More Than a Fling

THIRTEEN


Ross caught a wave to the beach, stepped off his board into the shallows and wished that he could just go back in and stay there. When he was flying down the waves he temporarily forgot that he was bloody miserable and...and lonely, dammit.

He tucked his board under his arm and shoved his hair back off his face. He had little reason to feel so...so flat, he thought. Yeah, he’d lost a girl, but his life was still full. He was financially fluid, his relationship with his family was better than ever, he had lots of friends and a roaring business. If he needed a woman he could do it the old-fashioned way: head down to a pub and pick someone up.

The thought made him want to throw up. Not only had Jones taken his heart, it seemed she’d also taken his sex drive too. Just another aspect of this very crappy situation.

Ross whistled for Pic and frowned when he saw that he wasn’t where he’d left him, lying next to the huge piece of driftwood where he and Ally had always sat when they came down to the beach. Ross felt his heart lurch in panic. Pic—so well trained—would never have left his spot unless there’d been a problem. Had he been dognapped? He’d lost his woman—losing his dog would put him right over the edge.


Desperately trying to keep calm, Ross whistled again and finally heard that answering familiar bark. He whirled around, surfboard wobbling, and there was Pic, his long ears bouncing as he ran.

Ross would later swear he had the biggest smile on his face.

‘Arf-arf-arf-arf-arf!’

Ross bent down as Pic reached him, quickly running his hands over his body to check if he was injured, looking for a clue as to why he’d leave his spot. ‘Why d’ya leave, Picky? Why, huh?’

‘Arf-arf-arf-arf-arf!’ Pic shouted back, then twisted around and bolted down the beach.

Ross shouted at him to return, but instead he ran full-tilt at the waves to a slim figure who stood in the shallows, a stick in her hand. Ross watched as she lifted the stick and threw it into the water. Pic plunged into the waves after it.

Ally.

Ross dropped his board, put his hands on his thighs and hoped that his heart wasn’t about to jump out of his ribcage. She was dressed as casually as he’d ever seen in her, in cotton shorts that stopped midthigh and a tight-fitting crop top that showed off a strip of her belly. Her hair was tucked under a baseball cap and big shades covered her eyes. If it wasn’t for Pic then he might not even have noticed her standing on the beach, the sea playing amongst her bare toes.

This is it, Ally thought, looking sideways.

She could feel Ross’s hard eyes on her, yet he didn’t come any closer, didn’t make a move. Ally sighed. Could she blame him? She was the one who’d walked, who’d left him with words of love on his lips... Why should he do a damn thing?

No, she owed it to him to make the first move, she thought as Pic dropped the stick at her feet, lay down on his tummy and looked up at her with his I’ll-die-if-you-don’t eyes. She smiled, picked up the stick and tossed it again. When he’d bounded off she made her way through the shallows to where Ross was standing, his expression forbidding.

‘Hi,’ she said quietly, wishing she could touch him. His hand, his arm, his face...anywhere.

‘I should’ve guessed you were back when I couldn’t find my damn dog. Pic wouldn’t leave his spot for anyone but you,’ Ross said in a rough voice.

‘He looked so sad, waiting for you, that I thought I’d play with him for a bit,’ Ally said, her words spilling out in a heated rush.

Ross picked his board up, pushed it nose down into the sand and folded his arms across his bare chest. ‘What are you doing here, Alyssa?’

Ally twisted her fingers together. ‘That’s a good question...’

‘Does it have an answer? Maybe some time this century?’

Ally winced at the ice in his tone. Pic bounded up to them again, the stick in his mouth. Ross grabbed him before its pointed ends could scrape either of them, commanded Pic to drop the stick and stay.

Pic dropped the stick and stayed, but not before humphing out an unamused bark and turning his back on Ross. Ally bit her lip to keep from smiling at Ross’s fur person.

‘He’s been impossible since you left,’ Ross muttered. ‘You spoilt him.’

‘And you spoilt me,’ Ally said. ‘And I’ve been impossible since I left too.’

Ross waited a beat before responding. ‘You are always bloody impossible, so how was it different this time?’ he said in a weary voice.

Ally gestured to their spot by the driftwood and felt relieved when Ross walked over to the log, rested his butt against the hard wood and crossed his legs at the ankles. Water sat in fat beads on his skin and rolled off his hair. As per usual he hadn’t brought a towel with him to the beach, preferring to jump into the shower after surfing. Preferably with her.

But if she had to judge by his inscrutable face a repeat of that wasn’t likely.

Ross sighed, clenched the hand that rested on his thick thigh and lifted one eyebrow. ‘I’m not going to stand here and play guessing games with you. Say what you want to say and let’s get this done.’

He wasn’t going to make this easy for her and she couldn’t blame him. ‘I’m sorry I walked away.’

‘You flew six thousand miles to tell me that?’

‘Yes...no... That was part of it.’ Ally pulled off her cap and glasses and tossed them to the sand. Her hair tumbled down and a couple of strands caught the evening breeze and danced around her face. She held them back with one hand. ‘You hinted that you might love me.’

‘It wasn’t a bloody hint. I came right out and said it,’ Ross retorted, obviously unhappy with the idea.

‘Do you still? Love me?’

‘Unfortunately it’s not an emotion I can switch on and off, despite some major effort on my part,’ Ross snarled. ‘Is there a point to this? Because if you’ve come to rub my nose in it then you can just sod off again.’

Ally gathered what little courage she had left and forced out the words that would change her life for ever. ‘I’m trying—very badly—to tell you that I feel the same.’

‘So?’

Ally frowned, puzzled. ‘I thought you might want to know that.’

Ross said in a deadpan voice, ‘Am I supposed to drop down, put my feet in the air and wait for you to rub my stomach? You’re confusing me with my dog.’ Ross pushed himself up and sent her a hot glance. ‘Hearing that doesn’t mean a hell of a lot—especially since I know that there’s nothing backing it.’

‘What do you mean?’ Ally cried, her heart pounding with fear. She was losing him all over again, and this time it hurt even more.

‘So you love me, huh? So what? What does that mean anyway? Words are empty unless you’ve got the guts to back up the words with action, Jones. Got any action, sweetheart?’

Ross looked at her for a long time and when she didn’t speak again sent her a look full of disappointment.

‘Didn’t think so.’

He clicked his fingers and Pic stood up and sent her a longing look. At least he seemed sorry to leave her behind.

Ally watched his broad back walk away from her and a surge of anger pumped up from her belly and heated her veins. Without thought she hurtled across the sand and punched him in the shoulder. Ross took a half-step forward before spinning around.

‘What the hell, Jones...?’

Ally felt the heat in her face, down her throat, mottling her throat. For good measure she let her fist fly into his shoulder again, just to make damn sure he was paying attention. ‘You want action? You want proof that I love you?’

‘It would be nice,’ Ross replied, rubbing the spot where she’d punched him. ‘And don’t hit me again!’


‘Proof? Well, okay, then. Does packing up my stuff and renting out my apartment count?’

Ross’s eyes half closed and his entire body went on alert. ‘It depends where that luggage is heading.’

‘It’s in storage at the moment, waiting for me to tell them where to send it,’ Ally retorted. ‘Okay, let’s try something else out and see how it fits your definition of—’ she made air quotes with her fingers ‘—action. I tried to resign from Bellechier so that I could come back here to you.’

‘And they didn’t accept your resignation, so you’re stuck with the job you love above everything else?’ Ross twisted his lips and lifted up his hand, looking suddenly weary. ‘Look, Ally, until you are actually ready to tell me that you’re coming back here for good, let’s just table this conversation, okay?’

‘I’m ready to come back here for good.’

Ross blinked and blinked again, looking confused and adorable. He ran his hand across his jaw. ‘That’s not funny, Al.’

‘I’m not joking. And if you gave me a minute to explain, instead of just jumping to conclusions, then we could stop talking and start kissing—and I really want to get to the kissing part.’

Humour, relief, anticipation finally sparked in his eyes, so Ally let out the breath she was holding and took his right hand in both of hers.

‘Sorry, I just need to touch you.’

Ross bent his knees so that he could look directly into her eyes. ‘Explain, sweetheart, please. You’re taking years off my life here.’

‘Tu es beau. Tu me fascines. Je veux être avec toi pour toujours. Tu es l’amour de ma vie. Ma chérie tu me fais très heureux.’

‘Not any clearer...’

‘It’s funny that I can find exactly what I want to say in French, but in English not so much.’ Ally blew out a breath, frustrated with herself. ‘All these phrases are running around my head and I can’t adequately translate them. They don’t work in English.’

‘Well, you’re going to have to try, sweetheart, before I explode from frustration.’

Ally sucked in her cheeks and lifted emotion-saturated eyes. ‘You are beautiful,’ she whispered softly. ‘I’m passionate about you. I want to be with you for ever. You are the love of my life. You fascinate me... Not necessarily in that order.’

Ross placed his forehead against hers. ‘Yeah...that’ll work.’

‘Je t’aime, Ross.’

‘That one I don’t need a translation for. Je t’aime back, sweetheart.’

Ally smiled through her tears. ‘As I said, I tried to hand in my resignation but Luc wouldn’t accept it. He felt that I could work from here and spend a week in Geneva every six weeks or so. I’d need an office, a high-speed internet connection, a laptop...’

Ross straightened and rested his other hand on her hip. ‘Done, done and done.’

‘And I need you. I don’t care about the job if I have you.’ Ally wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, I do a little bit—’

Ross chuckled. ‘A little bit?’

‘Okay, a lot. But not if it means being alone, being without you,’ Ally said, staring at her smaller hand in his.

Then she started to spill her soul.

‘I don’t want to work fourteen-hour days and go home to an empty apartment. I want to work six-hour days and play with your dog while you surf. I want to learn to cook so that we can drink wine in the kitchen together as we make our meals. I want to listen to you tell me about your day and your crazy staff and I want to do the same. I want to walk upstairs with you at night, make delicious love with you and fall asleep to the sound of your heart thumping beneath my ear. I want to love you. I want to be loved by you.’

Ross pulled her into him. ‘You’ve got it, darling. All of that and more.’

He stared down into her face for a long time, still drinking her in.

‘I can’t believe you are here.’ He held her narrow face in his large hands and ran his thumbs across her bottom lip.

‘Is this when the kissing starts?’ Ally demanded, laughing at him.

‘This is when everything starts, my darling,’ Ross replied, his heart thumping. ‘You...me...our lives. I love you.’

Ally sighed, closing her eyes in pleasure at his words. ‘I love you. I’ve never said that to anyone before.’

‘Well, I like it that I’m the first man you’ve said it to, but I intend to be the last man you say it to.’

Ally shook her head. ‘No... I mean, you don’t understand. My dad never told me he loved me andy while the Bellechiers say it with impunity, I’ve never been able to say those words. I was always too...scared.’

Ross’s arms held her firm against his chest. ‘Don’t ever be afraid to say them—to me or to them. It’s a pretty powerful phrase.’

Ally listened to his heartbeat, content to stand on the light, bright, sunny beach. ‘How did it go with your dad? I wanted to ask you, but—’

Ross tipped her head up with a finger under her chin. ‘We’ll talk later... I think it’s high time the kissing began.’

Ross started at the corner of her mouth and felt the tilt of her lips as she smiled, felt the last little eddies of tension swirl away as his hands ran over her shoulders, down her arms, up her sides. Holding her ribcage with both hands, he spread his fingers so that his thumbs brushed her nipples and they immediately flowered under his attention. Her tongue met his in a long, lust-soaked tangle and he went from hard to concrete in a nanosecond.

She was back in his arms, in his life, for good, for ever, and it felt more than right.

It felt like perfection.

‘Let’s go back to your place,’ she suggested, desperate to get her hands on him.

Ross shook his head and lifted her chin so that she looked directly into his love-soaked, passionate eyes.

‘From now on there is no your place or my place; we’re in this together. It’s all ours, sweetheart. You and me...’

‘And Pic,’ Ally added quickly, her hand on his head.

‘And Pic.’

Ross jogged down the beach, picked up his surfboard, and when he returned slung his arm around her shoulder and guided her home.

‘About Pic... Can you please talk to him about drinking out of the toilet bowl? It’s his latest trick and it’s gross. He listens to you.’

‘Pic, don’t drink out of the toilet bowl,’ Ally told his—their—dog, her smile wide.


‘Arf!’ Pic barked his agreement and two seconds later, let out a volley of barks again.

Ally placed her hand on his head and sent Ross a naughty grin. ‘And yes, Pic, of course you can keep on chewing on his flip flops.’

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from DON’T TELL THE WEDDING PLANNER by Aimee Carson.





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ONE


Man, what a lot of work just to get hitched.

Matt weaved his way through the sightseers enjoying the ballroom of the historic Riverway mansion, a plantation that had once taken part in producing 75 percent of the world’s cotton, but was now reduced to group tours and a venue for weekend events. He knew he was headed for the outdoor, private wedding reception when he spotted two Southern belles in authentic dress.

Choosing a Civil War theme to celebrate a marriage seemed wrong. But who knows, maybe the couple enjoyed the irony? Regardless, given the authentic mansion worthy of Scarlett O’Hara and the costumes of the guests, the wedding planner was either a genius...or insane. Matt was pulling for the latter, because he absolutely needed Callie LaBeau to be insane. If she were a reasonable, rational individual, she’d refuse Matt’s request. Which meant his plans to fly in, fix his problem and fly back home would be over. And he’d be screwed.

Catching up with the two ladies in 1800s dresses, petticoats rustling beneath, wasn’t hard. Their hoopskirts caught as they tried to open one of the French doors leading to the backyard, and their attempt to cross the threshold side by side didn’t work out so well.

Matt bit back the grin and the fatigue of thirty-six hours on two hours of sleep, pulling open the other door.

The one in an ugly yellow-colored dress tossed him an inviting smile. “Thanks.”

“Bathroom breaks must be a real bitch,” Matt said.

The lady in lavender laughed. “You have no idea.”

“Do either of you know where I can find Callie LaBeau?” he asked.

Lavender lady jerked her thumb toward one end of the outdoor reception. “Last time I saw her, she was over by the bar.”

Matt took that as good news. Alcohol would definitely be a requirement in a crazy setting such as this, hopefully softening the wedding planner toward Matt’s cause.

“I think she’s the only one in royal-blue.” Yellow dress sounded a little jealous.

Matt took the exit leading out to the twenty-acre grounds that smelled of freshly cut grass and held the crowd of wedding guests in Civil War costumes. Kerosene lamps sat on tables covered in white and dangled alongside Spanish moss in the giant oaks. The trees provided a canopy for the reception, the soft lamps casting a glow against the twilight sky.

He hoped the lamps were fake or the theme would soon be overrun by the yellow of firemen suits.

Fortunately, the lighting was low enough that Matt’s dark pants and white, button-down shirt blended with the attire of the staff posing as servants. As for the male guests, half wore blue union   uniforms while the others sported gray Confederate uniforms—given the choice of a Southern theme, most likely the bride’s side of the family. Matt scanned the brightly colored Southern belle dresses dotting the scene and spied one of royal-blue in front of an old-fashioned buggy being used as a bar.

Relief relaxed his shoulders. Today’s four-hour flight to New Orleans had been turbulent and hot, hopeless for snagging a few minutes of shut-eye. A cold beer would go down good about now.

He approached the makeshift bar and leaned a hip against the wagon. “Callie LaBeau?”

The woman turned, and Matt was hit with a vision of hair the color of dark honey, wide, brown eyes and a slim but clearly female body filling out the bust of her gown. Appreciation thrummed through his veins, but he ignored the distracting sensation.

“Matt Paulson.” He stuck out his hand.

“Colin called and said he was sending you my way.”

A palm briefly pressed against his. The soft skin and the drawl, as honey-soaked as her hair, brought to mind hot, Southern nights filled with heated skin and sweat-soaked sheets.

Stick to the plan, Paulson. Get in, take care of the problem and get out.

She released his hand and her lips quirked. “Though Colin didn’t mention he was sending you now.”

There was no irritation in her voice, only the calm tone of one who dealt with life’s surprises and upsets with grace and dignity. He liked her already.

She’d need that skill set for what he had in mind.

“Colin told me I could find you here.” He scanned the guests milling about. “I assumed you were scoping out a venue for an event. He didn’t mention I was walking into the middle of an actual wedding reception.”

“Colin’s a good friend, and I owe him a lot. But he’s an obsessed gamer,” she responded with a shrug that said it all.

Matt understood. Over the course of the past two years, he’d learned that the geekdom world was built on the backs of those whose lives revolved around the game. Outside social conventions often didn’t compute. His brother’s life currently consisted of work and spending hours immersed in the world of Dungeons of Zhorg, having traded one obsession for another. Matt just hoped Tommy’s current fixation lasted.

Because dungeons and dragons and trolls beat the hell out of crystal meth.

As always, the years-old ache in his chest hurt as he remembered a time when his brother was gaunt, paranoid and delusional. Sick and wasting away right in front of Matt’s eyes.

His stomach roiled, and he pushed the memories aside. “Should we meet up tomorrow or do you have a minute?”

“I’ll be out of town all day on Saturday. How long are you in New Orleans?”

“Until Sunday morning.”

She let out a huff of humor. “Now it is, then.”

Callie reached into the bodice of her gown. The sight of those graceful fingers dipping into her cleavage hiked his brow and tightened his groin. Fortunately, he kept his expression one of amused sarcasm rather than the truth: a sleep-deprived guy who found the sight a total turn-on. A grin curled her mouth as she pulled out a tiny pocket watch.


“I try to keep things as authentic as possible. As the one in charge, that makes things difficult. Working without my tablet has been a real pain.” She glanced at the time and blew an escaped strand of honey-colored hair from her cheek. “My assistant can keep an eye on things for a bit. But you only have twenty minutes until I need to prepare for the cutting of the cake.”

Twenty minutes wasn’t a lot of time to convince someone to do the impossible.

He ordered a beer and Callie requested a club soda. After she spoke with her assistant, who wore a similar gown in red, and looked a lot more harried than the wedding planner herself, they headed to a small bar along the back of the house that wasn’t in use.

“What I wouldn’t give to lean back in that seat right now.” Callie looked longingly at a chair at one of the few empty tables, like a student eyeing an espresso after an all-nighter. “But this dress makes relaxing impossible. And I’m tired of sitting up straight.”

“That getup doesn’t look comfortable, either.”

“The petticoat is stiff and the corset makes breathing impossible.” She leaned against the counter, her brown eyes intrigued. “So tell me about your wedding-day fantasies, Mr. Paulson.”

A bark of shocked laughter shot from his mouth. Hell, before he could think about tying the knot he’d have to be in one place long enough to successfully date someone. And that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. If ever.

How many times had he tried, and miserably failed, to be the long-distance boyfriend? How many times had he tried, and failed, to keep a relationship going? An occasional round of great sex was one thing, but that held a woman for only so long. And there weren’t many willing to play second chair to his responsibilities to Tommy. Eventually, they all left, the resentment toward his priorities too much to overcome.

Matt cleared his throat. “I’m not here to discuss my fantasies.”

Fantasies.

Another stab of awareness hit, stronger than the one before. Damn, why were they even using the word? Currently his fantasies consisted of a brown-eyed beauty wearing an old-fashioned dress with a ridiculous hoop beneath. But the thought of unlacing a corset was surprisingly...hot.

He settled next to her at the counter. “I’m here about my brother’s wedding.”

Was that a hint of interest that flickered through her eyes?

Before he could decide, she glanced down at her drink and took a sip before carefully setting down her glass. “So why isn’t he here?”

“Can’t get the time off work.”

More accurately, with Tommy’s track record, he couldn’t risk losing another job.

“And the bride to be?” she drawled.

A history as bad as the groom’s. Perhaps worse.

“They had prior commitments,” Matt said instead, sending her a smile that didn’t encourage further questioning. “I had a few days off, so I volunteered to come down and get the ball rolling.”

She eyed him steadily. “Dedicated of you.”

Matt’s lips quirked dryly. She had no idea.

“What can I say?” he said with an easy shrug. “I’m a hell of a brother.”

Matt glanced down at the woman who stood a good six inches shorter than him. A height which was just high enough for a great view down the front of that ridiculous outfit that displayed her breasts as though they were a commodity. Perhaps during the time period of the dress, they had been.

Man. He rubbed his eyes. The fatigue was clearly getting to him. He’d worked four twelve-hour shifts in a row, the E.R. packed with patients every night—just how he liked it. The last night he’d encountered a trauma case that left him flying high on adrenaline, unable to sleep. He loved the challenge, and he was damned good at emergency medicine, too. He’d finished up a satisfying two weeks of work in one of the busiest E.R.s in Los Angeles and had been set to climb on a flight back to Michigan to check on Tommy. Until his brother had called and shared his and Penny’s plans for the wedding. So, instead, Matt had headed to LAX and climbed onto a plane bound for New Orleans.

“Don’t be too impressed, Mr. Paulson.”

Matt blinked, forcing himself back to the present and the lovely set of boobs. “Come again?”

“The corset pushes everything up. They’re not as big as the dress makes them look.”

He quirked an eyebrow, amused by her admission. “Who said I was looking?”

Even the laugh that escaped held a hint of the South. “No one had to say anything, Mr. Paulson. I can see your eyes with my own.”

Matt scrubbed a hand down his face. “Sorry. I haven’t had much sleep in the past thirty-six hours and I got a little distracted. And I think you should call me Matt.” A hint of a grin finally crept up his face. “I’m guessing the formalities aren’t necessary once you get caught leering down a woman’s dress. How much time do I have left?”

Her lips quirked as she reached in to her bodice “It’s now seven forty-five. You have ten minutes left.” She tipped her head curiously. “Don’t you wear a watch?”

“I do,” he said. “I just enjoy the sight of you pulling that watch out of your dress.”

Her warm laugh encouraged him to settle more comfortably against the counter.

“So tell me about your brother’s wedding fantasy,” she said.

She turned and leaned her elbows back on the counter, and he wondered if she knew the position put her on even better display. From the focused look on her face, he’d say no. The woman had slipped fully into themed-wedding-planner mode. He forced his eyes away from the expanse of skin of her bared shoulders and the line between the curve of her breasts.

“Simple,” Matt said. “His fantasy involves a video game.”

Callie groaned. “That’s why Colin sent you to me.”

“Tommy and Penny want their wedding to be a Dungeons of Zhorg weekend set here in New Orleans,” he said. “And since I volunteered to come and hire someone to organize the wedding, I wanted to check and make sure there wouldn’t be any legal problems with the plan. So I hunted Colin down to clear up any copyright hassles.”

“Which would only be a problem if you were selling tickets to the public. I assume this is a private party.”

“More or less.”

Her eyebrows drifted higher. “So which is it, more or less?”

Here was where things were about to get tricky.

Matt shifted on his feet, trying to get comfortable against the counter. “They want to combine their wedding with a LARP event for their fellow gaming friends. You know, a live-action—”


“Live-action role-playing. Yes, I know. I dated Colin long enough to be well versed in geek speak.”

Matt felt his brow crinkle in surprise.

So Colin was her ex. When Matt had searched the creator of Dungeons of Zhorg out at Rainstorm Games and found him in his office late on a Friday afternoon, Matt’s opinion of the geeked-out gamer had been complete. Fortunately, the man had no problem with Tommy and Penny’s plans. In fact, Colin thought a newspaper article about the event would be good publicity for his game. Matt had told him he’d check with Tommy before agreeing, but figured his brother and the equally geeked-out fiancée would be thrilled. Matt could just see the headline now.

Ex-Drug Addicts Saved by Finding True Love Through the Dungeons of Zhorg.

Everyone would love the story. Hell, Matt loved the story.

He just wished he could believe the current state of affairs would last.

The familiar surge of unease filled his stomach like a concrete truck unloading its contents. Damn. If he’d learned anything over the years of Tommy’s addiction, it was that taking care of today was the best Matt could do. Sometime it was more than Matt could do.

And often, his best just hadn’t been good enough.

Matt pushed the thought aside and returned to the more interesting topic of Callie. “You and your ex must have remained pretty good friends if he’s sending you my business.”

Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “You’d have to pry the game controller from his cold, dead fingers before the man would admit the truth, but he owes me. I helped him track Jamie down after they first met. Now they’re married.” Callie let out a chuckle. “That and he wants to ensure the wedding gets done right. You know, with the proper attention to Zhorg detail.” He heard, rather than saw, the roll of her eyes in her tone. “But a ceremony shouldn’t be too hard to pull off.”

“Actually, the entire weekend needs to be planned.”

“Wait,” she said, straightening up from the counter to face him. “I thought you just needed me for the wedding part. You want me to be in charge of the entire LARPing event?”

After several years of experience as the locums doctor in various E.R.s located in big cities across the country, Matt had learned how to handle addicts flying higher than a kite, as dangerous as a violent criminal.

Much like a cornered wild animal, the key was to never let ’em see you flinch.

He maintained her gaze and adopted his best soothing tone. “Yes. But the weekend doesn’t need to be that elaborate. Throw up a few tents, offer a little food, and the guests bring their own costumes. And we can call it a day.”

He knew he’d totally downplayed Tommy and Penny’s vision for the weekend, but Matt thought they were dreaming too big anyway. He’d told them both pulling off exactly what they wanted would be impossible, short of crawling into the video game itself.

Her brow scrunched and several seconds ticked by.

“How much time do I have?” she asked.

“Two months.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m completely serious.”

“Impossible. Sorry, Mr. Paulson, you’ll have to find someone else.” She reached out and took his wrist, pushing up his sleeve to peek at his watch. And then gave him a pretty smile. “Time’s up.”

Momentarily stunned, he watched her head toward the cake table.

Until he remembered his goal, and took off, following her through the crowd. “I love what you did with The Wizard of Oz wedding,” he said, keeping stride with Callie. “And having the Mad Hatter as the wedding officiant in the Alice in Wonderland theme was inspired.”

Did he sound as stupid as he felt?

“How did you learn about that?” she asked.

“Colin gave me one of your brochures. He said you’re the best in the business.”

Callie cast him an amused glance but kept on walking. “Are you trying to use flattery to change my mind?”

“You bet,” he said. “Is it working?”

“Not yet, but feel free to keep trying.”

“The Elizabethan venue was spectacular—” he dodged two Southern belle dresses and a Confederate soldier “—and The Three Musketeers theme was cool, as well.”

She shot him a wry look. “Pirates,” she said. “It was a pirates theme.”

“Whatever,” he said. “Who else is better qualified for a Dungeons of Zhorg themed wedding?”

Callie stared out across the crowd of guests milling about as they enjoyed appetizers. A furrow of concentration between her brows, she appeared to be running through the idea in her head. She chewed on her cheek before swiping her lower lip with her tongue. The sight of the now damp, full mouth was putting a whammy on his libido.

Huh, if he was this easily distracted, it was well past time he sought out some female companionship. To take the edge off, so to speak. Or maybe he simply needed sleep.

“Okay. It might be doable. Crazy, mind you. But doable,” she drawled, and then looked around the current scene. “After all, crazy is my specialty.”

Matt smiled his first real smile since Tommy had shared his engagement news and Matt couldn’t decide if the marriage would make conditions better...or worse.

The potential for an epic screwup was great.

Callie sent him a wide smile back. The gesture wasn’t sexual, but the genuine nature lit her eyes in a way that left them sparkling, sending another bolt of heat and awareness up his spine.

Too bad his flight out was Sunday. And there was no way he could delay the trip. He’d already gone two weeks without flying back home, to the childhood house Matt had moved back into, sharing the residence with Tommy since the very first round of rehab had failed, all those years ago.

He cleared his throat. “Fantastic,” he said.

Mission accomplished. Problem addressed, solution found and past time to move on. Or, as the motto went in the E.R., treat ’em and street ’em. Everything was turning out better than he’d planned. He’d even get a full night’s sleep tonight.

“Let me know how much to put down as a deposit. I’ll get you my email so you can send me the invoices as we go.” He slipped his wallet from his pocket and pulled out his card, filling in the contacts. “And here are Tommy and my cell phone numbers too, just in case you have any questions—”

“Wait.” Her brown eyes grew even wider as she took his card. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

Concern edged up his back, making his shoulders feel stiff. “I have a hot date with the king-size bed in my hotel room—a rendezvous I’m really looking forward to. And Sunday I have to head back home.”


Callie leaned closer, bringing that lovely view in a more direct line of vision. “Listen, Mr. Paulson.”

How was he supposed to listen, much less concentrate, with a view like that? And clearly the stress of the upcoming event had knocked them back to a last-name basis instead of first.

“You’re lucky I have a light enough schedule and an assistant to help me,” Callie said. “But I can’t do this alone. There are too many decisions that need to be made, and made quickly, too. I won’t take responsibility for making the wrong ones. Someone needs to be around to help.”

“Both me and my brother will be available by phone and internet.”

“Not good enough. We can’t afford to play phone tag. Not with so little time and so many big choices to be made.”

“What choices?”

“Venue, for one. This won’t be your average setting. We’ll need a large outdoor park with adequate parking. Food, for another. A menu based on medieval times? Complicated. And from what I remember about LARP, there are games revolving around the video. And they’ll need to be authentic.”

“Tommy and Penny won’t care about the details,” he lied.

They would care. In fact, they’d care too much. That’s what made a fan crazy enough to base their entire wedding around a video game. An obsession about even the minutest of details.

“I once had a client who said she didn’t care. But she did,” Callie said. “Despite the fact the bride and groom were thrilled with my work, the one paying the bills wasn’t.” She tipped her head. “Who’s paying for all of this?”

“Me.”

Something flashed in her eyes that he didn’t recognize. Probably questions and comments and opinions about a wedding being paid for by the brother of the groom. Not your traditional arrangement. But then again, who else was there? No one.

And there hadn’t been for a long time.

Callie, to her credit, didn’t pry. “Then, officially, you’d be my boss. If you want me to agree to plan this event, you’re going to have to at least stick around long enough to make a few of the major decisions.”

“How long?”

“Depends on how our hunt for a venue goes. Can’t say for sure. Maybe a week?”

Damn. That would mean he’d go almost a month without physically checking in on Tommy. The last time Matt had done that, he’d missed some early clues, and Tommy had wound up in rehab again.

But that was two years ago and he’d promised Tommy he’d take care of this.

Matt turned his options over in his head. As far as he could see, he didn’t have any. He’d only just convinced the woman to take this project on. Refusing her now would be counterproductive. And finding someone else to participate in this harebrained idea would be absolutely impossible.

“All right,” he said, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’ll give you until Tuesday and then we can reassess from there.”

“Fine. But we need to get started right away, beginning with a meeting to list exactly what y’all want. I have to go out of town tomorrow, family stuff I have to take care of. But I’ll put together a list of potential park sites and Sunday we can make the rounds to check them out. We can use the drive to put together our ideas for the wedding weekend.”

Sticking around to help nail down the details for this crazy event? Not exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d climbed on the plane today. Matt could afford two more days in New Orleans before heading home. And Callie’s brilliant smile helped ease the frustrating turn of events.

“Sunday morning it is,” he said.

“Forecast calls for a heat wave the next few days or so.” Callie’s grin grew bigger. “Hope you like the weather hot, Mr. Paulson.”

The playful grin brought about one of his own.

“Ms. LaBeau,” Matt said, leaning close. “I like everything hot.”

* * *

Matt entered his hotel room and toed off his shoes, unbuttoning his shirt as he headed toward the bathroom. Fatigue made his movement clumsy as he flicked open the front of his pants. After tossing his clothes aside, he flipped on the water and stepped inside the marble shower, groaning as hot water coursed over his hair and down his skin.

The ache in his muscles had started during the cramped four-hour flight, and now finally eased. Matt leaned his hand against the wall and bowed his head, letting the wet heat wash away the remainder of the stress of the past thirty-six hours.

It looked like his plans to get in and out of New Orleans quickly so he could check on Tommy had just bitten the dust. As a consolation, he now had a little more time to spend with Callie LaBeau. And the next time they saw each other, he will have had a full night’s sleep.

As far as screwed-up plans went, this one could have been worse.

But the time had come to rethink his approach.

First up, place a call to Tommy. A phone check never gave as much information as a face-to-face interaction, but it beat no contact at all. Unfortunately, no one could assess weight loss and skin color over the phone. Of course, the first sign Tommy was slipping was the way he refused to look Matt in the eyes.

Second, the trip around town to locate an available park. Matt ignored the tightening in his groin as he considered a day in the car. With Callie. Alone. Awareness definitely hung in the air around them, though he sensed a hint of reluctance on her part. A reluctance that could have meant anything.

Because they were working together.

Because she had a boyfriend, though Matt doubted that to be the case.

Because she still carried a torch for Colin...

Matt soaped himself clean, picturing the golden skin and the honey-colored hair and big brown eyes. The little dip in her upper lip. The way she nibbled on the inside of her cheek while lost in thought. The pink tongue that licked the corner of her wide mouth.

He pictured that mouth on his skin. The teeth. The tongue traveling down his chest. Past his abdomen. The lips closing around his—

He slammed his eyes shut.

Fifteen minutes later, clean and refreshed and a whole lot more relaxed, Matt padded from the bathroom and into his bedroom. He dried his hair and wrapped the towel around his waist, heading to the window and pulling back the curtain. The lights of New Orleans spread out before him. As much as he dreaded the conversation, he picked up his cell phone and punched speed dial.

He hated the way his stomach tightened before every contact. After two years of a sober Tommy, Matt should have stopped bracing for the worst every time. Only problem was, Tommy had achieved sobriety before. Six times total. Every relapse had gotten harder than the one before. And had broken Matt’s heart a little more.


“Hello?”

Despite everything, as always his brother’s voice made Matt smile.

“Tommy. Fought any good dragons lately?”

The laugh on the other end sounded robust, easing a little of Matt’s nerves.

“Dude, you should have seen the troll that Penny took down the other day,” Tommy said.

“Big?”

“Massive.”

“Hope her cooking isn’t going to your waist. Your chain mail still fit?”

When Tommy’s chuckle finally died down, he said, “That headhunter called again today.”

The news formed a knot in Matt’s chest and expanded, the pressure creating a wound that would never fully heal. The first time the recruiter from Jaris Hawking Healthcare had called about a job, Matt had been thrilled. At the time he’d been too busy cleaning up the last of his brother’s latest mess to search for a job, but things with Tommy had seemed to be settled and Matt was ready to finally make the longed-for career move. Matt had spent hours researching the busy hospital in Miami, looking forward to the excitement he craved. But just when he’d been set to sign the papers, Tommy had relapsed again, requiring another round of rehab. And a family member to be there to ensure it happened. Matt had finally realized that he’d never be able to move.

Giving up that dream had hurt like hell, but there was no sense rehashing old disappointments.

Tommy went on, “They said they were desperate for someone with your talents.”

“I hope you told him I’m still not interested.” If he repeated the lie enough, he just might begin to believe it. Besides, he had more important things to ask. “How’s work?” He aimed for a nonchalant tone, but he knew Tommy saw straight through the question.

“You don’t need to check up on me, Matt.” Tommy didn’t sound annoyed, just resigned. “Work is fine. Penny is fine. I’m fine.”

“You sure you two geeked-out lovebirds want to get hitched during a lame-ass reenactment of a video game? Not too late to go for the Elvis wedding in Vegas. Or better yet, a pirate-themed adventure wedding in Hawaii. Think of it. A week’s vacation in Maui with all expenses paid by yours truly. What better wedding gift could a brother ask for, huh? I could do with a base tan myself.”

“The wedding absolutely has to be in New Orleans. We want trolls. And dragons. And Matt...?”

Matt dropped onto the bed, leaning back against the headboard and propping up his feet. “Yeah, sport?”

“I’ll pay you back.”

Matt’s lips twisted wryly as affection kicked him the chest. Every goddamned time. The kid had spent the past twenty-five years worming his way into Matt’s heart, until Tommy was so firmly entrenched, there was nothing Matt could do. He could picture his brother’s wavy brown hair, earnest face and appreciative gaze. Beneath those ribs beat a heart of gold.

Amazing what havoc an addiction could inflict.

“You bet you’ll pay me back,” Matt said with a teasing tone. “With twenty percent interest. Wait, I forgot about inflation. Make that thirty percent. Didn’t I tell you? You’re my retirement fund.”

“Which means you’re screwed, bro.”

Matt let out a scoff. “Better odds than on Wall Street.”

Tommy laughed. When his brother finally grew silent, Matt went on.

“Seriously, though?” Matt said. “Don’t worry about the money. That’s what brothers are for. Just...”

Keep it together.

Stay clean.

Don’t break my heart again.

“Just make sure that future wife of yours doesn’t kick your ass on level ten like last month or I’ll have to disown you,” Matt said.

Matt could hear the smile in Tommy’s voice. “You got it.”