Icing on the Cake (Close to Home) (9 page)

The song tapered off, the music replaced by a soft round of clapping and the DJ’s announcement that the bride and her father would dance to the next song.

“Guess you have to let me go.” Another whisper, this one devoid of anger.

“Only temporarily. You and I both know we’re not done.” He whispered the words against her ear, sliding his hand up over her back, into the ends of her hair. “Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll let you go permanently.”

And…silence. Good.

He released her, but caught her gaze as she stepped clear of him. “For the record, I’d prefer to undress you slowly. Take my time and unwrap you like the incredible gift you are.”

Her lips parted and moved, but nothing came out. First time he’d seen Sara speechless, and he bet the Mustang it didn’t happen often. He winked and walked away. Another mission accomplished.

Sara and Curtis had spent the last several hours dancing around each other. Figuratively, not to the music. He hadn’t asked her since their obligatory—and annoyingly hot—dance to start the evening. However, he had cruised the floor with other women. Lindsay. His mother. Meredith. Nia. All innocent interactions. The object of his current invitation, on the other hand…

Why the hell had he chosen Susie Ballantine for a dance? As young children, Sara, Susie and Nia had all taken ballet lessons together. Nia and Susie had kept at it for years, long after Sara had quit the class, along with all other organized social activities.

Nia and Susie had been blonde-haired, pink-tutu-clad twins until their early teens. They’d reconnected during college, when Susie had replaced Sara as Nia’s roommate. Given how chatty and chummy they’d been throughout the reception tonight, Sara bet they’d still be best-friend tight if Susie hadn’t moved to Ottawa for a job after graduation.

Now Susie had her hand tucked under Curtis’ arm as they made their way to the crowded dance floor. Well-played, Ballantine. Well-played.

God, what Sara wouldn’t give to get the hell out of this place. Away from the sea of familiar faces from the past, some of them judging, some of them pitying, some of them just plain nosey. Away from the whispers that had followed her. All fucking day long.

Mental issues stemming from her parents’ death. Poor girl never recovered, now she’s a walking powder keg.

She got arrested in Toronto and had to move back with Peter and Meredith because she lost her job and couldn’t pay the fine. Those poor people, still dealing with Sara’s issues after all these years. And after everything they’ve done for her…

Hard to believe Nia chose her as the maid of honor. Everybody knows Sara slept with Nia’s boyfriend. While they were roommates, no less!

Dropped out of school. Can’t keep a job. About time she gets her act together.

At least she didn’t mess up the wedding the way she has everything else.

She’d bit her tongue so hard she’d tasted blood a few times. Not because the accusations were false. Bull’s-eyes, all of them. But as one of the critics had noted, she hadn’t messed up the wedding. And that’s how this night would end too. Drama-less, on her part, anyway.

To ensure that, she needed to get away sooner rather than later. Even from the people she cared about.

Lastly, she wanted away from Curtis Lawler. She’d foolishly allowed him to push past her guard—multiple times. She’d developed expectations. A huge mistake, even for one night.

Stupidity reigned again as she watched Curtis and Susie moving to a semi-slow song that required close dancing. They hadn’t stopped talking since they joined hands. Laughing too.

The dirty talk—and worse, the sweet talk—he’d piled on Sara had been exactly that—a pile of shit. She must’ve been out of her freaking mind falling for that garbage. Thinking a hookup with Curtis was a good idea. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She turned from the dance floor and cut between tables until she reached Nia, standing near the bar with Conn and both sets of parents. “Hey, ho, newlyweds. Not sure if you noticed, but some of guests headed out already.”

Nia drilled her with a tilted-head, one-eyebrow-raised stare. “Is that code for, ‘can I leave too’?”

“Well…”

“Not yet, darling girl.” Her mom wrapped her arms around Sara’s shoulders and squeezed. “Nia has to throw the bouquet before you steal away into the night.”

“Mom. Don’t accuse me of stealing in front of a cop’s parents.”

As expected, that got a laugh from Edward and Maggie Lawler, both of whom seemed like nice people. Maybe they knew about her public mischief conviction, maybe they didn’t. She didn’t go around advertising her criminal record but she wasn’t ashamed of it either. She’d fucked up. She was certainly paying for the mistake.

She pushed reality aside and focused on the remainder of today’s spectacle. “So when’s the bouquet thingy slated to go down? I do want to watch all the desperate singles scramble in hopes of catching some of the magic.”

“No watching for you,” Nia said, shaking her head. “You have to join in.”

Make that a no with a side order of hell no. “Have you had too much champagne? Because you obviously have me confused for somebody else. I’m happily, determinedly single, dude. And I’m definitely not desperate.”

The second she got clear of this group, she was out of here. Easier to apologize two weeks down the road once Nia returned from her honeymoon than to try to wrangle permission tonight. Nobody would be surprised if she acted impulsively or selfishly anyway. Hell, imagine the mass disappointment if she didn’t publicly screw up at least once before the day’s events concluded. The world as everybody knew it would be totally off-kilter.

“I see that look.” Nia clamped her hand around Sara’s wrist. “You’re not getting out of this.”

Fine, she’d let Nia drag her wherever. But as soon as the blushing bride let go—and she would have to let go at some point—Sara was making tracks for the nearest exit.

The DJ’s table was their first stop. Like any good disc jockey, he hung on every word the bride said, nodding in all the appropriate places. He let the current song play out, then he took to the mic. “The bride would like all the single ladies to step onto the dance floor for the traditional tossing of the bouquet. Time to see which lovely lady will be next to say ‘I do…’”

Sara rolled her eyes. “With all the needy single women here, this could end up being a brawl in taffeta and satin. Maybe I should grab my phone and record it for your ‘wedding memories’ montage.”

“Nice try.” Both hands on Sara’s upper arms, Nia walked her to the center of the floor. “You will stand right here and be part of the fun. No brawling. Got it?”

“Fun that’s no fun. Got it.”

Nia rolled her eyes, then abandoned Sara on the rapidly filling dance floor. Females pressed in from all sides. From cute little miniature princesses who should have been tucked into junior beds hours ago to silver-haired seniors who’d rejoined the single ranks by way of widowhood. Those, Sara could handle. Smile at. Even identify with.

It was the twenty– to forty-year-old participants who bugged the shit out of her. Women who needed to get a lobotomy if they believed for a millisecond that catching a bunch of overpriced flowers meant they were next in line for a happily ever after. Among the giddy-looking bunch—Susie Ballantine, six feet to Sara’s right. And Lindsay Lawler, less than an arm’s length to Sara’s left. Pink satin and plastic smiles. So this is what hell looked like.

At least she didn’t have to worry about the bouquet. If it happened to come this way, Susie and Lindsay would be diving in front of her to snag the damn thing. She’d just stand where Nia had planted her and wait the stupidity out.

Somebody had moved a chair near the edge of the dance floor. Nia stepped up, her shiny new hubby holding her steady as she rotated her right arm in a series of exaggerated warm-up stretches. She rolled her neck side to side, then cracked her knuckles.

“Everybody ready back there?” Nia called over her shoulder.

A resounding “Yes” rewarded the excited bride. Nia faced squarely away from the eager throng. The DJ did his part as a drumroll erupted from the sound equipment.

And from the edge of the dance floor, Curtis grinned at her. Not at Susie or any other woman. There was no mistaking it—his eyes and wide, sexy smile were meant for Sara alone. Like a stupid deer caught in the headlights, she stared back. Like the deer, she stood utterly immobile, despite the screeched warnings of an impending collision.

“What the hell?” she asked when something heavy whacked her on the head. Then, “Shit!” as she used old high school volleyball techniques to swat the bouquet away.

All around her—scrambling. Hooting. Shrieking.

Forget sisterly obligation or maid-of-honor duty, she was done. She pushed against the flow. Only a couple more feet and she’d be in the clear. She broke free of the estrogen-charged frenzy and threw her arms up as if she’d scored a touchdown. Victory was hers.

Whap.

The bouquet. In her outstretched arms, out of fucking nowhere, without a nearby desperate female to shunt it to. So much for victory.

“Congratulations.” This from Curtis, now oh-so-conveniently standing in front of her. Also laughing his ass off.

“Nice. So glad my pain amuses you.”

He sobered and stared her down. “I would never laugh at something that truly hurt you. But that—” He coughed out another chuckle. “That little number is going to keep me amused for a long time.”

“With your lack of faith in
a long time
, you’ll have forgotten it by Monday.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I have the highlight reel,” he said, waving his cell side to side.

She sucked in her breath at the sight of the freeze frame on his phone’s screen. “You didn’t.”

“Incorrect, troublemaker. I absolutely did.” He tapped the arrow in the middle of the screen, grinning as the horror replayed in front of her eyes.

“Delete that,” she said, lunging for the evil device.

“Can’t.” He jerked the phone out of her reach. “I had orders from the bride and groom to record the bouquet toss.” A laugh ripped from his too-sexy mouth as a fairy-sized version of her swatted at the bouquet as if it contained toxic waste. “Oh man, this is good stuff. Bet it gets thousands of views on YouTube.”

“I bet you’re wrong.”

The bouquet made a good club. One well-placed swing knocked the cell from his hand. The thing took flight. Over a few craned heads, across an empty table and onto the floor. Where it had landed was anybody’s guess.

She smacked Curtis in the stomach with the bouquet. It worked even better than an elbow. Then it was hustle time. Between the tables, scouring the floor as quickly as possible with him hot on her heels—literally.

“It’s over here,” a guest from the Lawler side of the list called. A male guest. Without a date at his side. Worth a shot.

She hip-bumped Curtis and got the lead. Distraction time. She grabbed the guy’s tie while reaching for the phone with her other hand, and went in for a lips-parted, full-throttle kiss. Hooting and laughter erupted around her.

Attention, she got. The phone, on the other hand, she lost. Plucked from her grasp mid-tongue sweep.

“Shit,” she said, disengaging from the least satisfying kiss in the history of kissing.

“Ditto, honey.” The guy wiped his grimacing lips. “I have to eat with this mouth, you know.”

Seriously? She’d lost the damn phone
and
some dweeby guy with over-styled hair had the nerve to dis her?

“Good try.” Curtis patted her on the ass, then tucked the phone inside his tux. “Sara, have you met my cousin Brent?” He nodded to Brent’s right. “And his fiancé Sean?”

Great. She’d caught the damn bouquet despite her best effort not to touch the thing. She’d lost her opportunity to remove evidence of the fiasco from Curtis’ phone. And she’d forced herself on a gay man in front of his boyfriend. Massive fail, anyone?

“Here,” she plopped the bouquet on the table in front of the men, “hope that makes up for the spit swap.” Since she’d once again gained the attention of the crowd, she pointed to Brent and Sean, and addressed the room. “I give you the next happy couple to say ‘I do’…it’s officially a marriage-equality bouquet.”

Curtis grinned at her. “Nicely done.”

“You think so?” She traced the edges of his lapels and pressed up against him. It had been awhile since she liberated the contents of somebody’s pocket. No time like the present to see if she still had the skills.

Curtis circled her wandering hand with his fingers. “Arresting you for pickpocketing isn’t how I intend to spend our night together.”

“So just give it to me.”

“Oh, I plan to.” His free hand landed on her ass, pulled her hips tight to his. “You feel that?” A hard ridge pressed against her abdomen. “Forget the phone. That’s what I’m going to give to you. Every way you can take it, then maybe a couple more. Let’s go.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, now.” He let go of her backside but kept ahold of her hand, using it to tug her through the thinning crowd, toward the exit.

“What about Conn and Nia?”

“Not interested in a foursome with our siblings.” He chuckled at her gag of disgust. “And I think we’ve done our time at this wedding, don’t you?”

“Definitely.”

The fresh, sweet air of a calm June night washed over them as they stepped into the parking lot. Curtis had parked in the farthest possible spot from the door and other vehicles. She didn’t blame him one bit. His car was in seriously mint condition, even more so than hers. His Mustang gleamed in the moonlight. Another minute and they’d be inside the black beauty, headed for his hotel room.

“Hey,” she said, jerking his hand to get his attention. “What about Susie?”

His eyebrows rose. Then settled back into place over a pair of mischievous eyes. “Not interested in a threesome tonight, either.”

“Not
ever
with Susie Ballantine.” There, she’d dangled the bait, the insinuation that she might be game with a different woman in the mix. Guys went crazy at the thought of that shit. Made them like puppies who’d do or say anything to get the reward.