The Wedding Gift (10 page)

“Sure. Let me give you my number.” Maybe she'd get lonely, give him a booty call.

“Give it to Jan,” she said, sticking a fork in his fantasy.

In the outer office, Jan looked like a Munchkin behind her oversized desk. “Take Dr. Brown's number,” said Julie, on a march to the door. “Then go home. I'll check in after the closing.” And she was gone.

“Well hell,” Cody muttered. She'd blown him off. What about the eye-lock, sexy-smile combo? He was
sure
that'd put her in heat.

Huh.

He turned to Jan. A new sparkle lit her eyes.

“You're a
doctor
?” she said.

He let out a sigh.

The Wedding Favor

“T
HAT WOM
AN”—
T
YRELL AIMED
his finger like a gun at the blonde across the hall—“is a bitch on wheels.”

Angela set a calming hand on his arm. “That's why she's here, Ty. That's why they sent her.”

He paced away from Angela, then back again, eyes locked on the object of his fury. She was talking on a cell phone, angled away from him so all he could see was her smooth French twist and the simple gold hoop in her right earlobe.

“She's got ice water in her veins,” he muttered. “Or arsenic. Or whatever the hell they embalm people with.”

“She's just doing her job. And in this case, it's a thankless one. They can't win.”

Ty turned his roiling eyes on Angela. He would have started in—again—about hired-gun lawyers from New York City coming down to Texas thinking all they had to do was bullshit a bunch of good ole boys who'd never made it past eighth grade, but just then the clerk stepped out of the judge's chambers.

“Ms. Sanchez,” she said to Angela. “Ms. Westin,” to the blonde. “We have a verdict.”

Across the hall, the blonde snapped her phone shut and dropped it into her purse, snatched her briefcase off the tile floor, and without looking at Angela or Ty, or anyone else for that matter, walked briskly through the massive oak doors and into the courtroom. Ty followed several paces behind, staring bullets in the back of her tailored navy suit.

Twenty minutes later they walked out again. A reporter from Houston Tonight stuck a microphone in Ty's face.

“The jury obviously believed you, Mr. Brown. Do you feel vindicated?”

I feel homicidal, he wanted to snarl. But the camera was rolling. “I'm just glad it's over,” he said. “Jason Taylor dragged this out for seven years, trying to wear me down. He didn't.”

He continued striding down the broad hallway, the reporter jogging alongside.

“Mr. Brown, the jury came back with every penny of the damages you asked for. What do you think that means?”

“It means they understood that all the money in the world won't raise the dead. But it can cause the living some serious pain.”

“Taylor's due to be released next week. How do you feel knowing he'll be walking around a free man?”

Ty stopped abruptly. “While my wife's cold in the ground? How do you think I feel?” The man shrank back from Ty's hard stare, decided not to follow as Ty strode out through the courthouse doors.

Outside, Houston's rush hour was a glimpse inside the doors of hell. Scorching pavement, blaring horns. Eternal gridlock.

Ty didn't notice any of it. Angela caught up to him on the sidewalk, tugged his arm to slow him down. “Ty, I can't keep up in these heels.”

“Sorry.” He slowed to half speed. Even as pissed off as he was, Texas courtesy was ingrained.

Taking her bulging briefcase from her hand, he smiled down at her in a good imitation of his usual laid-back style. “Angie, honey,” he drawled, “you could separate your shoulder lugging this thing around. And believe me, a separated shoulder's no joke.”

“I'm sure you'd know about that.” She slanted a look up from under thick black lashes, swept it over his own solid shoulders. Angling her slender body toward his, she tossed her wavy black hair and tightened her grip on his arm.

Ty got the message. The old breast-crushed-against-the-arm was just about the easiest signal to read.

And it came as no surprise. During their long days together preparing for trial, the cozy take-out dinners in her office as they went over his testimony, Angela had dropped plenty of hints. Given their circumstances, he hadn't encouraged her. But she was a beauty, and to be honest, he hadn't discouraged her either.

Now, high on adrenaline from a whopping verdict that would likely boost her to partner, she had “available” written all over her. At that very moment they were passing by the Alden Hotel. One nudge in that direction and she'd race him to the door. Five minutes later he'd be balls deep, blotting out the memories he'd relived on the witness stand that morning. Memories of Lissa torn and broken, pleading with him to let her go, let her die. Let her leave him behind to somehow keep living without her.

Angela's steps slowed. He was tempted, sorely tempted.

But he couldn't do it. For six months Angela had been his rock. It would be shameful and ugly to use her this afternoon, then drop her tonight.

Because drop her, he would. She'd seen too deep inside, and like the legions preceding her, she'd found the hurt there and was all geared up to fix it. He couldn't be fixed. He didn't want to be fixed. He just wanted to fuck and forget. And she wasn't the girl for that.

Fortunately, he had the perfect excuse to ditch her.

“Angie, honey.” His drawl was deep and rich even when he wasn't using it to soften a blow. Now it flowed like molasses. “I can't ever thank you enough for all you did for me. You're the best lawyer in Houston and I'm gonna take out a full-page ad in the paper to say so.”

She leaned into him. “We make a good team, Ty.” Sultry-eyed, she tipped her head toward the Marriott. “Let's go inside. You can . . . buy me a drink.”

His voice dripped with regret, not all of it feigned. “I wish I could, sugar. But I've got a plane to catch.”

She stopped on a dime. “A plane? Where're you going?”

“Paris. I've got a wedding.”

“But Paris is just a puddle-jump from here! Can't you go tomorrow?”

“France, honey. Paris, France.” He flicked a glance at the revolving clock on the corner, then looked down into her eyes. “My flight's at eight, so I gotta get. Let me find you a cab.”

Dropping his arm, she tossed her hair again, defiant this time. “Don't bother. My car's back at the courthouse.” Snatching her briefcase from him, she checked her watch. “Gotta run, I have a date.” She turned to go.

And then her bravado failed her. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled uncertainly. “Maybe we can celebrate when you get back?”

Ty smiled too, because it was easier. “I'll call you.”

Guilt pricked him for leaving the wrong impression, but Jesus, he was itching to get away from her, from everyone, and lick his wounds. And he really did have a plane to catch.

Figuring it would be faster than finding a rush-hour cab, he walked the six blocks to his building, working up the kind of sweat a man only gets wearing a suit. He ignored the elevator, loped up the five flights of stairs—why not, he was soaked anyway—unlocked his apartment, and thanked God out loud when he hit the air-conditioning.

The apartment wasn't home—that would be his ranch—just a sublet, a place to crash during the run-up to the trial. Sparsely furnished and painted a dreary off-white, it had suited his bleak and brooding mood.

And it had one appliance he was looking forward to using right away. Striding straight to the kitchen, he peeled off the suit parts he was still wearing—shirt, pants, socks—and balled them up with the jacket and tie. Then he stuffed the whole wad in the trash compactor and switched it on, the first satisfaction he'd had all day.

The clock on the stove said he was running late, but he couldn't face fourteen hours on a plane without a shower, so he took one anyway. And of course he hadn't packed yet.

He hated to rush, it went against his nature, but he moved faster than he usually did. Even so, what with the traffic, by the time he parked his truck and went through all the rigmarole to get to his terminal, the plane had already boarded and they were preparing to detach the Jetway.

Though he was in no frame of mind for it, he forced himself to dazzle and cajole the pretty girl at the gate into letting him pass, then settled back into his black mood as he walked down the Jetway. Well, at least he wouldn't be squished into coach with his knees up his nose all the way to Paris. He'd sprung for first class and he intended to make the most of it. Starting with a double shot of Jack Daniel's.

“Tyrell Brown, can't you move any faster than that? I got a planeful of people waiting on you.”

Despite his misery, he broke out in a grin at the silver-haired woman glaring at him from the airplane door. “Loretta, honey, you working this flight? How'd I get so lucky?”

She rolled her eyes. “Spare me the sweet talk and move your ass.” She waved away the ticket he held out. “I don't need that. There's only one seat left on the whole dang airplane. Why it has to be in my section, I'll be asking the good Lord next Sunday.”

He dropped a kiss on her cheek. She swatted his arm. “Don't make me tell your mama on you.” She gave him a little shove down the aisle. “I talked to her just last week and she said you haven't called her in a month. What kind of ungrateful boy are you, anyway? After she gave you the best years of her life.”

Loretta was his mama's best friend, and she was like family. She'd been needling him since he was a toddler, and was one of the few people immune to his charm. She pointed at the only empty seat. “Sit your butt down and buckle up so we can get this bird in the air.”

Ty had reserved the window seat, but it was already taken, leaving him the aisle. He might have objected if the occupant hadn't been a woman. But again, Texas courtesy required him to suck it up, so he did, keeping one eye on her as he stuffed his bag in the overhead.

She was leaning forward, rummaging in the carry-on between her feet, and hadn't seen him yet, which gave him a chance to check her out.

Dressed for travel in a sleek black tank top and yoga pants, she was slender, about five-foot-six, a hundred and twenty pounds, if he was any judge. Her arms and shoulders were tanned and toned as an athlete's, and her long blond hair was perfectly straight, falling forward like a curtain around a face that he was starting to hope lived up to the rest of her.

Things are looking up, he thought. Maybe this won't be one of the worst days of my life after all.

Then she looked up at him. The bitch on wheels.

He took it like a fist in the face, spun on his heel, and ran smack into Loretta.

“For God's sake, Ty, what's wrong with you!”

“I need a different seat.”

“Why?”

“Who cares why. I just do.” He slewed a look around the first-class cabin. “Switch me with somebody.”

She set her fists on her hips, and in a low but deadly voice, said, “No, I will not switch you. These folks are all in pairs and they're settled in, looking forward to their dinner and a good night's sleep, which is why they're paying through the nose for first class. I'm not asking them to move. And neither are you.”

It would be Loretta, the only person on earth he couldn't sweet-talk. “Then switch me with someone from coach.”

Now she crossed her arms. “You don't want me to do that.”

“Yes I do.”

“No you don't and I'll tell you why. Because it's a weird request. And when a passenger makes a weird request, I'm obliged to report it to the captain. The captain's obliged to report it to the tower. The tower notifies the marshals, and next thing you know, you're bent over with a finger up your butt checking for C–4.” She cocked her head to one side. “Now, do you really want that?”

He really didn't. “Sheeee-iiiiit,” he squeezed out between his teeth. He looked over his shoulder at the bitch on wheels. She had her nose in a book, ignoring him.

Fourteen hours was a long time to sit next to someone you wanted to strangle. But it was that or get off the plane, and he couldn't miss the wedding.

He cast a last bitter look at Loretta. “I want a Jack Daniel's every fifteen minutes till I pass out. You keep 'em coming, you hear?”

About the Author

C
ARA
C
ONNELLY
is
an award-winning author of contemporary romances. Her smart and sexy stories have won high praise, earning Cara several awards, including the Romance Writers of America's Golden Heart, the Valley Forge Romance Writers' Sheila, and the Music City Romance Writers' Melody of Love. Cara, who lives in rural upstate New York, works as an appellate court attorney when she's not crafting steamy novels of love and romance.

Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at
hc.com
.

Also by Cara Connelly

The Wedding Gift

The Wedding Band

The Wedding Vow

The Wedding Favor

The Wedding Date

Give in to your impulses . . .

Read on for a sneak peek at four brand-­new

e-book original tales of romance from HarperCollins.

Available now wherever e-books are sold.

BAD FOR ME

A
R
OCK
C
ANYON,
I
D
AHO
N
OVEL

By Codi Gary

WILD WITH YOU

I
NDEPEND
ENCE
F
ALLS
B
OOK
F
OUR

By Sara Jane Stone

THE DEVILISH MR. DANVERS

T
HE
R
AKES OF
F
ALL
OW
H
ALL
S
ERIES

By Vivienne Lorret

NEED ME

A
B
ROKE AND
B
EAUTIFUL
N
OVEL

By Tessa Bailey

 

 

An Excerpt from

A Rock Canyon, Idaho Novel

by Codi Gary

Not so very long ago, trusting someone changed Callie Jacobsen's life forever—and not in a fun way. So when former Marine Everett Silverton takes an interest in her, Callie's more than a little wary. No matter how charming he is, men are a bad idea. In fact, she's got the scars to prove it. Everett will do whatever it takes to show her she's safe with him—all she has to do is take a chance, take a step . . . and take his hand.

 

 

C
allie was bundled up in jeans and a puffy jacket, but her blonde curls had flown behind her in a mix of gold and crystal, flashing like streaks of lightning in the moonlight. Everett's hands had itched to get tangled up in that mass of curls as he imagined pulling her against him, kissing those sweet lips until she relaxed, breathing in her sweet scent and holding her. Forgetting all about why she was bad for him and why things could never work between them.

But before he could think better of it, he'd opened his mouth and told her she was beautiful.

Only instead of jumping into his arms at his compliment, she was now staring at him like he was a Peeping Tom.

Callie hopped off the swing like it was on fire. “Sorry. I just needed a minute alone.”

“You do that a lot,” he said, taking a step toward her.

“What?”

“Want to be alone.”

“So?” she said irritably. “What's wrong with wanting a little privacy?”

“Nothing. It's just . . . when you spend so much time on your own, you start to get lonely.”

“Why do you care if I get lonely? You want nothing to do with me, right?”

He kept getting closer to her. “I did say that, didn't I?”

“Yeah, you did, and I'm sorry to have bothered you—”

“Do you know why I holed up in my house with a book I've read at least a dozen times instead of having fun with my family and the rest of my hometown?” He had her nearly backed up against the tree and wanted to press himself into her and feel her soft curves.

“Because hayrides and haunted mazes creep you out?” she asked quietly.

“Hmm, no, I actually like Halloween,” Everett said.

He was a foot away now, close enough to touch her.

“Then what?”

Everett leaned over her, his arm against the tree. He ignored the bark biting into the flesh of his arm and the warmth of her body calling him closer and said, “Because I was afraid if I saw you, I'd forget everything I know and everything I've been telling myself about you.”

“Like what?” Her small, pink tongue darted out to lick her lips, and his cock grew heavy with need.

“That you're bad for me. That if I get involved with you it will destroy me.”

He saw something flash across her face before her expression shuttered. Hurt? Longing?

“Then leave me alone.”

He should. He should turn around and head back into his house, locking the door on her and his desire.

“I can't. I can't stop. You get to me, and I'm not strong enough to walk away.”

A soft cry escaped her just before his mouth came down, claiming hers.

God, she tasted like fresh honey. His tongue slipped inside to sweep along hers, delving into her warmth as his hand came up and tangled in her hair. He wanted closer, wanted to surround himself with her scent, her body, and push all of the doubt from his mind.

Everett came out of his fog of desire when Callie shoved at his chest, turning her head away from him. She was breathing hard, panting.

“I am not a plaything. You keep saying that I'm not what you're looking for, but the truth is, I wasn't looking for you either. You popped into my life and sought me out. Then you learned something you don't like about me, and suddenly I'm this toxic thing you have to resist?” She pushed him hard, and he backed off. Every word was true, and it made him feel like an asshole.

Because he was acting like one.

“I've got a newsflash for you. Being self-righteous and judgmental doesn't make you a good person. You don't know me or what I've gone through, and yes, I've made some bad choices, but they were
mine
. I've taken responsibility for my addiction and changed. And that's all anyone can do, but I don't need you telling me you want me or that you're better than me.”

In the distance, someone began calling her name, and Callie turned without saying anything else.

He couldn't let her go, not with that statement hanging between them. In three strides he was behind her, his hand on her arm. Callie stopped but didn't turn. Everett moved closer until the top of her head sat just under his chin; then he gently pulled her unruly curls back over her shoulder. She was still as a statue, even when he leaned down to whisper against her ear.

“You're right about everything, and I'm sorry. I'm a self-righteous prick, but I don't think I'm better than you. You just scare the hell out of me.” Everett was so tempted to kiss the pulse point below her ear. “I never wanted to make you feel less-than, Callie, and hurting you is the last thing I want to do.”

Seconds ticked by, and she said nothing. He was still scared shitless, but he couldn't ignore this thing between them. Distance and avoidance hadn't made his desire for her go away, hadn't lessened his infatuation, and her passionate speech only made him want to keep pushing, peeling back her layers until he could see right into her soul.

And just when he was sure he'd blown it, she shocked the hell out of him.

“What's the first thing?”

 

 

An Excerpt from

Independence Falls Book Four

by Sara Jane Stone

One night with a hero is just what she needs. But more spells trouble . . .

Dr. Katherine “Kat” Arnold left Oregon and never looked back at the town that failed her as a child. But when a new patient from Independence Falls joins her clinical trial, she returns determined to show everyone in her hometown how she has thrived—including her high school crush, Brody Summers.

 

 

B
rody parked his willpower in the hall and led the blond doctor through the door marked Pool. If his brothers saw him now they would laugh their asses off. He'd driven up to Portland to save two families—the stranded hikers and his own. Instead, he was taking an emergency room doctor who probably sent the men of New York City racing to the ER with a long list of fake ailments for a swim. But he couldn't walk away.

Beyond her beautiful face, he'd witnessed the relief in her eyes when she'd learned that the kid was safe. One look at her and something inside him had snapped. For the past few months he'd navigated a boatload of stress through choppy waters. And heck, he wanted a break.

His grip on her hand tightened, his mind focused on the here and now. The feel of her soft skin. The sound of her breathing, which quickened as they moved through each door. Every sound she made suggested her desire matched his, poised to spiral out of control.

A few paces into the warm and thankfully empty pool room, he turned to face her. Her breath caught as he stared into her eyes. Hesitation? Heck, maybe she'd read his mind and knew he wanted to bypass the pool, taking her straight to his bed.

“Brody, if you're having second thoughts, we can head back into the hall and call it a night. But if you want to stay and, um, celebrate, I promise I won't take advantage of you in your underwear.” She spoke in a low tone that left part of his body hoping he could convince Little Miss Perfect to break her word.

“And if I can't make the same promise?” he challenged. The past twenty-four hours—heck, the past few months—had chipped away at his calm logic and left him emotionally rung out. He felt as if he was standing on the edge of wild.

“That won't be a problem.”

The way she said those words—she might as well have wrapped her hand around his dick.

But instead of reaching for the part of his body threatening to wage a war against what remained of his common sense, she released his hand. “Wait here.”

Brody watched her move toward a metal closet, taking in the pool room's layout. A line of lounge chairs filled the space to their left. Along the wall to the right stood a table stacked with towels. Next to the pile, a shower and a sign that clearly stated all guests swam at their own risk. Brody glanced at the long narrow pool that ran the length of the room. The stairs leading to the shallow end stood directly in front of him. And in the corner opposite the entrance sat a hot tub, steam rising from the swirling water.

He bit back a low growl as images filled his mind. Kat stripping off her clothes and joining him in the steaming water . . .

“Where are you going?” he asked, returning his attention to the present as she opened the door. She rummaged for a moment and turned around, triumphant.

“To find this.” She held up a sign that read
POOL CLOSED.

Her heels clicked against the cement pool deck as she headed to the door. Poking her head out, she scanned the hall and then slipped the sign into place.

“Just in case someone else wants to celebrate,” she said.

“You know all the tricks,” he murmured. “Have you done this before?”

“When I was a teenager, I occasionally snuck into places I wasn't supposed to be. I got caught once and learned my lesson. Most people obey a Closed sign.”

She settled onto a lounge chair. Planting her palms on the cushion, she leaned back and crossed the long legs he'd admired earlier while lying at her feet. Her skirt slid up her thighs, stopping short of offering a peekaboo glance underneath.

“You're just going to sit there and watch?”

“I can close my eyes while you undress if you're feeling shy. But I can't promise I won't peek.”

He tried to remember the last time a woman had toyed with him and came up blank. Back home, he might as well have had the word “serious” tattooed on his forehead. Women looked at him and saw long-term. And yeah, he liked being that guy, the one people knew they could count on. When it came to his family, he wouldn't have it any other way. But sometimes—like when he wanted a chance to explore a beautiful blonde's long legs without worrying about the long-term picture—it was just plain lonely.

“I'm not shy,” he said.

“Then lose the clothes, Brody.”

He pulled his Moore Timber T-shirt over his head and tossed it aside. Stealing a glance at his audience, he saw her green eyes widen. She uncrossed her legs, drawing his attention to the smooth skin of her thighs. His gaze traveled up her body, leaving him wondering what lie beneath her silky shirt.

“I hope you're not shy,” he said, his voice low and wanting, a solid reflection of how he felt. “Because I want to watch.”

 

 

An Excerpt from

The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series

by Vivienne Lorret

When Hedley Sinclair inherits Greyson Park, she finally has a chance at a real life. The only person standing in her way is Rafe Danvers—her handsome neighbor who also claims ownership over the crumbling estate. Rafe is determined to take back what's his—even if it means being a bit devilish. Knowing the stipulations of her inheritance, he decides to find her a husband. The only problem is, he can't seem to stop seducing her. In fact, he can't seem to stop falling in love with her.

 

 

“A
young woman in society usually flirts when given the opportunity.”

How was she supposed to flirt when she could barely think? He stood close enough that she could feel the alluring heat rising from his body. She drew in a breath in an effort to think of a response. When she did, however, her nostrils filled with a pleasant scent that only made her want to draw in another breath. It was
his
fragrance. From their previous encounter, she recognized the woodsy essence and a trace of sweet smoke.

Hedley caught herself rocking onto the balls of her feet to get closer, but then quickly fell back onto her heels. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “I am not in society. Nor am I likely to be. Therefore, I have no reason to flirt.”

“You don't need a reason.” He leaned in, his voice low. The angular cut of his side-whiskers seemed to direct her gaze toward his mouth. “Flirting is a skill. You use it to get what you want.”

Hedley forgot why she'd come here . . .
to get what you want. . .

The more she stared at Rafe's mouth, the heavier her eyelids seemed to weigh. Why was she suddenly so tired? Perhaps it
was
too early to pay a call. Or perhaps it was because he stood so close that his warmth blanketed her. It would take only a single step to rest her head against his shoulder. “Like a type of currency used in society?”