Kiss the Bride Read online

  Jhi followed, pausing at the doorway. “What does Taggart mean about your high school tux?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jhi had been several years behind them in school but knew Tag socially. They didn’t get on. “Are you coming, Caroline?”

  She shook her head, gaze downcast. “I’m going to sit this one out.”

  Jhi glanced between Caro and Heck. Her lips pursed, and Heck tensed. She had the air of someone about to cause trouble, which was not unusual for Jhi. “It may take us a while to change clothes. I hope you don’t get bored waiting.”

  Caro gave an awkward laugh. “Don’t worry about us.”

  “I’m not worried.” Jhi sashayed to the door, adding over her shoulder, “But I’m not the one getting married Saturday.”

  Once they were alone, Caroline slumped forward and rested her elbows on her knees like she was too tired to sit upright. In that position, her breasts fell forward in a way…in a way he shouldn’t be noticing on his best friend. Who was about to marry a pencil-necked asshole.

  “Heck,” she said, “can I ask you something personal?”

  “Sure.” He trained his gaze on the nearly empty plate of desserts to distract himself. It wasn’t bad cake, but it wasn’t chocolate, his and Caro’s favorite. Still, he figured he could manage the last piece so Mrs. Helen wouldn’t be insulted.

  “Why have you never noticed my boobs before?”

  He froze. When a woman asked a question like that, even when the woman was Caroline, it never meant what it seemed like it meant. “You, uh, don’t wear a lot of tops like that, I guess.”

  Caro shrugged. Jiggled. Good God.

  “So it’s the dress?” she asked with wide, innocent eyes.

  He mumbled something and stuffed the last of the cake in his mouth. If she needed to ask him a serious question, what about, “Should I marry the smarmy bitchface I’ve been dating?”

  Because no, she should not. She should wait for a guy they both liked, though truth be told, every guy Caroline dated was not somebody Heck liked.

  Instead of asking useful questions, she stuck with the dress thing. Because a construction foreman whose marriage had lasted all of two years was really the man to talk to about wedding dresses.

  “Do you think this dress is slutty?”

  He was not insane; he was not going there. “I don’t know much about ladies’ clothing.”

  “Do you think brides should look virginal?”

  “Uh.”

  “Come on, Heck.” She was watching him with the level of intensity she usually reserved for contaminant assessments. “You know I’m not a virgin.”

  Heck’s face burned. Contemplating Caroline’s sex life was even more unnerving than admiring her tits. She knew he cared about her, but this kind of caring, this growing animosity toward her wedding and her fiancé, might make her think things.

  It might make him think things.

  Well, shit. Was he thinking things? About Caroline?

  She traced a finger down the gold chain, down that soft, freckled skin, until the dress stopped her. Right in the cleavage, where it would be warm and fragrant and delicious.

  Heck found himself staring at her chest while contemplating her sex life. What was she like in bed? What did she like in bed?

  She adjusted the bodice and said something, but he was in the zone. The sex zone.

  She’d be saucy in bed. She’d wear a corset. Maybe she’d think she could order a guy around. Maybe she’d want a guy to hold her down and… “Wait, what did you say?”

  She smirked. “Does this dress make me look like a bad girl?”

  “You do have a record.” She’d been arrested once or twice during protests. The charges hadn’t stuck, but still.

  “Be serious.” She drew her fingertips up and down the bodice as if displaying herself on the Home Shopping Network for Pervs. “What do you think of the dress?”

  Heck sighed. As always, she’d have the truth out of him whether he wanted to hide it or not. “I’ll confess, I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t?”

  “It’s kinda…” He glanced at her curious expression and away. Her behavior—messing with her boobs and joking about sex—was not normal for her. Was this a bride thing? He didn’t know what was safe to say and what might piss her off. “You need some strappy things. Or that dress with the sleeves.”

  “The wedding is in three days.” She rubbed the edge of the bodice. Her finger dipped into her cleavage and back out. “This dress is a perfect fit. See?”

  “It doesn’t make you nervous?” It was making him something. He just wasn’t sure what.

  “I think it flatters me. A woman my age and size, well, I can’t wear any old dress.”

  “What’s wrong with your age and size?” Caro and he were the same age, thirty-four, but she was small compared to him. If he wanted to, he could pick her up and throw her around like a roll of insulation.

  “You wouldn’t understand.” She tucked the acorn pendant under the bodice of the dress. Then she smoothed her hands over her white-satin curves, down to her pinched-in waist. “Is something wrong? You’ve been acting funny all week.”

  “I’m fine.” An inch of corset showed along the top of the dress now. It had a thin blue ribbon threaded through it. Heck ran his fingers through his hair, the curls he’d tamed this morning springing free of the product Caro had told him to use. He then rubbed his face, but when he was done, her corset was still there, plus everything under it.

  This was a very uncomfortable situation. He wasn’t comfortable in his mind or, he realized, in his jeans.

  He had a boner in a bridal salon, all because of Caroline Ann Oakenfield.

  He tried to think about something else, like cement mix ratios, but his brain wasn’t having it. Why was this happening to him? Was it because of the dress? The wedding? The thought of losing her to Pencil Neck and Atlanta?

  And, anyway, what would she look like naked?

  What would she look like first thing in the morning, if she woke up in his bed?

  He imagined a smile on her face when she saw him beside her. He imagined her laugh. He loved her sense of humor and the way she always knew how to make people comfortable. He also admired the way she tackled big jobs, even ones that seemed insurmountable, like the time she’d gotten enough donations and volunteers to reclaim the city park. She wasn’t a quitter, not his Caroline.

  Though he wished she’d quit fondling herself, scooching those generous mammaries around in their silky white housing.

  “How do you…” Heck licked his lips, staring. “How’s a dress with no straps stay up, anyway? It’s against the law of gravity.”

  With a grin, Caroline cupped her breasts and pushed them together like she was making a special resting place for something long, stiff and manly. The bodice threatened to overflow.

  His semihard cock went all the way hard.

  “You afraid I’m going to flash my nanners to everybody in the church on Saturday?”

  He was afraid she was going to flash him…and more afraid of how he would react. “That’s not funny.”

  “It would be hilarious. Mom and Dad would bust a gut. They’d send the tape to America’s Funniest Home Videos.” She shimmied, inserting her fingers under the bodice like she was going to drag it down to her waist. “Do you think Tallwood’s ever had a topless wedding?”

  He was two seconds from tossing a blanket around her like a burka. He was one second from licking her cleavage. But she expected a more conversational response, so he said, in a voice that sounded choked, “Dan-O wouldn’t like that.”

  Caroline tossed that one curl out of her face. “He likes my boobs.”

  “He’s a—” At the thought of Pencil Neck getting his hands on Caroline’s beautiful body, Heck felt a certain anger stir. A certain jealousy. Caroline was his friend. His. While her dating all those losers hadn’t driven them apart, a marriage to one of the losers might.

 
Not might. Would. His marriage almost had. Good thing it hadn’t lasted.

  Caroline’s brown eyes narrowed. “You weren’t about to call my fiancé a name, were you?”

  It wouldn’t be the first time. He tried to play it down. “He’s too stuck up for Hooters, much less a topless wedding.”

  “I can talk him into it.” She waggled her eyebrows and cupped her breasts again. “After all, I talked Mr. Manly Man Herman Heckley into being my maid of honor.”

  His gaze latched onto her hands, her skin, her fingers, her smirk. If she kept offering her tits to him, was it his fault if he reached out and took them? What would she do if he did?

  He spread his legs, making space for his hard-on. “Caroline—”

  She rose, skirts rustling like a giant shopping bag. Heck tried to keep his focus on her face, but with him in this chair and her standing right…in front…of him…

  It was impossible.

  She leaned down, her breasts straining against the bodice. Curving toward him. Begging for his touch. His heart beat faster, and he smelled baby powder, champagne, and some kind of flower.

  “We’ll make a deal,” she said in a playful voice. “If my dress falls off Saturday and I flash my nanners, you can drop your drawers and distract everyone.” This was not Caroline. This was a succubus transported into his friend’s body. His friend’s hot body. He wanted her.

  He wanted to pull her down into his lap and kiss her until she… Well, he wasn’t sure. That wasn’t the kind of relationship they had. When he’d been a teenager and imagined all girls naked, he’d had a few fantasies about Caro. He’d always known she was pretty and fun. But he wasn’t a teenager now, and Caro was about to marry somebody else. Heck’s occasional recommendations—if occasional meant daily—that she break up with Dan were for her own good, not for selfish purposes. Heck could see how wrong Dan was for her.

  He could also see how out of character she was behaving. At the moment, she was leaning toward him and smiling as if she liked the fact that he’d noticed her breasts. As if she knew he wanted to kiss her and was hoping he’d do it.

  Goddammit.

  There was something wrong with her. The real Caroline would slap him into tomorrow if he took advantage of whatever cuckoo brainstorm had possessed her. Caro did not, had never, flirted with him.

  When she lifted her hands one more time to her chest, he grabbed her wrists.

  Her eyes widened as he held her in place.

  “What are you doing, Caroline?”

  “Pulling up my dress.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Not if you won’t let me,” she challenged. “Don’t you want me to?”

  Yes, he did. No, he didn’t. Shit.

  What was going on here? He’d never known Caroline to come on to a guy like this. She was crazy, sure. She’d jump off a twenty-foot cliff into a swimming hole, quick as snot. Sneak onto private property to test the soil. Set up a college friend to go “snipe hunting”“ Build a Habitat for Humanity house on the other side of the continent. She’d drink all night at the bar and beat everyone’s ass at pool. She’d parade outside town hall for hours with a picket sign, even run for office herself. Not that she’d been elected, but she’d tried, hadn’t she? She threw herself into her life in a way Heck personally thought more people should aspire to.

  But she never wore clothes that displayed her like a lingerie ad. She never talked about sex in front of him. She never married her loser boyfriends—losers who wanted her to move away from Tallwood.

  Away from Heck.

  She wasn’t herself, and the best explanation was that she had cold feet. She’d developed a compulsion to have a fling with the closest man who wasn’t her fiancé. They made movies about stuff like this, and it never ended well.

  As maid of honor, according to the booklet Sally had given him, he was supposed to fix wedding snafus such as invitations with typos and mistaken seating arrangements and hysterical brides with hot bodies. No, cold feet.

  He had to fix the cold feet.

  Or maybe he should freeze her feet so bad, she called off the wedding. The question was whether kissing her was how to go about it.

  He looked at her. She looked at him. Her lips parted invitingly.

  “Are you drunk?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t notice anything amiss in his lap. Maids of honor were supposed to offer support, not offer to bone the bride.

  “Why, because I like this dress?” She tried to yank her wrists free, but as healthy a girl as she was, she had nothing on him.

  If there was one thing about his relationship with Caroline, it was that they’d never lied to each other. She hated Melissa, his ex-wife. She’d told him so—as she was comforting him through the divorce. He disliked her boyfriends. But he didn’t wait for any damn divorce to enlighten her as to his true feelings.

  So he said, “No, that’s not why I think you’re drunk. I think you’re drunk because you’re shoving your tits in my face like I’m supposed to do something with them.”

  She drew in a quick breath. Their gazes locked again, and for the first time in ten minutes he wasn’t tempted to stare at her chest. She had big, dark-brown eyes. Blond-tipped eyelashes. A bare spot in one eyebrow where she’d taken a softball to the head. And something he’d never considered until today. Her full, red lips looked tailor-made for kissing. For sucking things.

  “Are you saying,” she asked, “that you want to do something with my breasts?”

  “I don’t know.” He wanted to lick them. Bite them. Rub them with his cock. God, this was awkward. “I’m a guy, Caroline, not a brick wall. Quit touching yourself in front of me.”

  “I’m not used to strapless tops. Give me a break.”

  Her breath smelled like cake. He truly wanted to kiss her, despite the fact that it would change their relationship, and that freaked him out.

  But then, so did the fact that she was a few days from getting married.

  He gentled his grasp on her wrists. “Do you really want to be with him?”

  Her cheeks reddened. “I’m wearing the dress, aren’t I?”

  “I don’t like it.” He didn’t mean the dress.

  “I know.”

  “And you’re not wearing a ring, are you?”

  She didn’t respond. This time when she tugged, he let her go, and she sat without any more monkey business. In another moment, she hitched up the dress until it was almost decent.

  What had she hoped to achieve?

  She reclined her head against the back of the bride’s chair, which was bigger and more padded than the idiotic chair he was in. Several silk flowers plopped out of her hairdo and hit the carpet.

  “What would you have me do, Heck?” she asked. “I can’t wait forever.”

  The wedding was Saturday. He could see why she needed to settle on a gown or, preferably, decide not to get married. Either way, he’d be free of bridal salon hell. “If you’re really going to get married…”

  “I’m going to get married.”

  “Fine.” Heck sighed. “Everyone will think you look pretty in that dress. Why don’t you get a long veil that hangs down in front and covers up the chest?”

  When her lips tightened, he rethought his approach. “Are we not talking about the dress anymore?”

  She shook her head and closed her eyes. “I’m tired of dating, only to break up and start over.”

  “Quit dating,” Heck suggested. “It’s what I did when it got to be too much trouble.”

  She almost smiled. “I want a partner in my life, Heck. A romantic partner. I’m not interested in celibacy, and I’d like to settle down and have children.”

  “Are you saying your clock is ticking?” He groped her giant skirt, finding her knees under the lace, and shook her legs gently. “Caro, you shouldn’t get married just so you can be a mom. In this day and age, you don’t need a wedding to have kids.”

  “In case you missed health class, there’s usually another participant in th
at process,” she said drily. “I hear an infant is not something a sane person wants to handle alone.”

  “You won’t be alone. You have your parents, and Gran, and lots of friends.” He cleared his throat. “You have me. If I can build a house, I can figure out how to change diapers.” He didn’t know how to advise her on the celibacy thing, but he’d change all the diapers if it meant no more Pencil Neck.

  If she insisted, he could help her with that celibacy thing, too. There was zero reason for her to marry the schmuck if she could get what she wanted from…

  From him.

  She started shaking her head again. And why would she view him romantically? The fact that he wondered what would happen if he kissed her didn’t mean she wondered. Or wanted.

  When she spoke, her voice trembled. “I could… Sometimes I want to kill you, Herman Heckley. I want to rip out your guts. Do you think this decision has been easy for me?”

  “Hey, now.” He let go of her legs and straightened. While that sounded like the Caroline he knew, the fire-breathing Caroline who could create a crusade out of a contaminated molehill, that particular ire was rarely directed at him. “Marriage is a big deal. I get that. But what did I do to deserve gut ripping?”

  She glared at him. Unless he missed his guess, her eyes were wet. Tear-wet.

  He tried for her knee again, and she whapped his hand.

  “I don’t understand you,” he told her. “Why are you mad at me? I’m here, aren’t I? I don’t like it, and I’m here. Sitting in this room. Watching you girls try on ten billion different dresses, telling you how pretty you look. We sampled cake, we picked out flowers, we took that little gun all over the department store and did your registry when Dan-O couldn’t make it. I took Gran and Beatrice to the mall to buy wedding gifts. Three times, Caroline. Three times. Next I’m throwing you a bachelorette party. You’re having your damn reception at my farm. All this when you know damn well I think you’re making a mistake. So tell me, because I want to know. What did I do?”

  “You didn’t do anything,” she said, as if that was a crime. “Nothing at all.”

  “Well, I don’t like it,” he repeated.