In Your Dreams (Blue Heron #4)(36)

“I can tell.”

“Jack, if you don’t want me to stab you in the neck, shut it. Your publicity team said you were the perfect date. Act like it.”

He grinned. Ah. He was joking. She felt the tug of a small smile. “Sorry,” she said.

Rancho de la Luna—Ranch of the Moon—was gorgeous. White stucco with red clay tile roofs, beautiful plantings, a fountain. Orange and lemon trees were in bloom, competing with the soft white of ornamental pear trees, and the scent of jasmine was thick in the air.

Very romantic.

“Welcome,” said the valet as she pulled up to the huge wooden doors. “Are you here for the Norman-Bates wedding?”

“We sure are,” she said, getting out and handing him the keys. “I’m Janet Leigh, and this is Anthony Perkins.”

“Nice to meet you!” he said, flashing a smile so brilliant Em almost shielded her eyes. “Head on in, and make yourselves at home here at Rancho de la Luna!”

Jack retrieved their bags from the trunk. “Showtime,” he said, reaching for her hand.

“No, no. None of that,” she said. But damn, she was glad he was here, a tall, handsome date. Really, he should start charging. He’d make a fortune.

The lobby of the resort featured Mexican tile floors and clean white walls. Some lurid religious art hung on the walls; Em had read that the place had been modeled after a Spanish mission. She glanced around. Nobody she knew.

“Emmaline Neal,” she said to the clerk.

“Welcome,” the woman said, clicking some keys. “And your name, sir?”

“Jack Holland. Can our rooms be adjoining?”

“Not necessary,” Em said.

“It’s no trouble,” the clerk replied cheerfully. “I can put you in rooms 112 and 114. Just go down this hall and take a right. Both rooms have ocean views.” She smiled again at Jack and handed them both keys.

“Thank you,” Emmaline said. She picked up her bag, turned and nearly bumped into an extremely beautiful man. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Broad shoulders, chiseled bone structure, and electric attraction buzzed in her stomach.

“Emmaline!” the man said. And holy bleepity-bleeping bleep, it was Kevin.

Her face went hot immediately, and her knees felt sick and weak.

He looked like the love child of Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom. Square jaw, perfect nose, lovely mouth and those eyes... The eyes were the same.

“You made it,” he said.

“What?” She cleared her throat. “Yeah, I did. Um, we did. Yes. Thank you for inviting me. You look...you look great, Kevin.”

Almost three years since she’d seen him last. He’d been very handsome, yes, and strong and solid.

Now, though...now he was a sculpted wonder of science and divinity. His T-shirt, which read Trample the Weak, Hurdle the Dead, clung to his pecs, and his arms...his arms were a thing of beauty. Those were Daryl-from-The-Walking-Dead arms. Jeremy Renner arms.

Em closed her mouth. Presumably, Jack was nearby and hadn’t burst into flames, but even if he had, it might’ve been hard for Emmaline to look away from Kevin.

Her ex grinned. “That’s right. You’ve never seen the end result. Pretty amazing, huh?” he said, and with that, he took off his shirt and flexed.

Such a...such a...such a jerk.

But holy bleep.

He was tan and hairless (he used to have chest hair, but the landscape was smooth and golden now). Perfectly defined muscles, no trace of fat anywhere. It was as if New Kevin had killed Old Kevin, melted down his fat and used it for lamp oil or something, because even though she’d slept with this guy for years, she didn’t recognize one thing on that beautiful panorama of skin and muscle and beauty.

Then Naomi came jogging up, wearing workout gear smaller than any bathing suit Em had ever owned. Emmaline tore her eyes off Kevin’s eight-pack (was there such a thing?) and blinked.

“Babe. There you are.” Naomi slid a tanned arm around Kevin’s perfect waist and smirked at Emmaline. “Emily. Long time no see.”

“It’s Emmaline.”

“Right.” Naomi hefted up a liter of bile-colored sports drink and guzzled.

“Hi. Jack Holland,” came a voice. “The bride and groom, I take it?”

“Sorry,” Em said. “Jack, these are Kevin Bates and Naomi Norman. This is my friend, Jack Holland.”

Naomi scanned him up and down. “What’s your BMI?”

“I have no idea,” he said patiently.

“How much can you bench?” Kevin asked.

“I’m not really a gym kind of person,” he said, smiling. He took her hand. She didn’t remove it. She might’ve even been squeezing it very hard.

She should’ve hugged Kevin to show she was over him. She should’ve smiled. She should’ve said, Kevin, hey! Look at you, gorgeous! and been all casual and happy and not frozen and stupid.

“This is a beautiful spot,” Jack said. “We were so happy to get out of the weather back home.”

Neither Naomi nor Kevin answered.

“Emmaline, why don’t we get settled?” Jack said.

She stared at him mutely. Better than looking at Kevin, that was for sure. Let alone Naomi.

“Good idea,” she said, and hooray for her, she was speaking at long last. “We’ll see you guys later. Of course. Because it’s your wedding! Yay!” Oh, Lord. Where was her gun? She had packed it, right? It would be so great to shoot herself right now.