In the Dead of the Night (37 page)

Chapter 1

Glaring at the storefront windows displaying white satin wedding gowns trimmed in lace, Lisa Robbins cut the engine of her Ford Taurus. If she never had to look at another wedding gown as long as she lived, she’d be the happiest woman in the universe. Unfortunately, she had the horrendous task of returning her unused gown without a hassle. Or
with
a hassle, as long as she got rid of the fool expanse of lace and satin neatly stuffed in plastic in the back seat of the car
and
got her money back.

The Bridal Occasions sign hanging prominently over the white brick building promised brides gowns that would turn them into royal princess look-alikes at their wedding of a lifetime.

She rolled her eyes, then glanced back at the gown.

With the sunlight bearing down on the car on the summery Texas day, heating the lipstick red interior to hotter than hot, she had to make a decision…and fast.

Already perspiration trickled between her breasts covered in a pink floral spandex, short-sleeved shirt. The backs of her knees grew sweaty despite wearing denim shorts cut high on the leg.

She hadn’t worn the wedding dress. Not once. Well, to try it on, but that didn’t count. It hadn’t been altered, and that was the point.

It wasn’t her fault that Pembrooke Hastings had proved to be a louse. More than a louse. A real rat. Well, more than that. A real jackass.

She blew out her breath.

What was worse was that everyone pinned the crisis on her! Cold feet. That’s what her family claimed she had. Cold feet, her patootie.
He
was the reason for her leaving him standing at the altar, while she was a no show.

She smiled with great satisfaction. If she could have been a fly on the wall of the chapel Saturday morning.

She could hear her almost mother-in-law’s high-pitched whine, “I told you, Pembrooke, you should have married higher class.” And her almost father-in-law’s response, an emphatic nod like one of those dogs with the wiggly heads that bobbed up and down inside a vehicle when in motion. Her own mother would have fussed, complaining that Lisa was too unconventional for her own good. Her stepfather would’ve shaken his head, like he always did when she’d stepped out of line and mutter under his breath, “What next?”

Her Auntie Mae was sure to lecture her on the do’s and don’ts of weddings…mainly, you
do
show up for the wedding and you
don’t
skip out on one of Dallas’s most eligible—and up until now—most confirmed and eligible bachelors.

Then her stepsister, the vamp…

Lisa’s blood boiled at the thought of her. Lyndell Hamlock. After catching her naked and nearly upside down in Lisa’s bed in the most awkward and compromising position, well, she didn’t realize anyone could have sex in such a contorted fashion. But it was Pembrooke’s beet red face as he peeked between Lyndell’s legs that frosted Lisa the most. She cursed under her breath, vowing revenge.

But first, she had to get a refund for her wedding gown.

She jerked her car door open. Taking two deep breaths, she attempted to calm her rapid pulse, and grabbed the bag filled with lace and satin.

To think Pembrooke had the gall to reschedule the wedding for the next Saturday.
And
to think everyone, including her family, planned to attend…again.

She shook her head. Even her boss, owner of Fox and Sons Auditing, was threatening her with mayhem. She should never have dated Pembrooke, one of their biggest clients. He’d insisted, and her boss had said go for it. No way was Lisa marrying that two-timing, no good, son-of-gun, Pembrooke.

She hurried into the shop and took a breath of the air conditioned air instantly cooling some of the heat that had built up in her system.

After crossing the floor to the checkout register, Lisa laid her wedding gown neatly on the countertop. Smiling most amiably at the clerk, Lisa attempted to ignore the sign hanging above the register.
No refunds on wedding gowns. No exceptions!

The clerk reminded her of her almost mother-in-law…chopped off black hair, icy blue eyes, and thin lips painted a bright red. Scrawny and mean. If the woman ate more than a hummingbird’s portion of food, maybe she’d be more jovial.

“I need to return this.” Lisa spoke in her most professional auditing voice, the one she used when she’d find a discrepancy in financial accounts and didn’t want to upset the business owner.

The clerk didn’t even attempt a smile. “We don’t take
used
gowns back.” The emphasis on the word
used
and the snotty way the clerk said it nearly pushed Lisa beyond the boiling point. Having clerked in college, Lisa was taught the customer was always right, so what was this woman’s problem?

Endeavoring to settle the knot forming in the pit of her stomach, Lisa straightened her back. “You
don’t
understand.” Her voice raised a notch. “It
wasn’t
used. To be
used
, you have to wear it. I mean, they take back shoes, if they haven’t been worn outside, you know.”

The buzz of conversation in the store instantly died. Lisa turned to see several female patrons—brides-to-be, bridesmaids, mothers-of-the-brides—watching her, amusement written all over their smug faces. Sure, the brides’ fiancés would show up for their weddings right on time. She took a deep breath. Hers had too for that matter, so there.

She caught sight of a gentleman trying on a tux in front of a mirror, only his brown-sugar colored eyes, the sexy dark variety, didn’t focus on the cut of his tux. He watched her in the reflection of the mirror, his mouth turned up slightly at the corners.

To her annoyance, her whole body heated with mortification.

Facing the clerk, Lisa lowered her voice and continued, “I
didn’t
wear it to my wedding. So you see, it
isn’t
used.”

“We
don’t
give refunds on gowns.” The clerk pointed to the sign hanging on the wall, as if Lisa was too stupid to have noticed. “You can try the
resale
shop across the street.”

“The gown has never been worn. It is as new as fresh fallen—”

The clerk folded her arms and creased her brow, her cardinal red lips thinned even further in a grim set look.
Attila-the-Hun
.

Lisa grabbed up the gown. “Forget it. This is the last time I
ever
shop here. And you better believe, I’ll let all of my girlfriends know how poor your customer relations are, all of whom any day now will be looking for just the right wedding gowns for their special occasions. You can count on it!”

She whipped around and stormed across the store, her rubber heeled sandals slapping the white marble floor in her hasty exodus.

With every intention of banging the door on her way out, the spring keeping it from slamming thwarted her.

She growled under her breath instead when the door closed excruciatingly slow behind her.

***

Peter Crawford laid the tux on the counter, his gaze fixed on the blonde—a sporty compact—sleek, hot, and a real spitfire—as she hastily departed the store with the bundle of satin and lace crammed in her arms.

“Do you need anything else, Mr. Crawford?”

He turned his attention to the clerk. “No. That’ll be all, Rheba. So…who was the blonde?”

“Lisa Robbins.”

“And the groom?”

Rheba pointed a three-inch, bright red fake nail at a corkboard proudly displaying wedding announcements for ceremonies scheduled within the month.

Peter walked over to the board while the clerk rang his credit card through. He searched through the announcements until he saw the one with Lisa’s name on it. “Pembrooke Hastings?” He couldn’t help the way his voice elevated with the notion. How in the hell had the lady ever snagged
him
into a marriage commitment? He and Pembrooke often competed for the same game, women they met at the same parties who had similar backgrounds. But neither were interested in settling down—Pembrooke because he was too much of a philanderer, Peter because of the scheming woman who played the joke of a century on him and had a fling with his best friend, which was finally the last straw.

“Yeah. Pembrooke Hastings is the one,” the clerk said.

“What was the problem?”

“Apparently, he didn’t show up for the wedding.”

That didn’t surprise Peter at all.

They turned as Lisa hurried back into the shop, her honey-blond curls bouncing in the same rhythm as her breasts did underneath the form-fitting rosy pink shirt she wore. Had she heard their conversation? Her full shimmering lips pouted with annoyance while her blue eyes couldn’t have appeared any frostier when she looked from Peter to Rheba.

She laid her wedding dress on the counter, then headed straight to the board. After yanking off her wedding announcement, she ripped it into several small strips, then dropped it on the counter. “For
you
r information,
Pembrooke
showed up for the wedding.
I
was the one who didn’t,” she said to Rheba, sarcasm dripping from her words. Grabbing her gown, she twirled around like a ballerina doing a pirouette, and stalked out of the store again, her ass jiggling in the short denim shorts.

In her wake, the sweet fragrance of jasmine scented the air. Peter took a deep breath of the tantalizing bouquet and leaned against the counter. “Long engagement?”

“A year.”

“So who is she?”

“Don’t tell me you’re interested?” The clerk pulled a plastic garment bag over the tux. “I’ve heard no girl can ever tie you down to a wedding engagement.”

He smiled. “You’re right. I was just curious how she ever hooked Pembrooke Hastings. He was a confirmed bachelor, too, the last I heard.”

“Well, she caught him and lost him, apparently.”

Grabbing the tux, Peter said, “Ah, but he turned up at the wedding. So it sounds to me like she ditched
him
rather than the other way around.” Which truly did surprise him. With the kind of bucks Pembrooke had, the women swarmed around him to get his attention. Peter couldn’t imagine any woman giving him up once she’d caught him for good.

The clerk laughed. “She’s an auditor with Fox and Sons.”

“Fox and Sons? Hmm, they audit my books, but I’ve never seen her. Thanks.” He headed for the door, totally intrigued with the saucy blonde.

“Have a nice day, Mr. Crawford.”

“Thanks, you, too, Rheba.” He paused at the glass door as Lisa exited the resale shop across the street with the wedding dress still in hand.

After shoving the door to the wedding shop open, he stepped outside, captivated by the petite woman who’d not only somehow convinced Pembrooke to marry her, but then dumped him at the altar.

Knowing Pembrooke, that had to hurt. Arrogant to the core, Pembrooke had to be in denial that she’d ditched him.

Slowing his step to his car, Peter watched Lisa dodge traffic to cross the street. The look on her face, threatening any who even considered running her over, amused him as he thought about rescuing her in the middle of the road. But she was doing a great job of intimidation on her own.

When she reached the sidewalk where he stood, he shook his head. “Jaywalking could get you killed, Miss Robbins. You ought to be more careful.”

“Are you a cop?” Fire blazed in her Caribbean blue eyes, and her words were laced with venom.

He fought to contain a smile, but wasn’t very successful, and his amusement brought a fresh shade of tantalizing blush to her cheeks.

Brushing past him to a brand new Ford Taurus, she struggled to extract her keys from a too large straw purse, while juggling the cumbersome satin wedding gown and train in her hands.

He raised a brow. “Can I help you?”

She turned her head sharply to look at him, and he envisioned her neck was so taut, it was ready to snap. “Do you want to buy a
new
wedding gown?”

“Nooo,” he said elongating the word for emphasis, the idea of marrying anyone instantly making him ill after the last near miss. “I thought maybe if you’d let me have your car key, I could get the door for you.”

“I’d rather unload the gown.” She dropped the keys in his outstretched hand.

“You work at Fox and Sons?”

She pursed her lips, her eyes as hard a blue gemstone.

“They do my auditing.” Pushing the keypad button, the door lock clicked open. He opened the back door for her. “I don’t remember having seen you before.”

“Maybe because you’re an
old
client of theirs. Generally,” she said, shoving her gown into the back seat, “I get their new business.”

She turned as he rubbed his chin, then smiled at her. “My keys?” she asked, her palm outstretched.

“Certainly.” He dropped the car keys in her hand. “I never thought of myself as old.”