off,” she ordered, quickly covering up.
“You kissed me too,” he pointed out.
“You took me by surprise.”
“We both know that’s a lie.”
“We do not,” she snapped, taking a step away.
“Whatever you say.”
“I’m engaged.”
“So I’ve heard,” he drawled. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
She couldn’t seem to frame an answer.
If not for Jackson, she’d already be married to Vern. They’d be at the reception, cutting the enormous cake and dancing to Strauss’s Snowdrops, Delores’s favorite waltz. Crista’s knees suddenly felt weak, and she sat down on the padded bench beside her.
“The thought of being married makes you feel faint?” Jackson asked.
“I’m worried about my mother-in-law. I can’t even imagine how she reacted. All those guests. All that planning. What did they do when I didn’t show up? Did they all just go home?”
“You’re not worried about Vern?”
“Yes, I’m worried about Vern. Quit putting words in my mouth.”
“You never said his name.”
“Vern, Vern, Vern. I’m worried sick about Vern. He’s going through hell.” Then a thought struck her. “You should call him. I should call him. I can at least let him know I’m all right.”
“I can’t let you use my phone.”
“Because then they’d discover it was you. And they’d arrest you. And you’d go to jail. You know, sooner than you’re already going to jail after I tell the police everything you did.” Crista paused. Maybe she wouldn’t tell them everything. Better to keep certain missteps off the public record.
“I’ve got five guys working on this.” Jackson lowered himself to the bench opposite, the compact table between them.
“Five guys working on what?” Her curiosity was piqued.
“Vern’s infidelity.”
“Vern wasn’t unfaithful.”
Jackson smirked. “Right. And you never kissed me too.”
Crista wasn’t about to lie again. “Just tell me what you want. Whatever is going on here, let’s please get this over with so I can go home.”
“I want you to wait here with me while I find out exactly what your husband-to-be has been up to with Gracie.”
“Gracie’s a business acquaintance.” Crista immediately realized her slipup.
Jackson caught it, too. “So, you do know her.”
Crista wasn’t about to renew the debate. She knew what she knew, and she trusted Vern.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked Jackson again.
“So you can decide whether or not you want to marry him.”
“I do want to marry him.”
His gaze slipped downward, and she realized her grip on her dress had relaxed. She was showing cleavage—a lot of cleavage. She quickly adjusted.
“Maybe,” he said softly.
“There’s no maybe about it.”
“What’s the harm in waiting?” he asked, sounding sincere. “The wedding’s already ruined.”
“Thanks to you.”
“My point is there’s no harm in waiting a few more hours.”
“Except for my frantic fiancé.”
Jackson seemed to think for a moment. “I can have someone call him, tell him you’re okay.”
“From a pay phone?” she mocked.
“Who uses pay phones? We’ve got plenty of burner phones.”
“Of course you do.”
“You want me to call?”
“Yes!” But then she thought about it. “No. Hang on. What are you going to tell him?”
“What do you want me to tell him?”
“The truth.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”
“Then tell him I’m okay. Tell him something unexpected came up. I’m...uh...” She bit down on her lower lip. “I don’t know. Other than the truth, what can I possibly say that doesn’t sound terrible?”
“You got me.”
“He’ll think I got cold feet.”
“He might.”
“No, he won’t.” She shook her head firmly. Vern knew her better than that. He knew she was committed to their marriage.
But Jackson would never send a message that incriminated himself. And anything else could make it sound like it had been her decision to run off. Maybe it was better to keep silent.
“How long do you think this will take?” she asked. “To clear Vern’s name?”
Jackson gave a shrug. “It could go pretty fast. My guys are good.”
Crista rose to her feet. “Then don’t call him. I’m going to change.”
“Good idea.”
“It doesn’t mean I’ve capitulated.”
“I took it to mean you wanted to be dry.”
“That’s exactly what it means.”
“Okay,” he agreed easily.
She turned away from his smug expression, gripping the front of her ruined wedding dress, struggling to hold on to some dignity as she made her way into the bathroom. She could feel his gaze on her back, taking in the expanse of bare skin. He knew she wasn’t wearing a bra, and he could probably see the white lace at the top of her panties.
A rush of heat coursed through her. She told herself it was anger. She didn’t care where he looked, or what he thought. It was the last he’d see of her that was remotely intimate.
Jackson recognized Mac’s
