would want to know how you feel about wearing orange, Elinor. If it were my wedding, I would want to know.”
Mary Anne met Cameron’s eyes briefly and knew her cousin was dying to add, And you wouldn’t be in it.
Graham said, “I think etiquette dictates that the bride’s wishes carry the day.”
“But who wants a wedding color that will look bad on bridesmaids?” Mary Anne asked. “Tell Angie how you feel, Elinor. Though I’m sure anything would look great on you.”
“But the question is,” Jonathan said, “if I should step in. Obviously, I shouldn’t.”
“Obviously,” Graham echoed.
Mary Anne wanted to scream that obviously the bride should choose colors and clothes that would look good on her friends, and whoever heard of bridesmaids dressed in orange? She asked Graham, “What makes you the expert on weddings?”
“He’s the WLGN relationship expert,” Jonathan said.
Mary Anne rolled her eyes. “A man.”
“What’s wrong with men?” Graham asked.
“It’s just a bit one-sided. That’s all.”
Jonathan’s eyes lit up, as if what she’d said had struck home with him. “That gives me an idea…” He glanced at his nearly empty glass.
Mary Anne was vigilant.
As he took the last sip, she drained half of her own glass in one long gulp and lifted Jonathan’s glass airily from his hand. “Another for you, groom-to-be?”
Distracted, he glanced at her. “Oh. Thank you, Mary Anne. When you come back—”
But she was already walking away, leaving the crowd behind.
This was the moment. She carried both glasses to the refreshment table, which was unattended. She found the cabernet and carefully poured another glass, holding the uncapped vial of potion against her palm, and letting it run into his glass with the wine.
It couldn’t work, but what the hell?
Frowning slightly, she spotted Angie again. Far from spending every moment on her fiancé’s arm, Angie was speaking intently to Max Harold, the Embassy Building’s custodian. Max used to work in the mines and could talk for hours. Mary Anne had to admit the old man was interesting, but clearly Angie was a good listener.
There was, Mary Anne told herself, nothing wrong with what she planned to do. All was fair in love and war.
She poured herself another glass of merlot and took a sip to steady her nerves.
“Ah, thank you, Mary Anne.”
A masculine hand took Jonathan’s glass from her hand.
Mary Anne did not release it. “No, that’s for—” She could not let the glass go.
Appalled, she felt the stem break, the base coming off in her hand.
Graham Corbett looked in astonishment from the piece she held to the glass he held.
She reached for his part of the glass just as he lifted it to his lips and drank deeply.
Mary Anne could not breathe. Her mouth was open, she was half-panting, her hand still reaching, reaching…
“Excellent,” Graham said and gazed at her thoughtfully.
She wanted to swear.
But she couldn’t even breathe. Everything was swimming. Her head was swimming. And the glass was empty.
CHAPTER THREE
MARY ANNE STUMBLED into Graham, and he caught her.
She smelled earthy, sexy and natural. He studied the scattering of freckles across her nose, the paintbrush lashes, the full lips.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Mary Anne sank onto a folding chair near the table. “Yes. Yes.”
“What happened?” Jonathan Hale joined them, gazing in concern at her.
Graham saw that earlier expression of horror wisp over her face again.
Mary Anne pushed herself out of the chair. “Nothing happened. I’m fine. Just a bit light-headed.”
“You’re a skinny thing,” Jonathan told her. “If you haven’t eaten, let’s get something in you.”
Graham felt irrational annoyance. “She’s not fading away.”
Her part of the glass had rolled away on the floor, and Jonathan picked it up. Graham handed the other part to him and focused on Mary Anne. She was a strong, healthy woman, vibrant as a Thoroughbred horse. This one was no fading lily or shrinking violet or whatever it was that was supposed to be prized in Southern women, and he didn’t believe she was light-headed, either. Probably just upset about Hale and Miss Workman. He looked at Jonathan, who was handing her a bottle of water.
“Thanks,” she said, taking it gratefully, uncapping it and then simply gazing at the bottle, looking shattered.
Jonathan put a hand on her back, and she gave him a look that seemed to say, What in the hell are you doing touching me?
In fact, Mary Anne was now wondering if she’d actually seen Graham Corbett drink the glass of wine she’d spiked with love potion. And if she had seen that, as she was sure she had, why was Jonathan Hale suddenly noticing her existence? She whispered, “I need to…I need to go home.”
“You can’t drive,” Jonathan said. “Just sit down, and let’s get you something to eat. You’ve been manhandled.”
“What?” Graham said in disbelief.
“You were fighting with her over my glass of wine,” Jonathan replied.
“Didn’t know it was yours, but I did not manhandle Mary Anne.”
Jonathan ignored Graham. “I’ll get myself another,” he told Mary Anne gently. “Thanks for trying.”
“Ah, Cameron.” Graham turned to Mary Anne’s cousin and dropped some keys into her hand. “My car’s just outside in the bank parking lot. Why don’t you take it and meet us at Mary Anne’s house? Can you drive a shift? I’ll drive Mary Anne in her car.”
“Maybe we should hear what Mary Anne wants,” Jonathan said, staring intently at Graham.
And they all, Graham and Jonathan and Cameron, looked at Mary Anne, as if to discover what she wanted.
She had no answer, except that Graham was paying attention to her in front of Cameron, who couldn’t help seeing the direction of the wind. And Jonathan was finally noticing her—but he was engaged! Everything was messed up and she wished she’d never gotten involved with the love potion that
