and Kendra held hands as the familiar words of the traditional ceremony echoed throughout the nave. They looked into each other’s eyes. They smiled like a couple of drunk angels. It was—no other way to put it—sweet. And Dev had no doubt that the two of them would not lose that lovin’ feeling. You could tell with these two—they’d make it through anything life lobbed at them.
Dev wondered if one day a woman would look at him like that: as if she’d gladly put her soul into a stew pot and serve it to him with hot, crusty bread. As if nothing would make her happier than simply to make him happy.
And he wondered, too, if he’d look at a girl the way Mark did at Kendra: as if he’d slay any dragon, shoulder any mortgage and work five jobs just to keep her in designer shoes.
Aw, hell. He was getting all whatdyoucallit, that German word for sentimental—verklempt.
“Do you, Marcus James Edgeworth, take this woman …”
Dev found himself staring at Kylie again.
Her gaze flickered over him and she moved in the pew, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. She didn’t acknowledge him in any way, though.
Squirming, honey? If not, you will be soon. Because not only are you going to look at me before this night is over, but you’re also going to dance with me. Up close and personal.
“Do you, Kendra Lynn Kirschoff, take this man …”
He kept staring deliberately at Kylie until he could have sworn she blushed, but he was too far away to be sure.
Dev turned his attention to the ceremony just as the minister said, “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Up went the veil, down bent Mark’s head, and it was a regular smooch-a-rama up there.
“Easy, boy!” said Kendra’s father, and everyone burst out laughing.
Then bride and groom went traipsing down the aisle and out the door, followed by the wedding party. While people milled around, Dev lurked behind a partition in the musty-smelling hallway until he saw Kylie.
He greeted her affectionately as she passed him and slid an arm around her waist. “Need a ride to the reception?”
“No, I—”
“Fantastic,” he said, grinning amiably and hustling her out into the parking lot.
“I don’t want a ride from you!” Temper flared in those hazel eyes.
“Funny, you sure wanted a ride last night.” He continued to tow her along while she balked.
“Oh!”
“So I find it real interesting that you didn’t say goodbye, that today you won’t make eye contact with me and that you seem to want me dead.”
An ominous silence fell, until she finally retorted, “Alive. But in serious pain.”
“Why?”
“You know exactly why.”
“Nope. I don’t. If your nice-girl-gone-astray guilt is kicking in, you shouldn’t take it out on me. I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do. I didn’t proposition myself, tease myself or screw myself in that closet, Sweet Pea. You were there for every step of the process.”
“This has nothing to do with guilt. It has to do with you being a jerk of epic proportions.”
“Thank you for the compliment. It’s true that my proportions have been described as epic. What I don’t get is the jerk part.”
“Oh, you get it, all right.” She tried to pull away from him again. “Let go of me.”
“No. We’re going to have a little talk,” he told her, stepping up the pace so that she tottered on her high heels and had to hang on to him for support as he towed her along.
“I have nothing to say to you, and if you dare try to manhandle me into your car, I will file kidnapping charges against you!”
“Don’t be melodramatic,” said Dev, unlocking the passenger door of his screaming red Corvette. “Now get in.”
“No.”
“What is your problem?” Dev asked, raising his voice on purpose as an elderly couple approached. “You practically raped me in the supply closet last night and now—”
Kylie whipped her head around. “Keep your voice down!”
The couple got a little bug-eyed but pretended not to hear as they shuffled toward their Buick.
“I’ll be glad to whisper if you’ll get in the car instead of behaving like the lead actress in a bad soap.”
With a look that would have reduced a lesser man to rubble, Kylie folded herself into the low-slung sports car, showing a lot more leg than she probably intended to—not that he minded.
Dev shut the door for her and rounded the nose of the ‘Vette to get in himself. “Now,” he said, closing his own door and starting the engine, “just what are you so pissed off about?”
“You know why I’m pissed! You’re disgusting. You’re a pig, McKee. I saw you telling your buddies all about us.”
“You saw nothing of the sort.”
“What, do you think I’m stupid? You were three tables away, your friends were falling over themselves laughing, and you were all looking at me!”
Dev shot out of the exit, took the corner on two wheels and watched, amused, as she flailed for her seat belt. The powerful eight-cylinder engine made her breasts jiggle under the prim dress. Pig or not, he enjoyed it.
“For your information, sweetheart, the guys were laughing because they were convinced that you’d blown me off. That I tried, and failed, to get into your pants.”
She finally clicked the tongue of the seat-belt fastener into the latch, then turned to face him. “Oh, but I’ll just bet you enlightened them, didn’t you?”
“No,” he said evenly. “I did not.”
“Then why were they all laughing so hard?”
“Because they loved seeing me strike out. It doesn’t—” Dev shut his mouth abruptly, as self-preservation kicked in. It was probably best not to call attention to his man-whore past.
“Doesn’t what?”
“Forget it.”
“Doesn’t happen often?”
Dev felt his face and neck get warm. “I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to.” Kylie crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the window as if she couldn’t get enough of the strip malls, gas stations and convenience stores.
