. Unfortunately, she’d managed to arouse the wrong man.

  Breathing heavily, Delaney snatched up the tarp and spun on her high-heeled boots, striding for the sanctuary of her car.

  “Hey, lady,” the guy called after her.

  She wanted to keep walking, but years of good breeding wouldn’t allow her to ignore him. Frustrated, she turned and snapped, “What is it?”

  He stretched out a hand. “Could you help me up here? Seeing as how you’re the reason I ended up on my butt in the grass.”

  For the first time she noticed the brace strapped to his right leg. He was impaired.

  Guilt flooded her. She slapped three fingertips across her lips. “Oh, my, I’m so sorry.”

  “ ’S’all right.”

  “How did you do that, you know, with an injured leg?” she asked, hurrying back toward him.

  “Do what?”

  “Flip me onto my back.”

  “I’ll never tell.” His smile was pure wickedness.

  Delaney felt something start to unwind inside her. Something she could not name, but it had been bound up tight for a very long time. Her breath escaped her lungs, rushing out over her lips. She stepped closer. She was looming over him, but it felt as if he were the one dominating her personal space and not the other way around.

  How was that possible?

  Clutching the tarp to her chest with one hand, she put out her other hand to help him up.

  He took it.

  His palm was hard and calloused, his grip strong. Her skin burned. Dumbfounded, she felt herself dissolving. Becoming something else, someone else. Her jaw dropped open. No words came out. What was there to say?

  “Give me a tug.” His fingers closed more tightly around her hand.

  She yanked him to his feet and then he was standing right in front of her. Eye level.

  He wasn’t but a couple of inches taller than her own five-foot-nine height. Barely but distinctly, he leaned in toward her. Close enough for his black T-shirt emblazed with the Harley motorcycle logo to brush the sleeve of her raincoat. And for Delaney to feel the heat of his breath on her cheek.

  A thermal wave of energy hit her and she battled the urge to push her body against his. The sensation was so compelling, Delaney realized that if she didn’t move away right this instant, this very macho male was going to kiss her.

  Defensively crossing her arms over the tarp and holding it close to her chest, she turned. Moving as quickly as she could in the damnable stilettos, she raced for her silver Acura.

  Fingers trembling, she fumbled the keys from her pocket, jabbed them in the lock, wrenched the door open, and tumbled inside.

  Consumed by remorse, she squeezed her eyes closed. Her breath came in heavy, irregular gasps.

  What if Evan had seen them?

  Where was Evan? Her eyes flew open, her gaze tracking to the digital clock in the dash. Twelve-twenty.

  She tossed the tarp in the backseat, then took her cell phone from the console and flipped it open. She started to punch in Evan’s number, but then saw she had one missed call. She entered the code to hear her messages.

  It was her fiancé.

  “I’m sorry to do this to you, Laney,” Evan’s recorded voice said. “But I’ve got an emergency at the hospital. Rain check?”

  Rain check.

  Delaney looked down at her pink raincoat and then stared up at the cloudless sky. It might be sunny and hot, but she couldn’t shake the feeling there was one hell of a thunderstorm heading her way.

  Chapter 3

  Two days had passed and for some bizarre reason, Nick couldn’t stop thinking about the sexy vixen who had ambushed him outside the orthopedic clinic.

  Whenever he closed his eyes, he could see how she’d looked walking away from him, rolling and swaying, as if she were gliding on an ocean wave. Serene, calm, untouched by external circumstances. He wished he’d had hours to watch her, study her—okay, all right, ogle her.

  Her light brown shoulder-length hair, streaked with enticing blond strands, had been styled in a straight sleek style that underscored her cool-as-a-cucumber aloofness. She wasn’t voluptuous like the women he usually dated, like his ex-wife, Amber. Yet in spite of her athletic figure, she had sufficient curves. He’d gotten a pretty good look at what she’d been hiding underneath that raincoat.

  Not bad. Not bad at all.

  Something about her compelled him in a way no one woman had in a very long time, and it shook him. He thought he’d washed his hands of all that romantic junk.

  She looked like a woman who had a lot to say, but never got to say it. Nick found himself wishing he could be the one to hear what was inside her head, learn the secrets she kept closed up behind those sphinxlike lips.

  What was it about this particular woman that got to him? Was it her unflappable calmness that made him ache to rumple her? Maybe it was her wide, slightly crooked mouth that seemed out of sync with the rest of her? That mouth was the most interesting part of her beauty, precisely because it didn’t fit.

  Or perhaps it was her eyes—sharp, smart, and green as an oasis. Looking into the depths of her made him feel like a traveler lost in an enchanted forest. Of course, it could have just been the sizzling underwear peeping from behind the raincoat and her unexpected willingness for adventuresome sex play.

  A shudder passed through Nick. Whatever the cause, the woman was F-I-N-E, fine.

  He’d been damn tempted to ask for her phone number, but it was clear from the huge rock on her ring finger she was deeply involved with someone else. And to Nick’s way of thinking, there was nothing more off-limits than a woman who was spoken for. Too bad. A little sexual healing would
have been a very nice way to pass his recovery time until Dr. Van Zandt got back from Guatemala.

  Yeah, right, like you would ever have a chance with her even if she wasn’t engaged. She’s filet mignon, and you’re a hot dog.

  Determined to burn her off his brain, Nick decided a workout was in order.

  He ambled out to his pickup truck, favoring his achy knee, and drove over to Gold’s Gym. Strenuous cardio was out of the question, but he could do upper-body strength training, and Doc Van Zandt had endorsed swimming.

  After twenty minutes in the lap pool, Nick emerged winded, with water trickling down his bare chest and abdomen. He dried off with a thin white cotton towel, his heart punching hard against his rib cage, his lungs burning. Fatigue weighted him, but his thoughts were still locked on his mystery woman. He kept picturing her on his bed, in that girly pink raincoat, knowing full well that she was wearing next to nothing underneath.

  What was the inexplicable pull? Where had it come from, this continual, aching need that had dogged him for two long, agonizing days?

  He hit the weight machines. Working out his triceps, his biceps, his pecs. He pushed himself until his arms quivered, desperate to sublimate his sexual desires with exhaustion. But this time, instead of easing his mental torture, exercise seemed to have fueled it. He was doubly aware of his body, of his physical needs.

  Face facts, Vinetti, you can’t have her. The woman is already spoken for. Maybe that was why he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Because she was strictly off-limits. Dammit. What the hell was so special about this one?

  His cell phone rang.

  Relieved to finally have something else to focus on, Nick snatched up the cell phone from his gym bag and punched the talk button. “ ’Lo?”

  “Nicky, it’s your nana.”

  Immediately the muscles at his shoulder blades tensed and his grip tightened around the phone. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, yes. I just needed to talk to you about something.”

  “What’s up?” Sweat ran down his forehead and he swiped it away with his gym towel.