From This Day Forward (The Wedding Belles 0.5)(3)

Alexis’s gaze cut away from hers and fell somewhere over Leah’s shoulder, even as Leah felt the shiver of awareness that someone else had stepped into her personal space.

Alexis glared at the newcomer. “You’re early, Rhodes.”

Leah’s heart stopped, just for a moment. Slowly, she turned around and glanced up into the dark brown eyes of Jason Rhodes.

He pulled a toothpick from his mouth and gave her a slow, sexy once-over. “Hiya, Red. Long time.”

Leah could only shake her head. It had been a long time, but not nearly long enough.

Not only was he the one man on the planet she could absolutely, positively not work with.

He was the one man who Leah had let in close enough to break her heart.





Jason Rhodes had never been particularly into politics. Sure, he voted. Kept up on current affairs. But most of the time he thought whatever the hell went on in DC was 80 percent bullshit.

Still, even he knew that working the wedding of Kylie Preston was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The type of resume booster that could get your work featured in People magazine and ensure that you were in business for life.

But that wasn’t why Jason had said yes when Alexis Morgan had called and offered him the job.

Not the main reason, anyway.

No, the main reason he’d agreed was because of a tall, curvaceous, red-haired siren who came with the package—and who was currently sitting in the reception area of the bed-and-breakfast Jason had just checked into.

Jason had been about to head up to his room, but the second his eyes locked on Leah nursing a glass of white wine—her drink of choice when she was stressed, he recalled; the red was reserved for when she wanted to let loose—he found himself juggling the key in his palm before heading in her direction.

It was stupid. Suicide, really. Especially considering their brunch meeting less than a week earlier had ended with her very deliberately dumping a glass of ice water in his crotch.

And yet, even though Jason would bet serious money that he was on a kamikaze mission by even approaching, staying away from Leah McHale when she was this close seemed like a non-option.

He was the helpless moth to her curvy, prickly, hot-as-sin flame.

It was too bad the feeling was not mutual.

She’d made that perfectly clear the day she’d walked out on him a year ago without so much as a glance over her shoulder. Without giving him a chance to explain. Stubborn, wretched woman. And yet here he was, walking toward her and actually looking forward to it even though he knew the reception he was due to receive would be far from warm.

Moth, meet flame.

Unlike the large, corporate hotels that dominated Manhattan, the ritzy oceanfront inn where the bride’s family had put them up held no sleek bar or endless array of seating options. Just a small bar cart set up in the corner, where guests were free to help themselves, and a handful of tables meant for quiet conversation or solitude.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Leah, with her white wine and her iPad, was hoping for the solitude option. It gave him great pleasure to disrupt her.

She glanced up just as he dropped his bag to the floor beside her feet and settled on the chair across from her. “Hiya, Red.”

Her gray-green eyes remained perfectly stoic as she took a sip of wine and slowly set the glass back on the table. “Rhodes.”

Jason reached across the table to where her hotel key sat near her elbow, grabbing it before she could stop him. No plastic key cards for this classy joint. The keys themselves were old-fashioned and metal, but Jason didn’t give a shit about the key itself. He flipped over the silver plate that indicated her room number.

Perfect.

With a slow grin he held up his own key—room eight to her room seven. “Neighbors! Think they have thin walls?”

“Gosh, I hope so,” she gushed sarcastically, taking another sip of wine, slightly larger than the last, he noticed. “It’ll be so much fun for me to hear whatever adolescent girl you manage to pick up giggle when she sees the tiny little thing you’ve got masquerading as a penis.”

Jason narrowed his eyes as he pulled the ever-present cinnamon Tic Tac case from his front jeans pocket. He flipped the lid open with a thumb, watching Leah as he tilted three of the little candies into his mouth.

The tip of her tongue flicked out almost subconsciously, touching the center of her bottom lip briefly, before she jerked her gaze away. He wondered if she was remembering his taste as vividly as he remembered hers.

“Still on those, huh?” she asked, jerking her chin toward the Tic Tacs.

Jason lifted a shoulder in confirmation. The red breath mints had started out as a replacement for cigarettes back when he’d quit smoking eight years earlier. He rarely got the urge for a smoke anymore, but the craving for cinnamon was constant, especially when he was agitated.

And being around Leah McHale ensured that he was always agitated.

Leah blew out a tiny, irritated sigh. “Look, I thought we agreed that we’d do this job with as little contact as possible.”

“Huh,” he said, leaning forward. “See, that’s not how I remember it. I actually remember showing up at the restaurant for a business meeting just in time to watch you have a temper tantrum over a misunderstanding that happened a year ago.”

“Misunderstanding?” Her voice went low and angry as she leaned forward. “A beautiful woman opens your boyfriend’s front door at seven a.m. on a Sunday morning wearing nothing but a shirt that I bought you. Tell me how I misunderstood that.”