Baiting the Maid of Honor

The single time Serena decided to blow off her responsibilities and go water-skiing with her friends at the lake, she didn’t make it home. Her sister had always gone out of her way to help people. Make them feel important. Loved. So when her sister had left a bonfire to retrieve her sweater from a friend’s docked boat and slipped and hit her head on the dock, why had no one gone to check on her for over an hour?

None of it was fair. None it made sense. If anyone deserved to pay for being selfish and irresponsible, it had been Julie. Not her sister.

Why wasn’t it me?

She’d spent four years of her life trying furiously to make up for it, all the while knowing nothing she did could take away the emptiness that went along with every thought of Serena. Her mother grieved to this day, wearing black and carrying around a picture of Serena with her, tucked into her handbag. Julie didn’t blame her. How could she? But she’d be lying if she said it didn’t weigh on her heart. Watching her mother break down every year when the anniversary of Serena’s death rolled around, seeing her father flounder helplessly with no idea how to comfort his wife, ensured that the pain remained fresh.

Last night, she’d revealed a major part of herself, the pain of losing her sister, to Reed. Combined with the intensity of their physical encounter, she’d felt close to him, even if just for the moment. So she’d reached out for him afterward, assuming he felt it, too.

Wrong.

If he came on to her again, she needed to remember how she’d felt when he shattered the notion that they were connected in any way. Yes, they’d been engaging in a temporary fling, but his words had been crude and uncalled for. She’d been hurt by them. Not an acceptable reaction when she’d gone into the encounter expecting only sex.

Now if she could just stop thinking about the way he’d touched her and every deliciously naughty word that had come out of his mouth, she’d be in excellent shape. Or maybe if this yearning, unfulfilled feeling would go away, which she suspected was a product of him refusing to put himself inside of her. Julie groaned and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus on the pounding rhythm of her feet on the treadmill.

“Should have known you’d be up early, putting all us regular humans to shame.”

Julie opened her eyes to the sound of Regan’s voice. “It’s not early if you never went to sleep in the first place.”

“Word of advice?” Regan climbed onto the treadmill beside her. “When insomnia strikes, drink till you pass out.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “How are you handling running with a hangover?”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Regan started to jog. “I’ve got to do something to work off this excess energy. My libido is running like a hamster on one of those little wheels.”

“There’s a picture.” Julie increased her pace. “Care to share who’s got your hamster all worked up?”

“Dropping the hamster reference now.”

“You started it.”

“Guilty.” Regan punched a button and broke into a run. “I’m not worked up, per se. Just a little itchy when I shouldn’t be. Know what I mean?”

“Too well, actually.”

“Oh! Really? Do tell.”

Julie’s pace faltered, suspicious gaze swinging toward Regan. Something about her tone was deceptively innocent. No one had ever accused Regan of being innocent. “Why don’t you start with the telling? You’re acting like a toddler with pudding on his face.”

“Please, Julie. Please, speak English. It’s way too early for me to translate Southern.” She sighed loudly, adding under her breath, “And I’ve heard way too much of that accent lately.”

“It’s a musical accent.” Julie nudged Regan in the arm. “I’m waiting for an explanation of your tone. You didn’t sound quite as sympathetic over my itchiness.”

“If someone walked in on this conversation, they would be seriously confused.” Regan sent her a sly smile. “I guess I was just wondering why Reed hasn’t gotten around to scratching your itch yet.”

Julie veered to the side, then righted herself. “How’d you know about Reed? Has he…has he been talking about it?”

“About what?”

“Regan.”

She rolled her eyes. “No, he hasn’t been talking about it, goober. Anyone who was in the same room with you and Reed that first night knows. You guys were two seconds away from wild, oh-God-I-think-I-see-Jesus sex.”

Julie lifted her chin. “I was talking to Logan the whole time.”

“Yes, but you were communicating with Reed in every way that counted. A little nudge was all you needed.” A flash of uncertainty crossed Regan’s face. “Right?”

Julie smacked the stop button and the treadmill screeched to a halt. “You switched the keys, didn’t you? I should have known. I assumed this whole time it was Reed.”

“He sure as shit didn’t protest.”

Her body reacted instantaneously, which angered Julie even more than Regan taking matters of her love life into her own hands. “Of course he didn’t. He has the manners of a tomcat on Sunday.”

“You’re going Southern on me again.” Julie punched a button and started an all-out sprint that had Regan raising her eyebrows. “Uh-oh. She’s madder than a wet hen.”

“Now who’s going Southern?”

Regan gave a firm shake of her head. “Correction. I’ve gone Southern. Now I’m going West. It’s like my own sexual version of the Gold Rush.”

“Panning for orgasms.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

Half an hour later, Julie shoved open the door of Spago and checked her watch. An hour to clean up and twenty minutes to shower before she headed to the scavenger hunt starting point to help Kady hand out lists to the participants. She rounded the corner of the empty lounge and came to a dead stop.

Lights had been taken down and placed neatly in their boxes. Banners were folded and stacked on a table. Centerpieces had been tucked into the packing crate marked “centerpieces” in her own loopy handwriting. Someone had obviously gotten up even earlier than she had to clean up on her behalf. Before she registered the obvious answer, a folded note caught her eye. Upon closer inspection, she saw it had her name written on the front. Ignoring the accelerated pounding of her heart, she opened it.

If I were the kind of man who apologized for something he said, this may or may not be how I would go about doing it. Reed.

Julie reread the note five times before she realized her mouth had stretched into a goofy smile.

Chapter Ten

Julie checked her watch, smiling to herself when she saw that the scavenger hunt was set to begin right on schedule. No matter that her friends’ postures suggested the only object they were interested in hunting down was a cold, stiff drink. Kady stood beside her holding the stack of lists, preparing to pass them out to the amassing group of wedding guests. Julie had insisted that Kady compile the items to be hunted so she herself could compete. And win, if she had her way. More than happy to sip a latte and await the winner in Starbucks, Kady had readily agreed.

Christine stood beside Kady, fussing with her hair. Putting it up in a ponytail, then cursing and letting it back down. She looked hot under the collar about something, but Julie knew better than to ask. They’d often joked that the term “fiery redhead” had been coined on Christine’s behalf. Once she got started, they had a hard time calming her back down. Best to let that sleeping dog lie a spell, she decided.

All three of them raised a questioning eyebrow when Regan strolled up and joined them. Wearing a short dress that left little to the imagination and six-inch heels.

“You steal those shoes off a stripper?” Julie asked. ”Or are you planning on taking the drastic step of breaking your neck to avoid this scavenger hunt?”

“Actually I’m hoping to distract the competition.” Regan posed. “Jealous?”

“Concerned,” Kady corrected. “About your ankles. And your mental health.”

Regan

shrugged, already looking bored.

“Does everyone really want to avoid the scavenger hunt? I thought it would be fun.” She felt the familiar stab of disappointment in herself when everyone stayed silent. Don’t let it show. “Well, that’s just dandy.”

Reed sauntered up then, standing off to the side of the growing group, arms crossed over his chest. Against her will, every inch of Julie’s skin went hypersensitive. Lord, he looked ready for sin. An observation she resented. She didn’t want to observe him. Yet she couldn’t stop herself from cataloging every part of him. Cut biceps, adorned with tattoos, stretched the sleeves of his white T-shirt in a way that didn’t belong among the khaki and polo-shirt-wearing wedding guests. His dark hair was still damp from a shower. She knew from experience now that he would smell fresh, masculine, raw. That underneath that T-shirt and jeans, his body was poised, ready to be exerted. Craving exertion. Such a contrast to his deceptively casual pose. When their gazes met, rebellious heat curled below her waist.

No. She didn’t want this. Perhaps he’d partially redeemed himself by cleaning up after the party. Easing her burden. Leaving her that unintentionally sweet, uniquely Reed note. That didn’t mean she should excuse last night’s lewd comment so easily. Did it? Why did she want to?