Baiting the Maid of Honor (Wedding Dare #2)(14)

“A few more minutes on that ladder and they might have been necessary.”

“Didn’t your mama ever teach you arrogance is a sin?”

“You love the way I sin.”

Julie opened her mouth to respond when Christine breezed into the room and came to an almost comical halt, flushing a deeper red than her hair. “Oh. Uh…I just came to see if I could help with the dickorating. I-I mean…decorating. Oh, God. Am I interrupting something?”

Without breaking eye contact with Reed, Julie answered brightly. “You’re not interrupting, sweetheart. Mr. Lawson here was just about to take himself off.” When Reed’s jaw flexed in irritation, Julie smiled, let her gaze drop for a split second to his jeans. She had the sudden urge to put him in his place, throw him off-kilter like he’d so effortlessly done to her. “I’m guessing he needs to go stroke his ego in private for a while,” she whispered for his ears alone.

He shook his head once, slowly. “That’s a dangerous game you’re playing.”

Feeling bold, Julie shrugged with indifference. “Yet I appear to be winning. Two to nothing.”

“Not for long.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

Reed leaned in so close, his breath fanned across her lips. “Oh, don’t worry, pixie. When this week is over, I’ll have seen every inch of you.”

With a nod in Christine’s direction, he turned and left.





Chapter Seven


Reed sat alone in the corner of Spago, animated conversation and scraping silverware creating a noisy void around him as he watched Julie flit about the room, practically sprinkling pixie dust everywhere she went. She hadn’t sat down once in the last two hours, nor had she stopped to eat her plate of duck confit salad that still sat untouched at her table. As if salad were a meal. Being in law enforcement, he observed people for a living and he had to admit, he’d never watched someone quite as interesting as Julie. He’d concluded during the earlier cocktail reception that she must possess a built-in mechanism for homing in on guests who were having a less-than-perfect time. Within seconds, she’d have them dazzled with some amusing anecdote, introducing them to another guest with whom they magically seemed to have something in common.

She signaled waiters to refill drinks, straightened tablecloths, and gushed over everyone’s outfit, whether or not it was warranted. She listened to boring stories from Colton’s grandparents with nothing short of captivated interest on her pretty face. She lowered the music. She turned it back up.

Yet she refused to sit the hell down and eat something. For the life of him, Reed could not understand why he cared that she was likely starving. Or that those silver high heels were surely doing a number on her feet. Or if her face was going to crack from all that smiling. It shouldn’t make a damn speck of difference to him. Only something continued to bother him about that phone call with her mother he’d overheard this afternoon. The one that had filled her big blue eyes up with tears and made her go pale. Not everyone can be that perfect, she’d said. How much more perfect could one get? Oh, he knew what lay underneath the bright, shiny surface. He could hardly stand waiting to glimpse it again. But this on-the-surface Julie? He couldn’t find one single imperfection. Not one flaw that hinted at the vulnerable girl beneath. Obviously, she felt the need to keep up the illusion of perfection around the clock. He suspected there was more to the reason than simply a desire to decorate and make folks happy.

Damn it if he wasn’t impatient to find out the reason. So he could tell her it didn’t preclude her from sitting down and letting everyone else fend for themselves for ten goddamn minutes while she ate a plate of fancy lettuce.

Without a single glance in his direction, she slid into the booth behind him where an older couple sat eating braised short ribs. Reed didn’t recognize them but he suspected they were related to the bride. He sighed as she launched into another excited greeting wherein he already knew she wouldn’t pause for breath once.

“Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox, is that you eating over here all alone, bless your hearts? I’ve been looking high and low trying to find you two. Just how big are those grandbabies now? Strapping young men is what they are. I’ll tell y’all a secret, they look just like you, Mr. Wilcox, and doesn’t that just spell trouble for the young ladies in their class? You best keep an eye on him tonight, Mrs. Wilcox. He’s got the look of a smooth operator if I ever laid eyes on one. A plain old fox in a henhouse. Let’s get you a refill on that champagne.”

By the end of her speech, Reed was massaging his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. How did she do it? Her bubbly energy was inhuman. She’d done her part by decorating the whole damn place, which even Reed had to admit looked pretty damn spiffy. Now she had to go around making sure everyone felt warm and cuddly, too?

Reed slid out of the booth and crossed the room to lean against the bar next to Brock, who sipped his beer pensively as he watched Regan on the other side of the room.

“Seems I might have to make an effort with that one,” he said sourly.

“Welcome to my world.”

“Blondie causing you trouble?”

Reed grunted as he tipped back the beer the bartender placed in front of him. “I wouldn’t call it trouble, so much as an ulcer.”

Brock laughed. “Sounds promising.”