One Night Stand Bride

Maybe that tide had turned. Hendrix, Jonas and Warren had disappeared, likely having a private no-girls-allowed toast somewhere away from the crowd, so there was no one to interrupt this nice moment.

“You haven’t mentioned it, but I’d really like it if you allowed me to walk you down the aisle,” her father suggested casually.

Something bright and beautiful bloomed in her chest as she stared at his aged but still handsome face. She’d never even considered having the kind of wedding where such a thing happened, largely because it had never occurred to her that he’d be open to the idea. They’d never been close, not even after her mother died. The experience of witnessing someone they both loved being eaten alive by cancer should have bonded them. For a long time, she let herself be angry that it hadn’t. Then she’d started to wonder if he’d gotten so lost in his grief that he’d forgotten he had a daughter dealing with her own painful sense of loss.

Eventually, she sought to cauterize her grief in other ways, which had led to even further estrangement. Was it possible that she’d erased years of disappointment with the one simple act of agreeing to Hendrix’s outrageous proposal?

“Of course.” She swallowed a brief and unexpected tide of emotion. “That would be lovely.”

Thankfully, her fiancé was already on board with planning an honest-to-God wedding with all the trimmings. She’d have to talk him into a longer engagement if they were going to have the type of wedding with an aisle, because she’d envisioned showing up at the justice of the peace in a Betsey Johnson dress that could support a corsage. The simpler the better.

But that was out the window. She had another agenda to achieve with her wedding now, and it included walking down an aisle on her father’s arm. Dare she hope this could be a new beginning to their relationship?

“I wasn’t sure you’d like the idea of me marrying Hendrix Harris,” she said cautiously, trying to gauge how this new dynamic was supposed to work. She’d left a message to tell him about the party and its purpose, effectively announcing her engagement to her father via voice mail so he couldn’t express yet more disappointment in her choices.

“I think it’s great,” he said with enthusiasm she’d rarely heard in his voice. “I’m happy that you’re settling down. It will be good for you.”

Keep her out of trouble, more like. It was in the undertone of his words and she chose not to let it sour the moment. She did have some questionable decisions in her rearview mirror or she wouldn’t have needed to marry Hendrix in the first place. The fact that her dad liked the move was a plus she hadn’t dared put on the list of pros, especially given that she was marrying a man her father and everyone else had seen in the buff.

“I think it will be good for me, too,” she said, though her reasons were different than his.

“I did wonder if this wedding wasn’t designed to eliminate the negative effects of that unfortunate photograph on Helene Harris’s campaign.” Her father sipped the scotch in a highball, deliberately creating a pregnant pause that prickled across the back of Roz’s neck. “If so, that’s a good move. Additionally, there are a lot of benefits to being the governor’s daughter-in-law, and I like the idea of being tied to the Harris family through marriage.”

That had not been a chance statement. “What, like maybe I could put in a good word for you?”

He nodded thoughtfully, oblivious to her sarcasm. “Something like that. I’ve had some thoughts about going into politics. This is an interesting development. Lots of opportunities unfolding as we speak.”

She shouldn’t be so shocked. But her stomach still managed to turn over as she absorbed the idea that her father only liked that she was marrying Hendrix because of how it benefited him. Did it not occur to her father that she didn’t have any sort of in with Helene Harris yet? Geez. She’d only met the woman for the first time tonight. And Roz might only have a certain number of favor chips to cash in. The first item on her list was Ms. Harris in white face paint with big floppy shoes.

What was going to happen if she couldn’t create the opportunity her father was looking for?

Everyone was expecting something from this union. Why that created such a bleak sense of disillusionment, she had no idea. It wasn’t like she’d ever done anything else her father liked. It was just that for once, she’d thought they were finally forming a relationship.

Of course that wasn’t the case. Fine. She was used to losing things, used to the temporary nature of everything good that had ever happened to her. It was just one more reason to keep everyone at arm’s length.

But Hendrix made that vow harder to keep almost immediately, cornering her in the kitchen where she’d gone to lick her wounds.

“Studying up on my pots and pans so you can cook me a proper dinner once you’re the little woman?” he asked as he sauntered into the room and skirted the wide marble-topped island that separated the sink from the 12-burner Viking range to join her on the far side.

“Unless you like your balls in your throat, I would refrain from ever referring to me as the little woman again,” she informed him frostily, not budging an inch even as the big, solid wall of Hendrix’s masculinity overwhelmed her. “Also, this is a private party. See yourself out.”

He had some nerve, waltzing into her space without invitation. All it would take was one slight flex of her hips and they’d be touching. Hell, that might even happen if she breathed deeper.

Instead of getting huffy about her command, he just watched her, his eyes darkening. He was too close, smelled too much like a memory of sin and sex.

“What?” she asked testily as a long, sensual thread pulled at her center.

She swallowed a yelp as he snagged a lock of hair, tucking it behind her ear. But the touch was just an excuse to get even closer, of course, because once he had his hand on her, he didn’t stop there. His thumb cruised down her jaw, sensitizing her entire face.

In some alternate dimension, there was a Rosalind Carpenter with the will to slap this man’s hand away when he took liberties she hadn’t invited. In this dimension, her stilettos had been cemented to the floor and she couldn’t do anything but stand frozen as he tipped up her chin.

She braced for the crush of his lips on hers. Anticipated it. Leaned into it ever so slightly.

But then he shocked the hell out of her by tilting her head to the side and grazing her cheek as he murmured in her ear, “Wanna tell me what’s got you so upset?”

Oh, no he didn’t. How dare he make this about something other than sex and be dead on target about her reasons for hiding out at the same time?

“I’m not upset.” Her pulse tripped all over itself, scrambling to sort his dominating presence from his uncanny ability to read her. “Maybe I like the kitchen.”