One Funeral (No Weddings Book 2) (19 page)

Even in the chaos of planning a funeral for the living dead and being forced to work with a client he’d rather not see, he seemed happy to be here among his family and with me.

Kristen nodded at me. “Hannah, you have a cake request. Candie wants to be in a beautiful gown, lying in repose in a coffin—with a smile on her face.”

Cade choked out a laugh, pulling his beer bottle from his lips.

“What?” I gaped at Kristen.

Cade sat halfway up. “She wants a smile on her face so everyone knows she died with a happy ending.”

Kiki tossed a chip at him. “It’s probably her revenge for you not getting her off. Maybe some other guy went down on her, and she died screaming.”

Cade shot her a deadpan expression. “No, then her mouth would be wide open.”

Kristen glanced at Kiki. “It’s probably not Cade’s fault. The way Candie’s already micromanaging the party, I get the distinct impression she likes to be in control of everything.”

Kiki arched a brow. “Cade couldn’t have protested?”

Kendall gave Kiki a pointed look. “With his dick in her mouth?”

Cade snarled. “Could we
please
stop talking about my dick for a second?”

His sisters and I burst out laughing.

When I finally caught my breath, I glanced at Kristen, expression sobering. “I am not doing a cake of Candie dead.”

Cade smirked. “Well, I’m guessing you’re not doing it of her in the seconds before—”

I snapped my hand over his mouth, glaring at him before glancing up at Kristen. “No. Assuming I’m even talented enough to create a fitting likeness of her, that’s a big cake and a lot of things could go wrong. It’s one thing to do a building or a landscape. Inanimate objects or animals are fine. But a cake of a person has all kinds of challenges. The icing might melt or shift. If it does, she’ll look like she needs a facelift at her own funeral.”

Kendall burst into another fit of laughter, and seconds later, we all joined her.

Kristen cleared her throat. “Okay. Okay. No dead Candie as a cake. Will you talk to her, then? I need to make sure she’s happy and you have direction. She’s obsessing over every minute detail like it’s her wedding. Oh, that reminds me…Girls, we’re going shopping with her. It’s one of her special requests. We’re all doing a shopping spree with her on her dime. She wants us all dressed for the occasion.”

I blinked. When I glanced down at Cade, amusement sparkled in his eyes. “What about him?”

“Oh, Candie had orders for you too, Cade. She wants you in a tux with a hot-pink cummerbund and tie.”

He scowled. “Fuck no. I’m not wearing that.”

“Yes. You are. Be a sport, Cade. Have fun with it.” Kristen turned to a file in her lap. “Kiki, she has some art requests.”

Kristen continued rattling off assignments to us in the pattern we’d developed, with each of us offering our two cents in suggestion or protest. In the end, we all wanted the same things with Invitation Only—success.

Cade slipped his hand under the back hem of my shirt, trailing a finger along my waistline until I felt a tug on my thong. My eyes went wide, and I glanced over my shoulder, staring at him, painfully aware his sisters were only feet away and in full view.

A smirk lit up his face, mischief dancing in his eyes. He murmured low, “I know how we’ll have fun with it.”

I
had no idea what to expect on our shopping trip. But as I stood in my sizable corner dressing room with unflattering white lights glaring down at me from a stately coffered ceiling, I realized something had gone horribly wrong.

Candie was a gorgeous girl with platinum blond hair, a perky, toned body, and hot-pink lipstick on plump lips, which was evidently a favorite color. But she had clearly lost her mind.

She had brought us all to a wedding shop—to wear bridesmaid dresses.

In poofy hot pink.

I texted Cade from the dressing room.

Save me.

“Ready, Hannah? Come out here and give us a twirl on the catwalk.” Candie’s sugary voice carried all the way back to my hidey-hole from the bridal showroom.

I groaned.

On top of the dress being a neon abomination, I kept having to breathe deeply to get over the fact that I was in a bridal shop. Unbidden, images randomly flashed into my mind of me trying on my wedding dress, of Penelope strutting around and laughing in her maid-of-honor dress.

The only things that helped me were deep breaths, remembering Abigail’s words about how far I’d come, and…the ridiculousness of what I was wearing.

Finally, a text reply appeared. My lifeline to reality and the other thing helping me through this—Cade’s healthy dose of humor.

Can’t be as bad as my tie and cummerbund.

I typed, pounding the screen keyboard with my thumbs.

Worse. I’m blind. Send sunglasses STAT.

“Hannah?” My dressing room door vibrated as Candie knocked on it.

“Coming.” I grimaced, staring into the full-length mirror in the dressing room. I couldn’t even imagine who would dream of sticking an unsuspecting bridesmaid into this hideous nightmare.

I typed furiously.

It’s the ugliest bridesmaid dress EVER!

My phone vibrated.

Hang in there. We’re all taking one for Team Candie.

I chewed my lip, watching him type while the restless natives on the other side of my dressing room door laughed about something. Good. Humor happened to be a requirement in situations where you needed to imagine yourself naked more than the audience staring at you.

Oh! Does it have one of those fluffy underskirt things? If not, insist on it. We could work with that. I’ve done bridesmaids, but never at a funeral.

I rolled my eyes, typing.

Player. And those fluffy underskirt things are called petticoats.

Then I typed.

Shopping sucks.

Immediately, he typed again.

Shopping can be fun . . .

Leaning against the mirror, I arched a brow at those three dots filled with innuendo.

Naughty shopping?

He typed.

Maybe . . .

I smirked. Wow. What I wouldn’t give to have Cade in my dressing room right now, exploring petticoats and all the other Cade-uncharted territory under my skirt. The knocking would be against the walls, under those glaring lights affixed into that ostentatious ceiling. Growing heated at my thoughts, I sucked in a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips.

We need to go shopping sometime, then.

He typed a reply.

Is that a date?

I paused.

Sure.

He typed.

You’re on.

I smiled and almost put the phone down, but another text from him lit up the screen.

What are you wearing? . . .

“Hannah?” Kendall’s voice. “You okay in there? The hot pink didn’t blind you, did it? Feel your way to the door.”

I heard a thud, and the door rattled. Kendall probably banged her head against it, praying for a total knockout. “Marco…”

I laughed. “Polo.”

Gotta go. And I’m wearing a hot-pink bridesmaid dress.

I hit
SEND
before I quickly added the best part.

With petticoats . . .

He typed a reply.

You are killing me . . .

I smirked, then finally left the dressing room to be seen in what someone had designed while tripping on drugs.

C
ade directing an Invitation Only event was nothing short of spectacular.

I watched from the side of the room as he ushered in florists, signed off on deliveries, and extinguished fires that erupted every five minutes with a smooth collectedness, like he’d been born into the position. The man performing in his element made me stare slack-jawed every time, and tonight was no exception. Leaning against a banquet table soon to be covered in linen color coordinated to the event, I felt like I could pull up a chair and watch him orchestrate all night.

And he calls
me
Maestro.

In the midst of it all, he cast a glance at me, and that brief look spoke volumes. Telling me he knew I watched, wanting him, and that he wanted me with the same unrelenting desire. And with his one scorching stare, my insides fired from a low heat to simmering, threatening to boil over. By the time I took a deep breath to calm myself before I burst into flames, he’d returned to his role as point man, ensuring his sisters had everything they needed before guests began to arrive.

Being in the same room with him, in the presence of his calm power, soothed me, settling me in a way nothing else ever had. At the same time, it also charged me, drew me closer, made me want to absorb his energy.

In the pre-party hour, with the cake ready and positioned, I seized a few solitary moments in my self-dosed therapy, thinking about what being with Cade truly meant. He was a complex man, possessing layers beneath layers. And every one of them some part of me craved, needed on a visceral level even I didn’t fully understand. Yet for all that I did know about him, there was so much more I wanted to learn about, to get to know.

And while I reflected on all the amazing facets on Cade’s inside, I got the visual pleasure of appreciating his outside. Sexy and dark, wrapped up in a decadent muscular package, he commanded the room in a tux, appearing relaxed yet devastating in a way that put James Bond to shame. His piercing electric-blue eyes were fringed with long lashes. A dark shadowed scruff lined his jaw above the open collar of his shirt.

My pulse raced as I imagined unbuttoning it further, sliding my hands along his chest. No chest hair peeked out, and I wondered if it was smooth or if he had a smattering of hair.

By the time the subject of my thoughts made it over to me, I’d nearly overheated from overexposure to all things Cade.

And he’d been clear across the room.

Now he stood in front of me, smiling. His fresh citrus and pure male scent filled my nostrils, making me shudder.

He put his hands on my shoulders, his brows furrowing a fraction. “You okay?”

Nodding, I took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“What were you thinking about? You look flustered.”

I stared down at the floor as my face flushed hot. “You.”

He dropped down, craning his neck closer to get in line with my gaze. “By the blush you’re wearing, I must’ve been doing something interesting. Was I naked in a cupcake meadow?”

I burst out laughing. “Where’s your pink cummerbund? Thought we were in this together.”

He groaned. “We are.” Then he arched a brow. “Where’s your dress? I was promised petticoats.”

I smirked. “You mean fluffy underskirt things?”

“If they’re up your skirt, and I get to investigate, I don’t give a damn what we call them.”

Tilting my head, I pressed a palm flat on his chest when he leaned in closer. I was already about to overheat; I didn’t need to melt down in front of witnesses. “You will get your petticoats. And yes, they will be all tangled between my legs, up under my dress.”

On a growl, he pressed in, ignoring my blocking hand. He wrapped his arms around me, burying his face into my neck. “I’m jealous of those petticoats already.”

Heat flashed between my legs as his lips brushed beneath my ear. I whimpered. “Cade, please. Someone will see us.”

He let out a heavy sigh as he leaned his head against mine. “I’m beginning not to care.”

I smiled, glad he finally felt that way. Trying to be strong, I pulled away from him. “C’mon. We both need to get dressed. And tonight will be way easier if we still keep all the business stuff business.”

He raised both brows. “Since when have we done that?”

I stared at him for a heartbeat. He was right. We hadn’t.

That still didn’t stop me from teasing him. I arched a brow. “Isn’t that one of your business rules: no fraternizing with employees? I’ve paid attention during our mentoring sessions.”