License to Thrill (34 page)
“What is that a euphemism for?”
“Guess.”
He bit her ear. “Tell me or Cinderfella will have his fairy godfather turn him into one very excited prince.”
“Sit on the desk.”
He obeyed. Princess Charming shucked her dress and straddled him.
“No underwear?”
“A princess can never tell when she might need servicing by her Cinderfella.”
“Ah,” he said and pulled her body on top of his, taking their intimacy to the deepest heights of all with love and passion and secret whispers.
Later as they lay curled in each other’s arms on the couch near the window, Charlee couldn’t help thinking of all the things they’d overcome for their happy-ever-after ending.
The Oscar scandal had been front-page news. You couldn’t turn on the television or pick up a newspaper or listen to the radio without hearing about the infamous accounting dishonor.
People had gossiped about it at the beauty salons, over the water-cooler at work, in soccer carpools and doctor’s offices. On-line chat rooms had buzzed with rumors. Stand-up comedians had lampooned the Gentrys. The
National Enquirer
had a field day trying to guess which actors really had not deserved their Oscar for the past forty-seven years.
As Mason had predicted, the minute the news hit the Associated Press wire, the value of Gentry Enterprises plummeted. Actors had quaked in their boots wondering if their Oscar had been part of an illegal fix.
Cahill, Blade Bradford, and his wife were charged with conspiracy to commit fraud but their cases had yet to come to court. Nolan had been exonerated of all culpability in the accounting errors. Sal and Petey were currently serving ten-year sentences for kidnapping and attempted murder.
Maybelline had dropped the kidnapping charges against Elwood on the condition he go into treatment for his gambling addiction and surprisingly enough, while in treatment he’d found religion, become a preacher, and now officiated in his white Elvis jumpsuit at the Bells and Doves wedding chapel in Loflin.
It had taken several weeks but once the Oscar audits were completed and it was revealed the only cases of fraud happened in 1955 and then again this year, the stock of Gentry Enterprises began a steady rise.
The Gentry family forgave Mason for refusing to marry Daphne and for quitting the firm. Daphne and Hunter started dating. Nolan and Maybelline, Charlie and Mason had a huge double wedding in a fancy Houston church. Maybelline and Nolan were currently on a world tour honeymoon.
Mason was working on getting his pilot’s license and he helped out at the detective agency. And every day Charlee thanked God for bringing him into her life.
“I love you, Mrs. Gentry,” Mason whispered.
“I love Mr. Gentry,” she murmured drowsily, and just before she fell asleep, Charlee realized that with her own rich, long-legged, brown-eyed, handsome, matinee-idol-smiling, beard-stubble-sporting man at her side, nothing but nothing scared her.
Especially, not love.
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author Lori Wilde has written sixty novels. She holds a bachelor’s degree in nursing from Texas Christian University and a certificate in forensics. She volunteers as a sexual assault first responder for Freedom House, a shelter for battered women. Lori is a past RITA finalist and has been nominated four times for the
Romantic Times
Reviewers’ Choice Award. She’s won the Colorado Award of Excellence, the Wisconsin Write Touch Award, the Lories, the More Than Maggie, the Golden Quill, the Laurel Wreath, and the Best Books of 2006 Book Award. Her books have been translated into twenty-five languages and featured in
Cosmopolitan
,
Redbook
,
Complete Woman
,
All You
,
TIME
, and
Quick and Simple
magazines. She lives in Texas with her husband, Bill.
You can learn more at:
Twitter @LoriWilde
License to Thrill
Charmed and Dangerous
Mission: Irresistible
You Only Love Twice
There Goes the Bride
Once Smitten, Twice Shy
Addicted to Love
All of Me
Kiss the Bride (2-in-1)
A TOUCH OF SILK
“Hot, hot, hot! Lori Wilde has burnt up the pages with this book. Steamy sex and beautiful scenery make you read this book nonstop and want more. Good thing there are three more bachelors for her to write about. I can’t wait for the sequels. Lori is a definite auto-buy for me. I loved this book.”
—TheBestReviews.com
A THRILL TO REMEMBER
“A talented writer, Lori Wilde has her pulse tuned to what readers want, and she delivers.”
—WritersUnlimited.com
“Wilde’s mesmerizing style easily sweeps readers into her alluring world of sensual pleasure.”
—Wordweaving.com
SANTA’S SEXY SECRET
“Readers will not be disappointed in this delightful book as Ms. Wilde brilliantly weaves together two lovable characters, charming scenes, and a humorous storyline.”
—Romantic Times
COAXING CUPID
“This book has it all—a wonderful pair of lovers, lots of sexual tension, and a healthy helping of humor.”
—Romantic Times
SEXY, SINGLE AND SEARCHING
“An engaging romp populated by believable, intriguing characters.”
—Romantic Times
BYE, BYE, BACHELORHOOD
“Ms. Wilde does an excellent job portraying her characters. The comedy is nonstop.”
—TheRomanceReadersConnection.com
Don’t miss
Kiss the Bride
, a special collection of the first two Wedding Veil Wishes novels!
Please turn this page for an excerpt.
T
he summer issue of
Society Bride
declared the marriage of Houston’s hottest bachelor, Dr. Evan Van Zandt, to his childhood sweetheart, oil heiress Delaney Cart-wright, a classic friends-to-lovers fairy tale.
Texas Monthly,
in its trendy yet folksy way, decreed their union the high-society equivalent of beef barbecue and mustard potato salad. Delaney and Evan simply belonged together.
A sentimental write-up in the
Houston Chronicle
dubbed their romance a heartwarming Lone Star love story.
Delaney’s mother, Honey Montgomery Cartwright, pronounced them the perfect couple. Lavish praise indeed from a Philadelphia blue blood with impossibly high standards.
Her father grumbled, “This thing’s costing us more than her liberal arts degree from Rice,” as he wrote out a very large check to cover the nuptials.
And her long-deceased sister Skylar, who occasionally popped up in Delaney’s dreams to offer unsolicited advice, whispered with unbridled glee that the ceremony was a glorious train wreck just waiting to happen and she insisted on front-row seating.
Skylar, being dead, could of course sit anywhere she chose. Everyone else had to cram into the River Oaks Methodist Church.
The cherrywood pews overflowed with five hundred invited guests, plus a dozen members of the press and a sprinkling of enterprising wedding crashers. The laboring air-conditioning system was no match for the double punch of a too-thick crowd and sweltering one-hundred-degree heat.
“Who gets married in Houston during August?” Delaney heard a woman murmur.
“I’m getting a heat rash in these panty hose,” another woman replied.
Feeling chastised, Delaney ducked her head. She stood just outside the open door of the chapel waiting for the wedding march to commence, her arm looped through her father’s.
“I heard it was originally supposed to be a Christmas ceremony, but the bride postponed it twice,” the first woman said. “Do you suppose we could have a runaway situation?”
“Hmm, now that would make an interesting spread in tomorrow’s society pages.”
At that comment, her father tightened his grip.
No turning back now,
his clench said.
Delaney’s hopes sank. Her mind spun.
A coyote would gnaw her paw off.
The bridesmaids reached their places. Her best friend, Tish, wedding videographer extraordinaire, was filming madly. Every gaze in the place was glued to Delaney.
Everything was perfect. It was a true celebrity-style wedding, just as her mother had planned. The purple orchids, accented with white roses, were on lavish display—in bouquets and boutonnieres, in vases and corsages. Her size-four, ten-thousand-dollar Vera Wang wedding dress fit like a fantasy. The flower girl was cute. The two-year-old ring bearer even cuter. And both children were on exemplary behavior. Delaney’s antique wedding veil fetchingly framed her face, even though her scalp had been tingling weirdly ever since she put it on.
This was it.
Her big day.
The seven-piece orchestra struck the first notes of the wedding march. Dum, dum, de-dum.
Delaney took a deep breath and glanced down the long aisle festooned with white rose petals to where Evan stood at the altar. He looked stunningly handsome in his long-tailed tux, love shining in his trusting blue eyes.
Her father started forward.
But Delaney’s beaded white Jimmy Choo stilettos stayed rooted to the spot. No, no, this was all wrong. It was a big mistake. She had to call it off before she embarrassed everyone. Where was her cell phone?
“Delaney Lynn Cartwright,” her father growled under his breath. “Don’t make me drag you.”
A hard throb of distress surged through her temples.
What have you done? What have you done? What have you done?
She forced herself to move forward. Her gaze searched for the exits. There were two on either side of the altar, and of course, the one directly behind her.
But Daddy wasn’t letting go.
Closer, closer, almost there.
Evan made eye contact, smiled sweetly.
Guilt whirled like a demon tornado in the pit of her stomach. She dragged in a ragged breath.
Her husband-to-be held out his palm. Her father put her hand in Evan’s.
Delaney’s gaze shifted from one corner exit to the other. Too late. It was too late to call this off. What time was it anyway?
“Dearly beloved,” the portly minister began, but that’s as far as he got.
A clattering erupted from behind the exit door on the left.
And then there he loomed. Dressed head to toe in black. Wearing a ski mask. Standing out like crude oil in a cotton field.
Thrilled, chilled, shamefaced, and greatly relieved, Delaney held her breath.
The intruder charged the altar.
The congregation inhaled a simultaneous gasp.
The minister blinked, looked confused.
“Back away from the bride,” the dark stranger growled and waved a pistol at Evan.
Excitement burst like tiny exploding bubbles inside her head.
Prop gun
, Delaney thought.
Nice touch
.
Evan stared at the masked intruder, but did not move. Apparently he had not yet realized what was transpiring.
“Move it.” The interloper pointed his weapon directly at Evan’s head. “Hands up.”
Finally, her groom got the message. He dropped Delaney’s hand, raised his arms over his head, and took a step back.
“Don’t anyone try anything cute,” the man commanded at the same moment he wrapped the crook of his elbow around Delaney’s neck and pressed the revolver to her temple. The cold nose of it felt deadly against her skin.
Fear catapulted into her throat, diluting the excitement. Delaney dropped her bouquet. It
was
a prop gun, wasn’t it?
The crowd shot to its collective feet as the stranger dragged her toward the exit from whence he’d appeared.
“Follow us and the bride gets it,” he shouted dramatically just before the exit door slammed closed behind them.
“You’re choking me,” Delaney gasped. “You can let go now.”
He ignored her and just kept dragging her by the neck toward the white delivery van parked at the back of the rectory.
A bolt of raw panic shot through her veins. What was going on here? She dug her freshly manicured fingernails into his thick arm and tried to pry herself free.
He stuck his gun in his waistband, pulled a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket, and one-handedly slapped them around her wrists.
“What is this?” she squeaked.
He did not speak. He wrenched open the back door of the van just as the congregation came spilling out of the rectory and into the street. He tossed her onto the floor, slammed the door, and ran around to the driver’s side.
Delaney lay facedown, her knees and elbows stinging from carpet burn. She couldn’t see a thing, but she heard anxious shouts and the sound of fists pounding the side of the vehicle.
The engine revved and the van shot forward, knocking her over onto her side.
