rehearsal.”
“I guess it’s a good thing I never proposed, then. It was touch-and-go out there.”
She gave him a look from under her brows. “You know, you had the bride wearing a groove in the carpet pacing over you? Lisa’s got enough going on right now without one more thing to stress about.”
His amusement dipped a bit. “I know, trust me.”
She folded her arms, a bit like a teacher scolding a wayward student. “Not to mention the fact that we were all standing around waiting.”
“Not to mention,” he agreed. And she was ticked. Protective of Lisa and just a little ticked about waiting around. Or maybe the altar thing. He wasn’t sure just why he found that appealing. Maybe it was because he found her appealing. Her mouth for a start, full and tempting, the lower lip just a bit sulky now. It had been the first thing he’d noticed when he first saw her. When she’d smiled at him by the meter, he’d felt the hit down deep.
And those eyes of hers, the color of good whiskey. They looked enormous and he didn’t think it was just tricky makeup. They were turbulent now with challenge, enough to promise she’d give him a run for his money. And she had that thick, dark hair with the red undertones of good mahogany. The kind of hair a man could bury his hands in.
Her chin came up a bit as she noticed him staring. He didn’t bother to fight the smile. She was tall for a woman, slender enough that at a glance a person would judge her fragile. It was an impression he was betting drove her nuts. She didn’t look like the type who wanted to be taken care of. She looked like the type who liked being in control.
Funny, so was he.
“I guess I started off on the wrong foot with you here. Except for the quarter at the meter,” he added. “I should get some points for that.”
“It’s going to take more than a quarter to make up for missing the wedding rehearsal,” she told him.
“And leaving you at the altar. I could escort you up the stairs,” he offered as they skirted the velvet rope that blocked off the balcony. “That’s a start.”
She glanced at his arm. “I can make it up the stairs on my own.”
“I bet you can,” he said, resisting the urge to linger a bit behind her and admire the view. “It would be more fun with me, though.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you always like this?”
“You’re going to break down and laugh sooner or later. You may as well give in to the inevitable.”
She turned to him at the top of the stairs. “And that is?”
He gazed down into those whiskey-gold eyes. “I’ll let you know.”
And suddenly, as she stared back at him, the joking slipped away and something else flashed in its place, a hard, deep pulse of wanting that momentarily banished everything else. Something hummed between them, like a subsonic vibration that he could neither hear nor see, but only feel.
And the flicker in her eyes told him she felt it, too.
“About time you showed,” a voice drawled from behind him and Alan walked up.
Gil blinked and the moment was gone. He turned to the tall Texan. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” he said as they shook.
“And here I thought you were a pretty sorry specimen already,” Alan said. “Glad to see you finally found the place.”
“You made it,” Lisa said, stepping up alongside Alan.
“I did,” Gil said. Instead of shaking her hand, he bowed down to kiss it. “I really apologize for missing the rehearsal. Major screwup. You’ve got a lot to worry about right now and the last thing you need is more grief from me.”
“Hey, no putting the moves on my fiancée,” Alan protested.
“Especially,” Gil went on, ignoring Alan, “since you’re going to have plenty of grief, already, with marrying this guy off.”
Lisa laughed delightedly and pressed a kiss to Gil’s cheek. “Oh, don’t worry about it. Alan can tell you where you’re supposed to stand tomorrow and I’m sure you can figure out the rest. Why don’t you come meet everybody and have some champagne? Dinner’s just starting.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Gil noticed Jillian drift off to her seat.
Probably just as well, he thought. As an editor at the Gazette, the last thing he needed was to get anything going with Jillian Logan. He’d already been warned.
So he met the rest of the party, laughing, joking, shaking hands. And did his best to forget that strange snap of connection at the top of the stairs.
“This is Ariel, Lisa’s good friend,” Alan said, bringing him to the last table.
“And best chick,” Ariel added.
“Maid of honor,” Alan translated. “And you already know Jillian, here.”
“Informally,” Gil said. He extended his hand. “Gil Reynolds, meter caddy.”
“Jillian Logan, usher wrangler.” She reached out.
Her hand was soft and cool in his. It felt fragile but he’d been right about the strength that underlaid it. He’d expected that.
He hadn’t expected it to be trembling.
In surprise, his gaze shot to hers and he saw her eyes widen before she glanced away. She tugged her hand to free it from his. Some perverseness made him hold on a moment longer than necessary, though, until she looked at him.
And he saw the gold of her eyes had darkened to deep amber.
Then he released her to nod down at the empty place setting at her side, the last one left. “Well, how about that? Looks like this is my seat.”
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, Jillian thought with a mixture of giddiness and alarm as she concentrated on taking slow breaths to try to quiet her system. It was supposed to have been a smile on the street, a quick experiment, a little change—emphasis on little. It wasn’t supposed to turn into anything. It definitely wasn’t supposed to last the entire evening. And it certainly wasn’t supposed to make her world feel as though it had tilted on its axis.
Surreptitiously, she rubbed at her right hand where it was hidden in her lap.
Forget about the quick, impersonal eye contact she’d perfected to keep people at a distance. Gil Reynolds’s gaze had drilled right through her, right into her. And now he was sitting just inches away and she was supposed to be able to hold a conversation as if nothing had happened?
Nothing had, she reminded herself. He’d only been playing games.
Gil picked up the beer that the waiter brought him with the salad course and grinned. “To the happy couple,” he said to Jillian.
She tapped his glass with her champagne flute. “To the happy
